She hadn’t slept much. Björn’s reappearance in her life had been unsettling. Her ex-husband had been the only man she had fallen in love with – until Ewan. But she knew that with Ewan her relationship was totally abnormal. With Björn she had always thought that it was a meeting of kindred spirits, though, if she was being honest, she had also been rather in awe of him. He was eight years older than her and, after her father had died in the Estonia ferry tragedy, Björn had helped to fill the void. Of course, Björn was super-intelligent and was already starting to make an impact in academic circles. Maybe the real attraction – other than the lashings of lust which were imaginatively served up – was that he was so different from the people she knew and mixed with. He was exciting, and his cerebral world of ideas had been a good counterpoint to her own practical one of facts. Björn had enjoyed her being a policewoman. It shocked his friends that the great liberal was married to a figure representing the conservative establishment. Had their relationship simply been his way of being provocative? Certainly, she was often made to feel uncomfortable in the presence of the academic set. Despite all this, Björn had loved her and cared for her. He was thrilled with the arrival of Lasse, and for a few years she had never been happier.
Then it slowly began to dawn on her that if she wanted Björn, she was going to have to share him. He had always had a roving eye. She had had her suspicions, but the instincts she was developing in her career as a cop helped her to consolidate them. Then the lies became more frequent. His weakness for younger versions of herself became too obvious to ignore. Eventually, she asked him to leave. It wasn’t a decision taken lightly, as Lasse had worshipped Björn. Till yesterday. Her son had disappeared first thing that morning, and she could understand why. He couldn’t bear to see his father in such an emotional state. He had come into the kitchen just as Björn had broken down in tears. The look of horrified distain on Lasse’s face would remain with Anita the rest of her life. The fall of a hero. In many ways, her reaction had been the same. She had never seen Björn so out of control. So powerless. And all because of some stupid girl. But this was different. The great stud, who had simply moved on to the next conquest when he got bored, had made the mistake of falling in love. It had turned him into a pitiful old man. That was what Anita was finding so hard to come to terms with as she levered herself up from the bench and started to jog back in the direction of her apartment.
Anita took a thermos of strong coffee into the living room. She had showered and changed after her run and was now in a pair of black jeans and a white top. She put the thermos on the table next to two mugs.
‘I think you need this,’ she said, pouring the steaming black liquid into the mugs.
Björn sat, bleary-eyed, on the day bed. The duvet was crumpled at one end. He was in his black t-shirt from the night before, blue boxer shorts and white socks. She had removed his jacket, shoes and trousers, but that was as far as she’d gone. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered as he took the coffee.
She sat down. She watched him as he cupped his mug. It bore the cartoon of a goofy-looking man with a ball and chain round his ankle. The caption ran: En lydig man är en lycklig man – an obedient man is a happy man. Björn would have been appalled at the sentiment, if he’d been switched on enough to notice.
‘Sorry.’
Anita smiled. It hadn’t been a word she had often heard him say while they were married.
‘I acted like an idiot last night.’
‘Yes. Your son won’t forgive you in a hurry.’
Björn looked startled. ‘Is he...?’
‘No. He’s gone out.’
He sipped at his coffee and grimaced.
‘Christ, you still make your coffee too strong!’
‘It kept me awake all those nights I waited up for you to come back home.’ She surprised herself at her own vehemence.
Björn gazed at her. The blue eyes were sad. He shook his head. ‘I really fucked things up.’
‘That’s all in the past.’ She had done enough dwelling on their marriage as she had lain in bed last night, and on her run this morning. She didn’t want him to stay any longer than was necessary, so she had better find out about the woman who was causing him so much grief. ‘Greta? Tell me about Greta.’
He took another sip of coffee before answering. ‘Greta... Greta Jansson is the woman I love.’
‘I gathered that from all the whimpering last night.’ She found herself being short with him. The horrid truth was that she didn’t like to hear him say that he loved another woman. Even after all the years apart, it was a difficult thing for her to come to terms with.
