Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries)

by MacLeod, Torquil

  ‘I’ve never been violent,’ Björn repeated. ‘But I’m willing to make an exception for you.’

  ‘I hope you’re not threatening a police officer,’ Westermark smiled back.

  ‘The apartment?’ Nordlund urged. Westermark’s interventions weren’t helping.

  ‘After Greta told me exactly what she thought of me, I left. I could see that it was useless trying to have a conversation with her when she was in that state. Her parting shot was that she’d found someone else. I was too hurt to ask who this person was. I assume that’s who she’d been out drinking with that night.’

  ‘What time did you leave?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Probably about eleven. I went back to my car and drove to the sea. I spent the night in the car feeling sorry for myself.’

  ‘What about the next day?’

  ‘I went back to try and discuss the situation sensibly. I convinced myself it was the drink talking the night before, not the real Greta. No one answered the door. Just then, I saw the neighbour with a pushchair. She looked at me suspiciously. On an impulse, I pretended to be Greta’s father. It was the neighbour who suggested I borrow her key and let myself in and wait for her. I waited for about an hour. Then I drove back to Uppsala. When I heard nothing from her all week I came back. This time by train. I still had the key. She still wasn’t there. I was worried that I’d chased her away again. That’s why I approached Anita. If anybody could find her, I was sure she could. I gave her the neighbour’s key. You know the rest.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe a word of your story.’ Westermark was going in for the kill. ‘Except the bit about Greta telling you what she thought of you and you having a temper. Admit it, Sundström, you’re a control freak. And you’ve just given us a motive – jealousy, possessiveness or whatever. The way I see it is this. You find out where Greta lives. You confront her. She’s drunk, so you rape her. Probably horrified by what you’ve done, you take her down to the harbour in your car. After all, you’ve a lot to lose as a highfalutin Uppsala professor. You strangle her and chuck her in the sea. You go back the next morning because you realize that you might have left evidence in the apartment. You clean where you think you’ve been and you remove certain items to make it look as though she’d gone away. Then, the clever touch. A week later, you get Inspector Sundström to find your “missing” lover.’

  Björn let him finish. ‘Two things, Inspector. Why did I need the neighbour’s key to get into the apartment? And, once in, why did you still find my fingerprints?’

  ‘That’s simple enough. You probably got rid of all Greta’s stuff when you dealt with the body. Bag, mobile phone, key, etcetera. Then it dawns on you that you’ve left a trail. You go back, get the neighbour’s key and then try and erase any evidence of your presence. Except that you’re an amateur. You don’t do it thoroughly enough. Whatever lies you’re trying to spin, there’s no escaping the fact that you raped and murdered Greta Jansson. You’re our man.’

  With a look of exhilaration, Westermark pushed two small, transparent plastic bags across the table. Each contained a single gold hooped earring. He pointed at one. ‘This was found on Greta’s body. And this,’ he said, pointing to the other, ‘was found in your car.’

  CHAPTER 39

  ‘How did it go with the chief inspector?’

  Anita had returned to the sanctuary of her cramped office with its two desks. Hakim had looked goggle-eyed when she had popped her head in on the way to reporting to Moberg. He was still trawling the internet. Above his screen, stuck to the wall, he had three pictures of Carol Pew. The first was the one that Anita had sent over from North Shields. The other two were mock-ups of what she might look like now. Given that she was fifty-three, the techies had been generous with the ageing process. In the first version she still had her natural black hair, but they had allowed for a touch of grey creeping in. In the other picture she was blonde, which softened the features.

  ‘Could have been worse. He moaned a bit. Fortunately his mind is more on the Greta Jansson case.’

  ‘Westermark was cock-a-hoop when they brought in your husband... sorry, ex-husband. He’s being interviewed by Inspector Nordlund and Westermark right now, I think.’

  She had to get hold of Lasse. What would he be thinking? It was an awful situation for him to cope with.

  Anita forced herself to bring her thoughts back to the Todd case. She went on to explain all that had happened in England, including Weatherley’s doubts about Carol Pew’s involvement.

