Ola said, opening the screen of his laptop. “The woman was a ‘bodypacker,’ a person who transports illegal narcotics within her own body. A courier, drug mule, pack mule...”
“Pack mule?” Mia repeated. “‘Bodypacker’ sounds more accurate.”
“I agree,” said Ola. “And that’s one typical name. But despite the fact that drug mules are a well-known problem, it’s hard to catch them. Every year, between sixty and seventy million people cross the Swedish border.”
“It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack,” Henrik said.
“Right. Many more mules get through than are caught. Customs largely works based on intelligence. Sure, they are always trying to find patterns in the modus operandi, but these drug mules crop up everywhere, frequently change their identity and come from all different countries.”
“In this case, from Thailand,” Henrik said.
“But she could just as well have come from Japan. Or China. Or Malaysia or something,” Mia said, rubbing her nose.
Gunnar cleared his throat.
“Her passport was issued in Thailand, so we can assume that she is a Thai national. So, Ola, continue.”
“Lots of mules come via budget flights from Spain. Often what happens is that vulnerable people are recruited in the Málaga area. But a lot also come from West Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe, Middle Eastern countries and South America. A lot of narcotics pass through Holland. Schiphol Airport has such a huge problem that the border police sometimes don’t even arrest the drug mules. Instead, they just send them back on the next flight out. It is, as you might guess, a lengthy process to secure evidence against bodypackers.”
Ola crossed his arms and rested his elbows on the table, continuing.
“If they are arrested, the police have to decide if the mules should be X-rayed at the hospital, then further decisions have to be made about whether the suspects should be kept under constant observation until they have answered nature’s call. The swallowers have to use a nonflushing toilet, and then the jail guards have to dig around in the toilet to find the capsules and confiscate them.”
“Sounds lovely,” Mia said.
“We used to use an emetic to make them vomit. The mules would take a huge dose and then after just a couple seconds, the proof would come up. It was effective, but the Swedish Prosecutor-General decided sometime in the nineties that it shouldn’t be allowed anymore, that it violated human rights,” Ola said.
Jana straightened up, saying, “From what I know, it takes about five days for the capsules to pass through the body.”
“That’s right,” said Ola, “but it varies a lot. It can take as short as two days or as long as two weeks. Most use a laxative or enema, but not everyone has access to these, and it has happened that smugglers have died from injuries related to constipation. The most common cause of death, though, is leakage, as with our victim.”
Ola closed his computer.
“But drug mules, or rather those who employ the mules, are constantly learning better ways to smuggle. It’s not common to use cutoff rubber gloves or condoms anymore. Now, the capsules are machine-made, wrapped in multiple layers and coated with beeswax. Generally the mules are carrying between fifty and seventy capsules in their stomachs, and every capsule contains about ten grams of narcotics. The capsules are then divided into ‘balls’ of two-to three-tenths of a gram. One ball of heroin could cost one hundred fifty kronor on the street—a third of what it cost a few years ago.”
“But experienced drug mules can smuggle more than seventy capsules, can’t they?” Gunnar asked.
“Yes. Some mules swallow over a hundred capsules. Last year an Eastern European man was arrested at Copenhagen’s Kastrup Airport. He had 1.2 kilograms of heroin and cocaine in his stomach. The street value was hundreds of thousands of kronor,” said Ola.
“Denmark is also a common stop. They fly into Kastrup and then take the train over the Öresund Bridge into Sweden. I would dare to guess that this is what happened here,” said Gunnar.
“I think so, too,” said Ola. “The dead woman wasn’t traveling alone. It’s common that the leader of the operation will send a number of mules, because they figure that a few of them will get stopped by customs. If he sends twenty, for example, maybe eighteen will get through and he’s made his money.”
“Fifty percent, then,” Mia said.
“No, not exactly. Eighteen of twenty isn’t half. It’s ninety percent,” Jana corrected, fixing her gaze on Mia without moving a muscle in her face.
Mia clenched her jaw.
“I was talking about our girls! Two girls were sent, and one of them died, so only one got through. Half. Fifty percent. Exactly.”
“There could have been more mules on the train,” Henrik said, clasping his hands around one knee.
Mia sighed.
“But we’re focusing all of our energy on the female friend who disappeared. And we assume that she is also a mule,” Gunnar said. “Otherwise she probably would not have run.”
Jana nodded at Henrik.
“Were there witnesses?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Henrik. “We have a number of passengers who have provided information.”
“And the train attendant? Where is he?”
Henrik opened his mouth to answer, but Mia spoke up quickly.
“He’s in shock.”
“I didn’t ask about his condition. I asked where he was,” Jana said without looking at Mia.
“He’s at Vrinnevi Hospital,” she said curtly.
“Have you talked to him?”
“Only briefly. I’ll question him after we’re done here,” Henrik said.
“If you’re lucky,” Mia said. “He’s being treated. He might have to go to therapy, delaying the investigation even further.”
Gunnar pretended not to hear her, walking instead to the whiteboard.
“According to the train attendant, the second woman ran straight out from the train, and this is confirmed by the security camera footage that Ola checked.”
“Exactly,” Ola said. “I studied the film from Central Station this morning. At exactly 10:23 p.m., a young woman runs off the train. Like the victim, she has Asian features, and I assume that she is the woman we’re looking for. On the film you see clearly that she runs from Platform 1 straight toward the parking lot and then disappears into the darkness.”
“So we have a picture of her?” Jana asked.
“Yes, not as clear a picture as I’d like, but I think it will help.”
Ola
