‘It turns out that you and Göran were becoming quite bitter rivals. By the sound of things, he was poisoning the group and was getting very argumentative with you in particular.’
‘Honestly, Alice, it was just the usual academic thing. Each one of us wanted to do better than the other. After all, our PhDs could open up amazing possibilities, and we were operating in the same field, so to speak. It was only natural that there was rivalry. It was nothing personal.’ He protests too much, thought Zetterberg.
‘OK. I get the picture.’
‘Look, Alice, sorry to rush you but I’m late for an appointment.’
‘Just one thing, Professor,’ Zetterberg put in quickly. ‘When you were all on Malta, Carina Lindvall says that you were “cock-a-hoop” about something. What were you so happy about?’
‘Goodness me, Alice; it was over twenty years ago!’
‘It made an impression on Carina – she still remembers it.’
He glanced distractedly at his watch. ‘It was probably something to do with the Great Siege. I was interested in the changing balance of East and West. I learned so much on that trip.’ Why did Zetterberg feel he was being evasive? ‘I can’t remember anything specific. It was just a wonderful experience.’ Almost with irritation creeping into his voice: ‘Is it really important what I was feeling?’ Then he added with a harder edge: ‘Or are you just fishing, Inspector?’
CHAPTER 19
Moberg was still in a disarmingly upbeat mood as they gathered in the meeting room. It wasn’t matched by the others, who just wanted an excuse to get out of the polishus and take advantage of the sunshine. Moberg was more than content to avoid the heat, and was one of the few Swedes who didn’t love the summer. He smacked his hands together for attention and plunged straight into the meeting without any preamble.
‘Latest news we have from forensics is that they’ve managed to get fingerprints off the murder victim and the driver. They don’t match anything we’ve got on the national database. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re not Swedish, but I’ve asked for the search to be widened anyway. We’re checking the prints with British and Irish police to see if they can come up with anything. My little pal, Adolf Frid, reckoned that Egon Fuentes was working with a British or Irish gang. Hopefully, it’ll throw up something. OK, where are we at? Brodd, any luck with the van?’
Brodd beamed back. ‘Oh, yes.’ The others were amazed that Brodd had got off his arse long enough to find something out. ‘I tracked down the garage where it was last sold from over in Fosie. Bit of a dump. Not sure how roadworthy some of the vehicles are. The van was fifteen years old. Probably explains why it stalled.’
‘And?’ said Moberg, clicking his fingers impatiently.
‘It was definitely Fuentes who bought the van. The guy recognized his photo. Paid cash; no questions asked. The garage guy did say that he peeled off the notes from a big wad. You don’t see that sort of thing these days.’
‘You can bet it wasn’t Fuentes’ money,’ commented Moberg. ‘Egon never used his own dosh. So someone must have bankrolled him. Next? Wallen?’
‘Up against a brick wall,’ said Wallen. ‘Which seems appropriate. I’ve been around a number of building suppliers. Most of them seem above board. None of them recognized Fuentes. Or if they did, they’re not saying. I’ve still some more to visit today.’
‘Well, you’d better get moving as soon as we’ve finished here.’
He nodded at Anita and Hakim. ‘Get anything useful from the scene of the accident?’
‘Not really,’ replied Anita, ‘though Hakim worked out where they were probably heading.’ She let Hakim take over.
‘I think they may have been going in the direction of an old, disused quarry. We went there, and now there’s a lake in the bottom. Doesn’t really help. The quarry’s long gone and the company that owned it has gone too. It’s a pretty desolate spot and a good location to lose a body. If that was where they were aiming for, then they were keen that it should never be found.’
‘It also suggests that they wanted to take the body away from the scene of the crime,’ Moberg mused. ‘Why?’ All Hakim could do was shrug in reply to the rhetorical question. ‘Did you get anything useful from Ystad about where the van might have come from?’
‘They’ve interviewed householders and farmers in the area, but nothing that we can pinpoint,’ Hakim continued.
‘Any CCTV?’
‘There’s virtually nothing around there. We’ll have to keep working further north.’
‘Isn’t there a good chance that the murder was committed by the two other men in the van?’ Anita was only articulating what the others were thinking. It was met with a fierce response from Moberg.
