Chapter 16

The next morning, business took over. Zvonomir, Majmun, Christian, and I took a boat to Kaliningrad to sort out the Russian deal. It was moving fast, and despite still being shaken up from shooting Stefan, Christian was incredibly interested in the details, which he would be. When we returned to Stockholm three days later with everything in place, I talked to Majmun away from the others.

"I could just kill him," Majmun suggested.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he's useful. While he's alive, we can feed him what we want to."

Majmun frowned. "Why do you like him so much? Is there anything in what Zvonomir said?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I glared at him, and my heart rate accelerated. That sneaky old bastard had been watching me a lot lately.

"He thinks you're queer. Are you?"

"No! And what the fuck does that have to do with anything anyway?" Anxiety filled me. How could Zvonomir have found out?

Majmun just stared back at me. "I don't give a shit either way, but if you're fucking Christian, that changes things. You know he could take us all down with a phone call?"

"I'm not fucking him, or anyone. Jesus Christ." I made a face as if the thought made me feel sick.

"Okay." He shrugged. "So, what are we going to do about him, then?"

We made a plan to feed Christian information about where the shipment from Russia would land—a boathouse up the coast. It would draw the team of cops investigating to the wrong place, while Majmun greeted the submarine in the actual landing spot and moved the heroin ashore. Majmun would wire the area in and around the boathouse with explosives. By the time the cops finished gathering up the body parts of their colleagues, the drugs would have been sent out to various dealers and long gone.

"I like it," Majmun said with a grin, distracted from what Zvonomir had apparently hinted to him. "I'll get right on it."

I went to the apartment when we finished. It had been too long since I had seen Petter—only a few days, but it was still way too long. I wanted to see him before the submarine arrived and took my attention away again. I called him, but reached his voicemail. Damn it.

"Petter, call me. I really want to see you." I cleared my throat. "Fuck, I want you so much." I ended the call quickly before I blurted out anything else. Then I paced, and drank Scotch, and checked my phone a dozen times, but he didn't call.

"Where are you?" I muttered aloud. Perhaps he was busy with his own business deal, or maybe his son needed him. It didn't help me though. I needed him, and I didn't like not getting what I wanted. I went to the restaurant and slipped in through the kitchen, not wanting to walk in through the front and have to greet customers, not that there would be many in the early afternoon.

As I entered the passageway inside the rear door, I heard hushed voices: Zvonomir and my mother.

"It's been on the news," Zvonomir said. "Only about the raid on his house and the arrest so far, and that they have the gun."

"Good. If we have to tolerate this unnatural behaviour from Davor, at least that lowlife will be out of the picture. When I talked to his lawyer last night she said she would see him first thing this morning and, um, convince him."

My breath caught in my throat, and sweat broke out all over my body. They knew. Somehow, they found out I was seeing Petter and… he'd been arrested? They found the gun. So he hadn't got rid of it. Oh, shit.

Silently, I slipped back out of the building and returned to my car. My heart slammed against my ribs and my hands shook. If the cops had Petter's gun, he would be charged with murder. And what the hell had my mother meant about talking to Petter's lawyer and "convincing him?" Feeling sick, I connected to the Internet with my phone and looked for a recent news article. Immediately, I found a live report showing a picture of Petter.

"The president of motorcycle gang, the Mobsters, Petter Hill, was arrested yesterday after police discovered a gun suspected to have been used in the murders of detective Sven Birgersson, retired farmer Ake Loberg, and Sara Andersson, wife of previous Mobsters' president, Ulrik Andersson. Although the suspect initially refused to co-operate, the investigating team have now released the information that Hill has confessed to all three killings–"

"Fuck!" Horrified, I put my phone away. This was all my fault. The fact that he obviously hadn't got rid of the gun after I warned him wasn't his fault. His kid got hurt right after we talked about it, and he probably forgot. It was my fault entirely. He should never have been in that position. Why the hell had I thought it would be a good idea for Majmum to steal Petter's gun and set him up like that? I hadn't known I would fall for him, but even so. I felt sick with myself. They would lock Petter up and throw away the key. He'd have no defence with his prints all over the gun, especially now he'd confessed. Why the hell did he do that? Why would anyone confess to murders they didn't commit, knowing the result would be a life sentence? Had he been blackmailed? What had my mother meant when she told Zvonomir she spoke to Petter's lawyer? I wouldn't put it past Dubravka to pay the lawyer to ensure Petter could never see me again. He must have been "convinced" to confess, somehow.

I thought fast. What could I do? I called Christian.

"Hello," he answered. I could hear glasses clinking in the background.

"Come outside now. Meet me in my car."

"Oh, but—"

"Now, Christian."

"Right. Of course." In less than a minute, he appeared and got in the car. "What are we doing?"

"Did you know the cops arrested Petter Hill?"

"Yes, it was on the news."

"He's innocent."

"Well, I know that. You set him up."

I groaned, and started to drive. "Listen to me. You need to help me. When this is done, we have some things to talk about. I don't expect any favours, but I'm asking for one."

"What are you talking about?" Christian frowned. "Of course I'll help you. I work for you."

"Don't play games with me," I snapped. "I know who you are. I've always known. It was useful to me to keep you around. I can't talk about this now, we need to do something. But I will give you everything you want later. Everything. If you help me this one time."

He opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again.

"Are you armed?" I asked.

"No."

"There are guns under the back seat. Get them."

Christian reached between the seats and found the two revolvers there. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing?"

"We're getting Petter out."

"You can't be serious. You know he's in a cell at the police headquarters. It would be impossible. You'll end up in jail with him."

"We're doing it. Whatever it takes," I said grimly.

"But why? Isn't this what you wanted? You and Majmun are off the hook for Sven and Sara and that farmer."

I didn't answer, and I could feel Christian staring at me. I glanced sideways and suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "Oh!"

"What do you mean, 'oh'?"

"You're seeing Petter? Really?"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" I snapped. "Will you help me, or not?"

"Yes. Yes, of course I will. He doesn't deserve this."

"Good." I put my foot down as I turned the car in the direction of the police building. I was making it up as I went along. I had no plan. Christian was probably right and I would get arrested, but I had to do something to try to get Petter out.

"Why would he confess?" Christian said then.

"I don't know. Zvonomir found out about us. I don't know how, but I heard my mother tell him she talked to Petter's lawyer. She could have paid the woman, or blackmailed her to convince Petter to talk."

Fifteen minutes later, we were outside the police headquarters. Christian led the way around to a side entrance, close to where he said the cells were. The door was locked.

"How are we going to get in?" I fretted, wiping sweaty palms on my trousers so I didn't drop my gun.

Rolling his eyes, Christian tapped a series of digits into the keypad beside the door, and it clicked open.

"Of course," I muttered.

As soon as we entered the corridor, we heard what sounded like a party going on—people talking loudly, laughing and cheering, glasses clinking together.

"What the hell?" I whispered.

"—you all did fantastically!" a voice exclaimed. "You got the murderer, and he's confessed, so we can finally put Sven to rest."

"Fuckers," I hissed.

"Shut up, Davor. Come with me. While they're celebrating, they're not noticing us." Christian slipped away down the corridor and turned a corner. I followed, and once through another door, we were outside the cells.

Christian checked the tiny windows in the first two doors, then stopped outside the next. "It's this one. Shit!"

"What?" I hurried to his side and peered through the small opening.

Petter lay on the narrow bunk, dressed in police issue grey sweatpants and a tee shirt. His right arm rested across his chest, a small cut on the wrist leaking blood. But his left arm hung off the side of the bunk, and blood ran much too quickly from his wrist onto the floor where a large pool had already formed.