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

by MacLeod, Torquil

  Anita turned on her heel and prepared to negotiate the main road that bordered the square. An approaching bus stalled a quick exit.

  ‘And where have you been?’

  Westermark was by her side as she waited.

  ‘With Henrik.’

  ‘Discussing work?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask him.’

  The bus passed and she stepped out into the road.

  ‘It’s pay-back time, Anita,’ Westermark called after her. His laughter was lost in the noise of another bus coming in the opposite direction.

  Anita let herself into the apartment. The light was on, so Lasse must be back. That was good, as they needed to sit down to a serious chat about his father. Despite her tiredness, she felt she had to tackle the subject now. She dumped her bag on the hall table and strolled into the kitchen. There, sitting at the table, a bottle of water in hand, was Jazmin Mirza.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Anita said in surprise.

  Jazmin stood up. She seemed embarrassed. ‘Hello, fru Sundström.’

  Anita couldn’t fathom what on earth she was doing here. ‘Is Hakim with you?’

  ‘No.’

  That moment Lasse appeared at the door.

  ‘Hi, Mamma.’

  ‘I see we have a visitor.’ Anita raised her eyebrows as a sign that she wanted an explanation.

  ‘Jazmin needs to stay the night.’

  Jazmin shuffled nervously on the other side of the table.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because her parents have thrown her out.’

  ‘So why has she come here?’ Anita was talking to Lasse as though Jazmin wasn’t in the room.

  ‘Because I’m the reason she’s been chucked out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think you need a drink, Mamma.’

  Anita’s tiredness kicked in with a burst of anger. ‘No I bloody don’t! Just tell me what the hell’s going on.’

  ‘I should go. I’ll find somewhere else,’ said Jazmin.

  ‘No,’ said Lasse firmly. ‘You’re staying.’

  ‘Lasse. I’m waiting for an explanation.’

  ‘We’re going out together. An item.’

  Anita looked askance. She couldn’t think of two more unlikely people joining up. And how had they met? Hakim hadn’t said anything.

  ‘When Hakim was staying here Jazmin came round with some food for him. He wasn’t in. We talked. That was it.’

  ‘Why didn’t Hakim say anything?’

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ put in Jazmin. ‘None of his business.’

  ‘So, how come Uday and Amira have asked you to leave?’

  Jazmin shrugged. ‘We had yet another argument. A shouting match, I suppose. It was about me coming in late. They said I was to stay at home until I learned to behave. I let slip that I’d been out with my boyfriend. That was bad enough, but when I said he was Swedish – white Swedish – my father went mad. Said he would never let me see Lasse again. When I told him I didn’t care what he thought and that I’d see Lasse whenever I wanted, he told me to leave.’

  Anita was astonished. Uday had seemed far more liberal than that. He was once a respected art dealer in Baghdad, used to western ways, before escaping Saddam Hussein’s regime.

  ‘Does Uday know that it’s Lasse that you’re talking about?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mamma, you’ve got to let her stay.’

  Anita sighed. ‘Just for tonight.’ Turning to Jazmin, ‘You can have Lasse’s bed.’ Lasse gave Jazmin a big grin. ‘And you can sleep on the day bed in the living room.’ She gave him a knowing look. ‘I don’t want to upset Jazmin’s parents any further.’

  ‘OK,’ he agreed reluctantly.

  ‘Now, I’d better ring Hakim and tell him and your parents that you’re safe.’

  ‘Jazmin’s here.’

  ‘Allah be praised!’ Anita could hear the relief in Hakim’s voice. ‘I didn’t know what had happened until I got home. Dad and I have been searching for her all over.’

  ‘According to your sister, Uday chucked her out.’

  Hakim sighed. ‘Sort of. They had one of their arguments. He said she taunted him with the fact she had a white boyfriend. It’s not the colour; it’s the non-Muslim thing. He just lost his temper. They’re as bad as each other. Mother soon impressed on him that he’d been hasty, and now he’s worried sick.’ He paused. ‘So why has Jazmin come to you?’

  ‘The white boyfriend. It’s Lasse.’

