‘What are we going to do?’
‘It’s up to you. I’m going to get onto Stockholm and see if they’ve come across any gangs doing this sort of thing.’ With that, he slammed the door so hard it nearly came off its hinges. It made Anita start. She stared resentfully after the man mountain waddling towards the polishus entrance. Thanks a million!
The occupants of the meeting room exuded little enthusiasm. Wallen appeared anxious: Anita knew she was worrying about missing her train back to Ystad. Brodd was looking vacant: he was waiting to snaffle Moberg for a drink as soon as the meeting finished. Hakim was just sullen. Since Liv’s shooting, the spark had gone out of him; he always seemed preoccupied. Anita thought it was only natural. She had hoped that throwing himself into his work might take his mind off his worries. It didn’t. Maybe because the bright future he had planned for them both had been shattered by the very job they had loved. Moberg was the last to join them. He sat down at the head of the table before nodding to Anita.
She stood in front of an enlarged map of Malmö. She briefly took them through the events as described by Mats Möller and pointed out the locations of the snatching and the dumping. On the map, she had drawn two circles – the inner one indicated locations within a fifteen-minute radius from Mats Möller’s apartment and the outer one represented a twenty-five minute journey.
‘From what Möller said, he thinks that he was probably held in a disused warehouse or workshop. Now, we’ve got a number of industrial areas here, from Fosieby and Elisedals on the south side to the docks in the north, and everything in between. Of course, it might be somewhere closer by and they just drove around to give the impression of distance. So, one of our first jobs is to check out all these sites. Find where Möller was held, and we might be able to piece together who used the premises.’ She turned to Moberg. ‘As for the people who did this, the chief inspector has his own theory.’
Moberg brushed down his wide shirt front. As it settled back against the contours of his stomach, he began: ‘My gu... my instinct,’ he quickly stopped himself saying gut as he didn’t want to prompt unwanted sniggers, ‘is that it’s an Eastern European gang. Or even Russian mafia. This has their stamp on it. I’ve been onto Stockholm. They’ve been monitoring gang activities, especially by foreign groups. They agree that this is the type of operation that some of those gangs have carried out in the past. However, the boys up there say that, in their experience, such kidnappings have mostly been internal jobs. That is to say, the victims have belonged to rival groups. It’s highly unusual for them to pick on an outsider... an upright citizen with nothing to do with criminal gangs.’
‘So, what we also need to do is concentrate on Mats Möller himelf,’ Anita carried on when it became obvious that Moberg wasn’t going to contribute any more information on the Swedish gang scene. ‘Why was he targeted? Is there some reason other than the obvious one – his wealth? If the group behind this isn’t one of the chief inspector’s gangs, are they simply after the money for themselves, or are they raising funds for a cause? ISIS springs to mind, and Möller does have a home in Morocco, though the man who spoke to him didn’t sound Arabic. If it wasn’t a specific group behind this kidnap, was it a personal attack on Möller? Has he any enemies? He claims not. We need to look into his business, his finances—’
‘He won’t have any left!’ chipped in Brodd.
Anita ignored him. ‘Who has he been dealing with? Is there anything in his personal life that might raise suspicions? What about the Moroccan link – what dealings go on there?’ She glanced across at Hakim. ‘I think this might be up your street, Hakim.’ She gave him a smile, which wasn’t returned. ‘It won’t be easy. He’s very private, or so he claims. He doesn’t want the kidnap to become public knowledge. His staff don’t even know about it. So, no talking to the press.’ This was accompanied by a glare at Brodd, who was the most likely to blab.
‘The commissioner wants this done with the utmost discretion,’ added Moberg fiercely.
‘I’m going to see his PA tomorrow,’ continued Anita. ‘Now, before we go tonight, we’ll sort out where to start searching for the kidnappers’ hidey-hole.’
‘How much ransom did he pay?’ This came from Hakim.
‘He wouldn’t tell,’ Moberg said with some disgust. ‘Says he doesn’t want it getting out. Bad for business confidence.’
