Fatal gambit, p.23
Fatal Gambit, page 23
part #2 of Rekke & Vargas Series
“Whose child was he?” Micaela said impatiently.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Anyway, to say something in mitigation for those Italian bodyguards: Claire didn’t look the same as before. She’d changed her hair colour, she had a new look, a new identity and a new way of talking, and she was rarely out and about on her own.”
“But that was all it took.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Disaster struck and after that there was no going back. The investigation was dead in the water.”
“So what actually happened?”
Lars Hellner smiled, despite the fact that he was talking about a disaster, as if he were enjoying having the upper hand in this interaction. It annoyed her and she gestured to indicate he should continue. He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he raised his briefcase and pulled the lock box out.
“I want Rekke there when I tell you. I’ve already said far too much. Why don’t we try calling him again?”
She nodded and took her phone and stared at it. She had two missed calls from Natali, and that left her thoughtful, momentarily forgetting all about Hellner and his story. Natali’s words came back to her. A little posh girl, she had said. Lucas was seeing someone else. A young girl. There were a million beautiful young girls out there, but . . . Hugo had come up to her stirring things. “Someone you like might get hurt.”
Could it be Julia? No. Julia came from another world. She had just graduated from sixth form. She would never fall for a man fifteen years her senior and a criminal to boot. Then again . . . Julia had changed her look and met someone new. It was worth looking into. She called Rekke as she had been asked, but he didn’t pick up. She turned to Hellner with a shake of her head.
“Not there?”
“No, but he should get in touch soon,” she said, finding herself thinking about Vanessa.
Vanessa picked up on gossip faster than the wind. Might she know? Micaela stepped aside to call her. Vanessa answered the phone with a brash “Darling!” as if there hadn’t even been the slightest discord between them.
“Hey gorgeous,” Micaela said. “Just a quickie: is Lucas giving the benefit to anyone else?”
Vanessa hesitated. “I shouldn’t say.”
Bloody hell, Micaela thought to herself.
“Come on!”
“He’s seeing some young upper-class chick, Hugo says. Lives somewhere up your way.”
“By Karlaplan?”
“Something like that. She’s an art student or some other bullshit like that. Totally left field.”
Micaela’s body stiffened and she looked towards Hellner in horror.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Vanessa said, sensing the change in atmosphere.
“I’ll call later,” Micaela said, hanging up.
Then she muttered an apology before making off back towards town. Hellner called out to her and she considered turning around. She’d been initiated into a big secret. It was unprofessional to leg it after that, and there was nothing to suggest that Julia was in immediate danger.
Surely Lucas wouldn’t hurt her for no reason. He probably only wanted to apply pressure on his meddling sister and get her to give in – but this was Rekke’s daughter and it was all Micaela’s fault. She remembered what Natali had said about Lucas’s hands. As if he was wringing a bird’s neck. Could he really be so stupid as to hurt Julia? And what was she going to tell Rekke?
Maybe nothing. Not yet. Not until she knew more. She pulled out her phone and rang Julia, and at the same time she spotted that Hellner was running to catch up with her.
“What are you doing?” he called out.
She couldn’t care less about him right now. Julia’s mobile was off – so was Lucas’s. Shit. Shit! What was going on? She turned around and told Hellner that she was going to find Rekke and return as soon as possible. Then she picked up the pace. The American embassy loomed above her with its soulless architecture. She tugged her denim jacket closer to her body. For Christ’s sake – she’d been pissed off with Rekke for being hopeless. Now her own actions had put his daughter in danger! This was on another level, and without thinking too hard about it she fired off a text to him, nothing specific, just a few words to say they needed to talk right away, even if she didn’t know what she would say. Perhaps something about Claire Lidman and Lars Hellner. Only time would tell. But first of all . . . she had to act. If something had happened to Julia, she would never forgive herself. She stopped abruptly. A couple of pigeons flapped around her legs.
What should she do? She wanted to shout: do whatever you want, Lucas. Beat me to a pulp if you like – but don’t you bloody dare touch Julia. She texted him: I’ll stop digging dirt on you. All you have to do is leave Julia Rekke alone. It wasn’t perfect. It might provoke him. But all the same she wanted to document it. In any case, a promise was unlikely to cut it. Lucas would doubtless demand guarantees. She waved the pigeons away.
It was concerning that their phones were off. It might mean that Lucas didn’t want anyone to track them down – or perhaps that he was planning something. Or was she just being paranoid? Maybe, but this was Julia. She couldn’t take any chances. It occurred to her that Lucas must have turned his phone off somewhere, and that it might give an indication of what he was up to. A moment later she dialled Jonas Beijer’s number. Things were certainly not as uncomplicated between them as they had once been, but Jonas was still always flirtatious and caring, and he had an important role in the serious crime squad in Solna. He should be able to help. Sure enough he picked up, sounding cheery as ever.
“Did you find Rekke?” he said.
She cut right to the chase.
“Right now, I need help with something else.”
“OK,” he said. “I’m listening.”
“It’s about Lucas. My brother. I need to find out which tower his mobile was last picked up by.”
“Want to tell me why?”
