Menace In Malmö

by Torquil Macleod

  ‘His photo is out there now. If he’s here, we’ll find him. Being British, he might not know Malmö too well, so it’ll be harder for him to go undetected.’

  Brodd still seemed reluctant to leave. Hakim wished he’d just shove off. He was frustratingly drawing a blank with his researches, and he was still unsure how he was going to sort out his parental problem with Liv.

  ‘Any joy?’ said Brodd peering over Hakim’s shoulder.

  ‘No. I can’t find any reference to this Pave the Way outfit anywhere; and certainly not in Britain or Ireland, where they supposedly operate. I think we’re going to have real problems tracking these people down.’

  Anita treated herself to a pint of Cisk in The Pub. It was a rather unimaginative name for a pub. It was small and intimate. One side of the room was decorated in naval memorabilia, mainly the cap bands of several Royal Navy ships. This must have been a regular watering hole for thirsty sailors for generations, though most had made straight for the infamous Gut, a long narrow street once heaving with bars, brothels and dance halls. Since the closure of the British naval base in 1979, Strait Street had gone straight and shed its notorious reputation. On the opposite wall were plastered pictures and articles about the British film star Oliver Reed, who had had his final, fatal drinking session in The Pub. It was a shrine to an actor who had an insatiable appetite for life, even if it ended up killing him.

  She took her pint outside and sat at one of the tables on the street. Tourists and locals drifted languidly past. It was pleasantly warm still, and the beer went down well. She was still dwelling on what Linus had said to her earlier. Of course, he was bound to say he was innocent. But he wasn’t. She even began to think about the practicalities of taking him back to Sweden. She assumed, as Malta was a fellow member of the EU, that there would be no trouble extraditing him.

  A couple of raucous British holidaymakers, with bright shirts and long shorts, staggered past her table and disappeared into the pub. Kevin was always complaining about his fellow countrymen when abroad in hot climates and with easy access to gallons of cold booze. She smiled to herself, got out her phone and gave him a call.

  ‘I’m sitting outside a bar on a warm evening with a pint of cool beer. Malta is heaven,’ she teased.

  ‘It’s been pissing down here all day,’ Kevin replied dryly. ‘I suppose you’re just enjoying winding me up?’

  ‘Of course. But I have to say that what I’ve seen of Malta so far is amazing. And that’s given me an idea.’

  ‘You’re going to transfer to the Maltese police.’

  ‘Ah, that’s an even better idea. Maybe I could half-transfer – do the summers in Malmö and winters on Malta. No, actually, it’s somewhere teeming with history. And I thought this is exactly the sort of place you would love, and you could discover plenty of facts to bore me with at the end of each day. So, why don’t we have a holiday here next year?’

  She could almost hear the smile at the other end. ‘I’ve always fancied Malta. Great Siege. Knights of St. John. Second World War, of course.’ He stopped himself. ‘And you, too. Being with you would be the most important thing.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘So, how’s it going? Has the witch driven you to drink?’

  ‘Zetterberg’s as cold as this beer. She’s hardly said a word to me the whole trip. But we have met the suspect. Actually, I’ve seen him twice.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s still guilty. We’ve got a proper interview with him tomorrow at his apartment. I’m going to have to keep my mouth shut whatever happens. I just hope she’s got the guts to really put the pressure on. I’m sure I’ll find it impossible not to jump in when I think things aren’t going right.’

  ‘Stay calm, darling. She’ll use it against you if she thinks you’re overstepping the mark.’ She could tell he was warning her more out of hope than expectation.

  ‘I will, Kevin. Just for you. But first I’ve got to sleep in the same room as her. Someone’s idea of a joke back at headquarters, I suspect. And before you get any erotic ideas about two women in the same bedroom, I bet she snores.’

  ‘And you don’t?’ he laughed.

  ‘You cheeky thing; you can’t talk. Anyhow, I’d better go and get something to eat. There are some nice-looking restaurants around here. What are you having tonight?’

  ‘Beans on toast.’

