Menace In Malmö

by Torquil Macleod

  ‘Right,’ called out Moberg as though bringing a room full of noisy teenagers to heel. There was only Anita, Hakim, Brodd, and a very disgruntled Wallen, who’d been called in so early she hadn’t had time to make Rolf’s breakfast. Moberg had already filled them in on the details of what had happened the day before. He was fuming that a case that was his own personal crusade was now coming under the scrutiny of the commissioner, local politicians and the press. ‘We can’t have this gunman menacing Malmö. It’s making people high up nervous; so the shit heads our way.’

  ‘But we know he’s only targeting one person,’ Brodd pointed out helpfully.

  ‘But innocent citizens might get caught in the cross-fire,’ Moberg said brusquely. ‘This guy is single-minded. It seems he’ll stop at nothing to kill Danny Foster. Obviously, our priority is to apprehend McNaught. I’ll be in charge of that. I’m liaising with Larsson and his team. They can do the running around. We also have to move Foster. Any word from the hospital on that possibility?’

  Anita was stifling a yawn as the chief inspector turned to her. ‘His doctor isn’t very keen from a medical point of view, but I spoke to the hospital’s administrator, who doesn’t really want Danny around as it might put other patients in jeopardy. So, yes, that’s OK.’

  ‘We need to move him today. We’ve got a safe house down towards Skanör we can put him in.’

  Anita remembered that was where they’d stored Mick Roslyn before...

  ‘It’s pretty open down there,’ observed Wallen, who was calming down now. ‘The house can be easily seen from the road.’

  ‘Granted, there’s not much in the way of cover. But, imagine what havoc he might cause in a city apartment block. The point is, we haven’t got anywhere else immediately available; unless one of you lot wants to put him up…? Thought not.’ He paused, his meat-plate hands resting on the table in the meeting room. ‘What is important here is that we mustn’t lose sight of the overall case. If Danny Foster is telling the truth, and Anita believes he is,’ he said with a sideways glance at Anita, who was blinking with tiredness, ‘then McNaught killed Leif Andersson. We now know exactly what Egon Fuentes was up to. Our job is to bring to justice the murderer of the young man in the van who we believe is called Jack Harmer. According to Danny Foster, that person is Tyrone Cassidy, who is probably the man behind the paving operation. I presume he’s safely back in England...’ Moberg thought for a moment, ‘...or Ireland. Foster thinks he was Irish. We also believe the driver of the van was also Irish, though he was only known as “Paddy”, so he might be difficult to identify. Firstly, we need to find out where this Cassidy is. Secondly, we need to discover how he came over to Sweden. That’s your job, Mirza. Check flights, trains... all the usual things. We need to prove he was here, in Sweden, at the time that Foster claims he saw Harmer’s murder. From what Foster told Anita, she reckons the murder probably took place on the seventh or eighth of August.’ Hakim nodded.

  ‘That brings us to the crime scene. Brodd, I want you to get up to Höör and meet Inspector Blentarps at Leif Andersson’s farm. He’ll have men with him, and you’re to comb the woods for the camp. I don’t expect it’ll still be there, but there may be evidence we can gather.’

  ‘That’s a lot of woodland.’ Brodd grimaced. It sounded like a lot of walking.

  ‘Well, you’d better leave straight after we’re done here – and put on a stout pair of boots. And be nice to Blentarps! I gather he’s pissed off that we’ve now taken over the investigation. Apparently, this was going to be his first big murder case. He’s taking early retirement soon, and he wanted to go out with a bang, so to speak. Use your famous charm.’ Even Moberg couldn’t resist a smirk.

  ‘Anita, if you can keep awake long enough, I want you to get onto your friends in the UK and see what you can dig up on Cassidy, McNaught and Jack Harmer.’ At least she could rest at her desk while she was doing it. ‘Finally, Wallen, I want you to organize the moving of Danny Foster from the hospital to the safe house and get him settled in. Make sure that all his medical requirements are covered. Take some officers with you, but out of uniform so you don’t draw attention to yourselves. Take every precaution,’ he said holding up a warning hand. ‘McNaught is still out there.’

