The Glass Devil

Chapter 16

“WE’RE UP TOOUR necks in this damn motorcycle war and then Jonny goes to the hospital and Tommy is skiing and Irene is going to go to London! The London trip has to be cancelled! Someone actually has to work!” Superintendent Andersson looked like he might have a stroke at any moment. He walked around the room, upset, and waved his index finger in the air in order to underline the seriousness of his words.

“Other units are already involved,” Hannu reminded him.

The superintendent ended his fit of rage after a few seconds and glared angrily at the Finn, who calmly met his bloodshot eyes. As always, Hannu was right. What had happened during the weekend would have been too big for their unit to handle, even if they had been fully staffed. But Andersson felt frustrated. First a triple homicide, and now the motorcycle murders, all within a few weeks.

“It’s important that Irene manage to interview Rebecka Schyttelius. Otherwise we’ll never make progress in that investigation,” Hannu continued, unaffected by the glare.

“You think so?” Andersson said, derisively.

“Absolutely.”

Sarcasm didn’t affect Hannu. The superintendent looked grim but thoughtful. His gaze wandered between Irene and Hannu. Finally, he shrugged and muttered something unintelligible like “. . if you wonder who’s boss. .,” but he didn’t say anything else out loud.

Irene breathed a sigh of relief and blessed Hannu in her thoughts. She, too, was convinced of the importance of meeting Rebecka again. If her new ideas turned out to be true, the investigation could take a dramatic turn. Then it would be even more important to get Rebecka’s version of what had happened.

There was a knock at the door as it was opening. Lanky Svante Malm entered the room.

“Good morning. Was passing by and thought I’d provide some interesting facts about the fire and-” he started, before he was interrupted by Andersson.

“But it can’t be finished yet!”

“Why not?” the technician asked, running his fingers through his tousled hair as he always did when he felt confused or unsure.

“Åhlén said that it would take several days! Those bastards blew the whole house to bits! As well as some of the lowlifes who got a taste of their own medicine.”

The superintendent had an unmistakable tone of satisfaction in his voice as he uttered the last sentence.

To everyone’s surprise, Svante started laughing. “I’m not talking about the grenade attacks. I meant the fire at Norssjön,” he said.

“Oh.” The superintendent sounded uninterested. Svante didn’t let himself be belittled, instead pulling out one of his obligatory plastic bags from the pocket of his lab coat.

“We thought these small black clumps came from the videocassettes, but now we’ve analyzed them more carefully. They are six plastic buttons. And we’ve also found the remains of elastic bands.”

To the rest of the group, the contents of the new plastic bag looked similar to all of the other bags of ashes he had shown them. The technician looked around triumphantly as if he had produced diamonds from the ashes. Since no one showed the slightest sign of understanding the importance of this discovery, he felt compelled to explain. “So we think the murderer also burned a rainsuit made of nylon.”

It took a few seconds before the import of Svante’s words sank in. Hannu was the one who understood the significance first.

“He was wearing it when he shot them, as protection against blood and gunpowder residue. Then he burned it.”

“You have to admire his foresight,” Irene exclaimed. “He brought with him a full-length nylon rainsuit which doesn’t take up any room at all when it’s folded up. It just needed to be pulled on over his own clothes, and it’s easy to burn afterward. Not to mention the charcoal and the lighter fluid. Did he bring them with him too?”

“Right,” Malm said. “I almost forgot about the charcoal. It probably came from Jacob Schyttelius’s cottage. We found an outdoor barbecue and half a bag of charcoal under the glassed-in veranda. There was also an almost-empty bottle of lighter fluid. There aren’t any fingerprints on the bottle; it was wiped thoroughly.”

Svante’s meaning was clear to all of them. Fredrik was the one who formulated it into one logical conclusion.

“He put the bottle back again, but he took the charcoal with him in a bag which he could burn. What a smart devil.”

“Yes, he has been very cunning. But like all criminals, he’s left evidence.”

Svante’s voice held more optimism than the detectives felt.

IRENE WENT to Hannu’s office after morning prayers. He was on his way out, but took off his jacket and waited to hear what she had to say.

“Thanks for defending my London trip. Like you, I think it could be very important. Not least because of what occurred to me yesterday, or rather this morning.”

She looked Hannu steadily in the eyes and said, “It’s possible to fly to London and back in one day. You can take a plane at seven in the morning from Landvetter and return at seven thirty in the evening from Heathrow.

“But you can also do it the other way around and fly from London to Göteborg and back overnight.”

Hannu raised his eyebrows and nodded in response. Irene clarified her statement. “You take the flight in the evening from London and return with the morning flight at seven o’clock. There are express trains and buses into London from Heathrow. It only takes fifteen minutes and then you’re in the middle of the city. The flight itself takes less than two hours.”

