Bad Blood: A Crime Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

rush for Norton. The sight of the two charging policemen with an apparently dubious past was too much for the American, who swung his bag above his head and flung himself toward an unmoving baggage carousel. He leaped like a tiger through the plastic ribbons that covered the opening of the conveyor belt. His tiger leap was immediately followed by Norlander’s. Hjelm didn’t take any tiger leaps; instead hecarefully parted the plastic ribbons and stepped off into the baggage area, where he saw Norlander chasing Norton among piles of luggage. Norton threw a suitcase at Norlander, who gave a muffled growl, hurled himself at the man, took another suitcase to the face, and tumbled over. Norton tore loose and headed back toward the conveyor belt. As Norlander rose on shaky legs, Norton came closer and closer to Hjelm, who had climbed back inside to await him. Norton ran straight into his arms, swung his bag, and landed a direct hit. It threw Hjelm backward, but it felt as though he turned in midair and was on top of the man. Norlander arrived and threw himself into the pile, bent Norton’s arms beyond their physical limits, and planted himself atop him with his knees on the back of the man’s neck. Hjelm, with one hand on his bleeding mouth, grabbed Norton’s bag with the other and emptied it onto the floor. Among the sundry items that fell out was a small packet of hashish.
    At that moment, Hultin’s voice entered Norlander and Hjelm’s ears: “I’ve got our man’s name from the FBI now. Go immediately from Plan B to Plan A. He’s traveling under the name Edwin Reynolds. I repeat: Edwin Reynolds. If the man who has been so energetically chased through the arrivals hall is
not
named Reynolds and doesn’t seem to have anything to do with this case, release him immediately and return to your positions. Maybe we can still fix this.”
    Norlander and Hjelm immediately released Robert E. Norton to the Arlanda police, who had come to get him. They went back into the arrivals hall through a side door and returned to Norlander’s passport control booth.
    Hjelm took over. He thundered at the female immigration officer, “Fast as hell: Edwin Reynolds. Has anyone by that name passed through?”
    A few quick stabs at the computer gave her the answer. “No. Randolph. Robertson. No one in between.”
    Norlander sank down onto his stool. Hjelm sank to the floor.
    They pulled the door closed, caught their breath, and licked their wounds. Maybe there was still hope. Barely half of the passengers had come through. If Reynolds hadn’t been among those whom Norlander trampled down, he was still back there.
    Thus reasoned the two heroes in the booth and, in a haze of testosterone, forgot the group’s more estrogenic member. Kerstin Holm’s voice sounded in everyone’s ear canals. “Eleven minutes ago an Edwin Andrew Reynolds passed my booth. He was among the very first.”
    It was quiet for a few endless seconds.
    Then came Hultin’s voice: “Okay. Close passport control. Don’t let anyone else out. Demand ID from everyone you see in the whole fucking airport. Discreetly, of course. Officially, we’re looking for drug smugglers. We’ll use everything we’ve got now. Get going. I’ll arrange for roadblocks. Kerstin, do you have a photo of him? What does he look like?”
    “The one I have is really bad. He may be blond. Unfortunately it’s a terrible photo.”
    “And neither you nor the immigration officer remembers anything?”
    “Unfortunately, no. He could have gotten pretty far in eleven minutes.”
    “Okay. Get going—now.”
    Norlander exhaled in relief—his blunder hadn’t been crucial after all. But Hjelm, as he stood up, thought Norlander’s sigh was almost criminal.
    They emerged from the booth just as Holm stepped out of hers. Her intensively searching gaze met theirs.
    The white middle-aged men were everywhere. Armed men poured out of the airport’s hollows like maggots out of a corpse and detained them