  ‘We may be back to square one on this. We have to find her. Or you do!’

  Hakim raised his eyebrows wearily.

  ‘What you need is a coffee. So do I.’

  Anita went to the kitchen to make up a pot. At moments like this the coffee machine wouldn’t suffice. It had to be really strong.

  Nordlund walked past the kitchen door.

  ‘Hi, Anita. Welcome back.’

  ‘Hello, Henrik. I hear you’ve been busy.’

  He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. ‘It’s not looking good for Björn. Do you want to see him? He’s downstairs.’

  Anita shook her head. She couldn’t face it. Not at the moment.

  ‘I’ve got to go to a meeting in Prosecutor Blom’s office, along with the chief inspector and Karl. Look, are you doing anything this evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come for something to eat at my place. We can chat things over. We can catch up on each other’s investigations.’

  Anita was taken by surprise. Despite Nordlund being friendly for a number of years, she had never been invited round to his apartment. He had shunned most work-related social events. He wasn’t a mixer.

  ‘Yes. That would be good.’

  ‘Eight, then.’

  Anita returned to the office with two steaming coffees on a tray.

  ‘Anita!’ Hakim cried the moment she entered. She nearly dropped the tray. ‘I think I’ve found her.’

  She quickly put the tray down on her desk, which was clear for a change, due to her being away. She squeezed next to Hakim and looked at the screen. He had enlarged a photograph accompanying a short article in Ystads Allehanda. It was an outdoor setting; there was a cobbled courtyard. The caption mentioned Hos Morten Café. Anita had been there on a couple of occasions. There was a jazz group playing – the Göran Brante Trio. It was someone in the audience sitting at one of the surrounding tables that Hakim was pointing to – a blonde woman smiling broadly. Hakim increased the size again, which made the face blur slightly. Anita looked intently at the faces stuck up on the wall and then back down to the image on the screen. The style of hair was different – the woman listening to the jazz had a short crop – but there was no mistaking the face. It was Carol Pew.

  CHAPTER 40

  Anita went by foot, clutching a bottle of Shiraz. At that time of the evening, the market in Möllevångstorget had packed up for the day. The square was dark, even though lights were blazing from many of the surrounding buildings. The oriental shops and restaurants were still doing brisk business along Simrishamnsgatan. She turned sharp left and up to the small roundabout in the middle of Kristianstadsgatan. It was at a cross roads, with blocks of apartments on three corners. On the fourth was the edge of Folkets Park. Underneath a canopy of trees, the popular park’s perimeter fence was used as a canvas for official graffiti artists. The early 1900s apartment buildings each had curved frontages, which mirrored the contours of the roundabout. In one – a tasteful combination of cream walls and rich red-tiled roof – opposite the park, Nordlund lived. Anita pressed the buzzer next to his name and the front door opened at her push. His apartment was on the second floor.

  The apartment was as old-fashioned at she imagined it would be. Neat and tidy, it lacked frills. Hannah Nordlund had been a practical woman, not taken with fripperies. She had been a country girl, from what Anita remembered. And Henrik himself had been brought up on a Scanian farm. It was almost like a rural homestead in the middle o
f the city. Nordlund took Anita into the living room. There was an enormous beech sideboard against one wall, above which were a couple of ancestral portraits. A fire screen on the hearth displayed a faded tapestry of a wooded landscape, and there was an old, but good-quality, rug in the middle of the central area. The mantelpiece sported several framed photographs, mostly of Hannah, and one of a typical Scanian farm building with cobbled walls and an intricately thatched roof. It must have been taken in the 1920s. An old couple stood proudly outside the front door. They could have been 19th-century peasants.

  ‘My grandparents. That’s where I was brought up. Still in the family. My nephew now runs the farm, though my older brother keeps his hand in. It’s just a few kilometres north of Sjöbo.’ Nordlund had come in with a couple of glasses of white wine. ‘I haven’t exactly travelled far in my life.’

