‘Why was it transferred to their names so soon?’ asked Joar. ‘Why would you put assets like that in the hands of a drug addict?’
‘We’d better take a closer look at the conveyancing,’ said Fredrika.
‘Let’s look at the actual house first,’ declared Alex. ‘Then we can go into the paperwork.’
He glanced over at Fredrika to check she had not taken exception to his rather authoritarian tone. They had had a few communication problems of that nature when she first joined the group.
But Fredrika did not look in the least bit ruffled.
Alex went on.
‘How are you getting on with our unidentified man?’
Fredrika briefly summarised her results. The fact that the man had written various place names and addresses on scraps of paper, and wrapped a ring in another bit of paper with a woman’s name on it. The woman did not seem to be in Sweden, or at least, there was no asylum seeker from Sadr City in Baghdad registered under that name in the database.
‘There isn’t necessarily anything strange about it being a Forex bureau,’ Alex said tentatively. ‘He may just have had money to change, or something like that.’
‘But why do it in Uppsala?’ wondered Fredrika.
‘Because he lived there?’ suggested Joar with a smile.
A faint smile crept across Fredrika’s otherwise sombre, earnest face. It had struck Alex on numerous occasions that she was actually rather beautiful.
‘So what was he doing on the main road outside Stockholm University in the middle of the night?’ she went on. ‘I get the feeling our man lived here, not in Uppsala.’
Alex pulled himself upright.
‘Is there anything at all to underline suspicions that he was killed deliberately?’ he asked bluntly.
‘No,’ said Fredrika. ‘Not as things stand. But I’m still waiting for the CID to get back to me about the fingerprint check, and I haven’t had the autopsy report yet, either.’
‘All right,’ said Alex, ‘wait for those two reports, and then we’ll decide how we’re going to continue the investigation. If we’re going to continue the investigation,’ he added.
Whether it was the effect of her pregnancy or for some other reason, Fredrika did not seem to have any objections to that arrangement, either.
She’s not herself, thought Alex, and started to brood. She generally advanced her ideas more tenaciously.
A knock at the door interrupted the meeting, and Peder came in. He did not look anyone in the eye, merely sank into a spare seat at the table.
‘Hi,’ he said.
One step behind him came a man whom Alex knew was from the technical division.
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he drawled, standing in the doorway. ‘I thought you might like to see this,’ he went on, passing Alex some sheets of paper.
‘What are these?’ asked Alex.
‘Print-outs of emails sent to Jakob Ahlbin’s church email account,’ said the technician. ‘We were given access today. He seems to have been receiving threats for a while now. He’d saved the emails in a separate folder.’
Alex raised his eyebrows.
‘Really?’ he said.
The technician nodded.
‘See for yourself,’ he said. ‘They were threatening to do some really nasty things, if Jakob didn’t stop his activities. He seems to have got involved in some dispute he ought to have kept out of.’
Joar got quickly to his feet and moved so he could read over Alex’s shoulder.
‘Look at the dates,’ he said, pointing. ‘The last one came less than a week ago.’
Alex felt his pulse racing as he read the print-outs.
‘So he was receiving threats, after all,’ he declared.
And with that, the case of the late Jakob and Marja Ahlbin took a new turn.
BANGKOK, THAILAND
Her friend had told her to wait until he got back to her with instructions. He had promised to be in touch by two o’clock the next day. She looked uneasily at the time; it was just after three. Back home in Sweden it was nine in the morning.
For the hundredth time she took her mobile out of her bag and checked it. Still no missed calls. But then, timekeeping had never been his strong point.
The proprietor of the internet café offered her another cup of coffee. He recognised her now, and looked sorry when she declined.
‘Can I help?’ he asked.
She tried to smile and shook her head.
‘No, but thanks anyway.’
Her eyes went back to the computer screen. She instinctively wished that her problems were the kind that could be solved by the intervention of a Thai café owner. She had carried on ringing her parents, but to no avail. The only thing that had changed since yesterday was that her mother’s mobile was now cut off, too. Her email was still not working and Thai Airways still maintained they had never heard of her booking.
‘Don’t worry,’ her contact said. ‘I’ll get this mess sorted out for you. If you can just hang on till tomorrow you’ll see, it’ll all be okay.’
She wondered if she should ring him again, ask why he had not rung back.
Her stomach was rumbling and her head felt heavy. She ought to eat and drink something, top up her energy levels. She decided on the spot to go back to the hotel and try to find something to eat on the way.
The heat hit her as she came out onto the pavement. She went along Sukhumvit, the great artery through Bangkok city, relieved to know that her hotel was only two blocks away. Her handbag was rubbing her shoulder and she upped her pace. She slipped into a side street to get out of the sun. Her head turned from side to side as her eyes looked out for the first suitable place to eat.
Her mind on food, she was not concentrating and did not see him until it was too late. Suddenly he was there on the pavement with his knife drawn and his lips compressed. The cacophony of cars and people was less than thirty metres away, but in the side street it was just the two of them.
I’m not going to get out of this, she thought, and did not initially feel any fear.
The fear only came when he started to speak.
‘Your bag,’ he spat, threatening her with the knife. ‘Your bag.’
Standing there, she felt like crying. Not so much because she was being robbed for the first time in her life, but because she would now face even greater problems. Everything was in her bag. Her purse, her Visa card, her mobile. That had been her decision for the whole trip; she had judged it more risky to leave anything of value in the hotel than to carry it with her. The only exception was the computer, which she could not face lugging round with her. But that had been emptied of all information.
Her breath came in gasps. The bag reluctantly dislodged itself from her shoulder and slid down to her elbow.
‘Quick, quick,’ the man with the knife exhorted, gesturing to her with his free hand to let go of the bag.
When she did not immediately do so, he launched himself forward and forced her to take two rapid steps back to avoid a stab wound to her arm. She tripped on an uneven bit of tarmac and fell over. The bag slipped to the ground and in a second the man was standing over her, grabbing it.
But he did not go. He unzipped the bag and started going through the contents.
‘USB,’ he demanded.
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
‘USB,’ he shouted. ‘Where is it?’
She swallowed several times, shaking her head frantically.
‘I haven’t got one,’ she answered in English, trying to shuffle backwards along the pavement, still on her back.
The man leant forward and yanked her to her feet. She struggled to get free, twisting like a snake. Then the knife lunged at her again, very close this time. He pressed it to her face and she gave an involuntary jerk as she felt the cool metal against her skin.
Stressing every syllable, he said again:
‘Where is it?’
In silent panic she weighed up the alternatives. There were none, she realised as she saw the man’s expression. It was angry and aggressive, but very controlled. He knew all too well what he was looking for.