Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (15 page)

Anita was woken by the thud of
Dagens Nyheter
hitting the floor of her hallway. Five o’clock. The free newspaper was always delivered at 5 o’clock. Normally she wouldn’t hear it, but she had been awake for some time. So many things flitted through her mind as she vainly tried to get back to sleep. The thought that Lasse was slipping away from her into the clutches of a girl she didn’t like plagued her. The fact that she had poured out her heart about Ewan to some bloody adolescent with a psychology degree and a scrawny goatee hadn’t helped. What irked her was that her feelings for Ewan seemed stronger now than before. How the hell was she meant to “move on”? Axelsson was an idiot. The revelations hadn’t made her feel better. They had made her feel stupid. Finally, all the permutations at work were confusing. She no longer knew where she stood. Was Moberg conspiring to get rid of her? Was he deliberately undermining her confidence? She was on a case, then off again. She was being sidelined when the department was being stretched to the limit by the murders of two of the city’s leading businessmen, not to mention the immigrant shootings, which had got both the ethnic communities and local politicians putting the pressure on. And as she tossed and turned, there was the spectre of Karl Westermark. Their loathing was mutual yet, deep down, was she was flattered that he so obviously “wanted” her? All these conflicting emotions raged as the early morning sunlight winked through the chinks in the Venetian blinds; she realized how easy it would be to succumb to Westermark’s animal desires - and her own. It was almost a year since she had last had a man. It was much longer since she had actually enjoyed sex. She imagined Westermark would be a good, but selfish, lover. The horror at the direction in which her thoughts were travelling made her get up and head for the kitchen. A strong coffee would dispel the demons of the night.

Skånerost did give her a boost and the time sat at the kitchen table enabled her to order her thoughts. In the cold light of day they weren’t quite as bad as they had appeared at 2 in the morning. But only just.
Dagens Nyheter
was full of speculation about the “Malmö Marksman”. Mad immigrant hater, hired gun, spurned lover, inter-gang rivalry and even a maverick Mossad agent. Take your pick. The newspapers, as usual, were doing their best to exploit everyone’s anxieties. There was also a small piece on the progress the police were making into the death of banker, Martin Olofsson. A spokeswoman had said that they had a significant lead on the case. She knew that this was only the commissioner’s attempt to give the press some positive news, to deflect the fact that the investigation into the rogue gunman terrorizing the city was going nowhere. Whether it really was a “significant lead”, she was unsure. Moberg and Westermark seemed to think it was. The trouble was that she didn’t know enough about the case to make a real judgement. That in itself was infuriating. She must crack this Munk business quickly and then they would have to involve her in the big investigations, if not Moberg’s, then with Larsson on the “Marksman” case.

She pushed the newspaper away and poured herself a second coffee. The trouble was that she had hit a blank wall. She was pretty sure Gabrielsson was involved, but he was out of the country. Maybe their visit to Serneholt would reveal something. But without a search warrant she couldn’t root around to see if he had the two stolen paintings stashed away somewhere. All the other avenues she and Hakim had looked down had proved to be dead-ends. The two thieves with a penchant for stealing works of art in the Skåne County Police records both had alibis. One was in hospital on the night of the Lindegren theft, after falling out of a third storey apartment building in Halmstad while trying to escape the owner who had returned home to find his house being burgled. The other was dead. He had lost his fight against liver cancer. Unless there was a new kid on the block that they hadn’t heard about, then she didn’t know where to turn.

An hour and half later she picked up Hakim from the polishus and they made their way out of town to Serneholt’s home. Anita couldn’t help noticing that Hakim appeared pre-occupied, even nervous.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ came the defensive reply.

‘Look, I’ve got a son not much younger than you. I can tell you’ve something on your mind.’

Hakim ran his hand across his mouth before replying. ‘It’s daft really. Embarrassing.’

‘When it comes to embarrassing, you’re talking to the department’s queen. Whatever it is, just spit it out.’

‘It’s my parents.’

Anita stopped the car at a set of traffic lights. She glanced sideways at the young man. ‘Your parents? What about them. Are they giving you a hard time over the job?’

‘Oh no. It’s just that...’ Another awkward pause. The light turned green and Anita’s foot gently squeezed the accelerator. ‘They want to meet you.’