  Szabo and Erlandsson had been through a similar meeting with Zetterberg, though at the more civilized time of nine thirty. Zetterberg had debriefed her team on her Malta visit, during which she had come to the conclusion that Inspector Sundström had been wrong all along about Linus Svärd. ‘He may have had a potential motive, but I think the timings are too tight for him to get off the beach, confront Göran, kill him and dispose of the murder weapon. And why on earth would he go back to the chapel to cradle his dead lover? Besides, having talked to him at length, I don’t think he has it in him to kill someone. The sap still loves Göran after all these years.’ The obvious satisfaction that that had given her was tempered by the fact that they were virtually back to square one with their suspects. After much thought, she said she was coming round to Lars-Gunnar. He was the only one without any sort of alibi; he couldn’t account for his movements. He might not even know he’d done it. The drugs connection gave him a motive, and he might not have been as smashed as was claimed by Carina. He had easy access from the garden to the chapel. He could have slipped away while Carina was working – she wasn’t keeping a constant eye on him.

  With this in mind, she herself would visit Lars-Gunnar while they could talk to the returning Larissa. She told them that they were to ask her about the Björnstahl letter. Neither of them had heard of him so Zetterberg enjoyed being able to give them some background on the traveller and linguist in a manner that sounded as though she was familiar with the great man, and that they were stupid for being ignorant.

  Szabo and Erlandsson were waiting for Larissa Bjerstedt when she arrived at the Malmö University Library. She was late in after a delayed flight back from Oslo last night. Instead of entering the building, they shepherded her towards the Inner Harbour. The day wasn’t quite as warm as Sunday, and the sky was woolly with white cumulus clouds. There was a stiff breeze that teased the water in front of them. Across from where they were standing, people were streaming in and out of the Central Station. Larissa appeared quite relaxed at the detectives’ reappearance and seemed more than happy to delay starting work.

  ‘We thought you might want to know that Linus Svärd has been traced and interviewed,’ began Szabo.

  ‘Is he OK?’ she said with a hint of concern.

  ‘I believe so. He lives on Malta.’

  ‘Malta?’ Erlandsson registered the surprise in Larissa’s eyes.

  ‘Yes. He’s living in an apartment owned by Carina Lindvall.’

  ‘Carina’s got an apartment on Malta?’ She sounded incredulous. ‘Why has she got an apartment there?’

  ‘She goes there to write. It seems one of those quirks of fate that Linus should end up where the breakdown of his relationship with Göran began; well, according to most of your group.’

  ‘It is strange,’ she said ruminatively.

  ‘Actually, it’s that week you all had on Malta that we’re here about.’

  ‘Oh,’ Larissa said cautiously as though Szabo was about to spring a surprise question.

  Szabo flicked away the hair that was forever falling over his face. ‘It’s been mentioned that while on Malta, Ivar found something that he was very excited about. Research material. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘Not really... oh, wait a minute. Do you mean the Jacob Björnstahl letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He got very excited about it. Don’t know why. Pretty turgid stuff from what I remember. I wasn’t interested, but it turned Ivar on.’

  ‘Is it true that Ivar didn’t want Göran to find out what he’d discovered?’

  Larissa raised her eyes. ‘Boys’ stuff. Like a couple of warring kids. You’re right, though. Ivar didn’t want Göran to find out, though it was pretty obvious that he’
d found something. I’m sure Göran must have been suspicious, and that probably drove him mad. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t a big deal.’

  ‘Who else knew about the letter?’ This was Erlandsson.

  ‘I did. Linus, obviously, because he was there when Ivar made his discovery. I don’t know about the others. Carina, possibly.’ There was an edge to her voice that Erlandsson noted.

  ‘And Göran?’ pressed Szabo. ‘If he’d found out, that could have heightened the tension between them.’

  Larissa gave a non-committal shrug. ‘No idea.’

  ‘But Göran threatened to do something that would “affect Ivar the most”. Carina had had an argument with him about supplying drugs to Lars-Gunnar. According to Linus’s interview, everyone except Lars-Gunnar heard the argument. Do you know what Göran was referring to?’

  ‘No, it would be just Göran venting his frustration on us.’