  The whistle from the other end of the phone spoke volumes. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘When she came round here to deliver some food for you. Look, tell your parents she’s safe with me. It’s up to you whether you mention Lasse. We’ll try and sort it out in the morning when I pick you up. Now, I just want this day to end.’

  She switched off her mobile. She didn’t want to speak to anyone again that night, however urgent it might be. Lasse and Jazmin were still in the kitchen, talking in whispers. She picked up her bag off the hall table and spotted a pile of unopened mail. It would have to wait. Then she noticed that the top letter was handwritten. That was unusual in this age of computer printers, emails and texts. She didn’t recognize the writing. It was addressed to Ms A Sundström and had a Malmö postmark. It had been posted three days ago. The “Ms” alerted her immediately. She closed her bedroom door and switched on the bedside lamp before turning off the main light. She felt nervous about opening the letter. She just knew it was from Ewan. She sat down on the bed and looked at the envelope. Then she took a deep breath and ripped it open. Her throat went dry as she read:

  Dear Anita,

  I’m sorry to do this to you, but you are the only person in the world that I want to communicate with before I go.

  Hopefully, by the time you get this, I’ll have had the courage to duck out of this life. It’s not an attempt to escape the horrors of Swedish coffee – though that’s reason enough – but because I’ve been suffering from cancer. Spotted too late, and it’s bitten deep. Your reaction on seeing me last time was confirmation enough of how much I’d changed. They were threatening to send me back to Britain to die. But I can’t leave here. I can’t leave you. That’s what I wanted to tell you when I rang.

  I know you never loved me, but I’ve always hoped you had some feelings for me. You made the effort to see me, even after all the awful things I’ve done. You know that I love you. I just wish I could have told you one more time. This will have to suffice.

  Thanks for the visits. And the cigarettes and the snus. I’ve never regretted coming to Malmö, not for a minute. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. If I’ve complicated your life, I apologize.

  Time to go. Goodbye, Anita.

  Puss och kram, Ewan x

  PS Don’t worry about Lasse. He’ll come good.

  Anita let the letter slip from her grasp. It fluttered to the floor. Just at this moment, life was shit.

  CHAPTER 41

  Anita honked the horn of her car as she sat outside Hakim’s parents’ apartment in Sevedsgatan. Hakim appeared at the first-floor balcony to the immediate left of the front door and waved. Two minutes later, he climbed into the passenger seat.

  ‘Are your parents OK?’

  ‘Yes. They’re grateful that you took Jazmin in.’

  ‘And you told them about Lasse?’

  Hakim hesitated. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘I had half a mind to bring her over this morning, but she was still asleep when I left.’

  ‘She wasn’t in Lasse’s room?’ Hakim sounded aghast.

  ‘Yes, but Lasse was in the living room.’

  Hakim’s sigh of relief was eloquent.

  ‘First, we’ll go and find Carol Pew, then we – and I mean we – will sort out the Lasse-Jazmin problem.’

  Westermark drove his Porsche into the police car park. On a Saturday morning there weren’t many other vehicles around. He had no intention of going into work. He was going to treat himself to a shopping spree. The
main shops were an easy walk along the canal. Life was looking good again. The case was tied up, with the delicious irony that he had been able to put Anita’s nose out of joint by establishing that her ex-husband was a murderer. And Strachan killing himself was just the cherry on the cake. To add to Anita’s discomfort, the word around the water cooler was that she was struggling with her heir hunter investigation. That’s what Wallen had reported anyway.

  He tossed his car keys up in the air and caught them with an exaggerated flourish. Just as he was reaching the gateway, he noticed Nordlund’s car. What was he doing in the building? The last thing he wanted was the old fucker buggering up his carefully constructed case. The sooner he retired, the better, then he could take his long face and ancient ideas on policing with him to some obscure backwater in rural Skåne. As far as Westermark was concerned, Nordlund should have been pensioned off years ago. Just beyond the gateway, he stopped. Curiosity got the better of him; the shopping would have to wait.