‘Meet me?’ she spluttered.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’ She was gently amused. ‘To see that I’m not leading their son astray?’

‘Please don’t mock me.’

‘Sorry. I’m not mocking you, Hakim. I’m just surprised.’

‘I think they want to know that I’m doing a good job. That I’m showing you respect and not letting my family down. Living up to their standards.’

Anita grinned at the road ahead. ‘Old-fashioned parents. I like that. Of course I’ll meet them. When?’

The relief on Hakim’s face was obvious. Anita suspected that he had also had a sleepless night worrying about Anita’s possible reaction to his rather unusual request.

‘After work today. Only if it’s convenient,’ he added quickly. ‘Just for a cup of tea or coffee. You don’t have to stay long.’

Anita smiled.

‘I’d be delighted to meet your parents.’

‘Shit!’ Anita wasn’t happy when there was no answer after ringing Serneholt’s doorbell. She sent Hakim off to ask at the neighbouring house if they knew where Serneholt was. He came back to say that Serneholt had left early that morning to catch a flight to Stockholm. He was due back sometime this evening. The neighbour only knew about it because Serneholt was expecting a delivery and the neighbour was going to take it in for him until he returned.

‘A pity he didn’t give the neighbour his keys. Wouldn’t mind an hour by ourselves in there.’

She caught Hakim’s disapproving scowl.

‘Don’t worry. I was only musing. OK. Let’s go back to town. I’ll ring him tonight and we’ll come back tomorrow morning.’

On the way back into the centre of Malmö, Anita pulled the car into a self-service garage area off busy Lundavägen and parked the car.

‘You can drive the car back to the polishus. I’ve got something to do.’

Hakim looked puzzled. ‘What?’

‘You have to learn not to question a senior officer’s instructions.’

‘Sorry.’

Anita got out of the car and Hakim moved over to the driver’s side.

‘I’ll see you when I get back. In the meantime, see if we have anything on Serneholt on file. Handling stolen goods would be a nice start.’ She slammed the door car shut and watched Hakim manoeuvre it back onto the main highway. Then she crossed the road and headed towards the prison.

Nilsson’s apartment was modest and neat. It was in an unassuming red-brick block just behind Linnégatan. It was a Limhamn address and that was what probably mattered to Nilsson, concluded Westermark. The block was one of four forming a square that hemmed in a large area of garden. The garden didn’t consist of much more than lawn and a hedge running round its perimeter, but it was a place where residents could sit and relax in the sun. There were one or two flowering cherries and a small border on one side full of berberis and hypericum. As Westermark, with Wallen’s assistance, poked around the one-bedroomed apartment, he found it difficult to imagine why someone on Nilsson’s salary would want to live here. Maybe this was downsizing caused by his financial recklessness.

Westermark glanced through Nilsson’s CD collection in the living room. Lots of ABBA and easy listening. Westermark sighed heavily. He had Nilsson down as a ‘seat-at-the-opera’ type, but there wasn’t even a Mozart or a Sibelius. His DVDs were mainly history documentaries, with a few rom coms thrown in. Westermark wandered into the small kitchen and glanced down into the garden below. An old man was sitting on a bench reading a newspaper. A mother was playing with a child of about three. She wasn’t attractive enough to keep his attention for more than a moment. He was more interested in calculating how long it would take Nilsson to walk to Martin Olofsson’s house in Vikingagatan. He reckoned it wouldn’t be more than about ten minutes. Easy to get there, hang around for Olofsson to turn up (though they hadn’t found any witnesses yet), kill him, set up the car to make it look like suicide and then pop back to the apartment. His thought process was disturbed by a call from Wallen in the bedroom next door. ‘Karl!’

Wallen was holding up a photograph of a young woman. She was pretty. It wasn’t a family shot. The skirt was too short, the pose too provocative and the smile too inviting.

‘Found it in his bedside table. Inside a bible.’ She turned the photo over. ‘Signed.
To Bo
.
Love Milena
.’

‘Any other signs of her in here?’

‘No. Nothing in the wardrobe or drawers.’

‘Take the photo round to the neighbours. Find out if she visited Nilsson.’

Wallen gazed at the photo. ‘Do you think she’s the reason that Nilsson took up gambling?’