  ‘But he must have upset someone enough for them to kill him,’ observed Szabo. Larissa didn’t answer. ‘Our boss thinks that Linus is innocent, so it’s down to four suspects now.’ He left it there.

  ‘Is that it?’ Larissa asked. ‘I’d better get to work.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Szabo.

  ‘Why don’t you like Carina?’

  Szabo was vexed at Erlandsson. ‘I think we’re finished.’

  ‘Why don’t you like Carina?’ persisted Erlandsson. ‘Because of her success? Or is it something more personal?’

  Larissa appeared momentarily disconcerted. ‘I’ve nothing against her.’

  ‘She told our boss some interesting things about you and Ivar.’

  ‘What? What did she say?’ She sounded defensive.

  ‘She questioned your version of your break-up with Ivar. Said he “dumped” you. Moved on to someone better, someone more useful. The way she put it was that you couldn’t cling on to him any longer.’

  ‘She’s a cow, if you must know. And not a very talented one.’

  ‘Our boss got the impression that Carina had probably slept with Ivar. They’re still good friends.’

  ‘I don’t care about either of them. I’ve just got on with my own life.’

  Erlandsson could see that she had rattled the woman, and she wanted to press home her advantage. ‘Ivar said some very harsh things about you, too. He reckoned that you followed him up to Uppsala because you wanted to start up the relationship again despite the fact he was married.’

  ‘Ivar said that?’ She said it as though it was a betrayal.

  ‘Oh, yes. And more besides.’ Erlandsson took out her notebook. ‘I’ve written down some of the things he said to our boss when she visited him in Uppsala. He admitted that he had discarded you because, as he put it, “he had moved on.” Larissa simply stared hard at Erlandsson without saying a word. Szabo was watching carefully; he was amazed that his new colleague had the bottle for this line of questioning.

  Erlandsson deliberately took her time glancing through her notes. ‘He described you as just a “student fling”. Erlandsson looked up from her notebook. ‘Not very nice.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Larissa said at last, with a hint of moisture round her eyes.

  ‘Yet you followed him up to Uppsala.’

  ‘I told you that it was for a job.’

  ‘That’s not how he saw it. He admitted that your break-up hadn’t been as amicable as you suggested. He thought you turning up in Uppsala was “bizarre”. His word, not mine. He said you couldn’t accept the split.’

  ‘I’m not going to listen to this,’ retorted Larissa with a gulp. She spun away.

  ‘Ivar said that your relationship was never serious on his part,’ Erlandsson called after her.

  Larissa stopped, her head slumped.

  ‘Thank you for your cooperation,’ said Szabo as he nodded to Erlandsson that it was time to go. There was nothing to be gained from tormenting the woman any further.

  Larissa turned round, almost in slow motion. She muttered something. Neither Szabo nor Erlandsson could catch what she said.

  ‘Sorry?’ Szabo prompted.

  Larissa had real tears in her eyes. ‘He wasn’t there.’

  Szabo and Erlandsson exchanged mystified glances.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Szabo. ‘Who wasn’t where?’

  ‘Ivar. Ivar wasn’t there.’

  Szabo took a step forward so he could hear her more clearly.

  ‘Ivar wasn’t where?’

  ‘He wasn’t with me when Göran was killed.’

  CHAPTER 35

  Anita put the phone down just as Hakim came in brandishing a sandwich and coffee.

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ she said in English. Then she giggled. She continued in Swedish. ‘I’ve spent the last two hours speaking to various people over in the UK; I was still thinking in English.’

  ‘I thought you’d need these.’ Hakim placed his offerings on her desk.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Forget it. I’m in a generous mood these days. I think Liv’s got her eye on an expensive ring.’

  Anita eased off the plastic top on her coffee, and a burst of steam misted her glasses. ‘I’m genuinely pleased for you two. I’m sure you’ll be really happy together.’ She managed to filter out any bitterness she felt about the institution of marriage. It reminded her – would Björn still be around when she got home? She was unsure of his plans. Just after midnight she’d received a text from him: Coming back tonight? Or are you out shagging? Needless to say, she was too busy to bother replying.