There was half a twinkle in Hakim’s eye that Anita was glad to see. ‘That’s rubbish. It’s more likely that he paid most of the ransom out of money salted away in some tax haven. He probably doesn’t want us looking into his finances because we might bring in the tax authorities and they’ll uncover all his skeletons.’ After a pause: ‘It’s only a thought.’
‘It’s a good one,’ said Anita. ‘It might explain his reticence. And if the kidnappers knew about his financial arrangements, it would make their job easier. He did pay up very quickly.’
‘He claims that he had a gun to his head.’ Moberg even managed a half chuckle. ‘That can be very persuasive, too.’
When Anita got home, there was no sign of Kevin. She found herself at a loss: usually he had something organized for an evening meal – making it himself, ordering a carry out, or going out for something. She checked the fridge: not much there. The cupboard was stocked well enough. Kevin had been in charge of the shopping over the last few weeks and had created his own storage system, which was anathema to Anita. With a sigh, she decided it was too much trouble to start anything from scratch, and she took a pizza out of the freezer. It was big enough for two so, if Kevin deigned to return, there would be enough for him. She put the pizza in the oven on a low heat so she had time for a glass of Rioja from the half-empty bottle next to the sink and she retreated into the living room. She switched on the television without even thinking what might be on. It was the usual mindless game show that played in the background most evenings as a substitute for Kevin’s endless chatter. She realized that he didn’t have many people to talk to and that she was the obvious target for his verbal frustrations. Often, when he started waxing enthusiastically about some historical item that had caught his imagination or some crappy television show he’d just seen or some political shenanigans that were winding him up, she found herself tuning out. Yet, even at his most infuriating, he could find a way to make her laugh, which in itself was annoying. She gratefully took a long sip of wine. This was what normality should be like.
Anita put down her glass and picked up the free paper that loudly clattered through her letterbox each morning at an ungodly hour. Nothing exciting happening in Malmö; just an article on FF’s chances for the coming season, which started in the first week of April. Maybe a few matches at the Swedbank Stadium would keep Kevin occupied if he was still around. Part of her wished he would just go. They needed a break from each other; well, she needed a break from him.
As she tossed the newspaper onto the chair next to the day bed that doubled as her sofa, she reflected on Mats Möller’s desire to keep his kidnap out of the press. She also thought it odd that he wouldn’t say how much he’d paid out. Maybe Hakim had been right about him salting money away. Or maybe it was a wealthy person’s thing – they like you to know they’re rolling in it without actually admitting how much ‘it’ is. They’re all the same, she supposed: Donald Trump being an obvious example. She’d found Möller in Sweden’s Forbes’ rich list, but not quite in the same league as Stefan Persson of H&M, the Rausing family of Tetra Pak, and Ferring Pharmaceuticals’ Frederik Paulsen. Or even Kristina Ekman of Wollstad Industries. That name had given Anita a jolt, as it brought back memories of an earlier murder investigation that had terminated with Kristina’s father, Dag Wollstad, evading police capture and escaping to a luxurious exile in South America. Kristina was still running, all perfectly legally, Dag’s operations in Sweden. Möller wasn’t on the upper echelons of the mega-rich; he was a serious dollar millionaire, not a dollar billionaire. That made him an interesting target for the kidnappers. It was almost a
s though they were working under the radar. And they could get the money out of Möller without anybody else being involved – no family to consider or relations trying to raise a ransom to meet a deadline, and no old-fashioned money drop or worry about police interference. It would have taken a lot of planning and research – possibly inside knowledge? The effort was worth it. Her instinct was that this gang was long gone and that the chances of apprehending them were slim. The team would simply be going through the motions, which was why Moberg was dumping it on her. He’d shown his face to Mats Möller, but she knew he’d only done that to keep Commissioner Dahlbeck off his back.
Anita had finished her pizza when she heard the front door open. Kevin appeared in the kitchen doorway, slightly flushed. Anita guessed he’d been propping up the bar at The Pickwick. He grinned at her. ‘Are you still speaking to me?’
She finished putting her plate and cutlery in the dishwasher.
‘It was you that walked out,’ she said pointedly as she closed the dishwasher. ‘There’s half a pizza in the oven.’