  Westermark didn’t even acknowledge Wallen in the corridor. He found Nordlund in the meeting room which was being used as the command centre for the team’s two ongoing investigations. The walls were still covered in faces and gory photographs, maps and whiteboard scribblings. Nordlund was bent over the table going through a file.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Westermark asked with obvious irritation. ‘Shouldn’t you be enjoying a weekend off? There’s nothing we can do until Blom attends court on Monday.’

  The older policeman eyed Westermark up and down.

  ‘There are just a couple of things I want to get my head around. A loose end or two.’

  Westermark exploded. ‘There are no fucking loose ends! It’s an open-and-shut case. What the hell are you looking for? Is this bloody Sundström stirring things up, trying to save her precious professor? I know she was round at your place last night.’

  Nordlund appeared unmoved by the younger man’s unprovoked outburst.

  ‘Karl, you’ve nothing to worry about. It’s nothing to do with Anita. And I’m not trying to take any of the glory away from you. You’ve done a very good job.’

  This seemed to placate Westermark. ‘I’m sorry, Henrik. It’s just an important case for me. It’ll help make my mark with the powers that be.’

  ‘I won’t be long. You go off and enjoy your Saturday.’

  Westermark nodded and retreated. Once he was outside, he wasn’t in the mood for shopping any more. He got into his car and drove back to Limhamn.

  The day was verging on bright. The dark clouds that had greeted Anita when she emerged from a troubled sleep had been swept away, and a watery sun was doing its best to pretend it was still summer, even though they were now in the second half of October. Christmas was only two months away. That meant a visit to her mother and aunt in Kristianstad. She never spent Christmas itself with her mother if she could help it, but usually a weekend in the middle of December, when they swapped inappropriate presents, got on each other’s nerves and spent the next few months thankful that they wouldn’t have to see each other again until the summer. Her mother would criticize her clothes, her appearance, the way she was bringing up Lasse, and anything else she could think of which her daughter had disappointed her in over the years. Anita thought she would take Lasse with her this time. If they were still together, she could drag Jazmin along as well. That would upset Mamma and give her racist aunt apoplexy. No, she couldn’t do it. It would be unfair on the youngsters.

  They reached Ystad at quarter past ten. After they had parked the car, they made their way to the café, which was up a pedestrianized side street off the main Stora Östergatan. Hos Morten was housed in an old brick and timbered building dating back to the late 1700s. The cosy interior was enhanced by hundreds of books lining the walls. The door to the outside courtyard was closed at this time of year. Only a few tables were occupied, with people having an early Saturday coffee.

  A young woman came across and asked if she could serve them.

  ‘Hi, I’m Anita Sundström and this is Hakim Mirza from the Skåne County Police.’ When Anita saw the worry flicker across the woman’s plump face, she quickly added, ‘It’s OK, we’re just trying to find someone. Hakim?’

  Hakim passed over a copy of the photo from the Ystads Allehanda to the relieved waitress. He pointed to Carol Pew. She squinted at the picture and then she nodded.

  ‘I know her. She comes in from time to time. English lady. Johansson. I think her first name is Carol. She likes it here because she says the garden outside reminds her of England. She’s a good tipper.’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘I think it’s somewhere out near Löderup. But I couldn’t say exactly where.’

  ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  The waitress beamed back. ‘Would you like something while you’re here?’

  ‘Why not? Hakim, I’ll let you order. I’ll have some cake. I’m just going to ring in. Wallen’s on this weekend.’

  Five minutes later, Anita came in, clutching her mobile phone. Hakim was sat at a table with two coffees and two slices of carrot cake, one of Anita’s favourite indulgences.

  ‘Klara’s getting onto the Skatteverket website. Now we’ve got a name, we should be able to get the address, though I believe Johansson is Sweden’s most common name; but Carol’s more unusual, of course.’

  ‘That’s if she’s paid any tax,’ Hakim noted wryly.

  ‘Interesting that she hasn’t changed her first name. And she’s done nothing to hide her Englishness either.’

  ‘Maybe she’s got nothing to hide.’

  ‘With any luck, we’ll be able to ask her soon.’