  CHAPTER 26

  The entrance to the building which accommodated Linus Svärd’s apartment consisted of an intricately carved wide double door sporting two substantial brass knobs, above which perpetually leapt a couple of supple fish-shaped metal knockers. Zetterberg pressed the intercom buzzer and, almost immediately, it was answered by Linus. The door clicked, and in they stepped off the hot street.

  The hallway was cool, with thick, cream-painted stone walls, and was full of antiques – oak chests, leather-upholstered chairs, ceramic vases, brass urns, earthenware amphorae, lanterns, cannon balls piled in pyramids, and pictures of ancient knights and coats of arms. Beyond was a high atrium filled with foliage; ferns and palms and ivies cascading from unseen balconies. A raised pool full of magnificent carp nestled in one corner, and the sound of running water gave the whole an air of serenity and tranquillity like an Arabian palace. Anita looked up and could just make out a small rectangle of deep azure sky. A wide staircase led from the atrium; the steps worn in the middle from centuries of use. The conversion of the house into apartments had been tastefully and carefully done, and none of the former grandeur of the central living space had been sacrificed.

  When Linus let them in, the apartment was small but perfectly serviceable, though it didn't exude the affluence of the communal area outside. The gallery window of the living room Anita and Zetterberg were shown into looked out onto the street and did nothing to muffle the noises of everyday Maltese life. Anita was thankful for the fan in the middle of the ceiling, which gave welcome relief from the energy-sapping heat. A lot of the furniture was large, dark and heavy, and there were richly patterned rugs on the floor, but the décor was light and the pictures were modern.

  Linus appeared nervous. He didn’t bother offering them coffee. Instead, he lit up a cigarette, which he puffed at with a vehemence that couldn’t be doing his lungs any good. Zetterberg took the most comfortable armchair. Anita had to sit down on the small sofa. She felt at an immediate disadvantage, as the other two were higher than she was.

  ‘Right, let’s get started,’ Zetterberg said in her best business-like manner. She produced the promised tape recorder. ‘You’ll have to put up with Inspector Sundström’s presence.’

  He blew out some long-held smoke. ‘That’s OK. I spoke to Inspector Sundström last evening on the way back from the waterfront.’

  ‘Did you?’ Zetterberg glared at Anita. ‘That is most irregular. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘There was nothing to tell.’ Anita felt awkward, like a child who’s been caught out lying.

  ‘I didn’t reveal any details. I just told her I was innocent.’

  ‘That’s for us to decide.’ Zetterberg was clearly irked. What capital would she make out of it when they returned to Malmö? She clicked on the recorder. ‘I want you to go through the day of the murder as you remember it.’

  Linus flicked ash into the saucer he was using as an ashtray. ‘I’ll not forget that day in a hurry. It didn’t start well, as Göran was in a shitty mood. In fact, he’d been like that almost from the moment I arrived from Gotland.’

  ‘You’d been on a dig there,’ Zetterberg confirmed.

  ‘Yeah. Viking site near Visby.’ Despite the tape recorder, Anita was making additional notes. Zetterberg should have been doing that, as it was her case, but Anita hadn’t objected because it gave her an excuse to get more involved. After a sleepless night listening to Zetterberg snoring, she had been plagued by pinpricks of doubt that Linus might not have been their killer of twenty-one years ago. Today, she was determined to find out once and for all. ‘It hadn
’t been right for a while. I wasn’t sure why. We still had sex...’ His mind wandered for a moment. Zetterberg shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘...but the love had gone. On his part.’ Linus twizzled the saucer, which disturbed and flaked the fresh ash. ‘It was a hot day so we decided to have a barbecue. Well, Ivar decided, and when he wanted something, it usually happened. I wasn’t in the mood, and Göran certainly wasn’t.’ He frowned. ‘Actually, Ivar was a bit wound up about something, too. Not his usual self.’

  ‘None of the others mentioned that,’ queried Zetterberg.

  ‘If they didn’t, then maybe it was nothing. Anyhow, it didn’t take long for Göran to pick a fight. I could see the others were getting uptight with him around, and I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I lost my rag, probably yelled a bit and then flounced off. I realized that I had to reassess my life.’

  ‘Which you did up Stenshuvud?’ Anita was annoyed at Zetterberg’s interruption. It was as though she wanted to get through the interview as quickly as possible.

