Her peace was broken by her phone going off. She took it out of her pocket and saw it was Kevin. She’d hadn’t got round to ringing him over the weekend as she’d planned. Since he’d left six weeks before, they’d exchanged a few desultory emails and one awkward Skype. Yet as she gazed down at his name on the screen, she felt a sense of pleasure.
‘Hello, Anita!’ Kevin’s voice was jaunty.
‘Hi. I was going to ring you.’
‘Were you?’ His voice was mocking. ‘I haven’t rung at an awkward moment? You’re probably at work.’
‘I’m sitting in a cemetery.’
‘Blimey, have things got that bad?’ She could tell he was in a good mood.
‘And where are you?’
‘It’s lovely and sunny here so I thought I’d have a day at the seaside. I’m in Morecambe. You remember, I brought you here and we had fish and chips?’
‘Yes. The place with the statue of that comedian. What was his name?’
‘Eric Morecambe. Like the town. Actually, I’m standing below his statue right now. I’m on the bit where they’ve inscribed all the famous Morecambe & Wise punchlines. They still make me laugh.’
‘I think they’re lost in translation. I don’t see what’s funny about two men sharing a bed together and the taller one slapping the shorter one around the face.’
‘I can see I’ve got my work cut out convincing you how brilliant they were. Many would say they were Britain’s greatest comedians. But, strangely enough, that’s not why I’m calling. I’ve got something important to tell you.’
Anita’s heart missed a beat. Was this it? Was he going to say that it was over between them? She wouldn’t blame him after she’d rejected his proposal. Now that he’d had time to think about their situation, maybe he’d decided to move on. Suddenly, in that moment, she didn’t want to lose him. ‘What?’ she responded cautiously.
‘I’m getting my job back!’
‘Wow, that’s great!’ The relief in her voice was palpable. ‘How did that happen?’
‘Our chief constable is under investigation. It goes back to his time in the Met. I think he’s been caught up in the aftershock of the Tyrone Cassidy business. Which, of course, we started,’ he added with some pride. ‘Anyhow, the bastard is suspended and the deputy chief constable is happy to have me back. Seems he’s not sorry to see the back of his boss.’
‘That’s fantastic! When do you start?’
‘There are one or two bureaucratic hoops to jump through first, but it’ll probably be in the middle of June. So I’m going to enjoy myself until then. I’m off to buy an ice cream after this call.’
‘An ice cream? A hot coffee’s what I need right now.’
‘Look, is there any chance you could pop over for a few days before I start? I won’t get any holiday for a while once I do.’
‘No, I can’t. I’m temporarily in charge at the moment. Moberg has had a heart attack.’
‘Bloody hell! Mind you, it’s no wonder.’
‘You could come here.’ She found herself inviting him before she’d had time to think it through.
‘Are you sure?’ he said cagily.
‘Of course. You’d have to occupy yourself, though, as I’m pretty busy.’
‘That’s fine by me.’ He sounded genuinely delighted. ‘There’s always stuff to do. My girls at Folk & Rock.’
‘And Matt at the pub was asking after you. And Lasse will be happy you’re around. You’ll stop me blotting my copybook.’
‘If you’re really sure.’
‘I am.’ She knew she needed someone at home to unburden herself to after the strains at work.
They made quick arrangements as to when he’d fly over and the call ended with Kevin jokingly promising he wouldn’t ask her to marry him. She was still smiling when she put her phone away. Maybe her private life could get back to the status quo she’d enjoyed before.
Almost immediately, the phone sprang into action again. She frowned as she saw Hakim’s name. Had he discovered something?
There was no preamble. ‘Anita, you need to get yourself over to Västra Hamnen straightaway.’
‘Not another kidnap?’
‘No. A murder.’
