Björn held up a restraining hand. ‘Don’t bother.’
The drive into Carlisle took about twenty-five minutes. The ancient city had seen its fair share of violent history over the centuries, as warring Scots and English families had clashed. The whole Border area between the two fractious countries had been like the American Wild West, and Carlisle was the Dodge City of the Middle Ages. The two symbols of certainty and safety in those troubled times remained – the red sandstone cathedral with its maternal air, and the proud, inviolable medieval castle, now rudely and ungratefully severed from the rest of the town by a dual carriageway. The other significant landmark that towered over the city was the tall and slender Dixon’s chimney, a relic of the industrial age when Carlisle’s textile mills did a roaring trade and the sophisticated railway network sped their products to all parts of the country and the empire beyond. At the crossroads in front of the chimney, close to the offices of Cumbrian Newspapers, Ash turned left into a street of back-to-back brick houses, a legacy of the days when the city grew dramatically in the second half of the 19th century. Ash managed to find a parking space in the tightly packed road.
‘That’s where Doris Little lived,’ he said, pointing to a neat front door across the street. ‘We knock on a few doors and see what we come up with.’
It was the fifth door Ash knocked on that was opened by the friendly, talkative neighbour they desperately needed. Every street has one fount of all knowledge, and Ethel Braithwaite was it. A woman in her seventies, she was neatly dressed with fiercely permed hair, as though she was constantly ready to receive visitors at short notice. Her gestures were expansive and her chatter non-stop. Despite Anita’s protests, she had insisted on serving up a pot of tea. Ash had cheekily suggested that some cake would be nice too. At least when she was in the kitchen, they had a break. The living room was immaculate and littered with souvenirs from various seaside resorts. A rotating pendulum clock with a transparent case adorned the mantelpiece, antimacassars were draped on the sofa and chairs, frilly net curtains keeping out prying eyes covered the windows, and the obligatory photos of family and friends cluttered the sixties sideboard. In the corner, on an antique gate-leg table, was a bottle of port with two glasses. She must have had regular company.
‘Doris was a lovely neighbour. Friend really. I’ve been in this street for nigh on twenty years. Came here after Bob died.’ She paused so they could take a reflective glance at her husband’s photograph, which took pride of place on the wall above the small bookcase. ‘And she spent most of her life here. Funny you should come asking about her. That man who traces family trees came to see me too; the one they had that article about in the Cumberland News last week that died in Iceland or somewhere.’ Her words came out in a joined-up gabble and Anita was having difficulty understanding everything she said, as her Cumberland accent was quite thick. While Mrs Braithwaite had been in the kitchen, Ash promised he would act as interpreter. ‘As I say, couldn’t have been nicer, though in the last few years she kept herself to herself. I used to go round and do little jobs for her. Keep her company. Couldn’t believe it when she died. Just went in her sleep – best way to go, I suppose.’
It was only when she stopped to take a sip of tea that Ash was able to jump in with a question. ‘Do you know if she had any brothers or sisters?’
‘Just a sister. Now she was very pleasant too. Always wore nice coats. Hoopers’ best. I like people who make an effort to look nice.’ This was accompanied by a reproving frown in Anita’s direction. The customary blue jeans, old, red jersey and brown leather jacket obviously didn’t come up to scratch, particularly for a woman in a position of authority. But she was foreign. She was pleased to see the polite, British policeman was wearing a suit and tie.
‘Name?’ Ash prompted.
‘Isabelle. Of course, we all knew her as Belle. She would come and visit her sister once a week, regular as clockwork. Always had a pleasant word for me if I was there. Naturally, I would leave them to chat. Didn’t want to overstay my welcome. Of course, that stopped when Belle died. Now when was that? Certainly after 2000. Did you see the Millennium Bridge they put over Castle Way? Don’t think much of it myself. It corroded in no time—’
‘Sorry to interrupt, Mrs Braithwaite, but what was Belle’s surname?’
‘Didn’t I say? Ridley, of course.’