  Anita turned off the Simrishamn road and headed down Östra Kustvägen, which hugged the coast. The road bisected the flat patchwork of fields in this arable area, which was dotted with houses in a variety of styles. Most had been farmsteads, now converted into domestic dwellings. They passed the turning to Kåseberga, the coastal village next to the prehistoric site of Ales Stenar, which had been featured on the postcard that Carol had sent to Vanessa Ridley. They hit a long, straight stretch.

  ‘It must be around here,’ said Hakim, studying the local map they had picked up in Ystad. Anita once again swore to herself that she would buy a sat nav.

  ‘I think this is it.’

  Anita slowed the car and manoeuvred it onto an unmetalled track. The tyres crunched over the surface of gravel and mud. The house in front of them was a low, modest building, with a detached barn set back in a clump of trees. However, on closer scrutiny it was clear to see that anybody was unlikely to be at home, as the windows were shuttered. Anita was glad to send Hakim into the biting wind coming off the sea.

  ‘You’d better go and knock on the door, just in case someone’s about. It would be typical if they’re away.’ Not only had Wallen found Carol Johansson on the tax register, she had also found she had acquired another husband called Peter Johansson.

  Hakim got out and knocked on the front door, which was at the top of three steps. He glanced over to Anita and shook his head before heading off round the other side of the building. He soon emerged and got back into the car.

  ‘No one there.’

  Anita could see the track continued on round the rear of the property and on to further houses in the distance. ‘We’ll try the next one.’

  On the next bend the road split. There was a house straight in front of them, and another way up to the left, partly obscured by the usual clump of pine and birch. They tried the nearest house but, like the other, it was boarded up for the winter. ‘Another holiday home,’ was Hakim’s verdict as he shuffled back into the passenger seat.

  Taking the left-hand fork, they could see that the third house was bigger than the other two. In the nearest field, two bay horses were grazing contentedly. This was a more traditional farmhouse, with single-storey buildings forming three sides of a square, in the middle of which was a central courtyard. The property was in good condition
, recently whitewashed, the window frames neatly painted. Where the sun poked through the protective cover of the trees, the walls dazzled. There was no car parked in the courtyard and Anita’s hopes sank. They would probably have to come back on Monday.

  This time she got out and left Hakim in the car. There was no reply when she rang the doorbell, nor when she knocked on the thick wooden door. Nothing stirred inside. As they’d driven in, she’d seen a large barn behind the right-hand wing of the house. Returning to the car, she noticed the barn door was open, an electric light blazing inside. Anita headed towards it, then suddenly stopped, her heart pounding. A large German Shepherd dog was bounding towards her. Never comfortable with dogs at the best of times, she immediately shied away as the animal began to bark loudly.

  ‘Jingo!’ commanded a strident voice from somewhere just out of sight. The dog instantly ceased barking, but hovered menacingly just a foot in front of Anita.

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded a voice in Swedish. Anita tore her eyes from the drooling jaw of the German Shepherd and saw Carol Pew standing there. She was dressed in working clothes – a scruffy pair of jeans, a thick fleece jacket and wellington boots. Even with dirty hands and dishevelled hair, she still managed to look elegant. She didn’t seem to have aged; her face was unlined and her features still well-defined. She was wearing a little too much eye make-up, but there was no disguising the sharpness in her gaze. ‘What are you doing here?’ The language was still Swedish, but the accent was unmistakably English.

  ‘I’m Inspector Anita Sundström from Malmö. I need to speak to you.’

  ‘What about?’ she asked suspiciously, the voice gravelly.

  ‘It’s about a murder investigation.’ Anita realized that she had lapsed into English. ‘An Englishman called Graeme Todd. Does the name mean anything to you?’

  Carol Pew didn’t show a flicker of surprise. ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER 42

  They sat outside on a wooden picnic bench away from the house in a sheltered corner of the garden on the edge of the trees. The vista before them was of a flat terrain, only broken by the odd copse. A couple of tractors were working in a field in the distance. The wind had dropped a little, the sun was still shining and Hakim was trying so soak up its pathetic rays while Carol went indoors to make them a drink. She came back with a tray on which was a teapot and three cups. There was a plate of biscuits too. British habits die hard, thought Anita.