  ‘I think it’ll work, whatever other people think.’ Anita could guess who he was referring to. ‘Anyway,’ he said, cocking his head in the direction of her phone, ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Not with McNaught. If he were in the Special Air Service, it might be difficult to get hold of his records. But I’ve got someone looking at general British Army records. That’s if he was in the army at all. Danny and the others only assumed he was in the military. More luck with Jack Harmer, though. He’s officially down as a missing person. His family live in Brighton. Haven’t had details, but the local police there are going to speak to them. We’ll need to get some DNA to verify it’s actually Jack who’s lying in our morgue. It’ll be dreadful for them to learn their son’s not only dead, but murdered.’

  Anita unwrapped the sandwich and bit greedily into it. She was too tired to register exactly what else was in it among the lettuce leaves. She still had the residue of bread in her mouth when she started speaking again. ‘But I’ve found Tyrone Cassidy. It was quite easy. Lives in London. Highgate. There are various articles about him on the internet.’ She swivelled her computer screen for Hakim to look at. ‘Aged fifty-seven. Married with five kids. Seems to be a legitimate businessman. Owns two stone quarries and runs a large building firm. Also has another company that does paving in the south east of England. No mention of any foreign connections other than interests in a couple of hotels and a chain of restaurants back in Ireland run by his brother, Donal. Does lots of good works in the community. That’s his local Roman Catholic church, where he donated the money for a new hall. That’s him opening it.’ Hakim stared at the hefty man in the tweed jacket, smart corduroys and shiny brown brogues, looking like some country squire straight out of an episode of Midsomer Murders. He was beaming at the admiring priest and parishioners. An affable face. Bushy eyebrows, a strong nose and slightly crinkled, faded ginger hair. A jovial giant to all appearances. But it was the hands that caught Hakim’s attention. They were spread out in front of him like those of a saint forgiving sinners. They were powerful hands. Hands that had beaten Jack Harmer to death.

  ‘I’m expecting a call from someone I worked with at the Metropolitan Police to find out if he’s on their radar. According to a brief bio I found, he hails from Limerick in the Republic of Ireland. Went over to England as a young man. Done very well for himself. Very rich, it seems.’

  Hakim’s eyes wandered from the screen. ‘We’ve got to get him. But I’v
e had no luck. He didn’t travel by air. I’ve checked flights into Kastrup, Sturup and even Arlanda around those dates from all British and Irish destinations. And he doesn’t seem to have come by train across from Denmark. I’m running a check on all British and Irish cars that have come across the Öresund Bridge, and hire cars, but that’ll take time to follow through. His passport certainly hasn’t shown up.’

  ‘Could have been using a false name.’

  Hakim sighed heavily. ‘Oh, I know. Not much we can do about that. At least if I can take some pictures of him from the internet, it’ll help with the search.’

  ‘Trouble is,’ said Anita thoughtfully, ‘unless we can prove he was in Sweden at the time of the murder, we’ve got no chance of getting his extradition.’

  Larissa shifted uneasily under Zetterberg’s intense gaze. She was in an interview room and didn’t seem too happy to be there with three police officers. Zetterberg and Erlandsson sat opposite her while Szabo lolled against the wall behind them. As soon as she’d made her confession to Szabo and Erlandsson, they had taken her straight to the polishus. Szabo had phoned Zetterberg, who had failed to find Lars-Gunnar. The post office depot in Ystad had told her that he hadn’t turned up for work that day. She was about to head off to his family home when she got Szabo’s call. She couldn’t believe it – ‘So now none of them has got an alibi!’ Her mind had raced as fast as she had driven back to Malmö. The implications of what Larissa had confessed blew the case wide open. This was the breakthrough they needed. Sundström was going to look pretty stupid after this.

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ started Zetterberg, finding it difficult to contain her eagerness, ‘You are saying that Ivar Hagblom was not with you in your room at the time of Göran Gösta’s murder.’

  Larissa had the look of someone startled by the headlights of a car. At first, she said nothing. Zetterberg waited. She had time. Eventually, Larissa nodded.

  ‘I need you to speak up, for the tape,’ she said, indicating the small microphone on the table.