Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries)

The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery

by Torquil MacLeod

* * *

Copyright © Torquil MacLeod, 2013

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Published by Torquil MacLeod Books
eBook edition: 2013
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I would thank my wife Susan for all the hard work she has put into this book. It has improved it immeasurably. I’d like to thank Fraser, Paula and Ally for putting up with me on trips to Malmö. Also thanks to Kriminalinspektör Karin Geistrand, yet again, for the red wine and help in answering questions on Swedish policing. Any mistakes or liberties taken are all down to me. And a big thank you to forensic scientist and Senior Lecturer in Policing at the University of Teesside, Helen Pepper, for researching a particular problem and coming up with jelly. I’m also very grateful to Göran Brante for going to the trouble of ironing out Swedish inaccuracies – and to Eva Wennås Brante for her enthusiastic support. I’d like to thank my novelist sister Janet MacLeod Trotter, and husband Graeme, for their practical advice and encouragement. I’d also like to thank again Nick Pugh of The Roundhouse for his striking cover design. Finally, to say to Calum, Sarah and Lyra that these books prove there is life on the planet Torcal.

To Lyra and Ally. They make me smile so much.

It was a fine, clear, tranquil evening and there was nothing to hamper his line of fire. He could see the two women chatting animatedly. They waved their arms extravagantly as they spoke, to add emphasis to whatever they were discussing. Their actions were caught in the lights of the entrance to the drab block of apartments. The whole area was a sea of faceless, formless concrete. Unimaginative buildings filled with unwanted people.

Rosengård wasn’t a part of Malmö that he had been to before. It had taken him time to get his bearings. To get a feel for the urban terrain; his new war zone. And he was in enemy territory. These people weren’t his people. They were invaders from foreign lands. Intruders, like these two women in front of the apartment block, who were now the centre of his attention.

He moved further behind the bush. No one else was around. He could hear snatches of music and voices coming from televisions because windows were open, due to the warmth. He smelt the faint whiff of cigarette smoke from somewhere nearby; probably someone on a balcony. But he wasn’t worried about being spotted. He could deal with any situation. And he had his favoured large-calibre handgun, which gave him an automatic advantage.

Now the women seemed to have come to the end of their conversation. They looked as though they were about to part. He raised his gun and lined up his targets. Each of the women was wearing a brightly coloured hijab. Somehow it made it easier that he couldn’t see their faces clearly. He would need to shoot quickly, as he wanted to hit them both. His finger hovered gently over the trigger. He steadied himself. There was now a gap between the women. He tensed.

Two shots. The women silently slumped to the ground. There was a shout from a nearby window, but he didn’t hear it. He was gone.

The mirror caught Tommy Ekman’s self-satisfied smile. The brilliant white teeth between open lips were the most obvious sign, but it was the sparkle in the cool blue eyes that really reflected the inner delight. Despite it being seven in the morning, his eyes weren’t fogged up with sleep. He had been lying awake for the last half hour. He had been thinking about
her
. Not his wife Kristina, who was staying over at her father’s country place near Illstorp, but Elin.

He took out his toothbrush and squeezed on some toothpaste. Must keep those teeth looking dazzling. The smile again. Yes, he had made love to Elin at last. Over his office desk. He had been trying to engineer the opportunity ever since he had employed her as an account executive six months before. She had rebuffed his advances for awhile. “We’re both married,” had been her defence strategy. He started to brush his teeth vigorously, without ever losing sight of himself in the mirror. But last night he had breached her fortifications. His advertising agency had won that important pitch. Elin had led the successful team. They had broken out the champagne in his office. Others had slipped away over the next hour or so until they were the only ones left. Elin was a little high on her first big success with the agency. From then on in it hadn’t been that difficult to get into her knickers. Even he had been surprised at how easily she had succumbed. He would give her the raise he had pantingly promised her shortly before he had manoeuvred her onto his desk – but only as long as she was happy to provide “extracurricular” services to the boss.

Tommy rinsed out his mouth. He would still have to be careful with Kristina. He wouldn’t want her to find out. Her money was still useful - and her father’s business contacts. He didn’t want to rock the domestic boat, though he found it harder to make love to Kristina these days, despite the fact she was still an attractive woman. Maybe it was familiarity that had led to boredom on his part, or perhaps she hadn’t been as interested in the physical side of their relationship since the kids arrived. But the business was doing well, despite all the economic doom-mongers. Still, he didn’t want her to take him to the cleaners.

Kristina’s father had been useful with the “group”, too. Given him a foot up. Now he had cemented his place with his strategy ideas. They had gone down very well. One of the suggestions had been acted upon within a week. And the film had been a real success. He was confident that he would be running the show very soon. Then the “group” would make people sit up. On this beautiful, sunny May morning life couldn’t get any better.

He slipped off his pyjama bottoms and admired his naked figure in the mirror. He was still finely toned, despite all the client business lunches. And he still had stamina. Just ask Elin. Once aroused, she had been very accommodating. He was still laughing to himself when he stepped into the spacious wet-room cubicle, closed the door and flipped on the shower. It sprang into life, and he tilted his head upward and enjoyed the hard spray of hot, refreshing water hitting his face. It was invigorating. As he soaped his body, his mind began to wander again. Back to Elin. It had been so exciting. That triumphant moment of conquest. He could feel the first stiffening in his groin. It was only as he put the soap back in its cradle that he became aware of a strange tingling in his throat. He looked down at the silver circular outflow cover on the floor beneath his feet. The water was running out as usual, but something didn’t seem quite right. His head began to swim and he started to feel giddy. His eyes were misting over.

Tommy flapped at the shower tap and the water stopped flowing almost immediately, except for a few final drops. He swayed in the cubicle, not sure whether he would be able to keep on his feet. What the hell was happening to him? With great difficulty he managed to slide the cubicle doors apart. In front of him the bathroom was a blurred vision of dancing pale green and blue tiles. He stumbled out of the cubicle, still dripping wet. He tried to steady himself against the wash-hand basin, but his grasping fingers missed the edge and he sank to his knees as he wretched up some dribbled green saliva and the remnants of last night’s champagne. Why was his skin so itchy? Frantically he ripped at his arms and chest with his nails. With a huge effort he half staggered to his feet and fell forward towards the door of the bedroom. He didn’t make it, and sprawled on the bathroom floor. He tried to call out for help. Not that there was anybody in the apartment to hear him at that time in the morning. But all that came out of his mouth was a fresh burst of vomit. The dizziness was sickening. He couldn’t fight it any longer. Why was this happening? His throat, his skin, his eyes, his head were all on fire. He lay in a heap on the floor. He could feel himself slipping into a void of unconsciousness. His limbs, totally independent of his fast-evaporating will, gave a last defiant jerk.

Rays of early morning sunshine speared through the frosted glass of the bathroom window like a prism and bathed the dead body of Tommy Ekman in a brilliant light show. Below the bulging eyes, his mouth was wide open, frozen in the moment, in the cry for help that never came out. The sunlight made his teeth sparkle.