Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) (22 page)

Half an hour after her arrival, she was ready to leave. She had already phoned Stefan at the police station from Klas’s study. Luckily, he was on duty. She asked about whether there had been any official written report on the patrolmen’s visit to the holiday home in the early hours of the morning. He couldn’t find anything. In fact, he was surprised any patrol was in the vicinity and at that time. ‘They didn’t come out from here. Maybe they were from Ystad.’

It was a thoughtful Anita who locked up the house. Already a plan was forming in her head.

‘I hope you’ve got a good explanation for being in a dead man’s home?’

Anita swung round guiltily and saw the menacing figure of Alice Zetterberg hovering on the edge of the pavement.

Holding up the keys, Anita said: ‘I got these from Ida Svensson, Klas’s cousin.’

‘Doesn’t answer my question,’ Zetterberg snapped back.

‘That’s all you’re going to get. You can’t arrest me for breaking and entering because I’ve had Ida’s permission.’

The glare in Zetterberg’s eyes was almost manic. For a moment she didn’t respond. Then, at last, she spoke very slowly.

‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m warning you to keep your nose out of business that’s not yours.’

Anita smiled sweetly. ‘I wouldn’t do anything to upset an old friend like you, Alice.’

Zetterberg flushed with fury, and she angrily wagged her finger in Anita’s face.

‘You’re heading for a big fall, Sundström.’ Without another word, she stalked back up the road towards the police station.

Anita returned the house key and drove back to the cabin. On the way she continued to listen to Rylander. She could hear the sea in the background, so he and Klas must have been sitting outside. He was describing life in East Berlin and how few people would talk to him, as they were afraid that the Stasi would be listening in – or that anything they said to a westerner would be reported back to the authorities by an army of informers. But he said he was amazed at what the GDR was doing in terms of reconstruction.

‘You must go to Berlin, Klas.’

‘I would love to.’

‘Quite a place. Quite a history. I remember the first time I walked down Karl-Marx-Allee. I was staggered. This wasn’t the East Germany of western imagination, or that portrayed by the western press. It is an extraordinary boulevard, about ninety metres wide, over two kilometres long, stretching from Frankfurter Tor right up to Alexanderplatz. Had it been built in the 1920s, the architectural snoberati – I’m sure there’s no such a word, but you know what I mean – would have raved about it. In retrospect, it’s now viewed favourably by the postmodernists. It was built on one of the routes the Russians used to fight their way into Berlin in 1945. Originally, it was called Stalinallee, until de-Stalinization. It was used for May Day parades.’

There was a long pause. Anita parked the car on the grass next to the house and was about to eject the CD from the player.

‘
Ah, yes. I sometimes get forgetful. There was a specific reason I mentioned Karl-Marx-Allee. When my story’s fully told, you must have verification.’

Anita took her finger away and listened intently.

‘
No one will believe me, you included possibly, unless you know what I reveal can be corroborated. You must make that first trip to Berlin and head for 64 Karl-Marx-Allee. There you’ll find a man – not quite as old as myself – called Hans-Dieter Albrecht. Once I tell you the final part of my tale, you’ll realize his importance.’

Anita ejected the CD and sat quietly with it in her hand. Had Klas deliberately not written down the name and address when he began to suspect that Rylander’s suicide wasn’t a suicide at all, and that he was being watched? He had been right to hide his research with them. Somebody had been in his house after his death. Right, she had things to sort out. Kevin would either have to fit in with her plans or just lump it.

Kevin was still wet when he came back.

‘I was so hot after the walk, I couldn’t resist a swim. I’ve had a lovely time.’

Anita passed him a cold bottled beer, which he gratefully accepted.

‘Anyway, how’s your day been? Get anywhere with that lot?’ he asked with a nod in the direction of Klas’s notes.

‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Let’s sit out in the sun.’

They made their way onto the grass where a couple of garden chairs and a picnic table had been placed by Anita before Kevin’s return. She wanted him to be sitting down and relaxed before she told him what she (or possibly they) was going to do.

‘It’s a beautiful coastline along here. Magical.’

‘I’m going to tear you away from it.’

‘Oh,’ said Kevin, the bottle halfway to his mouth. ‘Where are you taking me?’ Then he took another swig of his beer.

‘Berlin.’

