EVEN THOUGH HE’D put on an extra sweater and the sea air was mild, Fabian started to feel cold within an hour. He was tense. That was why. His whole body was on high alert and now, after another thirty minutes, as he raised the binoculars and gazed out across the inky waters of Öresund in the direction of Denmark, the cold had penetrated so deep his hands were shaking.
But there was nothing for it. The two men from the Helsingborg coastguard who crewed the boat had long since started grumbling about wrapping up a mission they felt was nothing but a waste of time and resources.
So no matter how badly he wanted to step down and join them in the warm cabin, he couldn’t. To them, it would be a clear signal he’d given up, too, and they would immediately seize the opportunity to turn back towards Helsingborg and their dock behind Parapeten. But so long as he was out here, shakily clutching his binoculars, they had to let him keep at it.
At least he’d managed to speak to Stubbs, who’d told him about a murder case out in Munka-Ljungby last spring that Elvin had been interested in for some reason. She’d tried to explain, but he hadn’t fully understood. Either way, tomorrow she was meeting with a certain Conny Öhman, who was serving a lengthy prison sentence for the murder of his wife, and if it turned out she was right about him being innocent, she claimed they had all the proof they needed to arrest Molander.
In a way, he could sympathize with the coastguard’s unwillingness to help. He’d forced them out on a virtually impossible mission. Nevertheless, the flat where Milwokh’s latest victim was still submerged in his own bath was located only a few hundred yards from Helsingborg’s South Harbour and the boat rental suggested it had been his intended escape route.
Where he had escaped to was, however, an open question. He could have gone anywhere. He had not returned to the Råå Marina and Helsingborg Boat Rentals. They’d scoured every square foot of both it and the South Harbour. Then they’d searched the entire coastline from Landskrona in the south to Höganäs in the north and, on Fabian’s insistence, they’d even done a few forays further out in the sound.
They were definitely groping in the dark. And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought that Milwokh was out here somewhere, bobbing along with his navigational lights turned off, waiting for them to give up.
They knew he’d only rented the boat for two days, which suggested a short trip. Two uniformed officers had been dispatched to keep the boat rental company under surveillance, though they were well aware he didn’t necessarily have any intention of returning the boat. But that would suggest he was done for good, and right now, there was nothing to support that. Quite the opposite.
Far likelier was that he’d crossed over to Denmark and pulled the boat up on some deserted beach.
‘Hey,’ one of the old men called from the cabin. ‘How are you getting on? Find anything exciting?’
‘No, but if we could pop over to the Danish—’
‘Because it’s getting to be time to turn back,’ the man cut in.
‘Yes, so you keep saying, but I’d like to keep going just a bit longer.’ Fabian turned the binoculars south in the direction of Ven and focused all of his energy on not shaking visibly.
‘I’m sorry, no can do. Both me and Bengan clock out in forty minutes, and we need time to hose her down and refuel and write a report before then.’ He shrugged. ‘So you see. No can do.’
‘Don’t you just get paid overtime?’
‘Unfortunately, that’s not up to us. There have been cutbacks, you know, and word on the street is they’re closing our entire unit down and merging it with Malmö. Insane, if you ask me. But that’s the way it goes when it’s all about the bottom line.’ The man turned around and nodded to his colleague at the tiller, who started to turn the boat back towards Helsingborg harbour.
‘Hold on a minute.’ Fabian lowered his binoculars and stepped into the cabin. ‘Look, I hear you. But we’re dealing with a killer who in just over a month has murdered at least six people, and there’s a small chance he’s out here somewhere, just waiting for us to give up.’
‘There’s also a chance, a fairly big one at that if you ask me, that he’s somewhere else entirely,’ said the man at the tiller. ‘And we’ve searched the entire coast from Höganäs down to Landskrona. Not just once, but—’
‘Not the Danish side,’ Fabian broke in. ‘We haven’t been there.’
‘Denmark?’ The man at the tiller turned to his colleague for support. ‘We can’t just go into Danish territorial waters without permission.’
‘If that’s where you think he is, you’d be better off talking to the Danes directly,’ the other added.
‘Okay, so who do I call?’ Fabian made an effort to keep the frustration out of his voice. ‘About the overtime pay and the possibility of crossing the sound.’
‘Well, it’s not that simple,’ one of them said, and he turned to his colleague again. ‘Or what do you say, Bengan?’
‘I mean, they’re two completely separate issues. As far as the Danes go, there are routines, and you need the approval of their Naval Operative Command. Our overtime pay is a budget matter, so that would be Gert-Ove Helin.’
‘Then I suggest you start with Denmark’s Naval Operative Command.’
The two men sighed and one of them turned to a control panel, picked up a phone receiver with a coiled cord and started dialling.
‘Maybe I should do the talking,’ Fabian said, and he took the receiver, where ringing could already be heard over the crackling line.
‘You have reached the Danish Naval Operative Command.’
‘Hello, my name is Fabian Risk and I’m a detective with the Swedish police in Helsingborg.’
‘Good evening, how can I help?’
‘I’m on board Swedish coastguard vessel KB 202 just north of Helsingborg. We need permission to cross into Danish territory in pursuit of a suspect.’
‘Fabian Risk from the Helsingborg Police. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘And KB 202. Okay, that’s fine. But if anything happens, I would like you to contact us again. Okay?’
‘Absolutely, no problem.’ Fabian hung up, pulled out his mobile and turned to the two men. ‘And what is this Gert-Ove’s number?’
He never got an answer because just then, the shortwave radio on the same control panel crackled to life.
‘Emergency switchboard to KB 202. Over.’
‘KB 202 here. Over,’ one of the two men responded.
‘I tried to call, but the line was busy. Over.’
‘Yes, we’ve been talking to the Danes about permission to cross over to their side. What’s this about? Over.’
‘We’ve had a distress call from a Hallberg-Rassy at Latitude 56.288 degrees and Longitude 12.342 degrees. You wouldn’t happen to be in the area, would you? Over.’
‘That sounds like somewhere outside Kullaberg. If that’s the case, we’re no more than twenty, twenty-five minutes away. Over.’
‘Good. I think maybe you’d better stop by and talk to them and make sure everything’s okay. Over.’
‘Sure. What’s the problem? Engine failure? Over.’
‘They said something about a black rubber dinghy ramming them and something about a swo… Uh, to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re high, so I would do both blood samples and breathalyser. The whole thing sounded pretty muddled, if you ask me. Over.’
‘All right, we’re on our way. Over and out.’
‘Hey, hang on.’ Fabian hurried over and snatched the microphone out of the man’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, what did they say, exactly?’ He waited for a reply but heard nothing but static. ‘Over.’
‘Who am I speaking to? Over.’
‘Fabian Risk from the Helsingborg Police. You said they said something about a rubber dinghy. What else did they say? Over.’
‘Like I said, it was pretty incoherent and muddled. But something about a person boarding their boat and attacking them with a sword. Over.’