Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (11 page)

Moberg hadn’t been happy with her call. The last thing he wanted was another murder on his hands. The one he was dealing with was complicated enough. He told Anita to stay put and he would come down and see for himself. His attitude had immediately raised Anita’s hackles. Moberg had spoken to her as though it was her fault that it was a murder and not a suicide. It was almost as if he didn’t believe her and was coming to check up that she wasn’t lying.

Anita went and told Thulin that she couldn’t remove the body, as Moberg wanted to see the scene. Thulin’s raised eyebrows said it all. She offered Anita a briefcase, which was now in a see-through plastic bag.

‘Found it on the passenger seat. It’s OK, you can touch it. I’ve dusted it for prints.’

It was in neat black leather with a combination. Anita took it out of the plastic and tried a few numbers, but it was a waste of time. She replaced it and walked round to her car in Vikingagatan and put the briefcase in the boot. She would get someone back at the office to open it. This gave her an opportunity to check out the house and the location more carefully. The concrete wall surrounding the property was a little over a couple of metres. The house was almost cross-shaped. The main body of the building, with its sharply pitched roof, faced the street. It had two sections jutting out – one with a fancy first storey balcony overlooking Vikingagatan. The other at the rear with its own pitched roofing. The end of the house, behind the double garage, also had a semi-circular balcony. This was simpler with a white metal balustrade. There were trees in the garden and all along Vikingagatan and also the side road onto which the gates opened. At this time of year they offered ample cover. The likelihood of finding any witnesses was remote, but they would have to do a house-to-house enquiry all the same. She would start with the neighbour.

By the time Anita returned to Olofsson’s house, Moberg had appeared. Her heart sank when she saw that he had brought Westermark with him. His loathsome grin, half-mocking and half-lecherous, immediately put her on the defensive.

‘Where have you been?’ Moberg demanded.

‘Talking to the neighbour who alerted us. He’s retired. He wasn’t sure what time Olofsson returned last night, as no lights went on in the house. It was only when he was walking his dog this morning that he heard the car running inside the closed garage. Thought it was odd, so he came back ten minutes later and there was still no change, so he phoned the station. Of course, we’ll have to talk to everyone in the area to see if they spotted anyone suspicious.’

‘Do we know much about him?’ This was Westermark.

Anita answered his question by addressing Moberg. ‘He’s a banker.’

Moberg snorted. ‘That’s one less to bugger up the world.’ He arched his back wearily. ‘So, why make it appear to be a suicide when it obviously isn’t?’

‘The killer’s incompetent,’ suggested Westermark.

Anita gave him a withering look. ‘I think the killer knew exactly what he was doing.’

‘And what’s that?’ Westermark sneered.

‘I don’t know yet. Why bother otherwise? The killer might as well have just smashed Olofsson’s head in and left it at that. Maybe he’s trying to tell us something? Or tell someone something.’

‘Another of your great theories. Look what happened last time.’

‘That’s enough,’ Moberg ordered before Anita could respond. ‘Do we know what bank he works for?’

‘The neighbour says it’s the Sydöstra Bank.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘It’s a private bank. Only deals with wealthy clients and companies. Specialist stuff. The neighbour used to deal with them.’

‘Probably means that Olofsson’s a pal of the commissioner.’ Moberg turned round as Olofsson, in a body bag, was wheeled out of the garage. ‘Right, Westermark, I want you to get down to the bank and start asking questions. First thing is to find out where it is.’

‘Shouldn’t I be doing that?’ Anita asked with more than a hint of annoyance.

‘You can talk to the wife. There might be a domestic angle to this one. I can’t really see bankers bonking each other on the head. Give you a chance to nose around this lovely house. Isn’t that what women like to do?’

Westermark’s laugh was as condescending as the comment. Anita was furious as her two colleagues turned to go. As they reached the gate, Moberg swung round.

‘Oh, if you come up with anything, report it to Westermark in the first instance. I want him to keep an eye on this investigation.’

