Menace In Malmö

by Torquil Macleod

  Erlandsson had turned up at the post office depot in Ystad at half past nine only to be told that Lars-Gunnar had failed to turn up for work the second day running. He hadn’t phoned in sick, which the supervisor said was unusual; he was a reliable employee. She had driven the twenty minutes to Veberöd, only to find that Lars-Gunnar was not at home. No one was. Her peering through the windows of the Lerstorp house had aroused a neighbour’s suspicions, and he demanded to know who she was. After producing her warrant card, she explained she needed to speak to herr Lerstorp. Just routine enquiries. The neighbour told her that he’d seen the family leave a couple of days ago in their car. He had assumed that they were going on holiday, as they had suitcases with them. Erlandsson tapped the steering wheel with her notebook. Why had Lars-Gunnar done a disappearing act? Were they getting too close to the truth?

  She took out her phone and called Zetterberg.

  Zetterberg took the call while in a taxi on the way from Stockholm’s Arlanda Airport to Carina Lindvall’s home in Norra Lagnö. There had been no messing about on trains to Stockholm – she and Szabo had flown up on the first flight from Sturup, Malmö’s airport. She didn’t want to waste any time. The accounts department would have to handle the bill. In Zetterberg’s mind the expense was justified. And it was worth it just to see Carina’s face when she opened the door. The welcome wasn’t warm.

  ‘I thought we’d said all that was needed on your last visit.’ Carina made it clear that she wasn’t going to let Zetterberg over the threshold.

  ‘That’s when we thought you had an alibi. Now we know you don’t.’

  Carina returned the hostile scrutiny. Then her eye caught sight of Szabo. Her gaze drifted up and down the young detective.

  ‘You’d better come in. And bring your toy boy, too.’

  They took seats in the same living room that Zetterberg had been in before. However, this time the novelist was more suitably dressed in a flouncy, blue top and short, white skirt. Judging by where Szabo’s eyes were glued, Carina still had the legs to carry off the hemline. Before she even sat down, Carina had lit up a cigarette.

  ‘I hope this won’t take long. I’m due in Nacka for a lunch appointment.’

  ‘That depends on you,’ said Zetterberg, making herself comfortable and looking forward to making Carina as uncomfortable as possible.

  Carina swatted away the first plume of smoke to emerge from her mouth. ‘Well?’

  ‘We’ve discovered that you lied about hearing Ivar and Larissa having sex at the time of Göran Gösta’s murder.’

  ‘Ivar didn’t tell you that, did he?’ Zetterberg’s grin gave her the answer. ‘Of course not. So it must have been the lame Larissa.’

  ‘This raises two very interesting questions. Firstly, why did you lie about Ivar and Larissa? And, secondly, where were you during that time? The fact is you no longer have an alibi. And you’ve got a good motive: protecting your boyfriend from his unscrupulous dealer.’ Szabo shifted uneasily; he wasn’t sure that his boss should be taking such delight in putting a suspect under the spotlight, especially one with such nice legs. Carina crossed them, and he caught a momentary hint of her white knickers. ‘How would one of your fictional characters get out of that one?’

  Carina gave a smoker’s cackle. ‘I’d conjure up a better alibi, and I’d employ a brighter, better-looking detective. Oh, I was forgetting; I already have. In twelve best-selling books.’

  Zetterberg spat out: ‘Just answer the questions.’

  ‘The answer to your first one is simple. Ivar asked me to give him an alibi. He’d been out looking for Linus. And, as he couldn’t account for his movements, he realized that the police would immediately suspect him. I knew it couldn’t have been him, so I was happy to tell a little white lie.’

  ‘That little white lie could have stalled this investigation for twenty-one years, for God’s sake!’

  ‘I was young, naive. We all were. I was just protecting a friend. An innocent friend.’

  ‘Oh, I think he was more than a friend.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Carina bridled, aggressively flicking ash into her cut-glass ashtray.

