Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (21 page)

‘
Saturday & Sunday
.’

Munk’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ingvar Serneholt?’

‘Yes,’ Anita said in surprise. ‘The painting was cut out of its frame.’ Then she remembered she had mentioned Serneholt and that particular painting to Karin when they had met up for lunch.

‘I hope they didn’t damage it.’

‘We don’t know as yet. But they certainly damaged Serneholt!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Haven’t you heard? He was killed when the painting was stolen.’

Munk looked stunned.

‘Did you know Serneholt?’

‘I met him once. Bit of an art groupie. He invited me over to his pad... near Malmö somewhere.’

‘When was this?’ Anita couldn’t help slipping into police mode even when she was making a conscious effort not to.

Munk shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Can’t remember. Some years ago.’ Munk raised his left hand and painted a stroke with an imaginary paint brush. ‘I didn’t realize owning my paintings could be so dangerous,’ he joked. ‘Do you know who did it?’

‘Not yet.’ Anita didn’t want to go into the details, so she changed the subject. ‘Are you all ready for the exhibition?’

Munk didn’t respond. Anita thought he hadn’t heard what she said. ‘The exhibition?’ She spoke as clearly as she could. ‘Is it all ready?’

He just grunted, waved a hand dismissively and took another drink. Anita didn’t pursue it any further.

After lunch, Anita and Karin walked down to the beach at Lilla Vik. It was only a five minute walk; across the main road, through an apple orchard, past a spankingly-painted, traditional timber house with a fabulous view over the sea and down a short, steep slope to the shore. Anita had walked here so many times over the years and had never got over the sense of release it always gave her. It was a place she loved and carried around in her heart wherever she went. Now that the sun had returned, families had come down to enjoy the rest of their Sunday. Some were walking their dogs, others were playing Frisbee with their kids. No one was actually swimming, but a few were splashing along the water’s edge, where the waves gave up being boisterous and fizzled into the sand. Anita liked it best in the winter when the place was deserted and she could pretend no one else in the world existed.

‘Your father didn’t seem very keen to talk about the exhibition.’

‘It’s just nerves,’ Karin sighed. ‘It’s a big thing for him. His comeback. He doesn’t know how the world will receive his new paintings. Will it be as good as the original work that made him famous? I’ve been mounting some of them this weekend. But I know it’ll be great.’ Karin stopped and gazed out to sea. ‘It’ll revitalize him. It’ll bring the old Pelle back to life.’

‘It’s a pity about Ingvar Serneholt’s murder.’

‘Is that the guy you told me about? The one who owned
Saturday & Sunday
?’ Karin looked shocked.

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, you’re joking!’

‘He was looking forward to the exhibition. I think he was keen to buy some more of Pelle’s work.’

Karin turned and began to walk away. ‘That’s bad timing.’

‘If anybody but Henrik had come up with this stuff, I’d have told them to find another job.’ Moberg was looking at Anita when he spoke. The meaning was clear. ‘But I respect your opinion and judgment, Henrik,’ he said turning to Nordlund. ‘And, as we have had to let Nilsson go because of a lack of evidence, we’ve got to pursue this.’

‘Except for this list that
he
found,’ objected Westermark dismissively, referring to Hakim, ‘there really isn’t anything to tie all three murders together.’ He had sat through Nordlund, Anita, Hakim and Wallen explaining their findings in a meeting room which was plastered with photos of the victims - before and after death – scene-of-crime shots, maps of murder locations and a very small gallery of possible suspects. He could see his pivotal role in linking the Ekman and Olofsson murders being hijacked by Anita.

‘I know. But we have to take this list seriously until we can find an explanation for it. We have to discover what “The November 6
^th
Group” is.’ He turned to Nordlund. ‘Is it a political group, as you and Sundström believe, or is it a commercial think tank? Or merely a social club? They might all be bloody golfers for all we know. Depending on what it is, the motive will become clearer. Does the group pose a threat to the killer? Or is it someone with a grudge against rich people?’ Moberg shook his head. ‘If someone else has got a copy of this and is using it as a hit list, for whatever reason, we have no choice... we have to speak to Dag Wollstad. He might be the next target.’

‘At least we can confirm whether Wollstad was on his estate on April 16
^th
,’ said Anita. ‘We can assume Ingvar Serneholt was at the meeting, as he had the list. Martin Olofsson wasn’t where he said he was, so he could have made the meeting too. We don’t know about Ekman, but his wife could confirm his movements on that Saturday.’

‘The commissioner’s not going to like this, but if he thinks we’re concerned about Wollstad’s safety...’ Moberg didn’t bother finishing the sentence. ‘I’ll see him and sort it out. Then I want Westermark and Sundström to go Wollstad’s.’ Moberg had no desire to meet Wollstad again.

‘Why her?’

‘Because, Westermark, I want you to talk to Wollstad and I want Sundström to tackle Kristina Ekman. She seems to be living out there at the moment. It will have to be very low key, so I don’t want either of you two startling the horses.’

Westermark glared at Anita. She smiled sweetly back.