‘You’re fucking kidding! There’s a lot more to this. I’m convinced that Egon Fuentes didn’t kill that young man. His passenger might have, but there’s a bigger picture here. There’s a lot of money involved; Fuentes told Adolf Frid that. Your garage owner, Brodd, mentioned a wad of readies. For starters, there was no cash found at the scene of the accident. It’s not just three people falling out. If Egon was involved, you can bet your life there was a huge scam going on. That means there were victims. We need to find them, too.’ There was no mistaking the evangelical passion. ‘So, we carry on. No stone unturned and all that. Do you understand?’
All the detectives sat in silence. Anita wished she’d kept her mouth shut. The sooner she was on holiday, the better.
‘Right. I’m going to pay Adolf Frid another visit and shake his tree and see if anything falls out. Brodd, I want you to get our press lot to get Fuentes’ photo out to all the newspapers and media outlets in the whole of Skåne. I want to see his smarmy face on TV tonight. See if it jogs any memories. The rest of you, carry on doing what you’re doing. Just find me something!’
‘Yes, Boss.’ Brodd was such a crawler, thought Anita. Wallen’s and Hakim’s expressions confirmed her view.
Moberg’s tone changed abruptly: ‘By the way, when you’re out and about, there’s a car that Kristianstad are trying to track down. They think the killer of the farmer up at Höör is using it. Could be anywhere, but keep your eyes peeled. Details are on an email that’s being sent round.’ Then he was back to normal, and he wafted his hand dismissively. ‘Right, bugger off and keep digging. Find anything of interest, and I want to hear from you immediately!’
Hakim managed to grab a bite to eat with Liv Fogelström at a café they frequented near Värnhemstorget. It was close to the polishus, yet rarely patronized by staff from headquarters. They both had a salad and cold drinks.
‘Honestly, don’t worry about the other day.’ She hoped the sympathetic smile would calm Hakim. His anger had started to rise up the scale like the heat outside. It seemed to work.
‘He’s just so rigid,’ he mumbled.
‘Have you spoken to him since?’
‘You’re joking! I’m waiting for an apology. Actually, you should be getting the apology. He wasn’t courteous. That’s unforgiveable for a host.’
Liv put down her fork and placed a hand over his and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m sure he’ll come round in the end.’
‘I hope so. He has to understand that you’ll be part of the family.’ He suddenly pulled his hand away when he realized the implication of what he’d just blurted out. So did Liv. She glanced away. An awkward silence followed.
It was Liv who broke the spell. ‘What are you doing this afternoon? Exciting that you’ve got another murder case.’
‘The chief inspector thinks so. I’ve never seen him this motivated before. He’s treating it as a crusade. That’s why we’re off to all points north of the accident to try and find somewhere with CCTV in an attempt to find where the van in the crash was coming from.’
With a mouthful of coleslaw out of the way, Liv asked: ‘What does Anita Sundström think?’
Hakim snorted. ‘She thinks the killers are already dead. But her mind is miles away. She’s winding down fo
r her holiday. Too busy thinking about her boyfriend.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Liv made big moon eyes at him.
‘You know what I mean,’ he scolded. ‘She’s only going through the motions. If you ask me, she’s more interested in the cold case. It’s like an itch she can’t stop scratching.’
‘Ah, now, did you find out what was behind why she dislikes Zetterberg so much?’
‘I forgot,’ came his bashful reply.
‘Hakim Mirza, you are totally useless sometimes,’ she giggled. ‘When I ask you to find out gossip, that’s not a request; it’s an order!’
Hakim had the opportunity to follow Liv’s “order” when he and Anita were returning from a fruitless afternoon drive around the Scanian countryside. The nearest they’d got to a nibble was a roadside garage, which did have CCTV but, after some initial excitement, they couldn’t find anything in the hours leading up to the crash. Egon Fuentes had deliberately kept to the back roads and had only really emerged to cross the railway line, which was an obstacle they couldn’t avoid if they had been making for the disused quarry.
‘So, do you know how the cold case is going?’ he asked tentatively as he kept his eyes on the road.
‘Don’t know much,’ Anita said offhandedly as though she wasn’t remotely interested.
‘Really?’ He feigned surprise.
