Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) (38 page)

‘You say she didn’t mix much. Was she friendly with anyone?’

‘Not really. Didn’t make an effort. Not even during lunch breaks and things. She would just wonder off down the beach. Sometimes, I’d see her at the end of one of the other piers over there, usually having a smoke.’ He chuckled. ‘Not something she’d do in front of our clients, who are all trying to stay fit or live as long as they can.’

‘One last thing. Can you ever remember her mentioning an Anita Sundström or a Lasse Sundström?’

‘No. Definitely not; though Lasse Sundström sounds familiar.’

‘He sometimes comes here.’

‘Ah, that’s probably it.’

Hakim took out his notebook, wrote a number on it, ripped off the page and passed it over to the man. ‘That’s my number. It’s a long shot, but if Sigyn turns up here, ring me immediately, though make sure you don’t tell her that the police are asking after her.’

‘She must be in trouble.’

The clouds were now starting to gather. The hot spell was drawing to a close. It was typical that the weather was about to break in time for Sweden’s biggest annual holiday. But it wouldn’t dampen the celebrations. Every Swede would embrace this high point of the summer, even if the sun they worshipped failed to appear. As he didn’t drink, Hakim was never a great participant in the pagan festivities, though he was happy to see people let go of their inhibitions for a change. That in itself showed how Swedish he was, despite his heritage.

He wandered down the beach, as Sigyn Westermark must have done on numerous occasions to escape her colleagues and customers. What bitter thoughts must she have harboured to go as far as killing someone whom she blamed for her brother’s death? Karl Westermark’s last selfish act had destroyed his sister’s life as well. As he walked along the path towards the second pier, more and more groups of young people were heading for the beach itself. There was excitement in the air. The summer stretched in front of them. He’d better report in; he rang Moberg. His boss didn’t sound in a good frame of mind at all. Before he could report his conversation at the Kallbadhus, Moberg immediately launched in: ‘We can’t find her. Bloody Sundström. Simrishamn have reported that she’s not at her holiday home, and her car’s not there. Where the fuck is she?’

Hakim knew that Moberg and Anita had a long history of conflict, but he could tell that the chief inspector was worried about her.

‘Anita can look after herself.’ He tried to sound reassuring.

‘But she might not know she’s in danger. I just hope this mad bitch hasn’t got to her already,’ Moberg spluttered angrily. ‘OK, have you got anything for me?’

‘Not really. Sigyn was a bit of a loner. Didn’t turn up for work the day of the murder. I think she may have come across Lasse at the bathhouse. But it doesn’t get us any nearer to finding her, or him.’

There was silence at the other end of the phone. Hakim thought that the chief inspector might even have rung off. His gaze wandered to the next pier; the other T-shaped one. Nestled in the corner where the pier changed direction, was a small wooden cabin with a metal roof and short black chimney stack. There were a couple of swimmers climbing out of the water nearby.

‘Look, if Sigyn’s got Lasse somewhere, we have to think of the sort of place she might have access to or know about.’ Hakim’s attention returned to his phone. ‘She didn’t know Malmö that well until she came to live here in March, so where would she choose?’

‘I gather she didn’t socialize,’ said Hakim thoughtfully, ‘so she’d be most familiar with everything between here, where she worked, and over near the Torso, where she was staying. Other than hanging around Anita’s and Pildammsparken – and following Jazmin, of course.’

‘Maybe it’s somewhere she passed every day on her way to work. OK, what I want you to do is go from the Kallbadhus, trace her route back to her apartment and see if anything jumps out at you as a hiding place on the way. I’ll send more men to help.’

‘I’ll do that. Anything from Klara?’

‘Zilch.’

Anita drew the car up at the drop-off point for Terminal 2. They hadn’t spoken much during the drive from the underground car park in the centre of Copenhagen to the airport. They had had a congenial day of shopping and sightseeing, and an expensive farewell meal at a waterside restaurant in Nyhavn. Kevin hadn’t been his normal jokey self. Maybe the events of last night had knocked the stuffing out of him as much as they had her. And now that they were briefly parked outside the blazingly lit terminal building, she suddenly wanted to say so much. To thank him for the umpteenth time for his unquestioning support, to say how close she now felt to him; yet she was afraid that he would blurt out that he loved her. She suspected it to be the case, but she still didn’t feel she could truthfully reciprocate those feelings. Huge affection, strong friendship and physical desire were all part of how she saw her relationship with him – but not love. Not yet, anyway.