“And the car ride between Landvetter and Norssjön takes fifteen minutes at the most,” Hannu thought out loud.

“Exactly.”

“So someone could have flown here from London one evening, killed the Schytteliuses, and been back in London the next morning.”

“Exactly.”

Hannu looked at Irene thoughtfully and asked, “Do you suspect Rebecka?”

“Not really. She was sick even before the murders. But we can’t rule anyone out at this stage.”

“The Frenchman?”

“Lefévre isn’t a good candidate either, since he doesn’t have any personal connection to Rebecka’s family. I actually don’t know who or what I’m looking for. But it’s mostly a feeling I have. . a cop’s instinct.”

Hannu didn’t smile at her last words, since he knew exactly what she meant.

“You want me to go through the passenger lists,” he concluded.

“Yes, please. And maybe also the car-rental companies out at Landvetter. We know that our murderer had to have a car and that it was probably the one that was parked out in the woods during the night of the murder. Too bad the man with the dog didn’t go any closer.”

“This may take some time. I’ll try to get to it before you leave,” said Hannu.

Irene felt a huge sense of relief. If there was anything to be found in the lists, Hannu would find it. If not, she could let go of the thought and move on.

IT WAS with a great deal of discomfort that Irene took part in the interrogations surrounding the motorcycle-gang murders. The physical scars from her confrontation with a Hell’s Angels gang a few years ago, which the superintendent had referred to, were less significant than her mental ones. She still woke in the middle of the night bathed in sweat.

The officers were usually alone when they questioned people at the police stations during regular interrogations, but these were far from ordinary; therefore, they put together teams with two officers on each team.

Irene and Fredrik were a team. They had three of the Alingsås gang’s members allotted to them. The gang, Hells Rockets, had been members in good standing of Hell’s Angels for four years. Because one of the ten club members was dead and three were in the hospital, there were only six left. The six of them were in various stages of intoxication and on the verge of thundering hangovers. None of them had been at club headquarters when it was attacked; they had been at a strip club in Göteborg. A plainclothes policeman at the strip club had recognized some of the club’s members in the haze around two in the morning and contacted the station, which had been able to collect them for interrogation, but they hadn’t come without a fight. The drunken bikers thought that they were going to be harassed for firing shots at “the Asshole.”

“The Asshole” was the Hells Rockets’ name for the gang leader of the Bandido-affiliates, The Devils. His real name was Ronny Johnsson.

The interrogation room at the jail was occupied. Irene and Fredrik decided to question the three at the station, after handcuffing them during the transport to and from the jail. There would be a guard present during the interrogation.

First up was Roger “Killer Man” Karlsson. Irene shivered involuntarily when, led by Fredrik and a prison guard, he appeared in the doorway. He was of average height but very stocky. Powerful arms with swollen biceps stood out from his body; he couldn’t have pressed them against his sides even if he’d wanted to. Although it wasn’t warm outside, he wore only a vest lined with leather and beneath it only a black T-shirt with the text “Hells Rockets” across the chest. His arms were bare to emphasize his muscles and multiple tattoos, some of which were real pieces of art, others just graffiti. There was a reason for his accumulation; Killer Man was thirty-eight years old and had spent sixteen of them in prisons.

His black hair was thin and tied in a small greasy ponytail at the back of his neck. Puffy cheeks were covered with reddish stubble, and his eyes were tinged with red as he stared angrily at the police and the guard. Irene could see his hangover hammering behind his eyeballs.

“I’m not saying a damn thing! Bring me my lawyer! You don’t have the right to hold us, you bastards!” he yelled.

His breath stank of aged Danish cheese, tinged with rich amounts of garlic and alcohol. It spread throughout the room when he opened his mouth. His dirty shearling vest, with its sour smell of ingrained sweat, added to the aroma.

“Please, have a seat,” Irene said. She forced herself to smile and made an inviting gesture toward the chair on the other side of the table. He sat down, not so much to obey her order as because his legs couldn’t hold him.

“None of you have been formally remanded into custody yet. We brought you here this morning for practical reasons, so you could sleep off the worst of your drunkenness before we started talking about the events of the past few days.”

In reply, Killer Man lifted one of his butt cheeks and let a big one go. He thought this was hilarious and started laughing. Maybe he thought that a female cop would give up before the interrogation had even started. But Irene was experienced and had seen a lot over the years, even if the air in the room had become stultifying.

Addressing the tape player, which was recording, she said dryly, “The interrogation will be on the defendant’s level.

“Consider,” she continued, but more in the direction of Killer Man, “that we’re protecting you. One of your friends is dead and three have been critically injured. There’s a threat hanging over the rest of you,” she said, forcing a friendly tone of voice.