  ‘Come on. Larissa’s antipathy towards you can’t just be about your writing success. There’s something deeper. Are you trying to tell me that you and Ivar weren’t lovers?’ Zetterberg knew that she was guessing, though she was fairly confident she was on the right track. She’d observed from the way that Carina talked about Ivar in their previous conversations that there was some spark there.

  Carina held her cigarette elegantly in her fingers as she considered what to say. The smoke coiled hypnotically upwards.

  ‘We were lovers.’

  ‘When did it start?’

  Carina still made no attempt to smoke her cigarette. ‘Malta. It was just a one-off. We were all drunk. Lars-Gunnar was too far gone to get an erection. Larissa had flaked out, and there were just the two of us left. I was in the mood, so was he. It just happened.’

  ‘But that wasn’t the only time.’

  ‘No. It resumed that summer in Knäbäckshusen. Life was getting increasingly difficult with Lars-Gunnar. He was so into his drugs, I couldn’t see a way out. And I think Ivar was starting to get bored with Larissa. She was getting very clingy. He wanted a bit of freedom.’

  ‘Which you provided,’ Zetterberg said scornfully.

  ‘Occasionally. It wasn’t easy with Larissa around. Ivar was her ticket to a better life. She wasn’t going to give that up easily. But sometimes when she was sunning herself on the beach and Ivar said he had work to do, we’d sneak in a quickie.’

  ‘Did Larissa discover you two were carrying on behind her back?’

  ‘No, of course not. We were bloody careful. I didn’t want to upset Lars-Gunnar either.’

  ‘That was very considerate of you.’

  ‘You may mock, Inspector, but I did care for Lars-Gunnar. He’s a decent human being, and there aren’t many of those around these days.’ Her stare was firmly aimed at Zetterberg.

  ‘Did anyone else get wind of what you and Ivar were up to?’

  Carina shook her head. Then she half started to say something and stopped.

  Zetterberg seized on the hesitation. ‘Someone did, didn’t they?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. After one of our quickies, I did bump into Göran as I was coming out of Ivar’s room. I made some excuse for being in there. Returning a book or something. He couldn’t have heard anything. We always made sure we grunted quietly.’

  ‘And how long after that did you have that argument with Göran about the drugs?’

  ‘I can’t remember. A couple of days, possibly.’

  Zetterberg noted that Szabo was scribbling down Carina’s answers. ‘That explains why you vouched for Ivar, but we still don’t know where you were at the time of the murder.’

  Carina gave up on her cigarette and plonked it onto the ashtray to smoke on its own. ‘I was exactly where I said I was. In my bedroom. I’d seen Lars-Gunnar through the window lolling around the garden when I first started work then I got engrossed in what I was doing. The next thing I know, there’s all this activity in the street. I went out and was told that something had happened to Göran at the chapel. I got Larissa from her room and we went down.’

  ‘That fits in with what Larissa said. So, you didn’t see Lars-Gunnar for most of that time.’ She paused: ‘We’ve been trying to talk to him. He’s disappeared.’

  ‘Has he?’ For a moment Zetterberg caught a flicker of concern on Carina’s face. ‘You lot have probably frightened the poor guy off. He was never the most robust of people. The drugs were his way of hiding from life.’

  ‘What about Larissa? Where was she?’

  ‘As I said, she was in her bedroom. Earlier, I heard someone in the kitchen at some stage. I assume it was her, as she was always Little Miss Tidy. Tediously so. Always clearing up. Always badgering us to keep the blessed place shipshape. Trying to make a good impression for what she thought
would be her future in-laws. Deluded bimbo.’ With a wave of her now-free hand: ‘Obviously, I didn’t mention that; it wouldn’t have fitted in with Ivar’s story that they were together.’

  Carina spoke as though she were having a normal conversation and not being interviewed about a murder.

  ‘What can you tell us about Jacob Björnstahl?’

  ‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’ Carina screwed up her eyes to emphasize that she had no idea what Zetterberg was talking about. ‘I can’t be expected to remember the names of all my young admirers,’ she added flippantly with a sidelong glance at Szabo.

  ‘Jacob Björnstahl. He was a famous orientalist. Ivar found some of his writings from the 1770s on Malta. He got very excited about them apparently.’