‘I know it sounds pathetic. Greta’s only twenty-three. And I’m...’
Though tempted, she didn’t say anything. Anita knew that he had turned fifty a couple of years before. Maybe that’s why he suddenly felt so vulnerable.
‘Greta was one of my students.’ Björn managed a wry grin when he saw Anita’s eyebrows head skywards. ‘Yes, I know. My record isn’t good. But Greta was different. Bright, funny... and, unlike some of the others, she was mature for her age. Maybe with me becoming...’ He broke off again, unable to admit that he was well past his half century. This led to another reflective slurp of coffee.
‘Though we slept together, she wouldn’t move in with me.’
She really was bright, thought Anita sardonically.
‘Anyhow, she got a job teaching English down here in Malmö. In August. A high school in the centre of town. Kungsskolan.’
‘A long-distance romance?’
‘Not exactly. But I came down yesterday because I was worried that I hadn’t heard from her for a while.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t want to see you.’ As soon as she had spoken, she saw the hurt in his eyes.
‘Greta’s not at her apartment. And she hasn’t been at the school this week.’
‘She might have gone away for a break.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘The school said she had suddenly left.’
‘Well, there you are. Maybe the job just got too much for her. If it’s Kungsskolan, there are some tough kids there.’
‘Greta doesn’t give up on things. She’s a dedicated sort of person. Look, Anita, I just know that something’s wrong. She’s not answering her mobile. I need you to find her.’
‘Sounds as though she’s just gone off somewhere. Perfectly innocently.’
‘She hasn’t taken anything with her.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve been in her apartment. I have a key,’ he muttered as an afterthought.
‘Should you have let yourself in?’
‘She’s my girlfriend, for Christ’s sake,’ he replied angrily. Anita wasn’t so sure that was true. The more he talked, the more it sounded as though this wasn’t a straightforward relationship. She knew Björn too well. She had learned the hard way when he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. ‘Please, can you just ask around? That’s all I’m asking. I just want to know that she’s all right.’
Another missing person. Had Greta Jansson and Graeme Todd got something in common? Were they just trying to escape from unwanted partners?
‘OK. I’ll make one or two discreet enquiries. But I’m not going to make a big fuss over this.’
Björn nodded his head like a grateful hound.
‘But there’s a condition. I want you to have a long talk with your son. He’s driving me demented. I can’t get him to do anything with his life. Like you, he’s mooning over a floozy. He doesn’t listen to me anymore. So act like a father for once, and talk some sense into him.’
‘Does that mean I can stay the rest of the weekend?’
Anita inwardly groaned.
‘You’d better be on the train back to Uppsala first thing Monday morning.’
CHAPTER 8
Five minutes after Anita had reached her office on Monday morning, she phoned Jennifer Todd. Though there was an hour’s time difference, she reckoned that Graeme Todd’s wife would be up. Wo
rried women rarely slept well. Men seemed to cope better. Anita had given Jennifer Todd her mobile number so that she could contact her over the weekend if her husband turned up or got in touch. She hadn’t rung. Anyway, Anita had had enough on her plate with a love-sick Björn and listless Lasse. On Saturday night she had sent them out to hit the bars of Malmö. She thought a bit of bonding might pave the way for the man-to-man talk she hoped the two of them were going to have. But it hadn’t been a great success, as Björn had got drunk again and Lasse had had to chaperone him back to the apartment. According to Lasse, his father had spent most of the time saying how much in love he was with Greta Jansson, but also that he had been an idiot to leave Anita. Anita was furious with Björn for wasting the opportunity to deal with his son, and was happy to shove him out early that morning to catch the six o’clock train. Before he left, he’d extracted a promise from her that she would make some enquiries about Greta. This had been given reluctantly, as she didn’t want to get involved in any aspect of Björn’s messy domestic life. Eleven years had been enough.
Anita paused with her hand on the receiver. She was sure that Graeme Todd had done a bunk. Jennifer Todd knew he was working on the Doris Little case, but had no idea why it had taken him to Sweden. He must have kept her in the dark, which made his behaviour suspicious. Her money was on another woman.