Anita puffed out her cheeks. ‘Well, I do know they’re re-interviewing the old suspects. Except, of course, the one who actually did it. They can’t find him, apparently. They won’t get anything new out of the others. Despite that, she’s gone up to Stockholm and Uppsala.’
‘You mean, Inspector Zetterberg?’
‘Yes,’ she huffed.
‘Why all the friction with her?’
Anita shot him a sideways glance. ‘I just don’t like her.’
‘It sounds personal.’ Hakim was fearful of getting too deeply into the matter, but he wanted to come away with something to tell Liv. He felt he needed to make it up to her after the weekend and his slip of the tongue at lunchtime. He cursed himself for that because it betrayed how he was feeling about her. But did she feel the same about him?
‘Goes back a long way. Police Academy. It was to do with one of our fellow cadets. A misunderstanding.’
‘A man?’ Hakim knew he was pushing it.
‘It might have been,’ said Anita cagily.
‘Yesss!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Anita retorted in amazement.
‘Sorry. Sorry, it’s nothing,’ he hurriedly apologized. ‘It was... it was nothing. Well, no, that’s not quite true.’ He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road so he didn’t have to look round and face Anita. ‘Liv was wondering about the antagonism between you and Inspector Zetterberg. She said that there was bound to be a man behind it.’
‘Did she now?’
‘She meant nothing by it, honestly.’ He knew he’d put his foot in it. ‘Blame it on me.’
‘Well, you can tell Constable Fogelström that it wasn’t what she thinks it was.’ To his relief he heard Anita laugh. ‘Cheeky cow. But she’s got the instincts of a good cop.’
The new-look Danny turned into Malmö’s Central Station, trying hard to fit in with the other commuters. The clothes felt good. A check shirt, blue jeans, tan loafers and a thin summer jacket. Even the underpants were new. They felt the best of all. He’d waited until the rush hour so that the station would be packed and he wouldn’t stand out. The shops and the food concessions were doing a roaring trade on the main concourse.
He bought himself a coffee so that he blended in. On the departures board he could see that there were regular trains to Copenhagen every twenty minutes. This was his way out of Sweden. Could he risk trying to get on board a Denmark-bound train without a passport? What would be waiting on the Danish side? He had never been abroad before and was unsure of the protocol. He hadn’t even had a passport until he’d met Mr Cassidy; he’d fixed it all up for him. He’d never even looked at it properly, as when he left England in the transit van with Jack and the others, it had been promptly taken off him by Paddy, or whatever the Irish guy was called. Cut from the same cloth as McNaught; turned out to be just as brutal.
He was finishing his coffee with the intention of heading off and buying himself a falafel, a fast food which seemed to be available everywhere. He was casting around for a bin when the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. Among the moving mass of passengers coming up the escalator from the lower-level platforms was an unmistakable bald head; and then the telltale scar. The man turned towards Danny. Fighting back throat-wrenching nausea, Danny sank to his haunches as though he was picking something up off the tiled floor. His head was turned away as McNaught approached. He kept his eyes shut as he heard people trundle past. He was gasping for air and he thought he might actually collapse. He was waiting for that frighteningly familiar Scots voice to bark some order at him. Surely he couldn’t kill him in such a public place? He’d hustle him out to some quiet spot and finish him off there. But the voice never came, and after what seemed like hours, he furtively raised his head. McNaught wasn’t there. Danny stood up. McNaught was gone. But he was in Malmö, and Danny knew it was only a matter of time before he found him.
CHAPTER 20
It was half past eight, and Bea Erlandsson wondered if it was going to be typical of her new boss to call a meeting this late. She and Szabo had been left hanging around all day without instructions from Zetterberg, awaiting her return from her jaunt to Stockholm. Erlandsson had already cancelled what would have been a second date with Maria, the Brazilian student she’d met a few nights before at her favourite bar in town. Maybe that’s why Zetterberg was so down on her because she’d heard she was a lesbian.
Zetterberg had already outlined her various conversations with Carina Lindvall and Ivar Hagblom. Even Erlandsson was impressed with the new information Zetterberg had managed to extract from the two. Szabo had then again gone over the notes that they’d compiled from their chat with Lars-Gunnar in his garden. They’d also done some further background checks on Lars-Gunnar and Larissa in the hopes that something incriminating might emerge. Now Zetterberg stood in front of the photographs of their five suspects.