  ‘Ah,’ Carina said in recognition. ‘I’ve never heard of this Björnstahl, but it explains why Ivar was so energized at the time. He got more turned on by those daft things from the past than he did by sleeping with the likes of me, which is not exactly flattering. None of us knew what it was about, and that got on Göran’s tits. I do remember that.’

  Carina adjusted her expensive gold wristwatch. ‘Look, are we going to be much longer? My luncheon date won’t wait.’ She recrossed her legs and smiled at Szabo. ‘Unless I get a better offer, of course. I like silent, blond types.’

  ‘We’re finished,’ said Zetterberg. ‘But don’t think about taking any trips any time soon.’

  ‘I’m due to go to a crime book festival in Dublin at the weekend.’

  ‘I suggest you cancel it. I don’t want you leaving the country.’

  ‘And why not?’ Carina was indignant.

  ‘I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of your situation. You’ve lied to the police, which is obstructing the course of justice, in a murder investigation where you have no alibi and a strong motive. You’ve just gone to the top of our list of suspects.’

  CHAPTER 38

  Bea Erlandsson drew into the polishus car park and switched off the ignition. At this time of year it was easier to find a space. The rain was heavier now. She was about to get ready for a dash to the front of the building when the passenger-side door opened and Anita swiftly took the seat next to her. Before speaking to the surprised Erlandsson, Anita shook the rain away from her hair.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, as she could see that she’d partially sprayed the dashboard. ‘Anyhow, how’s the case going?’

  ‘Big developments since we last spoke.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Anita was immediately intrigued.

  Erlandsson outlined the two interviews with Larissa, and the confession which resulted in the fact that no one had an alibi after all. Zetterberg and Szabo were now up in Stockholm on the trail of Carina Lindvall and Ivar Hagblom. And in the meantime, Lars-Gunnar appears to have done a runner.

  When she’d finished, Anita gave a soft whistle. ‘That’s incredible! So, the story they all stuck to has unravelled after all this time. We should have been able to break them down. Not that we had much chance of that.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I can’t really tell Zetterberg this as it’s not my case. The last thing she’ll accept is me interfering.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I went to see Renmarker on Sunday. He was the prosecutor back in 1995. At the time, he wouldn’t let us proceed with the case against Linus Svärd because of lack of evidence. It was frustrating in the extreme. It turns out that the Hagblom family put him under pressure through a journalist on one of their papers. Basically, they blackmailed him to stop the investigation getting any further. In fact, Renmarker actually met Ivar. Not that we knew any of this at the time, of course. I’d like to ask Ivar why the family put the squeeze on Renmarker, but I can’t. Maybe you can.’

  Erlandsson didn’t take long to understand the implications. ‘Even with an alibi, albeit a false one, he was making sure that you wouldn’t get anywhere near the truth?’ Erlandsson stared at the windscreen and wiped it with her hand, as it was starting to steam up. ‘I know what! They won’t have had a chance to speak to Ivar yet; they were going to Carina’s first. I could ring Szabo and let him bring it up. He could just say I’d found out, but not go into detail.’

  ‘It might be enough to spook Ivar. Unfortunately, Renmarker won’t go public with the information, so it can’t be used officially.’ Anita put her hand on the door and was about to open it. ‘Oh, you could also get Szabo to ask Ivar why he didn’t use the Björnstahl letter in his PhD. It was a God-given gift, yet he didn’t use it. I’d be interested in hearing his answer.’

  ‘So would I,’ Erlandsson said thoughtfully. ‘So would I.’

  ‘Danny Foster is safe for the time being,’ said Wallen, opening a resumé of where they were with the Egon Fuentes case. ‘We’ve set up a rota of officers to be down there. We’re trying three at a time, but numbers are short at the moment, so it may end up being only two.’

  ‘I want one of the team here to be with him most of the time,’ said Moberg. ‘He’ll probably need reassuring as long as McNaught is out there.’ He thumped the table. ‘For fuck’s sake! It can’t be beyond the resources of the Skåne County Police to find some bald Brit in the city!’