Kevin got his luggage out of the car. He turned to her.

‘You’ll come over to see me before Christmas?’

‘I’ll try.’

He took her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. It was fleeting.

‘I…’ The words failed him at the last minute. ‘I’ll text you when I get back.’

‘Good. I’ll want to know you’ve arrived safely.’

He picked up his case.

‘Next holiday, can we make it less complicated and dangerous? I hear Syria’s very nice.’

She watched him go through the swing doors. He gave her one last wave through the glass wall, and he was gone. She suddenly felt empty. Alone. She would send him a text, just to thank him again. He’d get it before he boarded. Maybe she liked him more than she would admit to herself. She got back in the car. She reached into her bag, pulled out her mobile and switched it on. She glanced at the car clock – 23.27. It was too late to call Lasse. She’d do it in the morning, after a night back at her apartment. She’d planned to have a quiet Midsummer in Simrishamn with her friend Sandra but couldn’t face that now. But she would have to go back to the holiday home sometime and collect her gear before her rental ran out. She couldn’t bring herself to spend another night there.

She noticed that she had a number of missed calls from Hakim, Moberg, Jazmin – and five from a number she didn’t recognize. She had four voice messages.

The first message – from the unfamiliar number – turned out to be from a very agitated Jazmin:

‘
Please call back. Lasse’s gone missing. I don’t know where he is. Please, Anita. Come and help me find him.’

The second was from a now distraught-sounding Jazmin:

‘
He’s still not turned up. Please, please call!’

Fear struck her like an icy blast. She decided to head straight for Lasse’s apartment immediately. What on earth was going on? She switched on the ignition as the next message played, this time from Jazmin’s number. She didn’t recognize the woman’s voice:

‘
Anita Sundström, your worst nightmare is happening. I have your son. Now listen very carefully. If you want to see Lasse alive again, I want to see you at the end of pier three on Ribersborgsstranden at midnight tomorrow. Come alone. If I think anyone else is around – and that includes your incompetent colleagues – I will slit your son’s throat. That’s no empty promise. And then you’ll know the agony of losing someone you love. Midnight tomorrow.’

Anita sat in dazed confusion. Then the fourth message came on and the familiar voice of Chief Inspector Moberg:

‘
Anita, Moberg here. Look, as soon as you get this, call me immediately. I’ve got to speak to you.’

While the car was idling, Anita quickly replayed the messages as though she’d been unable to really believe them the first time round. The menace in the unknown woman’s voice seemed even more vehement the second time. Her thoughts whirled. My God, my little Lasse! What’s happened? After the initial panic, which left her shaking, she managed to concentrate her mind, to psych herself into police mode. Her breathing became more controlled. Jazmin’s message about Lasse going missing fitted in with this appalling threat from the unknown woman. But why? She obviously knew her because the threat was very direct, but who was she? And was Moberg aware of this? Was that why he was trying to contact her? She had to think this through. She methodically beat the steering wheel with her clenched fist as she tried to map out a plan of action. She’d get onto Jazmin first, but the threatening woman’s message had come from Jazmin’s phone. Maybe best to get onto Moberg initially. She suddenly stopped herself in the middle of returning Moberg’s call – the threat had been very specific. This woman didn’t want her colleagues involved. And she knew Moberg of old. He might just charge in there; and Lasse’s life was at stake. But the woman had given her twenty-four hours – midnight tomorrow. Maybe she could catch Kevin before he went through the security check. Then a dreadful thought barged in and pushed all the others out of the way. She played the awful message again. This time she listened to the time of the call – 22.03 on the 18th of June. Oh, my God! That was last night! The back-lit digital clock on the car’s dashboard appeared to shout at her – 23.33. She had twenty-seven minutes to reach the beach – and she was even in the wrong country. She’d never make it in time.

‘Still here?’ Moberg popped his head round the door of Hakim’s office. ‘Go home and get some sleep.’

‘I can’t.’

