Menace In Malmö

by Torquil Macleod

  That came about when he was leaving the local job centre and a smart silver Range Rover drew up beside him. It was driven by a stony-faced man with short-cropped hair who was a complete contrast to the bulky, cheery Irishman who got out and asked him if he was looking for work. The Irishman’s name was Tyrone Cassidy. At the time, Danny was staying at a bed and breakfast that was little more than a doss house, paid for by his social security benefits. Cassidy took Danny to a nearby café and treated him to a coffee and a piece of chocolate cake. In the process, Danny gave him a potted history of his life, including his time in prison. Cassidy said that was all water under the bridge and everybody deserved a fresh start. The offer of work was almost too good to be true, and Cassidy asked if he would be happy with £40 a day. Cassidy even pressed a £20 note into Danny’s hand, along with a packet of cigarettes, as a gesture of goodwill.

  Danny had joined other young men like himself, and for the next month had done paving and tarmacking jobs in and around London. He did get paid, but not the £40 a day that Mr Cassidy had promised. Sometimes not at all, though he was told the shortfall would be made up when money had been received from the clients. Danny was conscious that he had no experience of the work, but neither did most of the others he worked with. He had a feeling that not all the jobs were done to a satisfactory standard, though he was quick to jettison such thoughts when he did see some money.

  After the first month, Cassidy turned up at the domestic driveway Danny was working on. Again, the hard-faced driver sat silently in the Range Rover. Cassidy was very friendly and said that there was even more money to be made abroad. Danny said that he didn’t have a passport. Cassidy reassured him that that would be taken care of and two weeks later, Danny found himself in the back of a transit van heading towards the Channel Tunnel. There were five other workers, none of whom Danny had met before. All seemed to have been signed up by Cassidy in similar ways. The driver of the van was an Irishman, answering to the name of Paddy, who communicated in grunts. He kept all the documentation, which he handed through the van window when going through French customs. Danny never did see his passport. On the long trip, Danny befriended a man younger than himself called Jack Harmer. It turned out that Harmer came from a middle-class background before losing his way through drugs. Cassidy’s offer had helped him get back to a more normal life, even though he wasn’t obviously cut out for the physical work involved.

  Their excitement at reaching Sweden was soon tempered by the sight of their accommodation. It was more like a travellers’ camp, with dirty caravans as their new homes. Danny shared his with Jack. They were based in a forest and had no idea whereabouts they were. The camp was run by a Scotsman named Mark McNaught. He and three other Irishmen were in charge of organizing the gangs of two or three workers and taking them to the sites. All these men were rough, and the treatment of the ten or so young men at the camp was harsh. They weren’t fed well, and no money was forthcoming. If anybody complained, they were met with both verbal and physical abuse. They soon learned to fear McNaught. Their mobile phones had been confiscated on arrival at the camp, and the sense of isolation became more intense as the intimidation increased. They worked fifteen-hour days and were “discouraged” from talking to the customers, most of whom seemed elderly. If they were caught doing so, a beating was often the punishment. The camp became a place of terror.

  After it became clear that they were nothing more than modern-day slaves, there was still enough spark left in the new arrivals to plot escapes. But each time they thought they had an opportunity, their resolve failed. After a month, a Cockney lad they only knew as Trigger did a runner into the woods. Three hours later, McNaught brought him back, his face almost unrecognizable. He didn’t work for a fortnight. This was the consequence of failure. It got to the point where they no longer knew whether they had been there days or weeks or months, as any self-confidence had been shredded and their sense of hopeless despair deepened into fearful acceptance.

  Only Jack Harmer, despite being the youngest of the workers, held out any hope. He was brighter than the rest of them and, initially, he had tried to reason with McNaught and the others to better the slum conditions they were living in. A few well-aimed blows put an end to that. Yet, despite everything, he believed that if they could speak to Mr Cassidy, they would get things sorted out. He had been kind and approachable, and he was obviously oblivious to what McNaught and his cronies were up to.