  ‘Yes. It’s beautiful up there, and you can find a quiet spot if you keep off the main paths. I had a lot to think about. I could tell there was no future with Göran. He’d changed. He’d been loving at first. I wasn’t sure if it was something I’d said or done. He was sensitive about certain things, and I may have upset him somehow. I just don’t know,’ he said hopelessly as though the thought still bothered him.

  ‘He’d transferred his affections to Ivar.’

  Linus suddenly guffawed, which sounded odd coming out of those feminine lips. ‘All that was ridiculous. Ivar’s as straight as they come. No, I think it was more that Göran was in awe of Ivar. We all were. But when I came back from Gotland, I could see that there was a change in Göran’s relationship with Ivar. Something wasn’t right.’

  ‘We’ll get back to that later. I want to know more about the day of the murder.’ Zetterberg’s impatience was increasingly evident. Maybe it was her own presence that was putting her off, thought Anita.

  Linus flicked more ash before continuing. ‘It was late by the time I returned along the beach. I was down by the shore when I heard shouting up at the chapel. I rushed up. I can’t remember much, but I realized as soon I saw the body on the floor that it was Göran. I don’t even remember who was in there at the time. I just lost it. I grabbed him, which I shouldn’t have done because you’re not meant to touch a body. But I was so emotional. Whatever I’d been thinking about on Stenshuvud disappeared in a flash.’ His voice quavered. ‘The love of my life was lying there, dead.’ The image that he seemed to be recreating in his mind halted his flow completely. ‘Even now...’ he started again but stopped.

  ‘What happened after that?’

  He took his time before he continued. ‘The rest was a blur. I think the others appeared, or some of them. Larissa took me back to the house. I remember that. She cleaned me up. My T-shirt was covered in Göran’s blood from when I’d held him. Then the police came to talk to us. It was some detective called Nor-something.’

  ‘Nordlund,’ said Anita.

  ‘Him. He took away the T-shirt. After a couple of weeks, it became obvious that the police were concentrating on me. Weren’t you?’ The accusation was aimed at Anita.

  ‘What was it like around the house in the following weeks?’ Zetterberg asked.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said angrily, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘Crap. No one could believe it had happened at first. Everybody stuck to their stories, and no one accused anybody else. It slowly dawned on me that some of my friends began to believe that I was responsible, though none of them were really upset by Göran’s death, except me.’

  ‘And later?’

  ‘When we were allowed to leave the cottage, we all split up. I went to Malmö for a while. I tried to get my life together again. But it was impossible to get an academic position in Sweden because of the publicity the case had stirred up, especially when she went public.’ Anita kept scribbling, which helped her avoid his fierce gaze.

  ‘How did the others react to you?’

  ‘Ironically, it was the girls who stayed connected. Larissa was in Malmö and was supportive. So was Carina until she moved up north and started her brilliant career. She’s the only one who’s stayed in touch.’

  ‘And Ivar and Lars-Gunnar?’

  Anita could detect genuine sadness in his eyes. ‘After we left the cottage, Ivar never spoke to me again. We’d been very close since the first weeks at uni. But not a word. Lars-Gunnar was the same after he split from Carina. But I don’t blame him as much; his brain was addled by drugs by then. He had no idea what he was up to. No wonder Carina felt she’d had enough and left him.’

  By now Anita was getting thirsty and wished she’d brought a bottle of water. She would have asked for some, but she didn’t want to break the flow of the interview.

  ‘You mentioned earlier that something wasn’t right with Göran and Ivar.’ Zetterberg spoke as though measuring her words. ‘When did this start to surface? You must be the one most likely to know as you were a good friend of one and the other’s lover.’

  ‘Here, I suppose. Malta. That ill-fated trip, as it turns out.’

  ‘The others seemed to think it was fun.’

  Linus crossed his arms thoughtfully. ‘They probably did. But not for me. Göran began to act strangely. It was only meant to be a break. Bit of sun, plenty of drinks, some laughs. An escape. Except for Ivar, it wasn’t. He was keen to find out as much as possible about the Siege of Malta and spent a lot of time in Valletta. I don’t think Larissa was too pleased. She just wanted to relax like the rest. But Ivar was really into the Knights of St. John and the whole Christian-Muslim, East-West thing. He spent a lot of time in the National Library here, and at the Grand Master’s Palace, and in book shops. He liked to drag me along because I was interested and he could bounce ideas off me. In fact, it was in an old bookshop in Archbishop Street that he came across Björnstahl. The shop’s derelict these days.’