‘Why “of course”?’
‘Sorry, you don’t come from round here, do you? You sound a bit southern to me. Ridleys, the butchers. Up on Scotland Road. Stanwix. Belle was married to Richard Ridley. That’s how she could afford to shop regularly at Hoopers.’
Ash scribbled the names down on the incomplete family tree that Jennifer Todd had drafted before they set off for Carlisle.
‘Is Richard Ridley still alive?’
‘Oh, no. Long dead. I have an idea that Belle played the merry widow after he went, if you know what I mean.’
Ash raised his eyes in recognition of what she was implying.
‘Any kids?’
‘Yes. Two, I think. Bit wild they were. Had a reputation for it.’
‘Can you remember their names, Mrs Braithwaite?’
‘Call me Ethel, for goodness sake.’
‘Well, Ethel?’
‘Michael was the boy. He’d started in his dad’s shop. But he was into motorbikes. Killed in an accident on Hartside.’
‘Hmm, I’m afraid, despite our warnings, the bikers still wipe themselves out up there,’ Ash shook his head sagely. ‘Dangerous bends. Do you know when he died?’
‘Sorry, dear, it was so long ago. He wasn’t that old. Well before his dad.’
‘Was he married?’
‘Too young. Such a shame.’
‘That means he had no kids.’ He flashed a disappointed glance at Anita. ‘I assume, from what you said, the other was a girl. That would be Doris’s niece?’
‘Yes. What was she called? Tearaway. Carol, I think.’
‘Is she still about?’
‘Not that I’ve heard. Carlisle was too small for her. Left when she was young. I don’t know what she did, but Belle and Doris never mentioned her. Funny that, actually. As though she didn’t exist.’
CHAPTER 28
‘He’s in trouble.’
These were not the words Anita wanted to hear when Nordlund rang on her return to the guest house after the visit to Carlisle.
‘He’s admitted that he was in Malmö the weekend that Jansson disappeared.’
‘The “father”?’
‘Yes.’
Deep down, she had already reached that unwelcome conclusion.
‘What did he say he was doing?’
‘He said that he’d come down to see Greta Jansson because she wasn’t returning his calls. Said he was getting desperate.’
‘The idiot!’
‘It fits in with what her colleague had said about her trying to get away from someone. It was Professor Sundström. He’d gone to her apartment. She wasn’t there. He saw the neighbour and, on the spur of the moment, pretended to be Greta’s father and borrowed the key. That’s why we found his fingerprints.’
‘What did he do after that?’
‘Got drunk. Then went back to Uppsala the next day. He came down the next weekend to see you and get you to try and find her.’
‘What about the phone call to the school?’
‘He denies that.’
Anita took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her left hand. It always seemed to be sore when she was stressed.
‘Have you got him in custody?’
‘No. But I’ve told him to stay in Malmö. Westermark wasn’t very pleased, but he’s been very touchy lately.’
‘What? More than usual?’
Nordlund gave a little laugh. ‘I’ve put him in charge of going through all the CCTV from the Lilla Torg bars. A trawl through the footage of that Friday night might show where she went. And also who she left with, if that’s where she met her murderer. We h
ave to start somewhere.’
‘Her university friend thought she was already in a bar when she rang to cancel their drink together.’
‘I’ve dragged in Hakim to help. He’s got a good eye.’
Anita sighed. ‘Poor sod.’
‘He’s strong enough to cope with Westermark.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ Anita was being overprotective again.
‘Oh, one bit of potentially bad news.’
‘You mean there’s more?’ she said warily.
‘Your ex-husband is staying at your apartment.’
‘Brilliant!’ Anita put her glasses back on. ‘That’ll cause ructions which I won’t be there to sort out.’ She suddenly thought about Hakim holing up there. That would put an end to his little domestic escape. ‘Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Henrik.’
‘You’d better call Moberg. He wants to know what on earth – not that he used that phrase – you were up to investigating Greta Jansson on your own. I’m afraid Westermark jumped on that.’