  Occasionally, when they were working on a job, a Swedish man turned up to talk to the customers. He never appeared at the camp, except that last day. A week previously, at one of the sites they were working at, Jack and Danny were left alone while McNaught, Paddy and one of the young lads went off to pick up some more paving. Jack had taken the opportunity to speak to this Swedish man, who was visiting the customer to pick up some money. The man had sounded sympathetic and said he would do something. He had said that he had no idea that the working conditions were so awful.

  Then a week later, McNaught stopped Danny and Jack from getting into one of the vans for work and told them they weren’t going anywhere that day. He said that they were to wait. An hour later, the Boss turned up with the Swede. They had been in their caravan when Jack saw Mr Cassidy through the window. He’d turned to Danny and said that this was their chance for Mr Cassidy to sort everything out. Danny wasn’t as confident, as McNaught hadn’t left the camp and was talking animatedly to the new arrivals. In fact, McNaught was pointing to their caravan. Before Danny knew it, Jack was outside and walking over to Cassidy. Danny watched from the caravan window. As Jack approached, Danny saw the Swede nodding in Jack’s direction and saying something to Cassidy. Danny couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could see Jack talking to Cassidy. There was nothing cheerful about the Boss’s countenance, and McNaught was scowling beside him. Suddenly, Cassidy started yelling at Jack and began to lay into him, punches raining down on the defenceless youngster. It was as though an explosion had been detonated. Danny stared in horror as Cassidy continued to beat Jack in a frenzy of anger. McNaught stood and watched, his gaze impassive, though Danny could see a look of shock and alarm on the face of the Swede. Jack was now on the ground, and Cassidy was kicking him with his heavy brogues. Eventually, the Swede tried to pull Cassidy back. But it was too late. Even from that distance, Danny knew that Jack would never get up again, his body limp and still on the rough ground. Danny hadn’t waited... he’d burst through the caravan door and run as fast as he could into the surrounding forest.

  ‘So, that’s when you set up your camp in the forest near Leif Andersson’s farm?’ Anita questioned rhetorically when the main part of Danny’s story was complete. ‘What about Leif? How did you meet him?’

  Danny didn’t want to admit he’d stolen from the old farmer before he’d met him. ‘He found me in my camp. He took pity on me. He was kind. He fed me.’ Anita could see Danny was getting quite emotional. ‘It was my fault that he died. My fault,’ he repeated quietly.

  ‘You just found him? Dead, tied to a chair?’

  Danny’s eyes were moistening. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know who killed him?’

  ‘McNaught.’

  Anita helped herself to another chocolate. She might buy another box on the way home. ‘So, why didn’t you report the death to the police?’

  Danny looked at her helplessly. ‘Why do you think? I’m in a strange country; I have no idea where the police are; I’ve got no passport. And my fingerprints must have been all over the house: I was in the kitchen, used the shower...’

  ‘But you stole money and Leif’s car.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice. It was either that or hang around for McNaught to butcher me. He knew I’d been there. He must have beaten that information out of Leif before he shot him.’ Then he paused. He almost choked out the next words. ‘God, maybe be didn’t tell him! Tried to protect me.’

  ‘We’ll never know.’

  Danny was still battling with the possibility
that the old man might have died because he hadn’t given him away. ‘I didn’t like pinching his stuff. I was desperate.’

  It all made perfect sense to Anita, though she had to ask the obvious questions.

  ‘And when did you get to Malmö?’

  ‘Monday.’

  ‘And was Hyllie station the first time you’d seen McNaught since Jack’s murder?’

  ‘No. I saw him at the main railway station the day after I arrived. So I kept a low profile. I found out from an American at the hostel that I didn’t need a passport to get out of Sweden. I was trying to make a break for it. But he found me somehow.’ The fear had returned to his eyes, which again were drawn to the door. ‘He’s a hunter.’

  ‘You obviously believe that he’ll make another attempt.’

  ‘Of course he will. Other than McNaught and the Swede, I’m the only witness to Jack’s murder.’

  Anita didn’t want to tell him yet, but, besides McNaught, Danny Foster was the only witness left alive who could put Tyrone Cassidy behind bars.