“No, not yet.”
An awkward silence.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Please don’t be difficult, Jonas. I’m up shit creek.”
He seemed to think it over.
“OK,” he said. “But fuck me, it won’t be easy. You know just as well as I do that these guys are changing burners all the time.”
“Just have a look.”
“I’ll give it a try, but only because it’s you,” he said, at which point she considered saying something friendly and grateful. But, yet again, she was unable to wrap up her conversation. Just like the last time she’d been speaking to Jonas, she spotted Rekke up ahead, walking towards her with a rather absent-minded and gloomy expression.
THIRTY-NINE
Magnus was about to board the plane to Stockholm when Hans’s old friend Herman Camphausen rang on a secure line. Magnus had sought him out as soon as he had rung off with Morovia, hinting that it was urgent, which had been indiscreet. It raised expectations about what he had to cough up.
“Herman,” he said nervously, dropping out of the queue at the gate. “It’s been a long time. How have you been keeping?”
“My curiosity is always piqued when such a busy gentleman calls,” Herman said. “I’m currently looking at a photo on the AFP wires depicting you and Putin. You seemed to be getting along handsomely.”
For a moment, Magnus regained his self-confidence. You and Putin. That didn’t sound too bad, all things considered. In fact, he’d be damned if he came cap in hand to ask for information. He would flirt with this intelligence buffoon and coax it out of him.
“We were talking about Morovia,” he said.
“My goodness.”
He felt even more empowered. How easy it was to alter the balance of power, he mused, making sure he kept Herman hanging on a little longer, just to be safe.
“Exactly – it was our topic du jour,” he said somewhat jocularly.
“What did Putin have to say?”
Magnus considered whether to concoct something particularly titillating now that there was photographic evidence of his encounter.
“Putin wants him shot.”
Herman Camphausen gave a polite laugh.
“It seems incredible you would get something like that out of him.”
“We were joking, but there was an underlying seriousness,” he said. “And I thought it would be good for you to know, if you’re going to try to nab your nemesis at last.”
“It’s not news that Morovia and the Kremlin have fallen out,” Herman said, seeming more cautious now.
“Indeed. Ever since the murder of Chabarov, I suppose?” Magnus said. He might as well mention the elephant in the room at once. “But Morovia has come to life too. He contacted me and was quite threatening.”
“Are you hoping to play them off against each other?”
“No, no, I . . .” He made an effort to sound more serious. “I’m just concerned. Concerned that Morovia will set his sights on Hans again.”
They were waving to him from the desk. He made a dismissive gesture in reply.
“Has something new happened?” Herman said, sounding more serious too.
Magnus thought he might as well chance it.
“I’m afraid Morovia knows that Hans assisted you in the Chabarov investigation.”
Herman didn’t reply at once, leaving a silence Magnus tried hard to interpret.
“I can’t comment on that, Magnus, and your brother can’t either. But . . .”
“Yes?”
He closed his eyes.
“If Morovia has got that into his head, then Hans needs protection – or to be moved to a secure location.”
That was confirmation, he told himself. It had to be. Suddenly he was keen to ring off.
“I see,” he said. “Look, Herman, I have to get on my plane now. They’re waving rather insistently at me. Let’s keep in touch. And let’s get Morovia once and for all.”
“You’re not up to something again, are you?” said Herman.
Magnus demurred.
“What? No, absolutely not. I’ll ensure Hans gets to safety. I’ll be in touch,” he said, hanging up and thinking he should do just as he had said: warn Hans.
But as he rummaged for his boarding pass and passport, he reflected that while family was everything – blood was thicker than water, and so on – self-preservation was even more important. He proceeded to send an encrypted message to Morovia to say that Hans had indeed consulted on the Chabarov case, then he got onto the plane. He promised himself that he would contact Hans as soon as he arrived.
Julia floundered and struggled. Lucas had grabbed her harder than he’d meant to. He was frustrated, so he pulled her under the water – not for long, not long at all – but she went nuts. It degenerated into an absolute fucking circus, and he had to help her out of the pool and hold her while she coughed and panted.
“Take it easy – you’re turning me on,” he said.
“I swallowed a lot of water,” she managed to say, adjusting her bikini top, which had ridden up. He stared at her breasts.
Fuck, she was skinny. Her ribs were visible, her back curved like a cat’s, and he was overcome by the desire to strike her again. He just wanted to punish her for being so damn annoying. Perhaps she noticed, because she recoiled and, instead of hitting her, he toppled a sun lounger onto the ground with a crash, at which point she screamed as if she had seen a mouse. Spoiled brat, he thought, as he held her firmly and reluctantly spat out a few words of kindness, even managing a “sorry”. Anything to calm her down. He was so sick of it all. He just knew he was going to do something dumb any moment now.
And if he did, well, it would be Micaela’s fault. She wanted to ruin his life, and yet he’d done everything for her – he’d even saved her from Papá. Papá had been a pathetic wretch in his final years, just sitting there, grumpily writing his bloody notes: I’m worried about you, Lucas. Where are you getting your money from? It was none of his business. He should have been happy that someone was bringing money in, full stop. He was lax too. He let Micaela run around all the time, and he was always whining: Your nature worries me, Lucas, he wrote. Don’t you care about human decency at all?