‘I’ll call him in the morning,’ she groaned. ‘Maybe I can distract him with the Todd case. We’ve made some progress. We’ve been told about a living relative but we’ve no idea where she is or how any of it is connected to Sweden. Not that that will please our beloved chief inspector.’
‘Good luck.’
She was about to finish the call. ‘Henrik. Do you think Björn killed Greta Jansson?’
‘I don’t know. But it’s not looking good for him.’
Westermark sat alone in his office. He was lost in thought. He was still brooding over Nordlund letting Björn Sundström go. The old fucker didn’t know what he was doing. Putting that bitch Anita’s ex-husband away would be a great way to get back at her. Despite everything that had happened in the past, she had re-emerged ahead of him in the team’s pecking order. He could understand it if she had flashed her tits to get there, but she was above that. Too principled for a tough job like ours, he thought bitterly. He was more than happy to cut corners to get quick convictions. Moberg didn’t care as long as nothing rebounded on him. Westermark flicked through Björn’s mobile for the umpteenth time. He had made a lot of calls to Greta Jansson’s phone. Many after she was dead. His mind went back to Anita. Even he had to admit that her results were impressive, but she was a lucky cop. She got those breaks that others didn’t get. However, he knew that what was really gnawing away at him was that he wanted to get into her knickers, and she had evaded every attempt. He wasn’t used to women turning him down. He didn’t like it. The more Anita spurned him, the more he wanted her. He couldn’t count the number of times he had imagined ravishing her over his desk. He had looked on in dismay when he could see that she had fallen for Ewan Strachan. His satisfaction at Strachan’s conviction and subsequent imprisonment had been tempered by Anita’s visits to the jail. He had failed to use that to his advantage, and instead of getting her into bed as he had planned, she had managed to turn the tables. It was time she paid.
Westermark threw the mobile back onto the desk. He would head for home, take the CCTV footage from Moosehead and Mello Yellow with him, and flick through them over a whisky or two. He had left the other bars in and around Lilla Torg to the Arab. That would keep the little wanker out of the way.
Though the handsome professor was definitely in the frame, he wasn’t going to overlook Fraser. Another fucking Anita connection. Someone was going to go down for Greta Jansson’s murder. He would see to that. And if it hurt Anita in the process, all the better. But the first thing he was going to do was apply a little pressure on her ex. He picked up the phone.
‘I’m at home.’ Anita had thought it best to check on how Hakim was. ‘You know your husband has come to stay? But thanks for letting me use the apartment, anyway.’
‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s not a problem. I appreciated the break from home.’
‘How is Björn?’
‘A bit shaken up, actually. It can’t have been easy for him being stuck in an interview room with Westermark.’
Anita refrained from asking him whether he thought Björn was guilty. She might not get the answer she wanted. ‘Is Lasse OK about his dad staying?’
‘I don’t know. He was out. He was hardly there over the weekend.’
That didn’t sound good. She thought it better to get back to business. ‘I hear you’ve been put with Westermark checking out CCTV.’
‘Yes. But we’ve split up the bars, so I don’t have to work with him. I’ve found no sign of Greta Jansson yet. Maybe Westermark will turn something up.’
‘Any luck on the Graeme Todd front?’
‘Wallen went back to Ystad, but hasn’t unearthed anything new. She’s been liaising with the Ystad police. What about over there in England?’
Anita gave him a brief account of their latest findings. Not that there was much she could tell him. By the time she hung up, she felt quite deflated. Her case was at that infuriating stage where nothing seemed to be happening. One step forward, two steps back. And the Greta Jansson murder was even more unsettling. She thought about ringing home to see if Lasse and Björn were all right, but she resisted the urge. She couldn’t cope with Lasse giving her grief about his father and she didn’t want to compromise herself by talking to Björn. After all, she couldn’t escape the fact that he might well be a killer.