‘In the meantime, we all need to start digging deeper into the background of our three murder victims. We need more concrete connections. See if we can find out anything about Bishop Green’s movements while he was in Sweden. He must have been in Malmö. Who else, other than Serneholt, did he meet?’ Moberg eyes swivelled round the room. ‘We’ve got three murders on our hands and not one proper fucking suspect!’

It wasn’t until the next day, Tuesday, that a meeting with Wollstad was arranged. The nervous commissioner had wanted it all done officially so that there would be no recriminations. After the last time, Dalhberg was relieved that Moberg wasn’t going. On the other hand, Anita was not looking forward to her trip to Illstorp one iota. Stuck in a car with a randy and resentful Westermark wasn’t her idea of a nice day out. She had managed to avoid him since the Monday morning meeting. As she was preparing to leave the office, the phone rang. It was Moberg.

‘Change of plan. Turns out Kristina Ekman is back in town. She’s at her apartment. Go over there now with Hasim.’

‘Hakim.’

‘Whatever. Westermark will have to go to Illstorp alone. Nordlund and Wallen are out.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ve upset Dag Wollstad enough already. Westermark’s got a high enough opinion of himself to cope with Wollstad. If Westermark establishes that Wollstad’s part of this November group, then we’re to offer him protection, though I’m sure he can afford his own. If he thinks we’re talking out of our arses, then at least we’ve been seen to do our duty.’

Kristina Ekman’s face only dropped for a fraction of a second when she answered the door and saw Anita and Hakim. She was back to glacial politeness when she showed them into her large living room. Hakim was silent. Anita could sense his amazement at such sumptuous trappings of wealth. Kristina didn’t offer them coffee, and Anita could tell that she wanted them out as quickly as possible.

Kristina, sitting like a ramrod, with the attitude of an elegant actress in a 1930s’ Hollywood movie, arched an eyebrow.

‘Is this about that banker again?’

‘No. It’s about your husband’s murder.’

 ‘They’ve put you on the case?’ The mock surprise was derisive.

Anita ignored it. ‘We need to establish where your husband was on April 16
^th
this year.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of this.’ Anita took out a photocopy of Serneholt’s “Sjätte November Gruppen” list.

Kristina took the piece of paper in her finely manicured fingers and perused it. ‘What’s this?’

‘That’s what we are trying to discover. Hakim found it on Ingvar Serneholt’s computer. He’s the man who was murdered last week.’

Kristina turned her gaze on Hakim. ‘Never met him, but I do know of him. Comes from a wealthy family. But I’ve certainly never heard of “The November 6
^th
Group”.’

‘We believe
IS
stands for Ingvar Serneholt. The
MO
, Martin Olofsson. That’s your father’s banker I asked you about before. Our interest in this may tie in with an empty folder we found on your husband’s office computer, which was entitled “November 6
^th”
. And there is a
TE
on the list, as you can see.’

‘It’s unlikely to be Tommy, as I don’t think he knew Ingvar Serneholt any more than I did.’

‘Had he met him?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘There’s also a
DW
. We thought that might be your father.’

‘That sounds pretty ludicrous. And where was this meeting meant to be taking place?’

‘We thought you might be able to help us with that.’

‘Hardly. As I said, I‘ve never heard of this... group.’

‘We think it has something to do with Gustav Adolf.’

‘There might well be a clue in the date I suppose,’ Kristina said sarcastically.

With great difficulty, Anita didn’t rise to the bait. She hadn’t taken to Kristina Ekman on their first meeting. Now that unfavourable impression was replaced by unadulterated dislike. Just then the phone rang. ‘Excuse me.’ Kristina got up and went over to the instrument, which sat on an intricately carved wooden table in the corner of the room. It looked Indian and expensive.

‘Titti speaking.’ She listened carefully to a voice on the other end of the line. ‘I’ll have to call you back. I have the police with me at the moment, but they’ll be gone very soon.’ Another pause. ‘Speak to you in a minute.’

Kristina returned to her seat. She reached over to a small black lacquered Chinese box on the coffee table and took out a cigarette, which she twirled in her fingers. She didn’t attempt to light it.

Anita was about to resume when Hakim jumped in.

‘What were your husband’s political beliefs? Views on immigration?’

Kristina studied Hakim before answering. She made no effort to hide her contempt. ‘He was a man who believed in Sweden.’

‘That could mean anything.’ Hakim carried on, ignoring Anita’s warning glance. ‘What did he vote, for example?’

‘That was between Tommy and the ballot box. But if you want to know what his political persuasions were: he supported governments that he felt were in tune with the needs of entrepreneurial businesses like his own. As for immigration, Tommy thought that if ethnics were prepared to work and not scrounge off the system, then they had a part to play in Swedish society.’

‘And did he employ any “ethnics”?’ There was real anger in Hakim’s voice.

‘That’s enough, Hakim,’ Anita snapped. ‘Fru Ekman, I apologize for my colleague’s over-eagerness. But we do need to establish where your husband was on Saturday, April 16
^th
.’

Kristina stood up again. This time she wandered over to a small chest of drawers. Even in jeans and a casual cream summer top, she retained a sophisticated elegance. She pulled open the top drawer. Anita thought she was about to produce a diary or filofax, but instead it was a silver lighter. She lit her cigarette, returned the lighter to the drawer and pushed it shut.

