Another quick right turn, and Anita took the car beyond yet more university buildings and into Bassängkajen before parking it facing Södra Varvsbassängen, the southern basin. This large expanse of water had been the centre of the famous Kockums shipyards. Years ago, this mainstay of Malmö’s commercial activity was a place of industrial bedlam. Now the cranes were long gone from the basin and massive redevelopment was taking place. Across the water, some of the old, mid-19th-century, red-brick buildings still stood, as did the Kockums headquarters towering behind them, keeping a paternal eye on the operation below. Opened in 1958, it had heralded an exciting new age that would be curtailed by the swiftly assembled Japanese and Korean ships of the 1970s. Coming from Malmö’s most famous business family, Frans Henrik Kockum had closed down the original tobacco factory in 1825 because he had seen the potential of the new railways. He started producing wagons. This expanded into ships in 1870. Sadly, the last vessel left the basin in 1987. The company returned to its core railway wagons business before eventually leaving the city for Trelleborg only a handful of years ago. As Anita looked along the waterfront to the funky, tall glass building that housed Mats Möller’s enterprise, she realized that it was men like him who were perpetuating Kockum’s legacy.
Before leaving the polishus, Wallen had quickly filled them in on what she could find out about Mats Möller after a quick internet search. He was a thirty-five-year-old bachelor who had come from Eslov in Skåne. He’d gone to university in Lund for a couple of years before dropping out when his ‘great idea’ was turned into a fledgling venture. He’d started out with two employees and now had over a hundred, all housed in the glass complex that Anita and Moberg were now walking towards. He’d had MM Hus purpose built and had incorporated a penthouse apartment at the top, so he lived above the shop. Despite making occasional appearances on television, he’d managed to keep his private life out of the press, though it was rumoured that he had a house in Morocco, where he would escape the clutches of the Swedish winter.
As they approached the five-storey MM Hus, Anita and Moberg could see people at workstations on the first few floors through the wide, plate-glass windows. The fifth floor, however, though mainly glass, reflected the day’s dull light without exposure to the outside world. Möller guarded his privacy.
Anita surveyed Möller’s kingdom. For the time being, it stood alone, though she suspected that wouldn’t remain the case for long with the massive amount of development going on all around the basin and the surrounding streets. Soon there would be no gaps between MM Hus and the large Lantmännen flour mill with its cylindrical silos further along the quay. In front of MM Hus’s main entrance, a few expensive cars were parked, and there was the usual rack of bicycles. But this wasn’t Moberg and Anita’s way in. Moberg had been given instructions to go to the back entrance and press the buzzer. Möller wanted to see them in his apartment. Anita thought that if this was the spot where he’d been snatched on Friday evening, then it was quite possible that nobody would have been around to witness it. The plain metal door looked like a service entrance and not one leading to a luxury apartment. The buzzer didn’t even have a name next to it, though the visual intercom was obviously of the highest spec. Moberg poked the buzzer with his finger and spoke brusquely into the grill.
‘Chief Inspector Erik Moberg and Inspector Anita Sundström.’
They heard the door click and Moberg pushed his way into a corridor. At the far end was a set of metal doors and a lift button. To the deliberately drab exterior of the corridor, the lift was a complete contrast. It felt light and airy with its mirrored walls, light-oak hand rail and carpeted floor. There was only one button – the lift only stopped at the top floor.
There was a hint of a hiss when the doors opened and they found themselves walking into a spacious room with massive picture windows. You might not be able to see in, but you could certainly see out. The vista wasn’t spectacular, as too many apartment blocks had sprung up in Västra Hamnen to see the Sound properly, but it had an uninterrupted view of Malmö’s iconic Turning Torso. This was the beating heart of modern Malmö. The décor, however, didn’t entirely conform to the cool Swedish image. The room did possess some of the spare design that was regarded as a Scandinavian trademark – stark white chairs and low-backed sofas – but in sharp contrast with the contemporary look were rich, heavily patterned Berber rugs on the floor, brightly decorated tin-glazed pottery on the shelves and a hand-carved, intricately detailed, wooden screen dividing the room; evidence of the owner’s visits to Morocco.
The owner himself, who came to greet them, was tall with light-brown hair scraped back into a man bun, a neatly clipped hipster beard and dark, piercing eyes. He wore blue jeans and a casual green shirt. His smile showed a gleaming set of teeth. Anita thought he’d recovered from his ordeal rather quickly.
‘Thank you for coming.’ Möller firmly shook each of their proffered hands.
They took their places on a sofa. Anita wondered if the thin legs would support Moberg.
‘Can I offer you a drink?’ Möller asked as he went over to a sleek white table sporting bottles of spirits on an Arabic silver tray.
Anita could see that Moberg was tempted before gruffly declining. Möller poured himself a whisky.
He gave a shrug as he came back over to them. ‘I’ve needed a few of these since yesterday.’ He sat down opposite them in a low-slung chair, his knees drawn up like twin peaks in a mountain range. He placed his glass on the right-hand peak.
