The Demon Of Dakar Part 46

"Is he trustworthy?" Ottosson asked.

"He appeared honest to me. A little flaky, maybe. Not a wholesome person, as you would put it, Otto, but ..."

"He's an actor," Sammy Nilsson reminded them.

"Does it make your mouth water?" Fredriksson asked.

Everyone looked at him in astonishment. It was a Sammy-comment that he had made and nothing that one would expect of someone normally so rigid about moral topics, and predictably enough he blushed deeply at his own spontaneous remark.

"Sure," Sammy said, "with a delicious morsel like that around, of course I get a little peckish."

Everyone laughed except Bea.

They continued to talk for a while longer. Naturally they would question Anthony Wild several more times. He was planning to remain in town for at least a week in order to go through Armas's apartment and take care of the legal aspects of the inheritance. He was also going to visit Dakar and Alhambra to see the places where his father had worked. In addition, he had requested to visit the scene where his father had been killed.

They did not know if he would obtain permission to meet Slobodan, but Ottosson could not see any obstacles. There was a legitimate and reasonable interest on the part of the son to speak with the murdered father's best friend, even if the latter was being held under arrest for a drug crime.

Ann Lindell withdrew to her office. The conversation with Armas's son had at first made her hopeful and then increasingly disappointed. Anthony Wild's tactfully formulated and yet clearly stated critical comment about the murderer still remaining at large had struck her with unexpected force. All technical evidence, DNA, fingerprints, and tire marks were there. They had skillfully unraveled the question of the tattoo's removal and clarified the Mexican connection. With the Mexican's existence revealed, and now also doc.u.mented on the Norrtalje prison's videotape, she had a.s.sumed that Manuel Alavez would quickly be caught. office. The conversation with Armas's son had at first made her hopeful and then increasingly disappointed. Anthony Wild's tactfully formulated and yet clearly stated critical comment about the murderer still remaining at large had struck her with unexpected force. All technical evidence, DNA, fingerprints, and tire marks were there. They had skillfully unraveled the question of the tattoo's removal and clarified the Mexican connection. With the Mexican's existence revealed, and now also doc.u.mented on the Norrtalje prison's videotape, she had a.s.sumed that Manuel Alavez would quickly be caught.

He had all the odds against him, and yet he was still at large. It contradicted all logic. Manuel Alavez was a statistical abnormality, a relations.h.i.+p that was strengthened when Patricio Alavez escaped and most likely joined forces with his brother.

Lindell had difficulties evaluating the find of the car in Rotebro. It was natural to dump the car that Alavez most likely understood was hot, but how were they getting around now? a.s.suming they even had any plans, what were they? To leave the country? But how and when? Patricio had no pa.s.sport and both brothers were wanted in all of Europe.

Her chain of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Yes!" she called out, more loudly and harshly than she had intended.

Ottosson opened the door a crack.

"The operation was a success," he said.

It took a while until she realized he meant Berglund.

"Come in!"

Ottosson stepped inside, sat down, and told her that Berglund's brain tumor had turned out to be benign and easy to remove. Berglund's wife had called from the hospital.

"Thank G.o.d!" Lindell exclaimed. "Finally some good news."

"Yes, isn't it?" Ottosson said, who had grown teary by his own words.

Sixty-Six.

Manuel and Patricio were awakened by a thud and they sat up at the same moment, as if synchronized. by a thud and they sat up at the same moment, as if synchronized.

"What was it?"

"I don't know," Manuel said.

Outside the narrow window just under the ceiling, they heard shouting and angry voices. Manuel got up.

"It's the police," Patricio cried.

"Keep quiet!"

Manuel fetched the only chair in the room and placed it under the window that was covered with a black piece of fabric. He climbed up and started to pick away at the tape at the edge of the cloth.

"No," Patricio said, terrified, "they'll shoot you."

"I have to see what it is," Manuel said, lifting a corner and trying to peer through the dusty gla.s.s.

"I see some legs," he whispered.

"Are they in uniform?"

"Don't think so."

At that moment the window was struck by a projectile and the gla.s.s shattered. Manuel instinctively dived onto the floor. Tear gas was his first thought. The voices outside died down. A piece of gla.s.s that had caught on the fabric trembled before it fell to the floor with a clinking sound.

Patricio and Manuel stared bewitched at the window. The cloth fluttered in a sudden breeze.

What were they waiting for? Manuel wondered. No gas was spreading in the bas.e.m.e.nt, the voices outside were quiet and no sounds were heard from the other side of the door.

Manuel pulled over his bag and took out the pistol he had taken from Armas's lifeless hand. Patricio stared at the weapon.

"You're armed?"

"Keep quiet," Manuel barked.

Suddenly they heard a laugh and someone screamed in a high voice. Manuel climbed back up on the chair and moved the fabric aside.

"They will shoot you," Patricio repeated.

A soccer ball was wedged in the window frame. Manuel quickly refastened the tape, slipped rather than climbed down from the chair, and collapsed on the mattress.