Westermark’s supercilious grin completed Anita’s humiliation.

‘You’re joking.’

‘No, Inspector, I’m not joking.’

Westermark had disappeared round the corner. Anita couldn’t let this lie. With great difficultly she managed to keep her temper in check. ‘Chief Inspector, you sent me down here to handle this case. Surely, it should be mine. And reporting to you directly.’

‘Then I thought it was a straightforward suicide. This is likely to be another bloody high-profile case. I can’t afford to be seen letting you loose on it. If it were some dead Arab or junkie, that would be fine. But you’re on probation as far as the commissioner is concerned. Get anything wrong on this one and you’re out on your arse. Probably quickly followed by me. I can’t afford to lose my job. What I suggest is that you be seen to do some good spadework on this investigation, sort out the thing with the fucking paintings and then I might... just might... be able to give you more leeway in the future. Understand?’

Anita pounded through the avenue of trees towards the huge circular expanse of green, known as “the plate”, in the centre of Pildammsparken. She was pushing herself harder than usual and her breathing was becoming erratic. As she stretched her legs they began to ache. She would do three circuits. She only attempted it three times when she was really fit or really furious. Today it was the latter. She couldn’t believe that she was having to work under that creep Westermark, who would exploit the situation to further his career at her expense – and probably “try it on” into the bargain. Anita began to run even faster, and started to pass more sedate joggers, who were startled at the speed she was building up. Of course, it couldn’t last and she came to a shuddering halt next to a bench and sank gratefully onto it. It took her a couple of minutes to get her breathing back under control.

A promising start to the day had ended in frustration and emotional trauma as she had taken a deeply shocked Carolina Olofsson to identify her husband’s body. She was too upset to get much information out of her other than that Martin had stayed an extra day down at Vik and set off about eight to head back to Malmö. And, no, she didn’t know anybody who would want to harm her beloved husband of nearly forty years. Anita had driven her back to Vikingagatan. As it was only the garage that was a crime scene, Carolina was allowed to stay in the house. A daughter was on the way down from Gothenburg to be with her, and Anita had waited until she arrived. What had really irked Anita was that Moberg’s jibe had some substance, as she had been fascinated wandering round Olofsson’s house and had made instant judgements as to the couple’s taste and decor. Conservative had been her conclusion. During her time on “sick leave” she had become addicted to property programmes, most of which seemed to be British. That only added to their appeal. If it hadn’t been for Lasse, she might have been tempted to return to Britain. And now Ewan was here. Was that another reason to stay?

As she cooled down she became aware of a hint of a chill in the air. She stood up. She would walk back to the apartment. One thing she had had the presence of mind to do was take Martin Olofsson’s briefcase into his home and ask Carolina if she knew the combination. She had: 061 132. Anita had opened it up in Carolina’s presence. It seemed mainly to consist of bank paperwork. There was also a golf magazine. One of his passions, Carolina had said. He was a member of the Österlen Golf Club and played at the Lilla Vik course when he had the time. Anita knew it well, but only from driving past it on the road. The only other items in the case were a couple of DVDs. Anita explained that she had to take the briefcase back to the polishus, as it had been found at the crime scene. She had neglected to inform Westermark that she had it – or even of its existence. That would give him another stick to beat her with, but she wanted to keep part of the investigation to herself for the moment. She would go and see Carolina Olofsson again tomorrow and take Hakim with her. Now the thefts of the Munk paintings hardly seemed important and she put them to the back of her mind.

After showering, she poured herself a glass of red wine and picked up the phone. She wanted to phone Lasse because he was good at lifting her spirits. She would even force herself to ask after Rebecka, though she hoped deep down that that relationship would hit the rocks soon. He would get over it quickly. Men did. The curse for women was that they didn’t. Anyhow, Rebecka wasn’t right for her Lasse. He deserved better. Anita had no problem persuading herself that jealousy wasn’t the reason why she didn’t want Lasse staying with Rebecka.