‘I need you to take us through everything that happened to you from Friday until you were found in the cemetery,’ said Moberg, getting straight down to business.
Möller took a thoughtful swig of his whisky.
‘It was about half past nine, Friday evening. I took that lift,’ he said, indicating the one from which they had just emerged. ‘That’s for the apartment. I have another one that goes to the offices below. As I came out of the back door, I was approached by two men. I thought they were lost and were going to ask for directions. The next thing I knew, they had grabbed me and hauled me over to a van—’
‘Colour?’ Moberg interrupted.
‘Erm... green, I think. It was difficult to make out in the dark.’
‘And the men?’
‘It was so quick. One was totally bald. The other... short cropped hair.’
‘Ages?’
The eyes opened wide as though appealing for help. ‘Anywhere between thirty and forty. Then again...’
‘We can show you photos later,’ Anita put in helpfully. ‘You might recognize them.’
‘And then what?’
‘I was bundled into the back of this van and they put a hood over my head and tied my hands behind my back.’
‘Did they speak to you?’
Möller shook his head. ‘Not then. Later on. One of them spoke in English.’
‘English?’ Moberg queried.
‘Yes. But he wasn’t English. It was with an accent.’
‘Where from?’
‘I’m not good at that sort of thing. If he’d spoken Swedish with an accent, it would have been easier to pinpoint. He might have been Slavic or something like that. Definitely not Scandinavian.’
‘Eastern European?’
Möller rolled his eyes hopelessly. ‘I’m sorry. I was shaken. And frightened. Before the hood went on, one of them had a gun.’
‘What sort of gun?’
‘To me a gun’s a gun. A handgun of some sort.’
‘Right, so you’re being driven in the van. How long were you in there for?’
Möller retreated into his whisky. He’d seemed so calm when they’d entered his apartment but as Moberg probed, Anita could see that he was finding it hard to revisit the events of the last few days. ‘It seemed like a long time. In truth, it may have been only fifteen to twenty minutes.’
‘So, somewhere in the city or very close?’
‘I suppose.’ Möller drained his whisky and winched hims
elf out of his seat and went over to the tray for a refill.
Anita could sense that Moberg was itching to take up Möller’s offer of a drink, but he kept himself in check.
‘What kind of place did they take you to?’
‘I think it was old. It smelt old; you know like a deserted place. It echoed. After they’d left me for a while, I called out. My voice echoed. And, yes, it stank of oil. As though it was in the very fabric of the building; oily and musty.’
‘Could be a warehouse,’ suggested Anita. ‘Or a disused workshop or garage.’
‘I did hear traffic. Heavy vehicles mostly.’ Anita could see Moberg weighing this up. An industrial estate or perhaps the docks? There would be a great deal of searching ahead for the team.
‘So, you’re trussed up in this place. Did they make clear what they wanted?’
Möller returned to his seat. ‘Not straight away. I was losing track of time. They fed me at least four times before anyone spoke to me.’
‘What did you eat?’
‘Pizzas... falafels...’
‘Did you get a better look at them when you ate? Someone must have brought in the food?’
‘No. I think the two guys that picked me up came in. They wore balaclavas. Black. One held a gun while the other untied me and they watched me eat.’
‘You must have got a view of your surroundings then,’ said Anita.
‘It was dingy. No light was coming into the room. I wasn’t aware of any windows. The place just felt big; as though I was in a corner.’
‘How did you see to have your food?’
‘The guy with the gun had a torch in the other hand. He made sure I knew he was armed. Then he pointed the light at me while I was untied and ate. And while my hands were loose, I was allowed to pee and shit in a bucket. They kindly emptied it for me,’ he added sarcastically.
‘Basically, they waited before making any demands?’
‘I presume they were trying to disorientate me. It sure as hell worked. And with no one actually speaking to me, it freaked me out. I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. I just wanted to get out of there with my life. Sod the cost.’ The whisky came to his aid again. He dried his lips with the back of his hand. ‘All the time I was in there, I pretty well knew what they were after. I’m a rich guy.’
‘And then they made their demand?’
‘They came in. Three of them. The two originals and some new guy. Still had their faces covered. It was the new one who spoke, again in accented English. He made me a very simple offer. I pay them money or they would kill me. He didn’t beat about the bush. He had a computer with him. Either I sign money over to them or his friend would put a bullet in my head. There was none of this “we’ll leave you in the dark for a few more days and you can think it over” nonsense. I had five minutes. If I didn’t pay up, they weren’t going to waste any more time on me.’
‘So you paid up?’
‘What do you think?’ The first flash of anger. ‘Of course I bloody did! I wasn’t going to call his bluff. Would you?’
Moberg wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of an opinion.
‘Carry on.’
‘I was to use the computer to transfer money from my various accounts into one single account. Then he gave me a number and a code to transfer the money to him.’
‘How much?’
‘I’m not telling you that.’
Moberg sat upright and stared hard at Mats Möller. ‘Look, if you want us to retrieve your money, we need to know how much we’re looking for.’