‘That’s simple enough. I was over at Illstorp with my father that weekend.’

Anita hopes were raised. This could be the confirmation they needed that the murder victims were all together at Wollstad’s.

‘As for Tommy, he was in Hong Kong.’

‘Hong Kong?’ This was a blow.

‘Yes. Hong Kong. He was out there on business. The Chinese market is becoming more important.’ Kristina Ekman puffed on her cigarette and then let a delicate stream of smoke escape from her lips. ‘So, that can’t be Tommy on your list – or my father. I was with him all that day. I can assure you that neither Ingvar Serneholt nor that banker came anywhere near the family home. I suggest that you spend less time worrying about silly little lists and make more of an effort to find my husband’s murderer.’

They had reached the man-made lake. The light breeze caused a slight ripple on the surface of the clear water. No invasive duck weed to be seen. The grass round the lake was neatly cut, though the vegetation on the banks themselves had been allowed to grow just enough to give the waterside verges a semblance of wildness. On the far side, a family of ducks was swimming serenely towards the cover of some tall reeds. In the middle two swans circled slowly.

‘Magnificent creatures. I love swans. Strong. Independent.’

Westermark assumed that Dag Wollstad was equating the birds with himself. And why not? The house and grounds were a testament to Wollstad’s hard work and ultimate success. Westermark had contrasting emotions when meeting wealthy people, which he only did through his job. There was always a mixture of envy and admiration. Envy he reserved for those with money who hadn’t accrued it through graft or had used other people to help them up the greasy pole. Like Serenholt and Ekman. Wollstad was different. Such was the scale of his tangible achievement that all Westermark could do was award him total respect. Westermark had never been within sniffing distance of such staggering affluence before. The industrialist had already given him a tour of some of the rooms of the house. Now, one of Sweden’s richest men was taking him down the wide gravel drive and through an estate that only money could have created. The style was formal, but without the flair of the French or the Italian landscapers. White, rectangular tubs, containing dwarf conifers, were placed at regular intervals along the drive, on either side of which well-cut lawns melded into birch and pine woodland. It made Westermark feel good. Wollstad was talking to him as an equal, and not as some annoying policeman who had disturbed his busy schedule.

They had already discussed the November 6
^th
list. Wollstad had to call his PA to confirm that he was at home all that weekend and that Titti, his affectionate diminutive of Kristina, and the grandchildren had been there also, as Tommy had been away in Hong Kong on business. And he certainly wasn’t the
DW
on the list. Ingvar Serneholt and Martin Olofsson might be in the group, but that was their business. ‘Sounds to me more like a social circle.’ Of course, he knew Olofsson through Sydöstra Banken. He had held him in very high regard as an efficient and sound banker. He also knew that Olofsson had been friendly with Tommy, as they had sometimes played at the Österlen Golf Club at weekends. To his knowledge, Olofsson had never been out to Illstorp. As for Serneholt, he had met him a couple of times on social occasions. The last time? Probably about three years ago. When he was younger, he had come across Serneholt’s father while still working at Swedish Match. From what he remembered, Serneholt senior had died some years ago.

Wollstad had dismissed the police offer of protection, as he was sure that he was not an intended target. ‘Anyhow, I can handle my own security.’ Westermark could believe it. However, Wollstad was seriously concerned that there seemed to be little progress in finding the killer of his son-in-law and of such a respected banker as Martin Olofsson. Quick action was needed on these murders to restore the commercial sector’s confidence in the police. It didn’t look good for the Scanian business community. As he felt he was now in Wollstad’s confidence, Westermark had gone beyond what he should say about the investigation, discussing how
he
had cleverly connected Nilsson to Ekman and Olofsson. And now that Wollstad and Ekman had nothing to do with the list, then Sundström’s only thread connecting the three murders was snapped. He would enjoy telling her.

They came to a halt at the water’s edge.

‘I hear positive things about you, Karl. It is Karl?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Westermark felt a swell of pride.

‘I’m assured that you’re destined for great things. And I’m sure finding my son-in-law’s killer, and that of Martin Olofsson, would further your career.’

‘I am desperate... we are desperate to conclude this case. However, the Serneholt killing has caused complications. Muddying the waters, as it were.’

‘I understand. And is anyone in particular muddying said waters?’

Westermark saw his chance and slyly tiptoed as he stuck the knife in. ‘Inspector Anita Sundström and her sidekick, enthusiastic though they undoubtedly are, tend to clutch at rather tenuous straws. Hakim,’ he said slowly to emphasise the name, and accompanied doing so by raising his eyebrows, ‘is a trainee, and perhaps can be forgiven. He found that list I showed you and Sundström seems convinced there’s a link between the three murders. She also found a DVD in Olofsson’s briefcase with a British cleric spouting some pretty out-there views about immigrants and Jews and suchlike. Not all that daft, some of them in my opinion, but that’s by the by.’

‘Does he have a name? The cleric?’

‘Bishop Green.’

Wollstad shook his head. The name obviously meant nothing.