“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.
“I was about to ask you the same question,” he replied calmly. He seemed relaxed, but Embla was aware that every muscle was tensed and ready to act if necessary. As a boxer she was sensitive to her opponent’s body language.
“Detective Inspector Embla Nyström. I’m with the Violent Crimes Unit in Gothenburg,” she informed him brusquely.
“Can I see your ID?”
Fuck! It was in her wallet, which she’d left behind at Nisse’s. She realized she’d also driven over here without her driver’s license.
“The thing is . . . I’m staying with my uncle for a few days. This morning we had a call from Harald Fäldt, who owns the guesthouse. He’s my uncle’s cousin, and he knew I was visiting. He told us he’d found a body in one of his rental cottages—this one—and he was certain the man had been murdered. He asked me to come over because the local police were busy with another homicide that had taken place last night. In the rush I forgot my wallet. And right now you’re contaminating a crime scene!”
She pointed an accusatory finger at his great big boots; pools of water were already forming around his feet in the warmth of the cottage. He raised his eyebrows at the plastic bags knotted around her own boots.
“They work!” she said before he could come out with some smart remark. She was on a roll now. “I know who this man is,” she continued. “His name is Milo Stavic, and he’s one of Gothenburg’s biggest gangster bosses. Which means this investigation falls under the jurisdiction of the Gothenburg police.”
Once again he raised his eyebrows. “You still haven’t provided any ID.”
He had a point.
“As I said, I left my wallet at my uncle’s house.”
It sounded defensive and not entirely convincing. Desperately she tried to work out how she could confirm her identity.
Got it!
“Do you have a cell phone?” she asked.
He nodded, his face expressionless.
“Google ‘Embla Nyström.’ Or go on Facebook. You’ll find pictures of me. I’m a boxer. And a cop.”
He shook his head, but produced a phone from his pocket, keeping an eye on her as he tapped the screen.
“So there’s a dead guy in the bedroom?” he asked while he waited for the search results.
“Yes. And he’s been murdered. Shot.” Embla stepped aside and waved her hand. “See for yourself.”
With the phone in his left hand and his right hand still hovering over his gun, he moved toward the door.
“Don’t go into the room,” Embla warned him. Much to her surprise, he cooperated. He stood perfectly still, taking in the macabre scene. When he turned to face her, she saw that he was several shades paler.
“Fucking hell,” he said quietly, with real emotion in every syllable.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said it was crazy.”
How irritating was this guy? Singling out what she’d said at a crime scene where a murder had been committed!
“And that’s exactly what it is—crazy. You might expect a gangster like this to be gunned down on the street in Gothenburg or taken out by a sniper near his home or in his top-of-the-line car. You wouldn’t expect to find him in bed in the middle of nowhere,” she pointed out irritably.
“So what was he doing here?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to call my boss and tell him what’s happened. As I said, this is a case for the Gothenburg police.”
She thought for a moment; who should she contact? Chief Inspector Tommy Persson in the Violent Crimes Unit was her boss these days, but Göran Krantz had been her boss during her time with the VGM. They’d grown close, and she knew him better than Tommy. Plus Göran was the only person she’d told about the circumstances surrounding Lollo’s disappearance, which meant he was the only one who knew about Milo Stavic’s role in the events of that night.
She decided to call Göran and reached into her pocket for her phone. Just as she got a hold of it she heard her colleague’s voice again, but this time his tone was sharp and authoritative.
“Stop right there! Keep your hands out of your pockets!”
For fuck’s sake, she thought. But when she looked up at him to speak her mind, she saw that he’d drawn his Sig Sauer and was pointing it straight at her. He was certainly fast. She realized it would be best not to make any sudden movements. The whole situation was completely surreal.
“By the way, I haven’t seen your ID either,” she said.
“That’s not necessary. I found you at the crime scene with no ID. You claim you’re a police officer, but for all I know you could be the perp.”
She picked up a slight tremor in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Of course he was shaken; she hadn’t thought of that. She was pretty used to seeing dead bodies during the course of her work with the Violent Crimes Unit, but a young officer outside the big city probably hadn’t encountered many homicide victims, if any.
In addition to being a skilled boxer, she was also a good Thai boxer. She would easily be able to kick his wrist—hard, if he managed to pull the trigger. The bullet would hit the ceiling, and when the nerve paralysis took over he would inevitably drop the gun. It would be an easy victory, but it wouldn’t do much to improve their already-strained relationship. She decided not to go for the kick.
“Can we calm things down? If you take a closer look, you’ll see from the color of his skin that he’s been dead for several hours. No murderer is dumb enough to hang around after shooting someone.”
Slowly she raised her hands above her head.
“Can you get my phone out of my pocket? I have to call this in. The clock’s ticking, and our perp already has a head start.”
He hesitated, then took a single long stride toward her, his pistol still drawn. She turned slightly to make it easier for him to reach into her pocket. He grabbed her phone, but before he gave it to her he checked the other pocket.
“Just tissues,” she said, sniffing demonstratively.
Without a word he handed her the phone, then to her relief he slipped the gun back in its holster.
“Okay, so I’m calling Superintendent Göran Krantz. I’ll put him on speakerphone.” She scrolled down her contacts list and selected his name.
“Hi, Embla,” he answered right away. The familiar voice of her former boss immediately made her feel better.
“Hi, Göran. Sorry to disturb you on the weekend, but something’s happened up here in Dalsland.”