you,’ he said.
‘So do you, I bet,’ Annika countered.
They shook hands and introduced themselves.
‘That about it for today?’ Annika asked and pointed at the last vehicle as it puffed its way to the gate.
The man sighed lightly. ‘It will be for me, at any rate,’ he said. ‘The past few days have been a headache, what with that crime scene and all. Not to mention the cigarettes.’
Annika raised an eyebrow. ‘Anything particular happen today?’
‘We caught a phoney refrigeration truck this morning. It was loaded with tobacco products; floorboards, ceiling, walls. They’d removed all the insulation and filled the space with cigarettes.’
‘Wow,’ Annika exclaimed. ‘How did you figure that out?’
The Customs officer shrugged. ‘By unscrewing a plate in the back of the vehicle and finding a thin layer of insulation. Beneath that layer there was another plate, and the cigarettes were behind that.’
‘How many?’
‘The floor of a trailer holds five hundred thousand, the ceiling another five hundred thousand, and the walls hold about as many more. We’re looking at something like two million, and you can estimate one krona per smoke.’
‘Oh man,’ Annika said.
‘It’s nothing compared to what gets into the country. There’s no end to the amounts smuggled. Gangs have quit dealing in drugs and have turned to tobacco products instead. Ever since the state raised the tax, cigarettes yield profits on a par with heroin, but it’s nowhere near as risky. A drug bust worth millions will put you in jail ‘til you rot, while cigarettes won’t get you much prison time. They use layered covers, hinged floors, hollow steel beams . . .’
‘Crafty little devils,’ Annika said.
‘You’re dead right,’ the Customs officer agreed.
Annika moved in. ‘Any idea who the stiffs were?’
The man shook his head. ‘Nope, never saw them before.’
Annika’s eyes widened. ‘You saw them?’
‘Yes. They were lying out there when I got here. Shot in the head.’
‘Gee, how awful!’ Annika said.
The Customs officer pulled a face and revived his feet by stamping them. ‘Well, it’s almost time to close up shop. Any more questions?’
Annika looked around. ‘One, could you tell me what’s in these buildings?’
The customs officer pointed at them in turn. ‘Warehouse eight,’ he began. ‘It’s vacant at the moment. Number two over there is the Tallinn terminal and the Port Customs Authority. Every single carrier from Tallinn has to go over there and show their papers before they come to us.’
‘What papers would those be?’
‘Shipping documents – every crate and its contents have to be listed. Then they receive one of these, and show it to us over here.’ The man showed her a bright green paper strip with stamps, signatures and the letters IN.
‘And you check every single item?’ Annika asked.
‘Most of it, but we don’t have time for everything.’
Annika flashed him an understanding smile. ‘What makes you skip certain vehicles?’
The Customs officer sighed. ‘When you open a trailer and there are crates and boxes wedged in from floor to ceiling, you sometimes just can’t face it. If we’re checking a load like that, we have to drive it to number seven over there, in the container section, unload the whole thing and pry the stuff out with a fork-lift. Some Customs officers are licensed fork-lift operators, but not all of us.’
‘No, that makes sense,’ Annika said.
‘Then we have the sealed trucks, the ones that just drive through Sweden with sealed cargo compartments. No one is permitted to remove, add or exchange any portion of the shipment until the transport has reached its specific destination.’
‘Are those the ones marked with the letters TIR?’
The man nodded. ‘There are other types of seals too, but TIR is the most well-known variety.’
Annika pointed. ‘What are all those trailers doing here?’
He turned and looked out over the parking
‘So do you, I bet,’ Annika countered.
They shook hands and introduced themselves.
‘That about it for today?’ Annika asked and pointed at the last vehicle as it puffed its way to the gate.
The man sighed lightly. ‘It will be for me, at any rate,’ he said. ‘The past few days have been a headache, what with that crime scene and all. Not to mention the cigarettes.’
Annika raised an eyebrow. ‘Anything particular happen today?’
‘We caught a phoney refrigeration truck this morning. It was loaded with tobacco products; floorboards, ceiling, walls. They’d removed all the insulation and filled the space with cigarettes.’
‘Wow,’ Annika exclaimed. ‘How did you figure that out?’
The Customs officer shrugged. ‘By unscrewing a plate in the back of the vehicle and finding a thin layer of insulation. Beneath that layer there was another plate, and the cigarettes were behind that.’
‘How many?’
‘The floor of a trailer holds five hundred thousand, the ceiling another five hundred thousand, and the walls hold about as many more. We’re looking at something like two million, and you can estimate one krona per smoke.’
‘Oh man,’ Annika said.
‘It’s nothing compared to what gets into the country. There’s no end to the amounts smuggled. Gangs have quit dealing in drugs and have turned to tobacco products instead. Ever since the state raised the tax, cigarettes yield profits on a par with heroin, but it’s nowhere near as risky. A drug bust worth millions will put you in jail ‘til you rot, while cigarettes won’t get you much prison time. They use layered covers, hinged floors, hollow steel beams . . .’
‘Crafty little devils,’ Annika said.
‘You’re dead right,’ the Customs officer agreed.
Annika moved in. ‘Any idea who the stiffs were?’
The man shook his head. ‘Nope, never saw them before.’
Annika’s eyes widened. ‘You saw them?’
‘Yes. They were lying out there when I got here. Shot in the head.’
‘Gee, how awful!’ Annika said.
The Customs officer pulled a face and revived his feet by stamping them. ‘Well, it’s almost time to close up shop. Any more questions?’
Annika looked around. ‘One, could you tell me what’s in these buildings?’
The customs officer pointed at them in turn. ‘Warehouse eight,’ he began. ‘It’s vacant at the moment. Number two over there is the Tallinn terminal and the Port Customs Authority. Every single carrier from Tallinn has to go over there and show their papers before they come to us.’
‘What papers would those be?’
‘Shipping documents – every crate and its contents have to be listed. Then they receive one of these, and show it to us over here.’ The man showed her a bright green paper strip with stamps, signatures and the letters IN.
‘And you check every single item?’ Annika asked.
‘Most of it, but we don’t have time for everything.’
Annika flashed him an understanding smile. ‘What makes you skip certain vehicles?’
The Customs officer sighed. ‘When you open a trailer and there are crates and boxes wedged in from floor to ceiling, you sometimes just can’t face it. If we’re checking a load like that, we have to drive it to number seven over there, in the container section, unload the whole thing and pry the stuff out with a fork-lift. Some Customs officers are licensed fork-lift operators, but not all of us.’
‘No, that makes sense,’ Annika said.
‘Then we have the sealed trucks, the ones that just drive through Sweden with sealed cargo compartments. No one is permitted to remove, add or exchange any portion of the shipment until the transport has reached its specific destination.’
‘Are those the ones marked with the letters TIR?’
The man nodded. ‘There are other types of seals too, but TIR is the most well-known variety.’
Annika pointed. ‘What are all those trailers doing here?’
He turned and looked out over the parking
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