There were still groups of officers out searching. Others had been told to stand down for the night and resume at first light. All leave had been cancelled, and there were going to be a lot of disappointed police families who would have to celebrate Midsummer on their own. But the whole of the polishus was on high alert. The teams involved were trying to walk the fine line between searching for the kidnap victim and not alerting the kidnapper. If Sigyn Westermark knew what was going on, that would be the surest way of ending up with a dead body. They knew that she meant business.

Hakim’s own hunt had been unproductive. There were a couple of places he had searched, but they had been outside chances. Most of the area between the beach and the Turning Torso was new. There were building sites with sheds and portakabins. But there were plenty of construction workers around using them, so it would have been impossible to store a body, let alone a living person, without it being spotted.

‘Still nothing from Anita.’ Moberg was now hovering as he engulfed the doorway. Hakim suspected that he felt as impotent as he did.

‘Well, I’m going outside for a smoke. It might help. Fancy joining me?’

Hakim was taken aback. Moberg had never been this sociable before. He was about to refuse, then changed his mind. He could sense that Moberg needed to talk to someone. He stood up and followed the chief inspector down the corridor. They made their way out into the car park. The usual Malmö wind was picking up, and it was drizzling lightly; the first rain they’d had since the night Ebba Pozorski was murdered. The forecast for the weekend wasn’t good; not that it mattered to them. Moberg offered Hakim a cigarette, which he politely refused. The chief inspector lit up and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. Hakim watched the smoke – and it was at that moment that it suddenly hit him.

‘Smoking! That’s it!’

Moberg stared at him uncomprehendingly.

‘The guy at the Kallbadhus said that Sigyn used to wander down to the other piers during her lunch breaks to have a smoke. That’s the part of Malmö she knows best.’

‘But it’s just beach and piers.’

‘Pier three has a cabin at the end. It’s been shut up for years. She had months to work out how to get in. What better place to hide someone? Not the sort of place you’d think to search because it’s so public – swimmers and the like. But no one goes in; and there’s no one around at night, which is when she must have lured Lasse there using Jazmin’s phone.’ Hakim’s voice was trembling with excitement.

Moberg threw away his cigarette with one hand and reached for his car keys with the other.

Anita was mesmerized by the car clock as its bright figures ticked over inexorably towards midnight. She had raced onto the motorway junction at Kastrup and had swiftly reached the bridge. She was way over the speed limit and hoped that she wouldn’t be stopped. Rain was now falling from the scudding clouds, and spotting the windscreen. Her inadequate wipers only smudged the drops, and headlights coming in the opposite direction made her blink. It helped that there was very little traffic on the roads now. There was the infuriating stop at the toll booths on the Swedish side of the bridge, which seemed to take minutes but, in fact, she got through in forty seconds. She almost wept when the motorway shot over Kalkbrottsgatan, which would have taken her directly through Limhamn and straight onto the beach road, but there was no junction there. She’d have to go all the way round by Hyllie. And that meant roundabouts that would slow her down.

The car was juddering as she came off the motorway and onto the slip road. Her second-hand Peugeot wasn’t built for such handling. She managed to negotiate three roundabouts at speed, narrowly avoiding a truck on the second one. She ignored the irate hooting. Now she was on Annetorpsvägen and heading for Limhamn. 23.51. She was definitely not going to get there for midnight. All she could think about was Lasse and not being able to help him. And she still couldn’t figure out who the woman was. Was it someone she had been responsible for imprisoning in the past and was now out? Her thoughts were too cluttered to single out a possible candidate. Now she was on Kalkbrottsgatan. As she rushed through built-up Limhamn, she jumped the red light by the Shell garage at the Hyllie Kyrkoväg intersection, almost knocking over an unsuspecting pedestrian trying to cross the road.

There was a minute to go when she reached Limhamnsvägen, which would take her straight up the coast road adjacent to the city’s long beach. Now she was terrified; her hands were glued to the steering wheel through sweat and fear. She was so intent on reaching the pier on time that she hadn’t decided what to do once she was there. Would Lasse still be alive? Why hadn’t she turned on her mobile earlier? She found herself yelling out loud. What came out of her mouth, she didn’t recognize; some sort of primal scream of a mother unable to protect her child. The clock moved to 00.00. She howled as tears of desperation streamed down her face. She was too late.