  CHAPTER 32

  Anita phoned Chief Inspector Moberg as soon as she was outside the hospital. It was still warm, and she stood happily in the sunshine away from the shadow of the large, circular building. She gave him a précised account of Danny Foster’s story. After listening, he said that he would put out an all-points alert on Mark McNaught. He said he’d want the whole team in by seven the next morning. He was expecting the ballistics report first thing on whether the bullet used to kill Leif Andersson matched the one that was taken out of Foster’s shoulder. He was confident now that that would be the case. And he wanted Anita to be in charge of looking into the backgrounds of Mark McNaught and Tyrone Cassidy.

  After a pause: ‘Well done, Anita.’ That was high, if unexpected, praise indeed.

  ‘By the way, it might be an idea to put a couple of constables on Danny Foster’s door tonight. McNaught doesn’t seem fazed about where he attacks. Hyllie was very public.’

  ‘Do you really think he’ll try again? He must be aware that we’re looking for him.’

  ‘Danny thinks he’ll stop at nothing.’

  ‘Very well.’ Moberg sounded doubtful. ‘But it’ll take time to drum up an extra officer on a summer Sunday. Half the polishus are still on holiday.’

  ‘Lucky them!’ She should have been sitting in a Lakeland pub with Kevin at this very moment. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a couple of things on today, but I’ll call back later to make sure there are two officers on the door. If not, I’ll hang around until someone turns up. I’d feel better.’

  ‘That’s up to you, Anita.’

  Anita squinted at the sun. ‘It might be useful, too. I’ll see if Danny knows where Cassidy is based, or anything else about McNaught. It might narrow the field.’

  The gathering was in full swing. They were in the communal garden of Lasse and Jazmin’s apartment block. The quadrilateral area was surrounded by the backs of other blocks of differing heights and colours, each with their own outside space. Lasse and Jazmin’s was the most sizeable and had its own permanent brick barbecue in the corner. Lasse was doing the cooking, Jazmin was putting salads out on a table and Björn was dispensing the drinks in a strange assortment of glasses. Hakim and Liv were playing with Leyla. She was finding the grass more difficult to totter on and kept collapsing on her bottom. But she was a determined little thing, and would be up again in no time.

  Anita hugged each of them in turn before scooping Leyla up, babbling baby talk at her. Leyla wrinkled up her nose in that now familiar grin. Anita took her round the garden as the others chatted away. She felt a sudden surge of happiness. Apart from Björn, these were the most important people in her life right now. There was Kevin, of course, and she wished he could be here too. But he wasn’t family.

  She returned to the throng and released Leyla, who was now impatient to be back on the ground. Anita noticed a couple of bottles of champagne on the table. ‘That’s generous of you, Björn.’

  He had a large tumbler in his hand, full of white wine. ‘Not mine. Hakim brought it.’

  Anita turned to Hakim with a puzzled expression. ‘Champagne, Hakim? But you don’t drink.’

  ‘No,’ he smiled, and he shared a conspiratorial wink with Liv, who was wearing a pretty blue summer dress with large white spots. ‘Can you open it please, Björn?’

  ‘I never need to be asked twice.’

  A couple of minutes later, everybody except Hakim had a tumbler of frothing champagne. Hakim’s contained Coke. He took centre stage.

  ‘I’d like to make an announcement.’ Liv blushed joyfully. ‘The beautiful Liv Fogelström, the best constable in the Skåne County Police Force, so arrested my attention...’ he waited for appropriate groans. ‘...that I decided to ask her to be handcuffed to me for the rest of her life. And she said “yes”, as long as she got time off occasionally for good behaviour.’

  Jazmin gave a delighted scream and rushed over and hugged Liv, nearly knocking her champagne out of her hand. Then everybody raised their glasses and toasted the couple. Anita knew that Hakim must have spent ages working on his mini-speech – it wasn’t typical Hakim humour. But she was so pleased for him; for them both, though she couldn’t help but harbour worries for Liv. It was noticeable that Uday and Amira were not there. She suspected that their reaction to the news would not be quite as enthusiastic.

  ‘Where’s the ring?’ asked Jazmin.

  Liv held up her ring finger, round which was wrapped a blue rubber band. ‘He didn’t buy one in case I said “no”.’