‘I had a falafel on the way back.’ She could smell the beer on him. ‘Been to The Pickwick.’
‘Drowning your sorrows?’
He plonked himself down on one of the kitchen chairs.
‘No. I’ve been thinking.’ He raised his hand: ‘And before you say anything, I am capable of thinking sometimes.’ Anita didn’t know what was coming next, so she sat down at the table opposite him. ‘About us.’ This sounded ominous.
Kevin glanced around and his eye caught sight of the bottle of Rioja. There was enough left for one glass. Anita watched him get up and find a glass before emptying the bottle. He sat down again and put the wine in front of him, though he made no effort to take a drink.
‘I know I’ve been getting on your tits. I’ve overstayed my welcome.’ Anita didn’t know what to reply, so said nothing. ‘Yes. I can see that. When you asked me over, I hoped it was more than just pity.’ An amused expression crossed his face. ‘Or guilt.’ He had hit the nail uncomfortably on the head. ‘I was hoping to take our relationship to the next level. That’s because I’m in love with you, Sundström.’ She’d always known it, but this was the first time he’d expressed it. ‘After I’d calmed down this morning wandering around Pildammsparken, I went to Folk & Rock. By the way, they’ve got a great new sticky bun thingy there. Can’t remember the name. You’d love it. Anyway, I started to reflect.’
‘And you had a few reflective pints at The Pickwick.’
‘Of course, no man can cogitate on coffee alone. Anyhow, I concluded that the problem is that I don’t have a designated role in this relationship. Neither of us does. We just drift. Sometimes happily, sometimes not. I think we should anchor it. I think we should get married.’
Anita hadn’t expected this and found herself looking around for a drink. She grabbed Kevin’s glass and took a swig.
‘Blimey! Is it that bad? I know it’s not the most romantic of proposals. But we’re a bit long in the tooth for all the mushy stuff.’ His smile was forced now as he awaited Anita’s reaction.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ was the only thing that came out of her mouth as her mind did somersaults.
‘Look, I’ve just sprung this on you. It’s too early for an answer. I appreciate there are practical problems. I know you’d want to stay here to be close to Leyla. But I may not have a job to go back to if my chief constable has his way. I could come and live in Sweden. It can’t be that hard. You all speak brilliant English. Except your mum and your aunt, and I don’t think they like me anyway. But I get on great with Lasse and Jazmin. And I love little Leyla. I could get some sort of job here. I wouldn’t be hanging round the flat like I’m doing now.’ Even Kevin realized he was rambling and stopped talking abruptly. He could see his sales pitch wasn’t working.
‘I’m sorry, Kevin. I can’t. It’s not what I want out of life at the moment. I don’t want more complications.’
‘So I’m a complication?’ said Kevin tetchily.
‘Sorry, that was the wrong word. It’s just that I’ve got problems at the moment. Work problems. You know all the Hakim business. It’s not a good place just now. And you know the stresses of our job.’ She held up a warning finger. ‘And don’t say anything... I feel bad enough about that as it is. I’m messing people’s lives up.’
‘You wouldn’t be messing mine up. I want to be with you.’
Anita leant over the table and took his hand in hers. ‘Kevin, I’m very, very fond of you.’
‘You don’t love me, do you?’ he said, trying to pull his hand away.
‘I do in my way. But I don’t want commitment. I’ve done that and it didn’t work out. You’re so different from Björn. And that’s a good thing,’ she added hurriedly. ‘You’re not selfish and full of bullshit, though you do talk a lot of rubbish at times.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘That’s one of the reasons I like you. I love spending time with you. We have fun together. But after the last couple of months, I just think we’d never be able to live together.’ She let go of his hand. ‘I was happy with our arrangement before.’
‘Long distance?’
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘So that’s a no?’
