Page 68 of Prey

Danny Lam didn’t flinch at my strong language, so he knew what he was getting into. “Yeah, that’s the general feedback I’ve been getting. I spoke to three staff members in Blackjack Gentlemen’s Club, which Mrs. Kaiser manages in Larsson, who was working the night Mr. Kaiser was killed.”

“Blackjack was the beginning of the Kaiser empire,” I told him, leaving out the illegal parts. “What did the staff say?”

He continued, “A wait staff said she overheard Mr. Lars Kaiser on his cell phone and claimed he seemed ‘distressed and angry,’ and she was sure he said to the caller, “Don’t you fucking threaten me.” It’s been three years, so her memory might have changed, but you get the gist of what was happening there. The wait staff also said he slammed the phone on the table in a rage when he finished the call. Were you aware of any such phone call?”

“No,” I replied, trying to remember him being so wound up that he outwardly showed his rage in front of the staff. He was usually a closed book to everyone but his family. It seemed out of character for Lars, and I wonder if the witness had her wires crossed. “He didn’t mention it to me.”

“The wait staff believed it was the week before he was shot, and she told police about this phone call, and they said they’d check his phone. But I can’t find it in the police reports.” He exhaled and scratched a spot on his chin. “We do have a slight dilemma, unfortunately.”

“What’s that?”

“The phone. I requested access to inspect Lars Kaiser’s phone, which was held as evidence, but was told by police that it was damaged.”

I snapped in frustration, “Sure, it fucking was. That’s bullshit. You don’t believe that.”

He exhaled again. “Unfortunately, I can only go by what I’ve been told. But…yes, that is disappointing.”

My head was still stuck on the alleged angry conversation Lars was having with someone. If he were being blackmailed, he’d tell us. If not me, he’d tell Mikael. “Have you spoken to Mikael about this phone call?”

“I plan to speak to him next. Thank you for your time. And if you think of anything else, please let me know.”

Something was going on leading up to his death because he seemed distracted, not angry like the witness said, but moody, like something was on his mind. At the time, I assumed it was family stuff, maybe Sylvie nagging or Gunner playing up, because if it were work-related, he’d tell us.

Or at least, I thought he’d tell us. If the witness account was accurate and Lars was being threatened, then who by? No money was exchanged or transferred if it was a blackmail case. We know this because Mikael already checked, even the hidden accounts.

Or maybe that was the reason he was killed because he wouldn’t succumb to blackmail. There were plenty of issues that someone could blackmail or bribe him with since some of his business dealings were illegal, but who would be stupid enough to do that to one of the most feared families in Larsson?

Someone with nothing to lose.

32

Let me give you a ride home,” that man with his high cheekbones and soothing voice. Torture in a hot package. I ran out of the staff exit and down the alleyway to catch the bus, hoping I’d miss him. Nope. He found me.

“Um, no, thank you,” I replied bluntly. Hopefully, he’ll get the message and back off. The last thing I needed in my life was a man whose moods swung like a pendulum after he used me. “I’m late for my bus.”

“Okay, so, let me give you a ride then,” he insisted as those long strides followed behind me. “It’ll be quicker.”

I stalled and turned back to look at him, wiggling my finger between that damn body and me. “This is not a good idea.”

“Who said?” he strode right to me, our feet touching, his scent filling my senses. Unfortunately, he smelt good. Ronan would’ve been easier to forget if he had rotten breath and foul body odor, but no, he was perfect. Very annoying.

“You don’t understand,” I sighed. “He watches me constantly. He could be watching me now for all I know.”

“Oh, we’re talking about Rourke again. Odd name that,” he said, unaffected by what I just said.

“Rourke is a perfectly normal name,” I argued.

“He doesn’t sound like a perfectly normal guy, though, by what you’ve told me. Wait. Is he real?”

“What do you mean real? Of course, he’s real.”

“Not a figment of your imagination, then?”

“No, why would I make that up.”

“Your” air quotations, “’ friend’ Rourke might need to go to anger management,” he mocked me, which wasn’t funny.

“Look, what you don’t understand is he is very dangerous,” I tried to explain.

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