Killer Man shook his heavy head. Fredrik had been sitting at the end of the desk. He asked a question which both he and Irene had raised when they had heard about the gang’s arrest. “How come the six of you went to a strip club when you knew that Ronny Johnsson had been popped? Didn’t you realize that they would be seeking revenge?”

For the first time, a faint trace of interest could be glimpsed in Killer Man’s eyes. He grinned and said, “The Asshole got what he deserved, but it wasn’t us who-” He paused, and his mouth snapped shut.

“Please continue. ‘It wasn’t us who. .’?”

Fredrik tried to get him going again, but Killer Man refused to say anything else.

Irene decided to get to the point. “Where were you around four o’clock on Easter morning?”

The gangster couldn’t resist the urge to again try to shock a female police officer. “We had a hell of a smoker party out in the yard. Headquarters, and all the stuff you could want. I fucked a fourteen-year-old sometime in the morning.” The look of sensual pleasure that crossed his face was corroboration enough of his story.

“Sex with a minor is, as is commonly known, punishable by law,” she intoned.

“Suck me, baby!” he answered, smiling at her mockingly.

Irene was becoming provoked by his attitude. Maybe she had better let Fredrik take over. She gave him a quick glance and he responded. “So you claim that you were in the yard around the time shots were fired at Ronny Johnsson. Was everyone in the gang there?”

At first Irene didn’t think Killer Man would answer but to her surprise, he suddenly said, “Yes.”

“No one from the gang was missing?”

“Nope.”

“Why were six of you in the porn club the following night while four were left at what you call headquarters?”

“The others weren’t up to coming, so they stayed and kept an eye on the house. The Easter party was, as I said, really cool!”

“Didn’t you feel threatened? Didn’t you know that Ronny Johnsson had been shot?” Fredrik continued.

A troubled expression passed over the biker’s pasty face.

“We didn’t know that they had popped the Asshole. The Easter party went on until late in the morning, then we slept the whole day. We started up again in the evening, but those who stayed at the house were too tired to tag along with us. It wasn’t until we got there that we found out that someone had wiped the Asshole.”

“Weren’t you concerned? Afraid of revenge and retaliation?”

“Nope. It was a damn good reason to party harder!”

Killer Man grinned triumphantly again. Irene wondered if he really was as stupid as he sounded. Was he trying to buy time? Maybe get some information out of the detectives? That was the only reason Irene could give for him to speak with them at all. Could Hells Rockets really be innocent of the attack on Ronny Johnsson? That would explain why they hadn’t been concerned when they learned of the shooting of the gang leader and his girlfriend. In a cold, expressionless voice she asked, “And who do you claim did shoot Ronny Johnsson?”

Killer Man hadn’t been prepared for this question and he didn’t like it. “I haven’t claimed anything!” he screamed.

But uncertainty could be heard in his voice even if he was trying to conceal it.

“You say it wasn’t you. And it could hardly have been the Devils themselves. Then it must have been someone else. Probably another gang. Which one?”

His gaze wandered as he tried to look derisive. “You’re trying to pull a fast one,” he said.

“Then I guess it was as our witness stated.”

Irene didn’t glance at Fredrik, hoping that he wouldn’t betray them by looking surprised. It wasn’t a big risk, since Killer Man’s bloodshot eyes were pinned to her face. Slowly, with emphasis on every syllable, she said, “There’s a witness to the shooting of Ronny. The car the suspects were riding in was a red Mustang. Do we know anyone who has a car like that?”

Furious now, Killer Man jumped up from his chair and screamed, “What the hell! Some bastard is trying to nail me! My car was in the barn! None of us-”

He stopped abruptly once more and squinted at Irene. “Wait a minute. You’re trying some sort of dirty cop trick. You cunt.”

He was right. The car that had disappeared from the scene of the attack was described by the only witness as a red Saab 9000, and it was also one of those that had burned outside Gunnared. But in the midst of all the excitement and in the dark, the witness might possibly have been mistaken. And Irene could always say that she had misunderstood what car model the witness had mentioned. She lied because she had seen a shiny red Mustang parked in the undamaged barn. There was no doubt about who it belonged to: “Killer Man” was written in silver paint on one of the front doors, the other reading “Hells Rockets.”

She shook her head in response to his accusation. Fredrik continued, “That’s why we can keep you in custody. We don’t know who was driving. Or who was holding the rifle. We don’t even know if they were shooting from your crate. The technicians need to go through the car. As far as the prosecutor is concerned, you’re all murder suspects. The investigation is going to take some time, during which all of you will remain in jail.”