The call was answered almost immediately. Jennifer must have been hovering near the phone. She probably had been all weekend.
‘Have you any news?’ she blurted out even before Anita had time to say anything other than her name.
‘No. I’m afraid nothing has come in.’
‘You must do something. This isn’t like Graeme. He always keeps in touch whenever he’s away from home. Please, please find him.’ It all came out in a garbled rush. ‘I can get a flight across to Sweden. I’ll be there tomorrow.’
‘Wait a minute, Jennifer,’ interrupted Anita. ‘I can call you Jennifer?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘I think you’d better let us look into this first.’
‘I’m so worried.’
Anita tried to sound pleasantly professional so that the woman at the other end of the line would calm down. And she certainly didn’t want her coming over to Malmö until she had a better idea of what might have happened. It wouldn’t make the investigation any easier with a hysterical wife on her hands.
‘Look, Jennifer, can you give me any more details about this search for a beneficiary? I need as much information as possible.’
She heard a sniffle at the other end. ‘Sorry, I’m just all over the place.’
‘Don’t worry. I just need you to think. We know he flew into Copenhagen a week ago today. And you were right, he hadn’t booked into the Hotel Comfort. But he phoned you that night, so he must have been staying somewhere. Did he mention that he’d changed hotels?’
‘No.’
‘This person he had come over to see. Any idea who it might have been?’
‘It was to do with the estate of Doris Little, who died in Carlisle in 2009. That’s our nearest town. Carlisle.’ Her voice was more controlled now.
‘I know where it is. I lived in the north of England when I was younger.’
‘Oh,’ Jennifer said in surprise. ‘I thought your English was good.’
‘This old lady,’ Anita prompted, ‘What was the Swedish connection?’
‘I just don’t know,’ Jennifer said with a hint of frustration. ‘I’m a nurse, but I sometimes help Graeme out when he’s busy. But this case was different.’
Anita changed from going through the motions to being more alert. She sensed that this might be crucial. ‘Why “different”?’
‘He became secretive. Wouldn’t tell me much. But he was excited. I could tell that. A couple of days before he left, he said that this was the “jackpot”.’
‘The “jackpot”? What did you think he meant by that?’
‘Well, money. When someone dies intestate – that means they haven’t made a will – and there are no obvious relatives, the money goes to the Government. The Treasury. Heir hunters like Graeme try and find blood relations and sign them up so that he can put in a claim to the Treasury for the estate on their behalf. An heir hunter makes his money by taking a percentage of a successful claim.’
‘So, this Doris Little must have had a big estate?’
Jennifer didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘Actually, that’s the strange thing. When Graeme got onto it, the estate wasn’t worth a huge amount. She only had a small house in Carlisle and only a little in a building society. I remember him telling me that. I know he’s dealt with far bigger estates than hers over the years.’
‘Where does the “jackpot” come in then?’
‘I have no idea.’
After Anita had put down the phone, she sat at her desk wondering about Graeme Todd. Maybe, just maybe, there was something deeper about this mystery. He must have gone somewhere after he landed at Kastrup. He might be in Denmark for all she knew. And his “jackpot” reference sounded as though he was onto some financial bonanza. Running away from his wife didn’t seem to fit in with that scenario. Why had the death of an old lady in Carlisle brought him to Scandinavia in the first place? She needed to try and establish whether Todd had actually crossed the Öresund Bridge and entered Sweden. That meant having a word with Chief Inspector Moberg – not one of her favourite pastimes.
Moberg was eating a bun. She had noticed that he was having his breakfasts in the office these days. Unless it was his second breakfast. Relations with the third fru Moberg must really be bad. While he munched away, Anita explained what little she had gleaned from Jennifer Todd. She ended up by asking whether this was officially regarded as important enough to get hold of CCTV footage from the Central Station, or if Todd had been missing long enough to put out his general description on the television and in the local press.