  Anita accepted the wine and took a seat on the hard-backed sofa. Hannah hadn’t been one for comfort either.

  ‘But you’ve had a productive life. You don’t have to travel the world for that.’

  Nordlund took a seat opposite in a high-backed wooden chair. It was well-worn and its arms were shiny from constant human contact. He stretched his long legs out.

  ‘Skål!’ He said raising his glass.

  ‘Skål!’

  ‘I think I’ve done a decent job as a policeman. But soon that will be in the past.’ He glanced across at one of the photos of Hannah. Though she was a plain woman, there was a smile playing on her lips that hinted at someone who hadn’t taken life totally seriously. She probably wouldn’t have let Henrik get too solemn, which he could at times. ‘I’ve no one to share the final years with now. We had so many plans.’

  This was what had been worrying Anita ever since he had announced his retirement. What would he do?

  ‘There must be masses of things you can do. Maybe the travel you haven’t had time for up till now?’

  ‘Hannah and I had always planned to buy a boat. We were going to spend the whole of one summer sailing round the Stockholm archipelago and call in on some of the islands. I learned to sail when I was serving as a young policeman in Karlskrona. I started to teach Hannah down at Limhamn. I used to hire a boat. But then she became ill. We said we’d take it up again when she recovered...’

  ‘Why don’t you take me out for a sail some time?’

  A hint of a smile crossed Nordlund’s face. ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Of course I do. I was brought up in Simrishamn, don’t forget. Sailing’s in the blood.’

  It wasn’t exactly true. She’d been an awful sailor. She had gone out a few times only because she’d had a boyfriend who was a member of the sailing club and, as he wanted to spend most of his spare time on the water, it was the only way to see him regularly. She’d nearly always been sick. Needless to say, the boyfriend had lost patience and found someone with a sterner stomach.

  ‘Next summer I’ll take you out on the Sound.’ The thought cheered him up. Anita took a slurp of wine. The things one does for one’s friends, she thought.

  It wasn’t until after Nordlund had cleared away the plates that the conversation touched upon professional matters. It turned out that he was a good cook. Cauliflower soup with watercress and cream was followed by a brisket of beef with root vegetables and Scanian mustard. Local, plain fare, but good and heart-warming. Anita was amazed that he had managed to whip up such a meal at short notice. But Nordlund had always been incredibly well-organized. She wished she was a better cook, but she could rarely work up any enthusiasm for it.

  They returned to the uncomfortable seats in the living room. Rain beat on the window panes. Though it was dark over the park, there were lights from the apartments down the streets. Hardly a blind was drawn. She smiled to herself as she thought about Penrith after dark – curtains drawn everywhere by this time of night. Nordlund came in with a couple of cups of coffee.

  ‘So how did you get on in England?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Anita told him about working with Ash and how they had followed various trails, culminating in the photographs of Carol Pew. But what Weatherley had said still niggled. He was sure that they were on the wrong track, and he should know, as he was the officer most involved in the original Commission Quay robbery case and its successful aftermath. He was sure that Carol couldn’t have gained from the robbery. So why was Todd trying to trace her when her inheritance just wasn’t worth the trip?

  ‘There’s something we’re not seeing,’ she concluded. ‘Maybe it’s something that Carol isn’t even aware of. Anyway, I’m taking Hakim across to Ystad tomorrow to ask around.’

  ‘Dragging the poor young fellow out on a Saturday.’

  ‘It’s his fault. He found a photo of Carol Pew at a jazz event that appeared in Ystads Allehanda last year. We should find her now.’ She took a satisfying gulp of coffee. ‘What about you?’

  Nordlund patted his bald pate thoughtfully before answering.

  ‘It’s not looking good for Björn, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘Did you know that he’d been in Greta’s apartment the night she disappeared?’

  Anita couldn’t hide her shock. ‘No, he never mentioned it.’