‘We won’t find out if you don’t go and do as I tell you. Now!’ Westermark added sharply. Wallen reddened and scuttled out of the room.

‘Police business?’

Anita shook her head. Ewan was mocking her in an affectionate way. The black eye had healed, though he was still as gaunt as the last time she’d seen him.

‘I’m glad you came, whatever the reason.’

She wanted to say that she had come to reassure herself that everything was over between them. That the strange love link they had formed no longer existed. She wanted emotional closure so she could get on with her life. Yet, as she sat opposite him in the same room they had talked in before, she knew it was hopeless. She wanted to lean over and kiss him; to hold him close and feel his arms around her.

‘I’ve got a friend.’

‘A friend?’

‘Yes. Jovan. He’s Serbian. He’s taken a shine to me and defends me when the other inmates get threatening.’ Ewan smirked. ‘And he doesn’t even want sex for his services. I just think he hates Swedes for putting him in here, and I’m a foreigner, so I must be all right. And he also likes Newcastle United, so we have a bond. Every time he sees me he puts his thumb up and says “Alan Shearer”. I mentioned that I interviewed him once years ago when I covered sport. He believes Shearer must be my mate.’

‘I’m pleased someone’s looking after you.’

‘Oh, I gave him your cigarettes. He says “thank you”.’

Anita smiled.

‘How are things? Is your career getting back on track after I fucked it up?’

‘I didn’t know...’

‘Word gets round, even in here.’

‘It could be better.’ She felt herself relaxing. She was half-tempted to have a bitch about Moberg and company, but thought better of it. However awful it seemed to her, she knew Ewan would see the funny side of it. Maybe that was the root of his attraction.

‘Lasse?’

She spread her hands out in a gesture of despair. ‘Lasse. Never have kids! He’s not even coming back for midsummer. And then he’s spending the summer in Gotland with the dreaded Rebecka.’ She found herself confiding her thoughts and frustrations about Lasse and how they were causing her more heartache than her job. She didn’t care that it was Ewan who was the recipient of her angst. He was so easy to talk to. He listened patiently.

‘He’s young,’ said Ewan when she had finished. ‘We all do things without thinking about other people at that age. He’ll come back to you, maybe in a different way from before. But he’ll come back.’

‘Do you think so?’

Ewan leant across the table and squeezed her hand reassuringly. She let him, and found herself disappointed when he withdrew it again.

‘Either he’ll realize that Rebecka is a selfish madam and find someone else or they’ll both grow up. I’m sure, deep down, he still appreciates his mum. It’s just un-cool to acknowledge the fact at the moment.’

Anita felt better.

‘So, why did you come?’

She glanced away. ‘I must be going.’ She stood up.

‘Anita. I’m sorry. Sorry for all the problems I’ve caused you.’

Anita knocked on the door. She felt in her bag and pulled out her snus tin. She threw it across to Ewan, who caught it.

‘A present for Jovan.’

Ewan’s face lit up with delight.

‘I hope you’ll come back again.’

‘I don’t know.’ As the door was unlocked she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep away.

Moberg now felt he had the information that he needed to pin the murder charges on Bo Nilsson. That’s why he was enjoying Nilsson’s discomfort on the other side of the table in the interview room. Nilsson had his solicitor at his side, though he didn’t seem to have gained much reassurance from his legal representative’s presence. Moberg had Nordlund for company. He realized that a combination of Westermark and himself would be unwise. One of them, inevitably, would overstep the mark.

He had a file on the table in front of him. Inside were notes from a meeting he had had half an hour before with Westermark and Wallen. They had come back with some very incriminating information, though Nordlund’s visit to Buckley Mellor Chemicals had been less productive. There was no obvious connection, and it would be difficult to find someone to admit to supplying Nilsson with poisonous substances. He would have to skirt round that suspicion at this stage. Moberg began quietly.

‘You’ve admitted that you took money from Ekman & Johansson—‘

‘Only temporarily,’ Nilsson interrupted.

Moberg smiled sweetly. ‘Only temporarily. However, you must have taken a lot of money, over a period of time, to warrant Ekman calling in the bank to investigate.’

Moberg waited for a response which never came.

‘We know you frequented the casino and the trotting track. Why the sudden gambling? We have it from your former wife that you were a stingy sod. That’s why she left you.’