Billy Hump drained his glass and thumped it down on the bar. ‘Another,’ he slurred unsmilingly at the barmaid. She took a fresh glass and started to pull a pint. She did little to disguise her contempt for the regular she had learned to loathe over recent months. Why he had come back to the area, she had no idea. His family had disowned him and they wouldn’t be seen dead drinking in the same pub as him. When she looked up, he was no longer at the bar. He was over by the door.
‘Just ganning for a fag. I’ll pay when I gets back.’
If he came back. Once the drink was in Billy Hump, there was no knowing what he might do. He’d already had six pints and wasn’t very steady on his feet. They’d had to call the police on a couple of occasions when he had got aggressive. The landlord said he was on a last warning. If she had had her way he would have been barred months ago, but she suspected the landlord was a bit afraid of him.
Billy Hump wandered outside. The two other smokers immediately threw their stubs onto the pavement and vanished back inside the pub. He was alone on the street. Painstakingly, he took out his crumpled packet of cigarettes. He fumbled with the pack until he managed to squeeze out the last one and slide it into the side of his mouth. He flicked his plastic lighter and managed to unite the cigarette with the flame. He didn’t notice the car further up the street rev into life. Billy Hump stared up into the starry sky. He watched the smoke funnel out of his mouth into the night air. It was only when he heard an engine gunning that he half turned round, just in time to see a car mounting the kerb and heading straight towards him. With a booming thud that alerted the regulars of the Cross Keys, Billy Hump was thrown up into the air. He landed in a broken heap on the dry, cold pavement. His cigarette rolled to the pub doorway. It was still burning.
CHAPTER 29
‘Where do we go from here?’
Ash looked enquiringly across at Jennifer Todd. Along with Anita, they were sitting in the Todds’ dining room. On the long, mock-Georgian dining table was a new, rudimentary family tree. Doris Alma Little’s name was in the middle, highlighted in yellow. Jennifer had double-checked that Doris’s sister, Belle, had been her only sibling, and she’d filled in all the names and dates of known blood relatives.
‘Summing up,’ said Jennifer, looking down at the left of the diagram, ‘Florence’s mother died when she was only two. Father unknown. So no relatives there that we’re ever likely to find.’
‘So who is this lot?’ Ash said, pointing to the names on the right-hand side of the tree.
‘I thought I’d look into the Ridley side of the family.’
‘Can any of them inherit?’ Anita ask
ed.
‘Not Richard Ridley, our Stanwix butcher. He married into the family, so he’s not a blood relative and neither are relatives on his side.’
‘So what’s the point?’
Jennifer folded her arms emphatically. ‘Well, we’re faced with two alternatives. One, we know Carol Emily Ridley, born April 10th, 1959, is the main heir, but we can’t find her. Two, we can go back a couple of generations to James Little’s parents and find someone there.’
‘Shouldn’t we do that then?’ Ash’s suggestion seemed to make sense to Anita.
Jennifer pursed her lips. ‘I think the London heir hunters would have tried that route before they decided the financial returns weren’t worth the effort. That suggests they found nothing there. And they probably didn’t bother with the Ridley side of the family. They won’t have messed around. With their staff and resources, they would’ve taken about a day to sort all this out and make the decision to go no further. And you can bet that if they’d got as far as Carol Emily Ridley – and they must have done; they would have checked out everyone that’s in this country. But they obviously cut their losses. That’s why they didn’t bother sending someone to interview Doris’s neighbour. Their nearest agent is probably based in Manchester or further south, so the cost of getting someone to dig around on the ground wasn’t worth it. Again, that decision would’ve been made within hours.’
‘Do they work that quickly?’ There was a hint of admiration in Ash’s voice.
‘Oh, yes. Remember, they’re often competing with other large probate research outfits, so if they don’t find heirs within the first day or so, their rivals will. That’s why I believe Graeme found Carol. Or found out something about her.’
‘OK. So, how far have we got?’
‘Well, as you can see, Richard Ridley had two brothers, William and Douglas. William died in the Korean War. He wasn’t married.’
‘This lot have been unlucky in war,’ observed Ash.
Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Page 15