  ‘He always was mean.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make him pay. We’re going out to choose one this coming week.’

  The general congratulations were interrupted by Björn saying: ‘I think something’s burning.’

  ‘Oh, shit!’ shouted Lasse, who had deserted his cooking station to join in the toast.

  Later on, Anita managed to catch Liv on her own. ‘So, you’ve taken the plunge.’

  Liv’s rounded cheeks were flushed with girlish excitement. ‘I know it’s not going to be plain sailing. We’ll have to tell Hakim’s parents soon. But not today. We’re enjoying our moment.’

  ‘Good for you. You take care of Hakim.’

  ‘Oh, I will. I know how much he respects you. And I can see that you’re fond of him. I’ll make him a good wife.’

  ‘Just don’t let him get away with anything. Remember, he’s been pampered by his mamma for years.’

  Liv pulled a serious face. ‘No. He’ll have to pull his weight or he’s out!’

  ‘Out of what?’ asked Hakim, who had come over with a plate of food for Liv.

  ‘Women’s talk,’ replied Anita. Liv giggled.

  ‘Are you not having any more to drink?’ Hakim asked Anita.

  ‘No. I’ve got to see someone this afternoon. I’ll need my wits about me. By the way, you’d better have an early night. Moberg wants us in at seven tomorrow.’

  ‘Seven?’

  ‘There have been developments with Danny Foster. I’ll tell you tomorrow. This is your special day.’

  Anita reluctantly left an hour later, but she had an appointment to keep. She said farewell to all, leaving Björn till last: ‘Don’t get too drunk.’

  ‘Or I might try and...’

  ‘Don’t even think about it. That’s never going to happen. Oh, by the way, you’ve haven’t by any chance been onto your contact at Lund about Ivar Hagblom’s dissertation, have you?’

  Björn smacked his forehead. ‘Went clean out of my head. I’ll follow it up. I promise.’

  Nothing new then. Björn was still letting her down.

  Ex-Prosecutor Renmarker’s most distinguishing feature was his teeth. He seemed to have too many for his mouth, giving him a permanently pained smile which Anita found as disconcerting now as she had twenty-one years before. Of course he was older now, and his hair was a pleasing silvery grey. He was immaculately dressed in a crisp casual shirt and trousers.
He was courteous to a fault, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. He was a man who missed nothing. He was now retired, and Anita had tracked him down to his modest home in the countryside outside Lund.

  The afternoon was pleasantly warm, and Renmarker suggested they sit in his garden. As Anita waited for him to produce a cup of coffee, she watched a dog (some kind of terrier) ferreting among the shrubs and bushes bordering the large, neatly trimmed lawn. A line of trees at the bottom of the garden obscured the road that she’d driven along minutes before. Anita was sure that Renmarker had been married, but there had been no sign of any wife when he had greeted her at his front door.

  Renmarker came out and placed a tray on a black metal table, the centrepiece of a matching set of four chairs. Anita wondered how often they were all filled. She took her cup, but ignored the biscuits.

  He took the seat opposite and grinned. Well, she thought it was a grin. ‘I remember you now, Inspector. A pretty little thing back then.’ His stare was disconcerting, and she pretended to be distracted by the dog that was now running around with a toy bone in its mouth. ‘Caused quite a stir among your male colleagues.’ It came back to her. Renmarker had a roving eye. Or at least that’s what she’d heard from a friend who’d worked in the prosecutor’s office at the time.

  ‘You know that the Göran Gösta case has been reopened?’

  ‘Well, I wondered if it might be about that after you phoned me. You must be the only officer from that case who’s still serving, I should imagine. Funny that you’re working on it again after all this time.’

  Anita avoided eye contact, this time by concentrating on sipping from her cup. She knew he wouldn’t talk to her if he thought that she wasn’t officially involved.

  ‘Fresh evidence has appeared. Of course, we’re keeping quiet about it at this stage.’

  ‘Oh, I understand. Sure you won’t have a biscuit? I made them myself. I’ve learned to bake since my wife passed away.’ He gave a winsome sigh.