Menace In Malmö

by Torquil Macleod

  ‘It’s a pity we can’t find Linus Svärd,’ mused Szabo. ‘We’ve drawn a blank there.’

  Zetterberg’s faced creased into a Cheshire-cat grin. This was one piece of information she’d deliberately kept back. ‘I’ve found him.’ She drank in the amazement on her subordinates’ faces. ‘He’s on Malta. Currently, he’s shacked up in Carina’s holiday apartment.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Szabo exclaimed. ‘So, one of them is still in touch.’

  ‘Yes; the only person who protests his innocence.’

  CHAPTER 21

  Anita was in early on the Wednesday morning. She wanted to get odds and ends sorted out before her holiday. She knew that she could see to administrative tasks while the rest of the team worked on the murder of the young man in the van. She was surprised when there was a knock on her door and Liv Fogelström entered.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Inspector Sundström...’

  ‘Not at all. Come in Liv.’

  The constable hovered nervously in front of Anita’s desk. She obviously wanted to say something, though she was finding it hard to come out with it. Anita tried to put her at her ease.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘No. No thank you. That’s very kind.’

  Anita pointed towards the spare chair opposite. ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me...’ Fogelström self-consciously plonked herself onto the chair. This wasn’t the usual cheery, popular-throughout-the-polishus Fogelström that Anita had become accustomed to since she’d become Hakim’s girlfriend. ‘Is there a work problem?’

  Fogelström plucked up her courage. ‘It’s about Hakim.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘It’s your advice I’m after.’ Her voice was almost entreating.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m the right person to be talking to.’

  ‘Oh, but you are.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I think Hakim is going to ask me to marry him.’ Silence followed. Anita wasn’t sure how she was meant to respond. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. ‘I don’t know if you heard about the meal we had round at his parents’ on Saturday.’

  ‘Hakim told me. Can’t have been pleasant for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t very nice for anybody. Hakim was so angry. You see, I’m a problem as far as his parents are concerned. I’m not a Muslim. I’ve not got the right background.’

  ‘Well, they seem to have coped with Jazmin cohabiting with my Lasse. It hasn’t always been easy.’

  ‘That’s why I’ve come to you. You’ve seen all this at first hand.’

  ‘It’s Lasse you should be speaking with.’

  Fogelström gulped. ‘Herr Mirza said that he didn’t want Hakim making the same mistake as Jazmin.’

  Anita screwed up her face. She knew that Uday wasn’t delighted with his daughter’s choice, though she now wondered if she had underestimated the strength of his feelings. He was an intelligent, often charming, cultured, westernized Iraqi. She had never personally had any problems with him, though she was aware that Lasse had. As someone without any particular faith, she didn’t find it easy to comprehend those who had an unbending creed, though she had no difficulty in accepting such doctrines. In the course of her work, she had come across many people, both criminals and victims, who had been driven by their theism and guided by their beliefs; often clashing with those who held conflicting philosophies. Malmö was a melting pot. Over forty percent of the city’s population were from foreign backgrounds – twenty percent of the residents were Muslim.

  ‘I don’t know what advice I can offer you, Liv.’

  The normally confident, ebullient girl clasped her podgy hands nervously on her lap. ‘What should I say to Hakim when he asks me?’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘Of course I do. What I’m really asking is: is it going to cause on-going resentment? Will parental pressure break us? Break him?’

  Anita sighed helplessly. ‘I can’t answer that. Only Hakim can.’

  Just then the office phone rang to save her. ‘Excuse me.’ Anita picked it up. ‘Anita Sundström.’ She listened for a few moments. ‘I’ll come right along.’ She put the receiver back. ‘Sorry, Liv, I’ve got to see the chief inspector urgently.’

  Fogelström quickly stood up. ‘Thanks for listening to me.’

  As Anita followed the young constable out of the room, it dawned on her that she would make a rather useless agony aunt.