His snort sent beer spurting through the air. Anita waited for the spluttering to stop and for him to compose himself as he wiped the alcohol off his T-shirt. When he had finished, he simply smiled and said, ‘Great.’

‘Is that all you can say? Don’t you want to know why?’

‘I don’t have to. I’ve never been to Berlin. Always been a place I thought would be interesting. And whatever we British may think of the Germans, we’re partial to their beer.’

He was being annoyingly reasonable.

‘This is
not
a holiday, Kevin,’ she said sternly, as though she were reprimanding an eight-year-old Lasse. ‘Well, it is, but the Berlin bit isn’t.’

‘Why can’t we do both? I assume you’ve tracked down Klas’s contact.’

‘Yes. I heard it on the last CD of the interviews he did with Rylander. Said this man, Hans-Dieter Albrecht, would verify his story. Lives in a street called Karl-Marx-Allee. But this Albrecht must have told the story to Klas, so he can tell it again to us.’

Kevin stood up. ‘I’m going to get another beer. Want one?’

She watched him go inside. She couldn’t believe how easy it had been. She had expected some resistance, and that he would try and persuade her not to go, and say she was barking mad to meddle in something that had nothing to do with them. The truth was that she would have gone even if he had stayed behind, but she realized that she really wanted him to be with her. Give her support. Believe in her, however hare-brained the scheme was. That’s why she had carefully prepared an argument in her head as to why they should go, and then present him with the evidence to back up her reasons for pursuing their own investigation. And he had just agreed without the slightest quibble. Bloody men! She couldn’t fathom some of them. He came back with another bottle of beer, and hers poured into a glass; he knew she wasn’t a natural bottle-swiller.

‘So, when do we go?’

‘Tomorrow. Late morning. The flight’s only an hour.’

Kevin lazed back in his chair. ‘For how long?’

‘Two nights.’

‘Well, when you’ve finished this, you’d better go and book the flight and hotel.’

Anita started to laugh. ‘I have already.’

He joined in. ‘Bugger me! You don’t waste time, do you? How did you know I’d agree?’

‘I didn’t. But then I thought you were the sort of man who’d follow me to the ends of the earth,’ she teased.

He leant over, took her hand and gave it a mock kiss. ‘Maybe not to the ends of the earth, but I’ll go as far as the Brandenburg Gate.’

Later on, over an outside supper at the picnic table of cold sill in mustard and hot potatoes, they got down to the business of the trip. Kevin had insisted that they go Dutch on the expenses for the flights and hotel. She had tried to dissuade him, as she knew this was only happening because of her insistence, but he wouldn’t budge.

Anita told him of her conversation with Eva Thulin about the autopsies, and her visit to Klas’s home and the strong feeling that it had been searched. ‘Professional job,’ was her assessment. She went on to graphically describe her brief encounter with Alice Zetterberg. ‘I don’t know whether it was a coincidence that she was there, or if she was having the house watched and had a tip-off. Put it this way, she wasn’t pleased.’

‘So, you reckon this Hans-Dieter fellow will give us the answers?’

Anita reached over to the wine bottle and topped up their glasses.

‘That’s what I’m hoping.’

‘Do you speak German?’

‘I can get by in French, but not German. How about you?’

‘Look, Anita, you’ve heard my Essex accent. Most of my current colleagues don’t even think I speak English.’

Anita chuckled. ‘If I hadn’t worked in London, I wouldn’t understand you. Anyway, don’t worry. I doubt if Klas spoke German either, so I suspect he communicated with Hans-Dieter Albrecht in English.’

Kevin pulled out a cigarette. ‘You know, he might be suspicious of us just turning up out of the blue. It’s not as though we’ve been sent by Rylander in the way that Klas was. I suspect that Rylander had already warned this bloke that Klas would turn up at some stage. Should we give him a call to find out, before jetting off?’

Anita shook her head slowly. ‘I can’t find a number for an Albrecht living there.’

‘Ah, so we may get there and he’s not around or he won’t see us. Even worse, we might not be able to communicate with him.’

‘Come on, Kevin, don’t you like a challenge?’

‘Bloody hell!’ he said, waving his unlit cigarette at her and almost knocking over his glass of wine in the process. ‘Just going on holiday with you is a challenge. You entice me over here with the promise of sea, sand and sex, and I get murder, mystery and… and… I can’t think of another thing beginning with bloody “m”, all thrown in.’

