Chapter 17

"Stay there," Christian said, and sprinted away from me.

I stood at the locked door, helpless and shocked. A razor blade rested in the pool of blood, and blood had sprayed across Petter's tee shirt and onto his face. He had killed himself. I was too late. He confessed to three murders I was responsible for, and took his own life. I wanted to die right there.

"Move!" Christian was back with a bunch of keys. He shoved me aside and unlocked the door, then dived into the cell. I followed, numb and shaking. Christian bent over Petter, checking him for what, I didn't know. I was in a daze. "Davor!" he growled at me. "Get a grip! Give me your tie."

"What?" I pulled my tie loose, confused.

"He's alive. But he won't be for much longer if we don't stop the bleeding. He's cut through the artery."

"How long before he—?" I passed him the tie.

"Minutes." Christian fastened the tie around Petter's wrist above the wound and yanked the knot tight, then lifted his arm up in the air. "Hold this. The wound needs to be above his heart."

I stepped forward and grasped Petter's arm, holding it up as Christian instructed.

"We're lucky. He's only just done it. He'd bleed out in ten to fifteen minutes maximum with a cut like that."

"Fuck," I muttered. I was barely functioning and I thanked God that Christian was with me. I would be useless alone. I'd probably throw myself on the bed with Petter and cry. I felt like my heart was being crushed. I had no experience of feeling like this, and it took my breath away.

"Help me get him up." Christian slid his arms under Petter and pulled him upright. Petter groaned and his head rolled. Instantly, I pulled myself together. He was alive. He needed me and if I didn't help him, I could still lose him.

We managed to support him between us and drag him out of the cell, legs trailing. He was conscious, but barely. Unbelievably, we made it out of the building without being caught, although we left smears of blood behind us along the floor, and it wouldn't be long before the cops were on our tail. We got Petter into the back seat of the car, and I climbed in too, resting his head in my lap. I lifted his arm again and held it up against my shoulder. Christian dived into the driver's seat and started the engine. He immediately turned the heating up to its highest setting. Taking the hint, I wriggled out of my jacket and wrapped it around Petter's upper body.

"Go to Petter's house," I told him. "Monica's a nurse. You know where that is, right?"

"Yeah." He began to drive.

"No," Petter muttered.

"Petter!" I touched his face with my free hand. If he could talk, it couldn't be that bad, right? He would be okay.

"I have to… die."

"No, you don't. This is all on me," I groaned. "Why would you do this? What about your kids?"

"They die if I don't."

"What do you mean? Petter!" I shook him gently, but he had lost consciousness. My heart plummeted again. "Oh, fuck, Christian, hurry up."

The car accelerated away from a junction and we headed for the suburbs. I pulled out my phone and found Monica's number. I had it from when she arranged our meeting with Rabia. Clearly, she had mine, too, when she answered.

"What the hell do you want? How could you do this to us, you bastard?" she yelled. "What did Petter ever do to you?!"

"Listen to me," I said as steadily as I could manage. "We got him out. We're bringing him to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's hurt. He hurt himself. You're going to have to stitch him up."

"What? What happened? Talk to me, damn it!" Her anger changed to anxiety.

I gulped. "We went to break him out. He cut his wrists. He's unconscious, but breathing."

"Oh, God. Let yourself in when you get here. I need to get some things ready. Second door on the right off the hall." She ended the call and I put my phone away.

"So, what are you going to give me?" Christian asked then. "A bullet in the head?"

"Of course not. I need your help right now, and I meant what I said. In brief, the boathouse is a set up. Majmun's wiring it with explosives. The plan is for your mother and her buddies to turn up there looking for the drugs, and get blown to pieces. The co-ordinates for the real landing spot are in my phone." I pulled it out again and sent him a text with the co-ordinates and a small map.

"How do I know what you've just told me isn't a set up?"

"You'll just have to trust me. The shipment is arriving at twenty-two hundred hours. The information on the boathouse we dropped for you was that it's coming in at oh-two-hundred the next morning. Majmun will be at the landing spot to meet the sub. When it's dealt with, he'll go to the boathouse to ensure no one gets out alive. The cops can check it out as soon as they like, then take Majmun after. I don't know, whatever they want to do."

"You're giving me information on the biggest deal you've ever arranged?"

"Yeah. There are video clips on my laptop, too, showing Majmun torturing Sven Birgersson, and shooting Sara Andersson. Majmun likes to film all these things—he's sick like that. The laptop is under my bed at the house. Get Blanka to help you. She's not involved in any of this, and I know she likes you. Don't argue, I know you have a thing for her, too."

"Well—"

"I don't know if there's enough evidence against Zvonomir, but take him down, too, if you can. I don't know how he and my mother found out I'm seeing Petter, but they've done this to him because of me."

"What about you? The cops want you more than the rest of them."

"Give me some time to get away. A day at least."

"You'll leave Stockholm?" Christian glanced at me in the rear view mirror.

"Yes. Once Petter's family are out of here and safe."

"What will you do? You obviously care about him."

"Yes, but that's not important right now. It just matters that he's safe. So?"

"Yes. All right. I'm helping, aren't I?" Christian turned the car into Petter's drive and parked in front of Monica's car. "You know this is the first place the cops will look when they find him missing."

"Yeah. So we need a plan to draw them off."

"Let me think about it." Christian was out of the car and pulling open the back door in a second. Between us, we dragged Petter out and half-carried him to the house. I opened the front door, and we staggered to the second room on the right down the hall, as Monica had told me. She appeared immediately, and the colour left her face when she saw Petter.

"Oh, my God."

"We stopped the bleeding as much as we could," Christian said. "He severed an artery. The other wrist is okay, it's barely a scratch."

"He tried to kill himself. Why?" Monica directed us to lay Petter on the bed, and quickly set up a saline drip. I stood beside him, still holding his arm up in the air.

"I think it's my fault," I said weakly.

"I know that. You're an arsehole," she snapped. "You set him up with that fucking gun."

"Yes, I did, and I'm sorry. I warned him to get rid of it just before Per was hurt. He must have forgotten."

Monica scowled, and turned her attention to Petter's left wrist. "Put his arm down."

I did so and hovered, trembling all over. "Can you sew him up?"

"Stitch an artery? Fucking Christ." She shook her head. "I know how, I just haven't done it. I'm a nurse, not a doctor. Get out of my way."

I moved to the foot of the bed as she searched through a tray of medical tools and came up with two microscopic clamps.

"I have an idea," Christian said. "We need a Mobster."

"What?" I frowned.

"To lead the cops away from here. I'll send my mother a message with some, um, information that will give us some time."

"I don't care what you do, but fucking fix this," Monica said through her teeth. "Take my phone out of my back pocket. Code is one-two-three-nine. All their numbers are in there."

Carefully, with finger and thumb, I slipped Monica's phone out of her pocket and tapped in the code. I found Adam in her contacts and called him.

"Tell him we need him to take Petter's truck and drive out of the city. Where doesn't matter. I'll give my mother the number plate and tell her Petter's men got him out of jail and they're running," Christian told me.

"Okay." I nodded, and spoke to Adam. He lived five minutes away, and agreed immediately to do as I said. He'd just seen the news and learned that Petter had confessed to murder. I put the phone down on the nearby table, then watched as Monica began the delicate operation of stitching Petter's wrist, with a surgical needle so tiny I could barely see it. How she managed to do it without falling apart, I had no idea. I was a wreck and I couldn't seem to get myself together. I felt useless, and afraid for the first time in as long as I could remember.