  ‘I take it there’s no news,’ said Anita, who was catching up after her Moberg-sanctioned lie-in.

  ‘No.’ Moberg jerked his stubby thumb over his shoulder at the map of Malmö and an increasing number of red pins. ‘Loads of false leads. The problem is trying to do it without alarming the public too much.’

  ‘They’re pretty used to shootings and grenade attacks these days,’ said Brodd brightly.

  ‘That’s hardly the point, Brodd. A foreign gunman is more likely to get international attention. And you know that sort of thing puts upstairs and the mayor’s office into a spin.’

  ‘I haven’t found out much more about McNaught. A bit of juvenile crime in and around Dumbarton,’ said Anita consulting her notebook. ‘Sounds as though the army was the making of him. I spoke to his ex-commanding officer at the Queen’s Own Highlanders who said he was a “highly efficient soldier”. You can read into that what you will. He couldn’t say what he did after he left the regiment, as that was classified. We’re trying to track down his mother, who’s still alive. There’s also a brother somewhere. We’re working on that.’

  Moberg’s temper wasn’t much improved when he moved onto the next murderer on the agenda. ‘And Tyrone Cassidy... have we any good news on that front?’

  ‘I’m stumped as to how he got in and out of the country,’ shrugged Hakim. ‘I’ve drawn a complete blank, both over here and in Britain.’

  ‘That’s a great start. We can’t even prove he was here. What about the camp you found late on yesterday?’

  Brodd spread his arms. ‘Bit early to say. Latest update is that forensics have found traces of blood at the site. It’s being analysed as we speak. I suspect it’ll only confirm that that’s where the victim, Jack Harmer, was killed. They couldn’t get any footprints – they’d be deliberately obliterated before the camp moved on. There were tyre marks from the caravans and other vehicles, one of which was a Land Rover. We do know that a convoy of caravans and trucks crossed the border into Norway on Wednesday the tenth; two days after the murder.’

  ‘Maybe Cassidy came in through Norway,’ suggested Wallen.

  ‘It’s a hell of a long way from the border to Höör,’ countered Moberg. ‘But I suppose we’d better check it out. Hakim?’

  ‘OK,’ Hakim said resignedly.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’ve got a friend of mine, Detective Sergeant Ash, looking into the matter privately.’

  ‘This your boyfriend?’

  Anita coughed. ‘Friend. Anyway, he’s with the Cumbria Constabulary and has nothing to do with the Met, so should get in under their radar. He’s already heading to London to make discreet enquiries. Hopefully he can turn up something.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Moberg didn’t sound convinced. ‘He’s ou
r best bet.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Zetterberg asked as Szabo took his seat opposite her on the train to Uppsala. Szabo had taken the call on his mobile near the wagon door, as he was expecting to hear from his relatively new girlfriend and didn’t want to answer it in front of an over-inquisitive boss. It had been Erlandsson. She’d passed on Anita’s information. She said it was up to him how he brought it up. He decided to keep it to himself for the moment. He’d felt like a spare part during the Carina Lindvall interview. Zetterberg wasn’t remotely interested in him contributing, and he was there simply as a back-up and extra intimidation – outnumber the suspect. He wanted to prove himself, and now he had something up his sleeve.

  ‘It was Bea. She’s trying to track down Lars-Gunnar. No success yet, though she’s found out that his wife’s parents have a summer place on Öland. That might be a possible bolthole.’

  ‘The sooner he’s found, the better,’ Zetterberg huffed. ‘I’ve got a funny feeling about Lars-Gunnar. Being out of it at the time of the murder is just a trifle too convenient for me. It meant that all the people who saw him just assumed he was too far gone to do anything. It’s a great cover.’

  Szabo stretched his leg in the aisle. He felt the muscles strain. It was a relief. He’d done a lot of sitting today. ‘So you don’t think it’s Carina?’

  Zetterberg’s lips fluttered at she let out a gasp of air. ‘Far from it! She’s not the sort of woman you can trust. We already know she’s a liar. She lives in a world of silly stories. Her account of her movements could be complete fiction. Working in her room is hardly an alibi.’