CHAPTER 6
They stood awkwardly at the entrance to Triangeln station. The concourse in front of Sankt Johannes kyrka was already filling up with scurrying workers despite the early hour. Kevin was heading for Copenhagen’s Kastrup airport. After his failed proposal, he’d booked the next available flight to Manchester. That had been Tuesday night; this was Friday morning. The last couple of days hadn’t been easy. They’d managed to avoid each other for some of the time: Anita at work and Kevin saying his farewells to Matt at The Pickwick and the girls at Folk & Rock. Anita had been there when he’d said goodbye to Lasse and Jazmin. They seemed genuinely disappointed he was going and Kevin had given a Leyla a long, giggly hug. Lasse had given his mother a reproving look that said that she didn’t know what she was throwing away. Their last evening together had been spent at a Spanish restaurant not far from the polishus. They’d both drunk too much and had ended up making lusty love on the day bed in the living room. But they’d spent the night in separate rooms.
‘Let me know you’ve arrived safely,’ ventured Anita, who felt she had to say something.
‘Of course. And don’t forget to email me. I know you’re not very good at that.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
He wrapped his arms round her and gave her a hug which almost squeezed the breath out of her body. He hadn’t mentioned the proposal again and had acted as politely as he could in her company. Typically British, she thought. Deep down, she knew what an effort he had made to ask her to marry him and how wounded he must have been by her rejection. When he let go, she was able to breathe again, though she felt a sudden rush of sadness. Was this really it? Was it over?
‘Have you got your coffee?’ she asked. It was such a banal thing to say in the circumstances.
‘Two packets of Offesson’s. You’ll have to send me some more when I run out.’
‘OK.’
Kevin picked up his suitcase and half turned towards the station. He stopped.
‘By the way, I bought some of that shower gel you like. Two bottles actually. They’re in—’
‘I’ll find them.’
Kevin nodded. And with a last glance, he was swallowed up in the flow of commuters descending into the bowels of the underground station.
The walk to the office gave her time to reflect. Not on Kevin’s departure and the implications for their relationship, if they had one left that is, but on the kidnap of Mats Möller. Progress was slow, but there wasn’t the same urgency as with a live investigation. Searches of disused, industrial buildings hadn’t given them any leads as to the location of Möller’s captivity. Not yet, anyway; there were plenty more to root around in. And, of course, the circles on the map were only based on what Möller had told them about the length of time
he’d been driven in the van. Frightened and disorientated, his estimation might be way out, in which case the search area might be even wider.
What had been of interest was Anita’s interview with Möller’s PA, Harriet Åkesson. Anita had expected someone like Möller to have some eye candy secretary with long legs, big breasts, and a sexy smile to cover up a vacant expression. She soon berated herself for conjuring up such a sexist stereotype when she met Harriet Åkesson in Möller’s apartment on the Wednesday. Åkesson wasn’t exactly frumpy, but she didn’t pay any lip-service to modern fashion. Her clothes were plain and practical. Not a hint of make-up. With greying blonde hair swept back in a severe ponytail, Anita put her at about sixty. Her large round glasses gave Anita the impression of an owl peering into the darkness looking for prey, and she was clearly employed because of her sense, wisdom and efficiency. She answered all Anita’s questions in a precise manner. What became plain was her affection for Möller. She was a mother figure who helped order his life and business while being indulgent of his moods and transgressions. She made it clear that she wasn’t keen on some of his acquaintances in Morocco. She’d been out there a couple of times and thought they were a bit louche, though she wouldn’t elaborate. This made Anita wonder again about the possibility that the train of events had been set in motion by someone or something connected with Möller’s Moroccan visits.
Åkesson had already prepared a schedule of Möller’s appointments for the last three months and the dates when he was away in Morocco, Dortmund and Detroit.
‘Would anyone else know about these movements?’ Anita asked as she scanned the list in her hand.
‘No. Mats is very good with his staff. They respect him. They love him even. However, he likes to keep things close to his chest. He likes to be in complete control. If I’m honest, he’s slightly paranoid about the possibility of competitors gleaning information on MM Data.’ That chimed with what Anita had gathered from their meeting with Möller and his reasons for not letting the kidnap become public knowledge. ‘Mats makes all the important business decisions himself. Of course, he has an office manager, Christian Frandsen. But that’s just for the day-to-day running of matters downstairs and making sure the operation runs efficiently.’
MALICE IN MALMÖ Page 4