“But how often does that happen? That you have to empty a container?” said Henrik.
“Not so often. Freight is governed by customs formalities. The seller is obliged to declare the goods for export and the buyer must declare for import. There’s a whole set of regulations for sea freight. Sometimes the parties to an agreement don’t even know the delivery conditions in the other party’s home market. Then things can go wrong.”
“How so?” said Gunnar.
“Confusion can arise as to who will pay for insurance, when the risk is transferred from the seller to the buyer and so on. There are international regulations, but discussions can nevertheless arise about legal responsibility,” said Rainer and threw out both hands. “Here we are!”
The containers were piled like enormous building blocks of metal. On the right stood three orange-colored ones on top of each other. After them another three were stacked in the same way. Gray, rusty and with the name Hapag-Lloyd on the sides. Fifty meters further on there were another 46 containers. Blue, brown and gray, mixed together.
The wind found its way through the narrow space between them, resulting in a weak howling sound. The ground was damp and the dark clouds looked threateningly dark.
“Where do the goods come from?” said Henrik.
“Mainly from Stockholm and the M?lardal region. But also from Finland, Norway and the Baltic states. And of course Hamburg. Most of the goods from abroad are reloaded there and then they come to us,” said Rainer.
“We found narcotics in the place where Thomas Rydberg was murdered. What would you know about that?”
“Nothing.”
“So you have no idea whether there is any drugs trade in the docks?”
“No.”
Rainer answered quickly, looked down at his shoes, stamped on the ground.
“But of course I can’t be certain it doesn’t happen. But if that sort of illegal trade took place on a large scale, then I think I would have noticed it.”
“Has there been any other illegal trade? Like liquor?”
“Not any longer. A lot of ships here have even forbidden consumption of alcohol onboard.”
“But earlier?”
There was a little delay before he answered.
“We’ve had problems with ships from the Baltic states. They were selling bootleg liquor and we caught youths buying vodka directly from the ships.”
“But now have you discovered any trading at all?”
“No. But it’s hard to prevent, we have six thousand meters of quays to keep an eye on, and we can’t have staff just patrolling the docks. We don’t have the resources for that.”
“So there could be drugs trading going on here?”
“Yes, you can’t categorically say that there isn’t any.”
Henrik walked up to a blue container and studied the length of it. Drops of water were running down its corrugated metal side. He then went round to the doors. There were four galvanized lock mechanisms from the top down, and in the middle was a box covering a sturdy padlock. On the right-hand door there were numbers and letters.
He immediately recognized that type of combination.
“It’s been confirmed that Hans Juhlén, who was the head of the Migration Board’s asylum department, was here in the docks,” said Gunnar.
“Oh yes?” said Rainer.
“Do you know what he might have been doing here?”
“No, I don’t. No idea.”
“Do you know if he met anyone?”
“You mean like a relationship?”
“No, I don’t mean anything. I’m just trying to find out what he was doing here. So you don’t know if he was acquainted with someone employed here?”
“No, but of course it’s possible.”
“In Hans Juhlén’s computer we found ten different combinations with numbers and letters. They look roughly like this.” Henrik pointed at the door and then pulled out the list from his pocket. “Can you tell me what these mean?”
Rainer took the list and pushed his spectacles up to the root of his nose.
“Yes, they are numbers for containers. That’s how we identify them.”
*
Jana Berzelius thoroughly wiped Thomas Rydberg’s cell with a cloth and some degreasing cleaner and then put it inside a 3-liter freezer bag that she placed on the table. She worried about how she could get rid of the phone. Her first thought was to burn it. But where? In the flat it would set off the fire alarm, and even if she took the battery out, it would probably smell of smoke and burned plastic out in the hallway and stairwell. Another idea was to throw it into the Motala Str?m River and let it sink to the bottom. That seemed to be the best alternative, she thought. She must throw it in from a place where she couldn’t be seen. She thought about places where you could access the river, but none of them were suitable and deserted.
She decided to go out and check for herself if there was a hidden place next to the river.
She put the bag with the cell in her handbag and left the apartment.
*
Gunnar ?hrn and Henrik Levin sat in the dock office and eagerly watched as Rainer Gustavsson typed at his computer. They had left the container depot in a hurry.
“Okay, shoot!” said Rainer, his reddish eyebrows rose above his glasses and his brow became furrowed.
Henrik unfolded the sheet of paper in front of him and read out the first combination on the list.
“VPXO.”
“And then?”
“410009.”
Rainer punched the keyboard.
There was a slight buzzing sound as the computer searched the web-based international register of shipping containers. It barely took one minute but for Henrik it felt like an eternity.
“Ah, right. This container is no longer in the system. It must have been scrapped. Shall we check the next one?” said Rainer.
Henrik was squirming on his chair.
“CPCU106130,” he read out.
Rainer entered that.
“Nope, that’s not there either. Next one?”
“BXCU820339,” Henrik read out.
“No, the system says that it isn’t in use. They’ve probably all been scrapped.”
Henrik felt a stab of dejection. A moment ago they had a decisive lead in their hands, and now they were again back at square one.
Gunnar rubbed his nose in evident irritation.
“Can you see where the containers came from?” he asked.
“We can look here. This one came from Chile. I’ll see where the other two...yes, they were from Chile too,” said Rainer.
“Who scraps them?” said Gunnar.
“The company that owns the container. In this case it’s Sea and Air Logistics, SAL.”
“Can you check where the other containers came from? And who owns them?”
Henrik put the list down on the table. Rainer entered the fourth combination and made a note. The same with the fifth. And the sixth.
When the tenth and final combination had been checked, the pattern was clear.
All the containers came from Chile.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
“STOP!” THE WOMAN SHOUTED.
“Now?” wondered the man who was driving.
“Yes, now! Stop!” she shouted out again.
“But we’ve got a long way left. This isn’t where...” said the man.
“Shut up.” The woman cut him off. “I’m going to do it, and I decide where. Not you and not him.”
The man braked and the van came to a halt.
The girl immediately understood that something was wrong. Hades reacted too and straightened his back.
The woman glared at the girl.
“Give me the knife!”
The girl obeyed her immediately and handed it over.
“And the gun. Give it to me!”
Hades looked at her when he handed the gun over. The woman grabbed it from his hand and checked the magazine.
It was empty.
“You weren’t meant to shoot,” said the woman with a hard voice.
Hades lowered his head.
The woman opened a box in the corner of the driver’s cab and pulled out a full magazine which she loaded the gun with. Then she pulled the firing mechanism as far back as she could, let go and pointed the weapon at the girl.