  ‘According to him, he tracked down where Greta lived, and confronted her when she came back from her night out. He says she was drunk. She said some painful things to him, so he left. He claims she was alive when he went. He slept the night in his car down in Limhamn, so no alibi. Then he went back to see her so he could talk her round. But she wasn’t there. That’s when he met the neighbour and pretended to be her father so he could wait around for her.’

  ‘And she was still missing the following weekend when Björn came to see me.’

  ‘Westermark reckons that was just deflecting attention from what he’d already done. He’s got a point. Nothing looks more innocent than asking a cop to find someone whom you’ve actually already killed.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me the truth right away?’

  ‘If Westermark’s right, he couldn’t afford to. Björn didn’t help himself either. He admitted that Greta had run away from him because he was being too possessive. What makes it worse is that he also admitted he had a temper. That doesn’t sound good when it’s relayed in a courtroom in a case that involves rape and strangulation. I don’t like to ask, Anita, but was he ever violent with you? You may end up being asked this by the prosecutor anyway if they try to establish a history of violence.’

  Anita was still stunned by all she was hearing. Slowly, she shook her head. ‘No. No, never. Björn did have a temper. He didn’t like being proved wrong. That used to set him off. But physical abuse? Never.’

  ‘That’s something. Of course, the most damning evidence is the missing earring. Greta was wearing it the day she disappeared. It couldn’t have got in his car without her being in there that Friday night, which, of course, he denies.’

  Anita felt wretched. She no longer loved Björn, yet he would always be part of her life because of Lasse. That was an unbreakable bond. The fact that he had lied to her from the moment he had got her involved really hurt. It was betrayal all over again. What was even harder to digest was the reality that her ex-husband was a killer. It was just too ironic – could the only two men she had ever fallen in love with both be murderers?

  ‘So, it’s done and dusted?’

  ‘Officially, yes. Blom and Moberg are happy that they’ve got a watertight case.’

  Anita noticed the hesitation in his voice. ‘Is there a “but”?’

  ‘There are one or two things I’m not entirely happy with. Björn did mention that Greta said that she’d met another man. Westermark is convinced it was just a ruse. However, if it’s true, then it might bring Fraser and Holm back into the picture. One of them – or someone else – might have visited the apartment after Björn left.’

  ‘The person she’d been drinking with?’

  ‘Possibly. We know that Fraser was in the Lilla Torg are
a earlier in the evening. Then he went to The Pickwick. He could have gone round to her apartment later. So could Holm. He’s got no alibi for that night, either.’

  ‘At least you’ve got an open mind.’ Anita was thankful for that. She wasn’t thinking of herself. It was Lasse who was her greatest concern.

  ‘There are things I want to double-check. I need to have another word with Eva Thulin.’ He stopped and sat in silence. Anita could sense that there was something that was bothering him.

  ‘Is anything up?’

  Nordlund seemed hesitant. ‘I just need to listen to the interview tape again. It’s probably nothing.’

  Anita didn’t get any more out of him. After helping him to do the dishes – he had never seen the need for a dish washer – she prepared to leave.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Henrik. Beautiful meal.’ Nordlund’s face creased into a pleased grin. ‘If you need any help, just ask.’

  ‘Anita, I think you’ve got enough on your plate.’

  As they reached the door: ‘I heard from Westermark that Ewan Strachan had committed suicide.’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Anita was taken by surprise. Had Nordlund known all along about her feelings for Ewan? She left without another word.

  Anita made her way back into Möllevångstorget. The rain had relented and the scudding clouds were visible above the sodium lights of the city. The cafés and bars were busy with Friday night trade. She hurried on, as it wasn’t the safest place to be after dark. Suddenly, a familiar voice halted her.

  ‘On a night out?’

  It gave her an uncomfortable start when she realized that it was Westermark.

  ‘This isn’t a part of town I’d expect to see you in,’ she responded. ‘Bit beneath you.’ What was Westermark up to?

  ‘Out celebrating.’

  ‘And what’s there to celebrate?’

  ‘Nailing your ex-husband for one. Pity Strachan’s dead or they could have become prison buddies.’