CHAPTER 16
Västra Hamnen had developed so quickly over the last few years. Every time Anita came out this way, there were even more apartment blocks, intimate courtyards surrounded by cleverly designed houses, cafés and restaurants, all dominated by Malmö’s feature landmark, the Turning Torso. The apartment that Hakim had called from was right on the seafront. The heavy drizzle that was now coming down obscured the view. From walks along the shoreline on sunny days, Anita knew how dramatic the vista could be – Denmark was just across the water, the higher buildings of Copenhagen on the skyline. Normally, in the distance, the Öresund Bridge would be clearly visible, though now, like an artist’s first tremulous sketch, only the faintest outline could be seen. Even the nearer Kallbadhus, perched nonchalantly at the end of its pier, was almost lost to sight. Not a day for naked bathing!
The apartment block she stood in front of was four storeys high. The building was white with an enormous extent of glass so the residents could enjoy the panorama. The three upper storeys had balconies that jutted out from the main structure as though straining to get closer to the sea. On either side of the block were others of differing colours, shapes and sizes, all running in a straight line along a decked boardwalk, which was now wet and gleaming. A couple of ducks were enjoying the weather. It was a nice place to live as long as you weren’t being murdered.
The main door to the block was open as police officers and forensic staff came and went. Anita made her way to the second floor. At the door of one of the apartments was Hakim. ‘A neighbour alerted us as the radio had been playing all night, which was unusual. When he came to complain, there was no answer. The dead man’s in here.’ Anita slipped on a pair of latex gloves as she followed him inside and along a corridor to the living room, which overlooked the sea. Even before entering the room, she could hear the constant whirring of the forensic photographer’s camera as the crime scene was being recorded for permanent documentation. The room was spacious, a fact accentuated by its lack of furniture. There was a single blue sofa opposite a large, wall-mounted television, and a compact hi-fi system, which presumably had been the source of the loud music. The television was the only thing on the walls – no pictures or photographs were to be seen. On a wooden coffee table was a single glass with unfinished whisky in it, a ceramic ashtray with two stubbed cigarette butts, and a book. There was only one chair in the room, of the same design as the sofa. Behind it was a white bookcase. It was in this chair that the victim sat; wide, staring eyes focussed on Anita. The frozen expression of puzzlement on his face made her flinch. It wasn’t immediately clear what had killed him, though directly above his head, seemingly touching his scalp, was the business end of a reading lamp, bent gracefully over on its stand like the neck of a swan. It was as her gaze became fixed on this object that Anita noticed the dried blood which caked the stubble around the man’s crown. He was sitting with his hands in the pose of holding a book, except there was no book. He was wearing light-brown shorts, a red T-shirt and flip flops. A white-suited forensic photographer was busily snapping away under the instructions of Eva Thulin. Anita was pleased to see her. If this was the first murder case she was going to be in charge of, she needed all the help she could get – and it didn’t get any better than Eva Thulin. They exchanged friendly glances.
‘What’s happened here?’ asked Anita.
‘Well, I didn’t think reading could be so dangerous,’ Thulin commented wryly.
As Anita peered closer, she could see that part of the lamp was embedded in the victim’s head.
‘That’s right,’ said Thulin. ‘This bendy lamp has a short but strong metal rod attached to the shade. It’s for adjusting the angle or height when you’re sitting; you can just pull it down by reaching above your head. It appe
ars that the victim was sitting underneath it when the perpetrator smashed the lamp down and the rod penetrated the cranium, just like a stiletto. It probably didn’t cause instant death, but he would have lost consciousness before dying.’
‘So, one blow?’
‘With the right amount of force.’
‘Man?’
‘Not necessarily. Just someone strong enough to jam that down with their palm or their fist. And it appears this poor guy wasn’t expecting it, as he’s just sitting there. The head’s not tilted round as though he’d heard something that disturbed him or worried him.’
Anita looked closer and then stepped back. ‘Either someone’s sneaked up behind him or someone was here that he didn’t think was a potential threat.’
‘Makes sense to me. There’s no sign of forced entry. It’s up to you and Hakim to work out which.’
Hakim pointed to the victim’s hands. ‘It looks like he was reading a book.’ He nodded at the one on the coffee table. ‘If the perpetrator took it out of his hands, it might have his fingerprints on it.’