"A soccer ball," Patricio said and burst into hysterical laughter.

"Quiet! We have to be quiet."

Patricio stared at his brother who had stood up and was leaning over him.

"Where did you get the gun?"

"That doesn't matter," Manuel said, but then told him what had happened, how he had been forced to kill the tall one and afterward had taken his weapon.

Patricio stared sorrowfully at his brother. Manuel avoided his gaze.

"So the tall one is dead," Patricio said flatly at the end.

Manuel nodded.

The silence and inactivity was complete until they heard a key turn in the lock and Ramon swiftly snuck in and closed the door behind him.

"h.e.l.lo, my Chilean friends," he said in greeting. "What has happened? You look a little somber."

"A soccer ball hit the window so the gla.s.s shattered," Manuel explained. "We thought it was the police."

Ramon grinned.

"It scared you?"

"Guess," Manuel said, surprised at how lightly the Spaniard was taking it.

"We'll have to fix it later," Ramon said and took two pa.s.sports out of his coat pocket. "Right now we're in a hurry. You are going on a flight."

"Fly?"

Ramon told them what he had planned. Twenty minutes to ten this same evening there was a plane to London.

"The airport is a little south of Stockholm and you can buy the tickets there. If there are no seats you will have to wait until tomorrow morning. Then you can sleep in the forest."

"But why London?" Patricio asked.

"You have to get out of the country as soon as possible. From London it will be easy for you to keep traveling."

"Okay," Manuel said.

For him the most important thing was to leave the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"I have brought two small suitcases for you to pack your belongings. Wash up quickly. It's important that you look tidy. I will drive you there. That will cost a little. Do you have money?"

"How much will it cost?"

"Three thousand dollars."

Manuel nodded.

"Is it so far?" Patricio asked.

Ramon laughed.

"No, but it is your only option. We have to pa.s.s Stockholm. You will have to sit in a closed van. It is the van of a paint company. Understood?"

Manuel and Patricio looked at their new pa.s.sports. Abel and Carlos Morales were the names that would get them out of Sweden.

Manuel was a little unhappy that Ramon was charging so much to drive them to the airport but said nothing. He knew what the answer would be.

They arrived at the airport a little before eight. Ramon dropped them off at the parking lot and gave the brothers final instructions on how they should act. Manuel took out his gun and handed it to Ramon without a word. The latter smiled a little and surprised the brothers by immediately taking out the ammunition, carefully cleaning off the weapon, and then disappeared for a minute or so into a nearby patch of woods.

"I'm dropping you off here," he said when he returned. "With a little luck you will be fine."

He looked at them almost tenderly and gave them each an unexpected hug good-bye, then jumped into the van and left the area.

The airport was much smaller than they had imagined. It basically consisted of a hangarlike building with a cafe and a departure lounge that looked more like a bus terminal.

At his brother's question if they should split up and buy tickets separately, Manuel simply shook his head. He felt as if he were incapable of speaking.

The flight with a departure time of 21:40 to London was fully booked, they were told at the ticket counter in the terminal. The woman behind the counter saw their disappointment and tried to comfort them with the fact that there was a flight the following morning. Could they wait until then?

"Our brother in England is sick," Manuel said. "There is no possibility that we can make it on this flight?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's full, but there are three seats left on the early flight tomorrow morning."

The brothers looked at each other. Manuel felt as if luck was deserting them. They had managed to get this far but no further. So close. He looked at the young woman behind the counter. Her eyes were so blue.

"We'll take two tickets," he said finally.

Sixty-Seven.

The first thing Ann Lindell did when she reached the police station at shortly after eight in the morning was to check if any tips had come in during the evening and night. The police had set up a special telephone number that the public could call with observations related to the escape of and search for the Alavez brothers. did when she reached the police station at shortly after eight in the morning was to check if any tips had come in during the evening and night. The police had set up a special telephone number that the public could call with observations related to the escape of and search for the Alavez brothers.

Twenty-eight calls had been received, of which three could be considered of interest. The first one that Lindell decided to follow up on had come in from an older couple, reporting a breaking and entering of their holiday cottage in Borje. The burglar was believed to have spent the night in their shed and had stolen some food items but had otherwise not caused any damage. The remarkable thing was that the burglar had chopped up a fallen apple tree and even taken the trouble to stack the wood. At first the man thought it was a nephew who had taken the trouble to do this. The nephew would often help the couple with practical tasks that they themselves could not or did not have the strength to do, but the nephew had known nothing about this when his uncle called.

Lindell decided that Ola Haver and a technician should go to Borje and perform an initial examination.

The second tip came from a woman who claimed to have seen "a dark-skinned man of suspicious appearance" behave strangely outside her home. Lindell looked up her address, checked the time and called up the woman.

"Admittedly I am an old woman, but I am not blind."

"I'm sure you aren't," Lindell said.

"He was all sweaty. At first I thought it was one of those who messes about."

"What do you mean?"

"They scurry back and forth."