‘Sorry, Mum, can’t speak for long. We’re going out in a minute.’

‘You and Rebecka?’

‘Of course, who else?’ he chided. ‘One of her friends has discovered this fantastic bar, which we’re going to try out. And then we’re clubbing afterwards.’

‘So, she’s in better spirits. Didn’t seem to have much energy when she was down here.’ Anita could hear the bitterness in her own voice.

‘She was just a bit tired, that’s all,’ he said defensively.

‘And are you bringing her down for midsummer?’ Anita perked up at the thought. They might go down to Simrishamn. Or join the big celebrations in Pildammsparken. ‘What do you want to do this year?’

There was a momentary silence at the end of the phone. ‘About that, Mum. Rebecka’s folks have got a place on Gotland. They’ve invited me over there for midsummer. If the weather’s good, we might spend the rest of the summer there.’

Anita’s stomach gave a lurch. She was crushed. In the background she could hear Rebecka calling to Lasse to hurry up.

‘Look, Mum, must be going. I’ll ring you next week. Promise.’

For the next few minutes Anita sat perfectly still, the phone still clutched in her hand. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so miserable.

This time it was for real. His guiding voice was clear about that. No messing about. No toying with “them”. That’s why he had ventured into the centre of Malmö. He had wandered through a busy Gustav Adolfs Torg. There were lots of young people milling around, happy to be alive. As he walked, unnoticed, through the square he checked out potential targets, those whose deaths would make him happy. The scum who were flooding into Sweden and destroying the country’s way of life, distorting traditional values and bringing crime and danger into safe communities. Anyone with a swarthy complexion or the run-down appearance of the typical immigrant. For him, they were easy to spot.

He wandered past the line of bus stops at the edge of the square and crossed the four lanes of road that divided the square from the gardens and cemetery beyond. He melted into the trees. From his vantage point he could watch little groups forming round each bus stop on both sides of the road. Though a target on this side of the road would be easier to hit, it would be a more satisfying challenge to take out someone on the square side. It would
also cause more confusion, as bystanders would initially jump to the conclusion that the shot had come from nearby. That would give him extra seconds to disappear, with the minimum of fuss. He had plenty of cover and the dark would ensure his route out was untroubled.

He didn’t want to wait long in case he was spotted and aroused suspicion. He slipped out his gun. He had already lined up his target. Three lads approached a bus stop from the square. They were smoking and joking among themselves. There was no mistaking. Even with the occasional bus passing, he could hear their loud voices carrying across the still night. Whatever language they were speaking, it certainly wasn’t Swedish. He was only going to kill one. But which one? The tallest of the three was definitely the loudest. The leader of the group. What made his final decision for him was the way the young man glanced at a couple of giggling blonde girls as they sauntered past him. Stick to your own, you bastard. A moment later the young man lurched back as the bullet hit him in the middle of his forehead.

Hakim was reading a copy of
Sydsvenskan
while Anita drove in the direction of Limhamn. The paper was full of last night’s killing of a young Libyan man in Gustav Adolfs Torg. The murder of Martin Olofsson had disappeared into the inside pages, for which Anita was grateful. The “Malmö Marksman”, as the press had now dubbed him, was causing panic. It hadn’t mattered so much when he was picking off immigrants in out-of-the-way suburbs, but to kill someone in one of the busiest locations in the city was a different matter. While the motive was again obviously racial, it was little comfort for the citizens of Malmö that there was a trigger-happy gunman on the loose. It was certainly winding up Hakim, who was cursing under his breath.

‘It’s a disgrace. This gunman is targeting the immigrant population. My parents are afraid to go out of the apartment. You know the second shooting was a few yards away from our home.’

‘I didn’t realize.’

‘And how many Swedes will secretly be thinking he’s doing a good job!’