Towards the end, he had tried to keep Lucas away from Micaela as much as possible. He saw it as his duty to separate her from her brother. That crossed every line there was. Who was actually taking care of the family? Not Papá. It was him – Lucas – the only real man of the house, and what he’d done he’d been forced to do. No more, no less. An opportunity had presented itself early that winter’s morning, and he’d taken it. He had that ability, and sometimes, even long afterwards, he would withdraw into himself and picture it unfolding. It was so easy – verging on elegant – just a nudge, a quick movement, and then a fall. Not even a cry.
In a way, he came into being in that moment. He was reborn when he sent his father over the balustrade. Afterwards, he drove all the books in the flat to the tip, repainted and hung new wallpaper, and laid down his own code to live by in which no-one was more important than Micaela. It was the two of them against the world, and yet . . . fuck it. That damn bitch had betrayed him in the worst possible way. He was wrenched back into the present, and perhaps in his fury he’d squeezed Julia a little too tightly.
“Let go of me,” she snapped. She was kicking his legs.
He was shocked. Here was an anger he’d not had a whiff of before. There was some backbone to her all of a sudden, and he let go and went to fetch a towel. He draped it around her shoulders, apologised again – achieving in the process some kind of new personal record for apologies – and gently patted her dry. She let him, and he wondered whether to go inside and fetch the champagne that was supposedly in the fridge. If he was going to take a photo and send it to Micaela, it’d be good if they looked happy and in love. That would have the best effect. But he didn’t have time to get anything. Julia’s body tensed, as she pricked up her ears eagerly.
What had caught her attention? He couldn’t hear anything, but he’d already noticed that Julia had a kind of superpower. She perceived things early, put two and two together far quicker than anyone he had ever met, and . . . he could hear it now as well. There was a car on the road outside. It stopped. The driver turned the engine off. Shit, shit, shit. Surely no-one was coming here? They’d promised to leave them alone. On the other hand . . . they’d talked about a message. Some kind of confirmation. Had something happened? He cursed himself for ever taking their damn money. Wait, wait. What was happening? The front door had been opened. They might at least have rung the bell. Now they heard footsteps, and it bugged him that Julia seemed to be expectant rather than frightened. Did she want to be saved from him?
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Linda Wilson was cracking up – that was how it felt. She turned off her mobile. That was quite enough for one day. She couldn’t bear to talk to anyone else, not even Claire if – by some miracle – she were to show up unannounced.
Linda hadn’t heard a word from her in months, although there was nothing unusual about that in itself. They’d never been in close contact – partly for security reasons, and partly because time just slipped past. But it felt different now, and she could tell from Hellner that something was badly wrong. She’s dead, she thought to herself. And it’s my fault.
Linda had been furious for a long time that Claire had given it all up – including their relationship – to take down a man who had actually done her the world of good. Gabor Morovia had propelled Claire into his gilded world and helped her secure a job and make her fortune. Why take down someone like that? She just couldn’t understand it, and only when it was too late did she know any better. There were things that simply couldn’t go unpunished. There were things you had to put a stop to, even if you paid with your own life and liberty.
The last time she’d been in contact with Claire – with the whole procedure and rigmarole that required – her sister had been en route to Venice. She’d been summoned there somehow. Issued an ultimatum. An order. But she hadn’t wanted to give any details. Nevertheless, Linda understood right away that it was an important journey. Claire would never otherwise visit that kind of tourist destination. She kept herself out of the way. Linda had waited for a report on the trip with bated breath, but no signs of life had been forthcoming and an alert had been triggered. A huge effort had been initiated in secret. But they had been unable to turn up anything more than blurry CCTV footage and vague witness statements.
The best Linda could hope for was that Claire no longer trusted her police contacts and had gone to ground. Not that she believed that. Something dreadful had happened, and for the thousandth time she wondered how things could have gone so badly wrong.
It had all started – that much she knew – with the group at the London School of Economics: Alicia, Claire and Sofia. Three girls that Linda was so jealous of she was fit to burst. They appeared to have it all: they were hot, brainy and full of ambition, and they had a charismatic genius – a wealthy Hungarian superstar mathematician – opening doors for them and introducing them to the financial elite. It looked as if they were living the dream, and there were moments over the course of those years when Linda had wished something would happen to Claire. Her sister seemed to be getting far too much, while Linda seemed to be condemned to a life in the margins. Then again . . . Claire ought to have envied Linda and the blissful simplicity of her existence. While she’d been hopping from one waitressing job to another, Claire was being drawn – step by step – into a life of crime. She had signed a contract with the devil, and there was no way out except the way the stunningly beautiful Sofia Rodriguez had taken – death and hellfire. Oh my Lord, how ashamed she was. She had behaved unforgivably. But with Claire gone she had lost her only true support in life, and no-one could explain to her – at least not with the appropriate conviction – why it was so necessary. She couldn’t help but regard it as selfish – evil, almost – and she thought particularly of that mortuary in San Sebastián.