  ‘You say Björnstahl? Was he another student?’ Zetterberg queried sharply.

  ‘He was a Swedish orientalist, linguist and traveller.’ This was Anita’s first contribution.

  ‘What was he doing here?’ demanded Zetterberg, who was annoyed that Anita knew of someone she didn’t.

  ‘I don’t know if he was ever here as he died in the 1770s. Istanbul I think.’

  ‘Well done,’ Linus said with some admiration. ‘He spent three years in Constantinople as it was then, but he actually died in Salonika in 1779. I don’t think many people have heard of him these days, even in Sweden.’

  ‘I remember my ex-husband talking about him. An academic.’

  Linus clicked his fingers. ‘That’s right. I’d forgotten that one of the cops on the case had a Lund University connection.’

  ‘Just tell us about this bloody Björnstahl!’ Zetterberg snapped. ‘If it’s at all relevant.’

  ‘I’m not sure if it is, but it caused problems between Göran and myself.’ Linus left them waiting while he lit up again. ‘We were in this dusty, old second-hand bookshop when Ivar came across A Tour Through Sicily and Malta by Patrick Brydone. It was in the form of letters to William Beckford. Ivar was fascinated because, though worn, it was a first edition. He was really excited.’ Anita noticed Zetterberg’s eyes glaze over. ‘After he bought it, we went off to a bar so he could have a look through it. Obviously, the bits he was interested in concerned Malta. But then, as we were about to leave and head back up to Mellieha, where we were staying, Ivar discovered some musty leaves of paper stuffed in the back of the book. It was four pages of a letter. They were old and written in Swedish. The first part was obviously missing, so Ivar couldn’t work out who it was to. But it was signed by Jacob Björnstahl. It was quite a find.’

  ‘So this was new material that no one had seen before?’ asked Anita, who, after her years with Björn, could appreciate that such a discovery could have been highly significant for an academic.

  ‘Precisely
. It was part of a discourse on the Malti language. He’d written about the origins of Malti briefly in one his own books of travels which came out in—’

  ‘This is all very interesting,’ Zetterberg cut in, ‘but can we get to the bit where this find caused a problem between you and Göran?’

  Linus shrugged. ‘Ivar swore me to secrecy about the Björnstahl letter. Göran sensed there was something he was missing out on because Ivar was so pleased with his discovery. Göran was seriously hacked off with me, as he realized I must know what Ivar was up to and I wouldn’t tell him. It was difficult for me, but Ivar was my best friend at the time. I think it was at that time that Göran tried it on with Ivar. As you know, he didn’t get anywhere, and Göran didn’t take rejection well. I sometimes wonder if he only tried to get close to Ivar sexually as a way of finding out what Ivar was up to academically. They had become serious rivals.’

  ‘That’s what I want to talk about next,’ said Zetterberg, who was keen to step onto safer ground. ‘This rivalry between Ivar and Göran. Lars-Gunnar and Carina both mentioned it. Did it destabilize the group?’

  ‘I suppose it did eventually. I think it really only developed after they both started doing their doctorates. I hadn’t seen much of either of them after I got my degree, as I was away on digs for weeks or months on end. Obviously, I was in regular contact with Göran, but I didn’t fully realize what was happening until I saw them together that time on Malta. Not an edifying sight when they were both arguing. It was all about points scoring.’

  ‘I get the picture,’ Zetterberg sighed. ‘What about you and Göran? Did you know he was supplying Lars-Gunnar with drugs?’

  Linus blew out a shaft of smoke which he then batted away with his free hand. ‘Yes. But not at first,’ he added quickly. ‘He supplied us all. Just for recreational use. Nothing heavy. He just seemed to know where to get hold of stuff easily. We didn’t ask any questions. I don’t think any of us realized that Lars-Gunnar was getting in deeper and deeper.’