Moberg still had food in his mouth when he answered.
‘Our beloved commissioner thinks this is vital. He’s already been on the phone asking for an update at ten. God, haven’t we got more important things to do?’ he said moodily. As he spoke, some excess bits of bun flew out of his mouth. He flicked them off his desk with his stubby fingers. Anita tried not to look. ‘OK, get the CCTV and check the usual places – the hospital and all the hotels. Hold off on the television. We’d look fucking stupid if we publicly put out details and he turns up.’
As she left the office, she saw Karl Westermark coming along the corridor. Last week it had been a relief not to have had him around. He might no longer be the same threat to her as he had been before the Wollstad case, but he was still a disquieting presence around the polishus. She still dreaded having to work too closely with him. She just didn’t trust him any longer. She had made the decision to adopt an attitude of polite detachment. She forced herself as she passed him to say, ‘Good holiday?’
To her surprise, Westermark simply grunted something which she didn’t catch. No cocky manner, no supercilious smirk, no barbed observation, and no lecherous leer. What was wrong with the man?
By the time she was back in her office, she had dismissed Westermark from her thoughts, and it was back to business. Hakim was now at his desk.
‘Good weekend?’ she asked as she swung into her chair.
‘I’ve had better.’ Hakim was usually cheerier.
‘That doesn’t sound good.’
‘It’s my sister.’
‘Jazmin?’
Hakim groaned. ‘She keeps winding my parents up. They don’t know how to handle her. Keeps getting into trouble, and then they want me to try and sort her out. That only makes things worse.’
Anita laughed. ‘I’m glad I’m not the only one suffering.’
‘You’re having problems?’
‘Long story. Maybe your Jazmin should get together with my Lasse. Second thoughts, not a good idea. Anyhow, to work.’
‘No sign of the Englishman?’
�
��No. But the commissioner’s on the case, so we’d better start doing something. I’m going to the station to see if there’s any useful CCTV footage. At least we can find out whether he made it to Malmö. I want you to get on the phone and call the hospital and then go through all the hotels, bed and breakfasts... you know the sort of thing. As he was supposedly going to the Comfort, start at the cheapest and work your way up. British guests. You’ve got the days he was meant to be here.’
‘Is it worth also checking flights out of Kastrup for that Thursday and the day after? British destinations.’
‘Not a bad idea.’
Hakim stood up. ‘I think I need a coffee to keep me going. Want one?’
‘No thanks. I’m going out now.’
Hakim hesitated at the door.
‘Do you think there’s something sinister going on?’
‘Well, according to his wife, he was very secretive about what he was doing over here. The only thing he said to her about his trip was that this was the “jackpot”. He was obviously expecting to make a financial killing of some sort.’
Hakim left the room and Anita put her jacket back on. She glanced out of the window and saw a middle-aged man strolling across the park. He was carrying a briefcase. Yes, Mr Todd, what was your “jackpot” and how were you going to collect it?
She was still staring out of the window when her hand inside her jacket pocket touched something unfamiliar - the key to Greta Jansson’s apartment. Over there, beyond the trees that lined Kungsgatan, was the school where Greta Jansson should be teaching this morning. But she wasn’t. Why?
CHAPTER 9
It was nice to get out of the office, especially when the weather was as bright as it was today. Typically, the weekend had been the usual mixed bag of showers and brief sunny spells. Now that everybody was back at work, the sun had come out first thing. Sod’s law.
Instead of following the canal round towards the station, she cut along Fredriksbergsgatan onto the busy Östra Förstadsgatan that ran up to Värnhem and the square which was an important interchange for city and regional buses. She knew the area well, not only because it was close to police headquarters, but because the Roslyn murder had taken place in an apartment at the corner of the square. Her destination was the less salubrious, grey concrete apartment block on the other side of Östra Förstadsgatan, above a jeweller’s and the now-empty Systembolag. This is where Greta Jansson lived. Or had until a week ago.
Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Page 4