Killer Man’s self-assurance faltered. He was a tough, used to keeping his mouth shut and denying everything, but it was difficult for him this time as he didn’t know what had actually happened. Not to mention his hangover. . Even if he was used to being in prison, he didn’t look forward to sitting in jail for an unspecified period of time. Especially if the guilty ones were free and able to take over the territory of The Devils or Hells Rockets before they got out. Irene could hardly believe her ears when he started to rat. “There’s a gang. . the Outsiders. They are in contact with the Brotherhood.”

Neither Irene nor Fredrik had heard of the Outsiders, but they didn’t show it. They tried to press Killer Man for more information, but he realized that he had said more than he had to and remained silent during the rest of the interrogation.

The two other members of Hells Rockets didn’t add anything to the investigation. Neither of them could have, even had he wanted. One sat half asleep, still heavily intoxicated, and the other appeared to be subnormal mentally. He was the youngest member of the gang, barely twenty years old; his older brother lay critically wounded in the hospital. It was soon clear to Irene and Fredrik that the biggest thing-the only thing-in his life had been his acceptance as an aspiring member of Hells Rockets a year earlier. His only comment, which he repeated like a mantra, was: “You don’t squeal.”

LATER THAT afternoon, Irene telephoned Leif Hansen, the superintendent of the intelligence service for the county police. He laughed when Irene described the questioning of the Hells Rockets members.

“I know those boys pretty well,” he said.

“Killer Man mentioned another gang that might have instigated this wave of violence,” said Irene.

“Really? Who does he blame?”

“The Outsiders. Who are they?” Irene asked.

When Hansen replied, there was no amusement in his voice. “The Outsiders. Did he really say that?”

“Yes.”

“Then we have big problems. We had suspected that it would happen, but not this soon. . The Outsiders are a prison gang based on an American model, similar to Hell’s Angels and The Brotherhood. The gang accepts members of different nationalities. What they have in common is their violence. We’ve known of the Outsiders for almost ten years, and recently they’ve grown. What you’ve told me supports a rumor that has been circulating during the past few months. And it would explain the events of the last few days.”

Irene waited impatiently for his next words. Her relief felt physical when he continued. “Rumor has it that a couple of Serbs from Bosnia have joined the Outsiders. And these aren’t just any old hoodlums. They’ve been trained, members of the Special Forces. What they don’t know about killing people isn’t worth knowing. Special Forces educates specially chosen soldiers in murder, sabotage, infiltration of the enemy, and all types of operations. They become masters of the arts of war on land and sea. The smartest, strongest, and most cold-blooded soldiers are selected for this training.”

“Why would they join the Outsiders?”

“Some of the Serbs literally feel homeless in Bosnia. They have been driven out of the country, and there are rotten eggs even amongst the others in Special Forces. With what the army has taught them, they can make money. Their expertise is invaluable to gangs like the Outsiders. If these boys have taken over the leadership of the Outsiders, the happenings of the last few days make sense.”

She asked, “Can you explain what you mean?”

“The shots fired outside the nightclub were fired by an expert. The car the criminals were traveling in was stolen and later burned. The driver and shooter disappeared without a trace in another car. Hells Rockets’ clubhouse was shot to pieces from the back of a truck by a grenade launcher. Everything was over in a minute. They disappeared, and the truck hasn’t been found yet. How do you hide a truck? We’ll probably find it in some warehouse or barn. In any case, if you analyze these two attacks, there’s one thing that’s clear.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“Military precision.”

He was right. A lot pointed to military planning and execution.

“Why are the Outsiders doing this?” she wondered.

“To take over certain criminal activity areas: sex trade, drugs, extortion. . everything that brings in the big bucks. They have to damage their competitors, to weaken them as much as possible, preferably by playing them off against each other. What’s better than shooting the leader of one gang and decimating the other by a grenade attack?”

Irene pondered the scenario he’d outlined. She said, “I think you’re right. Can you confirm that these Serbians from Bosnia really exist?”

“Previously, they were one rumor among many. Now, I think we have to take it seriously. If we can’t get at the truth, then the Hell’s Angels gangs and the Bandidos gangs all over Sweden, and maybe all of Scandinavia, will start fighting each other. Gang wars have a tendency to spread. A lot of old grudges may be dug up. If we can prove that the Outsiders are behind these incidents, maybe we can calm everything down before it even gets started.”

“Will you keep us posted? I’ll be gone on Thursday and Friday, but I’m going to inform my colleagues of this possibility. You should speak with them. It’s probably best if you talk to Sven Andersson or Fredrik Stridh. They’ve been working on this investigation,” said Irene.

“I’ll be in touch as soon as we have the rumor confirmed.”

IRENE REPORTED on her phone call with Leif Hansen during morning prayers the following day. Now she wasn’t the only one who had this information. Despite the fact that she spent the rest of the day with the ever-more irritable members of Hells Rockets, she felt as though she had left that investigation. Mentally, she was already in London.