‘Look, Hakim, we’ve got to be professional about this, whatever we feel. Inspector Larsson will be given the manpower to catch this guy. We’ve got our own murder on our hands – and the Munk business to sort out. They are our priorities.’

Hakim grunted and returned to his newspaper. Anita couldn’t help smiling to herself. She was sounding like a mother talking to a son, not colleague to colleague. She appreciated being with Hakim all the more after a quick meeting with the loathsome Westermark in his office first thing. She had reported back to him what she had found out from Carolina Olofsson. She had explained that she had wanted to re-interview fru Olofsson when she’d got over her initial shock. Westermark had been to Olofsson’s place of work, Sydöstra Banken on Torggatan, which was only just along from the scene of the shooting in Gustav Adolfs Torg. The senior staff were horrified to hear of the murder. He was well respected and very good at his job. They couldn’t think of anything that he was working on that might lead someone to kill him. Like Anita, Westermark was going to return to the bank to ask more questions, though he felt, like Moberg, that the motive was probably more likely to be personal than professional.

Nor much luck either with Lindegren’s bank – a local Handelsbanken. Lindegren’s finances seemed to be in a “robust shape”, according to the manager that Hakim had spoken to. So that route was a dead end. Anita had asked Hakim to set up a meeting with the Munk collector Gabrielsson had mentioned, Ingvar Serneholt. Again it might be a waste of time, but, as they hadn’t got a single lead to go on, they had to give it a go.

They reached Vikingagatan at exactly half-past ten.

The clock in the interview room read 10.31. Daniel Johansson didn’t look relaxed at all. The intimidating presence of Chief Inspector Moberg on the other side of the table didn’t help calm his unease. Even Moberg’s reassurance that it was merely a routine chat didn’t help.

‘Daniel,’ Moberg said pleasantly. ‘I can call you Daniel?’

Johansson nodded dubiously.

‘Just because we want a few words with you here is nothing to worry about. I thought it might be easier to talk about things away from the office. Get a sense of perspective. We appreciate that it must be difficult for you at the moment trying to run the company without its founder.’

‘Co-founder,’ Johansson couldn’t help himself correcting, almost as a verbal reflex action.

‘Whatever. We’re concentrating our investigation on the day before Tommy Ekman died. We think his spare keys were taken from his office by the murderer and then returned later that day. We’ve accounted for nearly everybody who had access – or was known to enter Ekman’s office during that time. You obviously come into that category.’ Moberg’s raised eyebrow indicated that he expected Johnasson to say something.

‘Well, yes. I was in Tommy’s office that morning to go through the Geistrand Petfoods presentation. And again, I was in there for the celebratory drink.’

Moberg glanced down at a piece of paper. ‘It’s all here in your statement. But there’s something missing?’

Johansson shifted in his seat, though he managed to return a quizzical stare.

‘You returned from Geistrand’s in Elin Marklund’s car.’

‘Yes,’ Johansson answered slowly.

‘Why was that? And where did you go
before
you returned to the office?’ There was nothing pleasant in Moberg’s tone now.

‘I went home.’

‘And that’s Salongsgatan up by the Torso. Why go home?’

Moberg could feel the vibration from Johansson’s feet as they tapped the floor under the table. He could smell the nervous tension.

‘I went to collect a computer stick. With all the presentation business, I’d forgotten it. I had work on it that I needed for the studio that afternoon. Stuff I’d done at home.’

‘Did anybody see you?’

‘I don’t know. Middle of the day; not many people are about.’

‘Neighbours?’

‘No. I live alone and don’t go out much. It’s the work I love.’

Moberg spread his mighty hands palm down on the table. ‘So, in theory, you could have gone to Ekman’s apartment, placed the crystals and—‘

‘What crystals?’

‘The poisonous gas crystals that the murderer put in Ekman’s shower. The crystals that ensured he had a horrible death.’

Johansson appeared appalled. ‘Shit. Is that how Tommy died?’

‘Oh, yes. And you’ve no alibi, have you Daniel?’