‘Right, I think what we’ve managed in only a few days is to unearth far more than the original investigation managed in several months.’ The self-satisfaction was naked. ‘Having interviewed four of the five suspects, we have already come up with potential motives for three of them. Let’s start with Lars-Gunnar Lerstorp. He was into drugs. Göran was his supplier, though he doesn’t appear to have been a user himself. Could they have fallen out over drugs? Carina Lindvall had angrily warned Göran off only a few days before.’
‘He denies knowing about that incident.’ Erlandsson had believed Lars-Gunnar.
‘He would,’ Zetterberg said dismissively. ‘On the other hand, if Göran had heeded the warning, where did that leave Lars-Gunnar? Without a regular supply? Did he try and persuade Göran to carry on? When he wouldn’t, did he kill him? His alibi is pretty tenuous. Carina said she saw him spaced out in the garden. Or was she covering for him? Even if she wasn’t and was working as she claimed, she wouldn’t be staring out of the window every five seconds, so he could have disappeared for long enough to commit the crime. For all we know, Lars-Gunnar might have been so far gone that he didn’t even realize that he had killed Göran. So, there is a big question mark hanging over him.’
‘He certainly wasn’t keen to talk to us,’ Szabo said with a glance at Erlandsson.
‘He’s in the mix. As is the far-from-delightful Carina,’ continued Zetterberg with a nod in the direction of the crime writer’s photograph. ‘She had it out with Göran. Maybe Göran paid no attention to her warning. Did she kill him to protect Lars-Gunnar, who was self-destructing? She’s a confident, strong-minded woman who’s used to getting her own way. Did Göran get in her way because he was destroying the man she loved at the time?’ Zetterberg put her hands on
her hips as she swivelled back round to the board. ‘And I’m also intrigued by her relationship with Ivar Hagblom. I suspect they’re more than just friends. But were they that close back then?’
‘Does it really matter what their relationship was back at Knäbäckshusen?’ queried Erlandsson.
Zetterberg swung round and flashed her a filthy look. ‘We don’t know. The point is that it might be significant. After all, she also gave Ivar and Larissa an alibi: said they were at it in the next room.’
‘And they also alibied each other,’ pointed out Szabo.
‘True. But as I’ve said before, alibis are there to be broken. The more we hear about Göran, the more we gather that he and Ivar weren’t the best of friends, as Ivar had initially indicated. As you’ve said, Lars-Gunnar pointed out how competitive they had become. It almost sounds like Göran was belittling Ivar. That would be hard for him to take considering he was the self-appointed leader of their little set. And Ivar’s relationship with Larissa wasn’t as hunky dory as she made out. Basically, he passed Larissa over when he found someone better – or of more use to his career. All that stuff about her going to work in Uppsala sounds a bit weird. I want you two to talk to her again. There’s something not right there.’
‘Will do,’ nodded Szabo.
Zetterberg tapped the photograph of Ivar Hagblom. ‘It’s also apparent that the Hagblom family downplayed the murder. Very little coverage in their newspapers at the time. And later on, it was one of their papers that “outed” Linus Svärd, thanks to the blabbing Inspector Sundström, and then eventually drove him out of Malmö a couple of years later. It’s plain where they were laying the blame.’
‘You mean that they were finding a scapegoat?’ suggested Szabo.
‘Possibly,’ Zetterberg agreed. ‘They were certainly distancing Ivar from the murder, which is understandable. It did involve their holiday home. There is such a thing as bad publicity. Or unwanted publicity.’ Zetterberg paused and picked up her paper coffee cup. She took a sip and pulled a face. It had gone cold. ‘We’ve gathered from our interviews that Göran wasn’t popular. No one professed to like him except Ivar. They tolerated him for Ivar’s sake. Yet it all seems to have started to unravel during their stay on Malta. Carina reckoned that Ivar was excited about something while on the island. She had no idea what it was, and when I asked Ivar about it, he claimed he couldn’t remember what she was referring to. Whatever it was, even he admitted it must have been something historical; something to do with his research. So, when you speak to Larissa, ask if she can shed any light on it. Maybe nothing, but I don’t want to overlook any detail, however insignificant it might seem.’
Menace In Malmö Page 15