  By the time Anita returned to her office, she was fuming. She kicked the spare chair in annoyance. It hurt her foot, which only stoked her fury further. Her brief meeting with Chief Inspector Moberg had started ominously with his opening words: ‘Do you want the bad news or the bad news?’

  ‘Neither.’

  ‘Hard luck. Bad news number one; you’re going to have to cancel your holiday.’ There wasn’t a shred of sympathy in his tone. It just came out as a bald statement.

  This had led to her first explosion before he’d even given her a reason. When he had a chance to justify himself, he explained that it was because the murder case they were investigating had a possible British or Irish dimension and he needed someone on hand with excellent English and British connections. Anita hardly thought that was a good reason to keep her there. She knew it was more to do with Moberg’s obsession with Egon Fuentes that was behind the decision, and he wanted the full team working on the case.

  Then came the double whammy. ‘However, we are sending you somewhere sunny first. The Skåne County Police are paying for you to go to Malta.’

  ‘Malta?’ Anita had no idea what he was on about. What had that to do with Egon Fuentes?

  ‘The possible downside of this trip is that you’ll be accompanying Inspector Zetterberg to interview a suspect in the case that she is currently working on.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’

  ‘This has come from on high,’ he said, pointing to the heavens. ‘Commissioner Dahlbeck, no less.’

  ‘What the hell for?’ Anita was incredulous. Losing her holiday was bad enough, but this Malta business was too horrendous for words.

  ‘Again, your linguistic skills. Apparently, Zetterberg’s English isn’t deemed good enough to deal with the local police or authorities. And she certainly doesn’t speak Malti. Who the hell does? As this is a potentially sensitive case in terms of dealing with another country, the commissioner wants to play it safe.’

  ‘I bet Zetterberg doesn’t want me there.’ Anita spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘It’ll give you two a chance to reminisce,’ Moberg chuckled. He was enjoying her exasperation.

  ‘And who are we supposed to be interviewing?’

  ‘Don’t know. She’ll brief you later on this morning.’

  Anita’s head was swirling with vexatious thoughts. At this moment she couldn’t decide whom she hated most: Moberg, Egon Fuentes, Zetterberg or Commissioner Dahlbeck.

  ‘But what about our murder case?’ Anita protested. ‘I thought you wanted me here.’ There must be a get out.

  ‘I can spare you for a couple of days. So, you’d better go and pack your bag. Your flight is first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Anita could hear the bitter disappointment in his voice. That touched her. She realized how much Kevin had been looking forward to her visit.

  ‘Look, I’m sure we can rearrange. I really want to see you.’ Her initial anger and frustration was spent, though it had re-emerged briefly when she’d explained to Kevin why she wouldn’t be on the plane to Manchester on Saturday morning. He had tried to be understanding.

  ‘Yeah, yeah of course.’ He didn’t sound positive. ‘It’s just I’d arranged the trips you wanted. To Dove Cottage, and Edinburgh. And I’d booked a meal at the Sharrow Bay, though it was going to cost a month’s pay.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘And I’ve bought a new bed. I wanted you here to christen it.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ She cooed seductively: ‘I promise your new bed won’t go unchristened.’

  Kevin perke
d up. ‘I’ll hold you to that. Well, I’ll hold something.’

  ‘I’ll let you.’ Her thoughts briefly turned to what they might get up to. But they quickly returned to matters in hand. ‘Oh, and I’m off to Malta tomorrow.’

  There was a momentary silence at the other end. ‘So, you’re buggering off to the middle of the Mediterranean while you leave me in a wet and miserable Cumbria.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s not going to be fun.’

  ‘Am I meant to be reassured? Leanne went to Malta, and I know she had a lot of fun there!’ He sounded bitter.

  ‘It’s work. And you’ll never guess who I have to go with.’

  ‘As long as he’s an ugly dwarf with no sex drive, I’ll be happy.’

  ‘That would be preferable, believe me. No, it’s Alice Zetterberg.’

  She heard Kevin’s low whistle at the other end of the phone. ‘How on earth has she popped up again?’ Kevin had known at first hand what Zetterberg was like. Memories of her involvement in the Rylander case still plagued his dreams and troubled his waking thoughts.