Johansson adjusted his designer spectacles. ‘Why? Why would I want to do such a thing?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

‘It’s ridiculous.’

Moberg inspected his fingers for a moment. ‘What percentage of the company do you own?’

‘Twenty-five percent.’

‘So, Tommy had seventy-five percent.’

‘No. Dag Wollstad had a share too. Tommy brought him on board as a silent partner.’

‘But now?’

‘I’ll get...’ He stopped.

‘Controlling interest?’

Johansson screwed up his eyes. ‘Partly. But I would still have to consult with Wollstad, or possibly Kristina Ekman, about important issues. I couldn’t sell the company without his say-so, for example.’

‘But your financial return is going to be far higher.’

‘Yes, but we still have to bring in the clients. And Tommy was one of the main reasons we were successful in the first place.’

Moberg opened a folder and pulled out a glossy brochure. He idly flicked through it. ‘I see in your company brochure that one of your clients is Buckley Mellor Chemicals.’

‘They’re British. Their headquarters are in Warrington in England. But they have a plant over here. We don’t do any advertising as such for them, but we designed a new website for the Swedish end of the operation a couple of months ago.’

‘And what do they specialize in?’

‘Pesticides are their main business over here. Agricultural use mainly, some domestic. Slug pellets. That sort of thing.’

‘Poisonous things?’

Johansson contemplated the question for a moment. ‘I suppose so.’

Moberg snapped the brochure shut. ‘Fine. You can go, Daniel.’

Johansson couldn’t hide his relief as he almost jumped up from his seat.

Moberg pointed towards the door. ‘Can you find your own way out?’

‘Yes. No problem.’ Johansson reached the door and opened it. Then he checked himself. ‘If you’re interested in Buckley Mellor Chemicals, have a word with our financial director, Bo Nilsson. He worked there before he came to us.’

Moberg got up almost as quickly as Johansson had done. ‘Didn’t Bo Nilsson work for one of Dag Wollstad’s companies?’

‘Yeah. Buckley Mellor is part of Wollstad Industries.’

Anita and Hakim came away from the front door of the Olofsson house and exchanged glances of resignation. Carolina Olofsson was still deeply upset, and there was nothing that she said in answer to Anita’s questions that shed any light on a possible personal motive for murder – or murderer. The bank was something else. Carolina knew very little about her husband’s responsibilities. She was one of those wives who had never had to work. Anita found it difficult to sympathize with such women.

They were near the gates when a voice called.

‘Excuse me, Inspector.’

Olofsson’s daughter, Sofie, had come round from the back of the house. Throughout the interview she had sat on the sofa next to her mother, holding her hand. She hadn’t said much at the time other than to confirm what her mother was saying.

‘I wanted a word without my mother hearing.’

Anita nodded to her and they walked into the side street beyond the gate, out of sight of the house. Sofie took after her father in build, though she had the pretty face that her mother must have had in her prime. Anita knew from their introductions that Sofie was a doctor.

‘There’s something my mother didn’t tell you.’

‘And what is that?’

‘It’s difficult. In the last few months Dad seemed more preoccupied. He went out a lot, especially when they were over in Vik. ‘

‘He liked golf,’ said Anita.

‘I know. But Mamma said this was different. He was evasive. The occasional secretive phone call that he’d say was just business.’

‘May well have been.’

‘What Mamma couldn’t fathom was a suppressed excitement. A bounce in his step. She started to think that maybe...’

‘Another woman?’ Anita ventured.

‘Yes. She didn’t mention it to you because it was only a suspicion. And she finds the whole thing embarrassing. Especially in front of strangers. I think I’m the only person she’s mentioned it to. Not even to my brothers.’

‘So, if there is a mystery woman, she’s more likely to be over in Österlen than here in Malmö?’

‘That’s what Mamma thought. Though it would have been easier for him to have an affair over here because Mamma spends a lot of time in the cottage by herself when he’s in town, particularly in the summer.’