Anita was nonplussed by Möller’s reaction. ‘You’ll never find it,’ he scoffed. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing from the moment I got back here? These guys knew exactly what they were about. They nearly cleaned out my personal funds, but it wasn’t an amount that I would have had to dip into more complicated sources for, like through the company. They weren’t in the business of hanging around. The account that I paid the money into – and I made sure I memorized the details – was emptied within minutes. Dispersed to a number of other accounts and then swiftly moved on until it became untraceable long before I was released. These were professionals.’
‘In kronor?’
‘No. Dollars. It’ll be tucked away in the Cayman Islands or Switzerland or Panama. These guys work so quickly that you end up chasing your tail. I won’t see that money again. Which is why I don’t want this getting into the press or be generally known. It doesn’t look good. I have lots of international business contacts. It’s all about trust. It might look like someone is targeting MM Data. That would hardly inspire confidence. And all the people downstairs. Good people who don’t want to worry about their jobs.’
Moberg pursed his lips. ‘That’s all very well, herr Möller, but it might be someone “downstairs” who tipped off the kidnappers about your movements.’
‘I can’t believe that. In any case, I wasn’t snatched during business hours. I was going on a social date.’
‘What was the social date?’
‘Well, not a date as such. But, when I’m in Malmö, I often go over to Copenhagen on a Friday night. Get the train, have a meal, go to a club. Usually stay overnight. Sometimes I meet up with friends, though I hadn’t planned on seeing anyone in particular that night.’
‘That explains why no one reported your disappearance.’
‘No. It was all done over the weekend. All very neat.’
‘What about when they released you?’
‘I was asleep when they came in. Without a word, they dragged me up, put some tape over my mouth and bundled me into what I assume was the same van and off we went. When we stopped, they took me out. I could hear birds, so I thought it might be in the country somewhere. They tied me up to a bench and then I heard them leave. The crunching on the path. I was aware of some traffic nearby. I tried to shout for help. It was useless with the tape on, of course. I was feeling the cold too, so it was lucky that jogger came to the rescue.’
Möller took another sip of his whisky.
‘The kidnappers must have been watching your movements for some time,’ said Anita. ‘From what I gather, you’re often away on business.’
‘Yeah. I spend a lot of time in Germany, France and the UK among others. Starting to make inroads into the States as well. I was in Detroit last month.’
‘Surely some members of your staff, your PA for example, would know roughly your whereabouts. Certainly when you’re around in Malmö.’
‘Harriet, my PA, knows my movements for obvious reasons. But she’s the only one who does. And I trust her implicitly. No way would she have divulged information like that to another party. She knows I like to keep myself to myself. I have to make public appearances for the sake of the business, but I’m basically a very private person. Harriet respects that.’
‘We’ll need to talk to her,’ said Anita. Möller twisted his face. He didn’t like the idea. ‘Does she know?’
He shook his head. Then, with great reluctance, he agreed. ‘OK. But I’ll speak to her first. No one else downstairs, though. I want to keep a lid on this. I know Harriet will be discreet.’
‘All right,’ Moberg acquiesced. ‘Inspector Sundström will come back tomorrow and speak to her.’
‘Eleven?’ Anita suggested.
‘Fine. Make sure you come up here to the apartment. Not the office.’
‘No problem. Could there be a personal element to this? Someone you’ve crossed? An enemy?’
‘Business can be cut-throat, but I don’t think I’ve upset anyone enough to warrant them kidnapping me.’
Moberg slowly lifted himself off the sofa with an undisguised groan. Anita also stood up. The chief inspector had obviously got as much out of the conversation as he wanted, or thought useful.
Möller put down his almost-empty glass and followed them towards the domestic lift.
‘I believe you have a house in Morocco,’ Anita said. ‘Do you spend much time there?’
‘Quit
e a lot. It’s my escape from work. I’ve got a place in Essaouira on the Atlantic coast. I do a lot of windsurfing. I kitesurf, too.’
Anita turned to Moberg. ‘Maybe that’s where herr Möller was spotted as a potential target.’
‘No,’ Moberg waved her suggestion away before pressing the lift button. ‘Herr Möller is well-known here. This is where his profile is highest.’ He raised his eyebrows to the young entrepreneur in a manner which suggested that his colleague didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘My guess is it’s some Swedish-based, Eastern European gang behind this.’
CHAPTER 5
‘What did you make of that?’ Anita asked as they headed back to the polishus.
Moberg grunted. ‘Some people have too much money.’ It was a typical Moberg comment. It didn’t help either. He remained silent until they returned to headquarters, where Anita dropped him off. Since the building of the prosecutors’ office and courts next door, the car park had gone, and Anita needed to find a nearby street. It was annoying, and she had started to walk to work more often. At least the exercise was beneficial, though on cold mornings, she jumped on a bus.
Moberg squeezed himself out of the passenger seat and then, with one hand on the roof, he leaned over and shoved his head back in the car. ‘I want you to give a briefing to the rest of the team in an hour.’
MALICE IN MALMÖ Page 3