Thulin shook her head. ‘I don’t think it was a book.’ She picked up a small evidence bag and produced a tiny sliver of paper. ‘This was still in his left hand. Unfortunately, there’s nothing on it. It looks like part of a piece of paper he was holding. Maybe that’s what he was looking at when his killer struck. Then the killer must have taken it away as the victim was dying. It’s not here anyway. Whatever was on it may have been the reason for his death.’
‘Time of death?’
‘Roughly between ten and twelve last night.’
‘That fits,’ said Hakim. ‘The neighbour said the music started before half ten. It was just after he’d started watching a film on TV.’
‘When you’ve finished with the body, you’ll give the place the once-over?’
‘You know me, Anita. We’ll not miss a thing. So don’t make a mess before we’ve had time to go over everything.’ Eva talked as she continued feeling her way round the dead man’s body. ‘Makes a change not having Chief Inspector Moberg charging in and trampling all over the evidence.’ She squinted up at Anita. ‘How is he, by the way?’
‘Pontus Brodd reported that he’s getting better. He’s sitting up and talking. Well, sitting up and complaining.’
‘Just wait until he sees their dietary recommendations. That’ll give him another heart attack,’ Thulin laughed as she returned to her probing.
Anita went over to the windows and gazed out over the water. If anything, the weather had got worse and was set in for the day.
‘Do we know who the victim is?’ she asked Hakim.
‘According to the name on the front door, he’s called Mikael Nilsson.’
She returned to the coffee table and bent over to scrutinize the book. ‘Does that look Finnish to you?’
‘Yes. Some of the books on the shelves over there are, too.’
‘Must be able to understand Finnish. Do we know anything else about him?’
‘The neighbour who reported the music said he didn’t know anything about him, other than that he wasn’t often here. And he was usually very quiet. Kept himself to himself. That’s why he thought the music playing loudly all night wasn’t normal.’
‘Do we know what Mikael Nilsson did?’
Hakim motioned that Anita should come with him. He took her into a small room that was obviously used as an office. There was a desk and swivel chair. On the desk, there was a large printer, assorted pencils and biros in a desk organizer, and an open, half-empty packet of cigarettes along with a well-stocked ashtray. Everything was presided over by an anglepoise lamp, which was still on. A couple of shelves each accommodated a row of upright wooden box files containing magazines; on another there were about twenty books. In one corner of the floor was a pile of newspapers. On one wall, above an empty wastepaper basket, was a large cork notice board. But it was what wasn’t there that immediately struck Anita the most – there was no computer for starters. And it was obvious that whatever had been pinned to the notice board had been torn off in a hurry. Little bits of paper were still attached to the multi-coloured drawing pins.
‘Have you found a mobile phone?’
‘Not yet,’ answered Hakim. ‘If the computer’s gone, it’s unlikely that the killer would have left the phone.’
Anita bent over one of the box files and picked out a magazine. It was a trashy one full of celebrities. So were some of the others. In the next container, there were more sober business publications.
‘His reading matter is pretty eclectic,’ she observed. She flicked through the pile of newspapers. ‘I wonder what he did. Without his computer, it’s not obvious, though it looks like he worked from home.’
‘Only part of the time. The neighbour said he wasn’t around much. Away for weeks at a time.’
‘Salesman?’ Anita offered as she pulled open the top drawer of the desk. It was full of office paraphernalia: rubber bands, staples and the like. The next drawer contained a pile of unused printing paper. The third drawer was slightly open. She eased it out gently. It was empty.
‘I wonder if our murderer cleared out whatever was in here. I thought there might be some files or USB sticks to back up work on the computer.’
‘He probably used iCloud or Dropbox.’ This was beyond Anita, too.
It was at this point that Anita nearly told Hakim about the research she’d asked Liv to do. Then she thought better of it. He hadn’t wanted Liv to think about police work and might blame her for getting his fiancée involved again. And though he was speaking to her because he had to, his manner was still cool; professional, without the sense of camaraderie they’d previously shared.