‘I know this is hard for you, but did your father have other affairs in the past that you are aware of?’

‘No. Never. I’m sure of that.’

Anita regarded the girl who was having to come to terms with the shocking death of her father and also having to face up to the possibility that he had been unfaithful to a mother she so clearly adored.

‘Thank you. That might be very helpful.’

‘Inspector. You will catch the person who did this terrible thing?’

Anita reached out a hand and touched Sofie’s arm. It was a gesture of reassurance. It wasn’t an answer.

Westermark’s enigmatic grin worried Anita. What was he up to? He had called the meeting in his office on her return from the Olofsson household to discuss “his murder case”. That in itself was enough to raise Anita’s hackles. What made it worse was that he had asked Moberg to attend so that the chief inspector was fully up to speed. Westermark opened the meeting as though he were chairman of some highfalutin company board. He graciously gave Anita the floor to explain what she had come up with. Her diminished role within the team was plain to see.

‘I didn’t get anything of much value from the wife, but then the daughter, Sofie, wanted to speak to me without her mother around. Apparently, in the last few months Carolina Olofsson believed that her husband might be having an affair. It’s not something she wanted to discuss with me, particularly as he is now on a cold slab in Lund. Dirty linen in public and—’

‘Anything concrete?’ Westermark interrupted.

Hakim saw that Anita was finding it hard to disguise her irritation before she answered. ‘No.’

‘It’s an angle that we must investigate,’ he added absently without any enthusiasm. It was obviously a lead he wasn’t interested in.

‘It might provide a motive. Spurned lover. Lover’s husband. It was you and the chief inspector who were sure that the motive was personal.’

‘That’s fine. I said look into it.’ Westermark couldn’t get the impatience out of his voice. Anita couldn’t work out why he failed to see that this was a valid route. She soon discovered why.

Westermark languidly leant back in his seat and rested the crown of his head in his intertwined fingers. ‘I’ve had a very profitable meeting at Sydöstra Banken this morning.’ He brought his hands down slowly and placed them on his desk. His pleased-as-Punch smile was directed at Moberg. ‘There are significant connections between Martin Olofsson and Tommy Ekman.’

Moberg broke his silence. ‘Well?’

‘Sydöstra Banken recently had a review of their advertising. Guess who won the business? Ekman & Johansson! Martin Olofsson wasn’t anything to do with the marketing department, but it was he who recommended that they speak to the agency.’

‘It’s a bit tenuous,’ said Moberg.

‘That’s not the only connection. One of Sydöstra Banken’s principal clients is Dag Wollstad. And who was Wollstad’s main point of contact at the bank? None other than Martin Olofsson.’

Moberg sighed. ‘Everywhere we turn we can’t escape Wollstad. Both murders have a direct connection to him. Of course, that may be coincidental. On the other hand, the financial director at the agency is another Wollstad man. And one that used to work for a chemical company owned by Wollstad Industries. I need to speak to him soon.’

‘It makes you wonder whether Wollstad wanted Ekman and Olofsson out of the way for some reason.’

‘The only thing that nags at me,’ said Moberg, ‘is that the deaths are so dissimilar. If you hire a hitman, then you would expect the murders to be carried out in the same way; not an obscure poisoning and then hitting someone over the head before making a feeble attempt to pass it off as suicide.’

‘Unless it was deliberately done so we wouldn’t connect the two.’

Anita felt like a bystander, which is what she assumed Westermark wanted.

‘Right.’ Moberg turned to Westermark. ‘If there’s the possibility of a link, I want you to look into it further. I’ll continue with Henrik and Klara Wallen on the Ekman case. We may find connections at our end. Anita, you and...’ he said waving at Hakim.

‘Hakim’, answered Hakim.

‘You two look into the mystery woman. Anything you find, report back to Westermark and he’ll come to me. By the way, how are you getting on with the painting business? Despite all the mayhem going on, the commissioner was still wittering on about it yesterday.’