Vanished by Liza Marklund Read Free Book Online Page A

question of semantics. It is a gang-land killing, some kind of Mafia showdown.’
    ‘Maybe we’d better not settle on any particular country for the time being,’ Annika said. ‘There are lots of criminal groups that have been in business here for years. How about a brief review of different gangs and their favourite criminal pursuits?’
    Sjölander flexed his index fingers. ‘All right.’
    Annika went back to her desk and called her source. He picked up after one ring.
    ‘Working late,’ Annika pointed out.
    ‘They let you out of the deep freeze?’ the detective wondered.
    ‘Nope,’ Annika said. ‘I’m still eating dirt. Have time for some quick questions?’
    The man groaned.
    ‘I’ve got these two boys,’ he said, ‘with their brains blown out.’
    ‘Oh my,’ Annika said. ‘That sounds painful. Are you sure they’re Yugoslav?’
    ‘Go to hell,’ ‘Q’ said.
    ‘All right. Some general questions about different ethnic gangs. Tell me, what do . . . the South Americans do?’
    ‘I don’t have time for this.’
    Annika adopted a meek approach: ‘Just throw me a bone,’ she wheedled.
    The detective laughed. ‘Cocaine,’ he said. ‘From Colombia. Last year, the volumes seized increased by more than one hundred per cent.’
    ‘The Baltic States?’ Annika asked, furiously taking notes.
    ‘To a certain extent, cigarettes. A lot of stolen cars. We believe that Sweden is on its way to becoming a transit country for the stolen-car trade. Cars stolen in Italy and Spain are transported through Europe directly to Sweden and are then taken into the Baltic States and Russia on the ferries.’
    ‘Okay, any more groups? You’re more familiar with them.’
    ‘The Turks have been into heroin, but in later years their operations have been taken over by the ethnic Albanian groups in Kosovo. The Russians launder money – so far they’ve invested half a billion in real estate in this country. The Yugoslavs excel at smuggling cigarettes and liquor. Some gambling and protection rackets too. At times they use restaurants as a front. Satisfied?’
    ‘Keep going,’ Annika replied.
    ‘The biker gangs run the protection and muscle rackets. They’re all Swedes or Scandinavians. The porn industry is also run by Swedes, but you know that already . . .’
    ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ Annika said dryly.
    ‘Financial crime is mainly the province of Swedish men. They often work together in different constellations: corporate raiding, tax fraud, stuff like that. A lot of these guys use muscle. We’ve got a few Gambian rings that move heroin.’
    ‘All right, that ought to fill a sidebar.’
    ‘Always glad to lend a helping hand,’ Q replied tartly and hung up.
    Annika smiled. He was such a sweetheart.
    ‘So, what’s up?’ asked Jansson, plastic coffee cup in hand.
    ‘Work,’ Annika replied. She finished the sidebar, added her byline and sent her article to the server.
    ‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said, but Jansson didn’t react. Once again, a sense of futility made her chest constrict like a belt tightening a notch.
    The woman coughed, a muffled and hollow sound. Her head was exploding with pain, the wound on her forehead throbbing. Shivering slightly, she figured that she was running a temperature, and suspected that she had a bacterial infection of the airways or lungs. She’d taken the first dose of broad-spectrum antibiotics around lunch-time. The glowing red digits on the clock told her that it was time for the next dose.
    Shivering, she staggered out of bed, grabbed her first-aid kit and rummaged through the contents. The antibiotics were under the compresses and she also took an analgesic to bring down the fever. The pills were old, a remnant from her days in Sarajevo, and they’d expired years ago. There was nothing to be done about it, it wasn’t like she had a choice.
    She crawled back into bed – might as well try to sleep it off.
    Only sleep evaded her. Her failure gnawed at her. Scenes were