‘Nothing much in the kitchen. Liked his coffee though. There must be a dozen packs of Offesson’s in one of the cupboards: every blend you can think of. Most people tend to stick to one or two of their favourite ones.’
‘Maybe he’s a coffeeholic. Most Swedes are.’
‘And there’s only one dirty plate in the sink, so he didn’t share a meal with his visitor.’
‘Though I think Mikael Nilsson probably knew his killer. Let him or her in. Didn’t think he or she was a danger or else he wouldn’t have been murdered the way he was.’
‘He might have known him, or her, yet he didn’t offer them a drink. Unless we find prints on the glass other than Nilsson’s. But that would just be too careless. So it was unlikely to be a social call, even at that time of night.’
‘The murder can’t have been premeditated. No one plans to kill someone like that. It was opportunistic.’
‘There’s one more thing you should see, though,’ said Hakim. Anita followed the gangly, young officer out of the study and into a bedroom. It, too, had minimal furniture: a double bed, a bedside table and a long, built-in wardrobe. The only indulgence was a smaller, wall-mounted television.
Hakim opened the wardrobe. It was packed with suits and shirts. At the bottom were a couple of suitcases and a cabin bag.
‘So, we think he travelled a lot. Any sign of a passport?’
‘Not yet. Can’t find a wallet either.’
‘And I don’t suppose this building has CCTV?’
‘You suppose right. But look what I’ve found.’
There was something glinting behind one of the cases. Hakim lifted the case out.
It was a small safe. Anita knelt down next to it. It was like one of those safes found in hotel rooms. It was locked. ‘I wonder if our murderer missed this. Better get it back and find someone smarter than us to open it. And get Brodd down here to talk to the neighbours and see if anybody heard or saw anything. And, of course—’
‘Find any CCTV.’ It was like the old Hakim, reading her mind.
‘If any exists. Not that sort of area,’ she said, giving him an apologetic grimace. Was this the first hint of a thaw?
Anita stood up slowly. She felt a twinge in her knee. She hadn’t been running around Pildammsparken as regularly as she shoul
d have been. ‘I’d better get back to headquarters and alert Commissioner Dahlbeck. Where’s Erik Moberg when you need him?’
CHAPTER 17
Erik Moberg was sitting up in bed like a beached whale when Anita entered his room. A nurse was tidying his bedside table and clearing away his meal tray, so Anita hovered in the doorway. Moberg noticed her.
‘Save me from this woman!’ he appealed to Anita.
‘Now you just do as you’re told, Erik,’ scolded the nurse. ‘You must eat what’s good for you.’
The nurse flashed Anita an exasperated what-can-you-do-with-him? frown as she left the room.
‘Well, you seem more like your old, cantankerous self,’ Anita commented as she approached the bed. Again, she had a bunch of grapes, which Moberg pulled a face at. It was a cover. She slipped him a bar of Marabou chocolate. ‘If this is discovered, I’m denying any knowledge.’
Moberg gratefully slipped the chocolate under his pillow. ‘After lights out.’
Anita pulled a chair across and sat near the bed. ‘Are you feeling better?’
‘Tired. Bored. Hungry.’
‘Are they not feeding you?’
‘Bloody rabbit food. I hate anything green.’
‘That’s why you’re in here.’
‘Don’t you start! Anyway, cut the crap. How’s the Uhlig investigation going?’
‘A blank so far, other than we suspect he was held somewhere in a harbour area, and that you might be right about an Eastern European gang – or Russian.’
‘I knew it!’ That bucked him up.
‘I’ve got Klara overseeing that case as we’ve got ourselves a murder.’
Moberg’s eyes lit up. ‘Tell me more.’
‘Look, you should be resting. The last thing you should be doing is thinking about work.’
‘Give me a break, Anita. That’s all I’ve got.’ It was only later that Anita reflected on what he’d said and realized how poignant it was.
‘It’s a male, about fifty, called Mikael Nilsson. He was in his apartment in Västra Hamnen. He was killed with his reading lamp.’ Anita quickly explained to a goggle-eyed Moberg how that was possible.
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