  ‘She’s heading up a cold case. My first ever murder investigation, in fact. We knew who’d done it, but we hadn’t enough evidence to convict him. Now the witch is trying to prove we were wrong. Prove me wrong!’

  ‘I can see her enjoying that.’ Then he added brightly: ‘But as I’m sure you were right in the first place, maybe Malta’s your chance to show her that you were.’

  Anita gave an involuntary grunt. ‘I think Malta’s going to be a bloody nightmare.’

  CHAPTER 22

  You could hardly call it a meeting. Zetterberg showed her displeasure in having to travel to Malta with Anita in no uncertain terms.

  ‘You’re coming with me under sufferance because I’ve got no choice. I don’t want you there. So, the way it’s going to work is that you turn up, you talk to the local police, and you keep your trap shut when I’m interviewing the potential suspect. You don’t interfere, you don’t make observations, and you don’t make any suggestions. Then we fly back. End of story. End of your involvement. You made a mess last time, now I’m doing what you should have done then.’

  Anita bit her lip. She managed to control herself, though she would have quite happily lashed out at this overbearing, malicious and manipulative woman.

  ‘And who is it that you are interviewing?’

  A hint of a smile seeped across Zetterberg’s face. ‘Linus Svärd.’

  So, they had tracked him down to Malta. Anita was intrigued as to what he was doing there.

  ‘Be at Kastrup at half seven.’

  There was nothing left to say, and Anita left. Maybe Kevin had been right. This was a chance to prove at last that Linus Svärd was the killer and vindicate Henrik Nordlund and the team.

  In the corridor, she came across Bea Erlandsson.

  ‘I hear you’re accompanying my boss to Malta. Lucky you.’ The face that Erlandsson pulled showed that Anita had the young detective’s sympathy.

  ‘It’s not a happy prospect, though I’m impressed that you’ve managed to find Linus Svärd. I lost track of him.’

  ‘Turns out he’s living in Carina Lindvall’s holiday home on the island.’

  That was interesting, too. ‘The trouble is that your boss won’t give me any information on how the case is going. I don’t know what you’ve dug up.’

  Erlandsson eyes flitted along the corridor in case someone emerged from behind the door with Cold Case Grupp emblazoned on it. ‘I can fill you in, but not here.’

  Anita understood. ‘Tell you what, Bea. Why don’t I treat you to a drink after work? I’ll meet you in the Pickwick. It’s not the sort of bar that Inspector Zetterberg is likely to frequent.’

  Bea nodded conspiratorially and scuttled off along the corridor.

  Danny hadn’t ventured out of his room since he’d fled back from the station the day before. The sight of McNaught in Malmö had totally rattled him. McNaught was slowly tracking him down. And Danny knew he had a gun – he might not even bother taking him to some quiet spot to finish him off; he might just shoot him the street. He had to get away. But how? Having no passport was a huge stumbling block.

  It was anxious hunger that drove him out of his room at midday and down to the supermarket below. He grabbed a few things off the shelves without really taking in what he was buying. He just wanted to get back to the safety of his room. He hurriedly paid for his items and didn’t even wait for his change.

  Five minutes later there was a knock on his door. Oh, God! Had McNaught found him already? At first he was just frozen to his bed. Beads of sweat ran down his tingling spine. Was this it? The final moment?

  The knock came again. ‘Hey, buddy, are you in there?’ The voice was unmistakably American.

  Danny got up slowly and carefully opened the door a slit. The man standing in the corridor was young and black-haired and had a thick beard. He wore a collarless white shirt, baggy khaki shorts and flip-flops. He held a plastic bag of groceries in his left hand.

  ‘Christ, are you OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ mumbled Danny

  The American held out his right hand; there were some coins in the palm. ‘These are yours. You didn’t pick up your change in the supermarket. I was behind you in the line. Seen you around the hostel. English, right?’