‘What are you complaining about?’ She fluttered her eyelashes at him and playfully blew him a kiss. ‘I’ve lived up to the first three promises.’

‘I’ll let you off then.’ Then his expression turned serious. ‘You know; if you’re correct about all these things – and I have to agree something’s not right here – this isn’t going to be some jolly Agatha Christie jaunt. If Rylander
was
murdered and Klas
was
killed deliberately because he was getting too close to the truth of Rylander’s big secret, there is one very dangerous person out there. Probably more than one.’ He pursed his lips. ‘You’ve already ruffled a few feathers. If whoever it is has already killed, and gone to huge lengths to do so – and we’re going to follow the exact same path as Klas – I think we’re going to have to be bloody careful from now on.’

Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning wasn’t the easiest time to get one’s brain in gear, but Moberg had called them in to go over all the evidence that had been gathered the day before. The fact that they had made some headway ensured that Moberg was in a positive frame of mind, even though Wallen had been desperate for a lie-in, Brodd was still hung over after his date, and Hakim had had to postpone a promised visit to see Jazmin and Lasse’s apartment. Since returning to Malmö full time, he hadn’t had the time to go round and see them. He hated himself for feeling a slight sense of relief; he knew he’d probably end up arguing with his sister. He still couldn’t get his head around the fact that Lasse had taken her on. In fact, it was Lasse he’d had to phone to apologize to because he couldn’t reach Jazmin’s mobile.

The meeting-room table was strewn with pieces of paper, photographs, cups of coffee, and the detritus of the various versions of breakfast the team had brought in with them. Hakim had a laptop with him. Moberg pointed at Wallen to begin.

‘Yesterday, Pontus and I visited Pastor Elias Kroon of the Church of God’s Mission on Earth.’

‘Excuse me, Klara. Pontus, are you with us?’

Brodd sat up guiltily.

‘Sorry, Boss. Night with the lady.’

Wallen’s face twisted in disgust, Hakim glanced at the ceiling and Moberg frowned.

‘I hope it was worth it.’

‘You could say that.’ Whatever he was trying to imply, everybody else in the room knew that Brodd’s chances of getting laid were pretty remote. And there was no way he could admit to them that she had left the bar without him at around eleven.

‘Just keep your mind on the fucking job. Klara, carry on.’

‘Initially, the pastor wasn’t keen to have us there, but he did open up eventually. Our victim was a member of his church. Her real name was Ebba Pozorski. She was born in Wroclaw in Poland, which is why we couldn’t find her birth anywhere here. Moved to Sjöbo when she was little with her Polish father, Boleslaw, and her Swedish mother of Polish extraction, Elzbieta. The family joined Kroon’s church. What has now emerged is that both Axel Isaksson and Markus Asplund were also members, so now we’ve got an historic connection between our two main suspects. It seems that it was Asplund who was mainly connected with the young Ebba.’

Moberg held up a meat plate of a hand.

‘We’ll come to that. I think we need to know everything about our victim first before we go through the suspects – much as I’m looking forward to that.’ Brodd summoned up a laugh as he knew he needed to get back into the chief inspector’s good books. ‘From now on, to avoid confusion, I want Julia Akerman referred to by her real name, Ebba Pozorski.’ The team nodded agreement. ‘Anything further from your end, Klara?’

With a wry glance in Brodd’s direction, she went on: ‘As we were in Sjöbo, we decided that it might be an idea to go to the nursing home where Boleslaw Pozorski is a resident. He suffers from Alzheimer’s, so wasn’t any help.’

‘He called you “Elzbieta”,’ contributed Brodd.

Wallen ignored his comment. ‘Though we got nothing out of him, we were able to confirm through the staff that Julia… sorry, Ebba, visited him nearly every month. In fact, her visits tally with her known trips to Sweden.’

‘And her last visit?’ asked Moberg.

‘The day before she died. The staff were helpful and said that Ebba was very affectionate towards him, even though most of the time he didn’t know who she was. She was also very generous with funding for the home. Though it’s state run, Ebba’s donations have helped them buy extra equipment and improve the facilities.’

‘Presumably, they don’t know how she made the money for her donations?’

‘Not yet. It’ll come as a shock when all this comes out. But the picture that is emerging is of a woman who didn’t spend extravagantly or live the high life, despite her well-paid profession.’