  Danny reached out and took the money. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is anything the matter?’

  Danny wanted to shut the door, yet he found it difficult. Here was a friendly face.

  ‘If you want a drink later, just let me know. I’m two doors down.’

  Danny nodded. ‘Maybe.’

  The American gave him a wide, gleaming, white-toothed smile. ‘I’m Brad, by the way.’

  Brad retreated towards his room.

  ‘Brad?’

  He turned. The beaming smile again. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Do you know anything about passports?’

  Brad ambled back up the corridor. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I had mine nicked. Getting it sorted out, but I wanted to visit Denmark while I’m here.’

  Brad scratched his beard thoughtfully. ‘Well, you’ve no problem going out. There’s no check on the train to Copenhagen. In fact, you can go back to England without having your passport checked. Until you hit your British Channel.’

  ‘English,’ Danny couldn’t help correcting.

  ‘Whatever. Coming back, though... with all the immigrant stuff, they’re checking passports at Kastrup.’ Danny looked blankly at him. ‘That’s the airport for Copenhagen. And they also check everybody at Hyllie. That’s the first stop on the train in Sweden.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’

  Once the door was closed, Danny’s face creased into relief. He could escape Sweden without a passport, and there was no way on God’s earth that he was going to come back in! He could get to a Channel port then try and catch a ferry. That might be problematic, but he’d find a way. By then he would be safely away from Sweden and, more importantly, McNaught.

  Klara Wallen was pleased that Moberg was pleased. She had made a breakthrough of sorts. She had found the building supply merchant that Egon Fuentes had been dealing with. It had been a lucky fluke as it turned out, but successful investigations often turned on such moments. She had been to a company run by a Bo Joneberg a couple of kilometres outside Husie. Joneberg was an unpleasant bull of a man who had been aggressively unhelpful. He denied knowing Fuentes or dealing with any British or Irish customers. It was on leaving the yard that Wallen had engaged in conversation with a young man who was smoking outside the gates. He was having a break. On the off chance, Wallen had produced Egon Fuentes’ photo. He immediately recognized him.

  ‘Yeah, he comes in a few times.’

  ‘By himself?’ Wallen asked.

  ‘No. One or two quite rough types. There was one guy who was completely bald. Scar on his face. The boss is frightening enough, but that guy! Wouldn’t like to meet him on a dark night.’

 
‘Did they speak English?’

  ‘Yeah, they did actually.’

  ‘And what were they taking away?’

  He flicked his cigarette onto the dusty track outside the gates. ‘Paving materials mostly, for patios, drives... paving slabs and bricks, aggregates, stones, that sort of thing. Tons of cement, of course. To be honest, it was all bottom range. Cheap. I was amazed that the boss managed to palm off some of the stuff he was selling them because a lot of it was virtually unusable. But when I helped load it, they seemed quite happy with it.’

  Moberg sat at his desk thoughtfully. ‘Good work, Klara. Good work.’ She wasn’t sure which delighted her most: his congratulations or the fact he’d used her first name – both were so rare.

  ‘So, it’s beginning to look as though Egon was the middle man. He’s the local who deals with the supplier. This gang are buying inferior materials for their jobs. As a consummate bullshitter, he probably persuaded people to have their patios and drives redone from scratch.’

  ‘So where’s the con?’ From Wallen’s point of view it could be a legitimate business; just that they were using poor quality materials.

  ‘I’ve heard of this sort of thing before. Not just here, but around Europe, particularly in Norway. You get these gangs turning up, offering to improve your drive, say. Increase the value of your property and all that. They take money up front, usually way above the real market price, and then do a bad job using shite materials, and disappear before the punters have time to complain. Or sometimes the householders are too intimidated to object. Many of these gangs are nothing more than thugs. And Egon would have been the front man; the man with the Swedish. And knowing his record, he’ll have picked out the most vulnerable targets. I bet most of them are old. He’ll have promised them that it would be a good investment. And when the whole thing turns out to be a mess, they would be too frightened to do anything about it.’