MALICE IN MALMÖ

by Torquil Macleod

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Pontus. You come across as a very good officer.’ Brodd tried to suppress his surprise. He’d had nothing but flack from Chief Inspector Moberg, despite being his drinking buddy, and most of the others had given him a hard time on occasions. The fact that he’d attracted such criticism through his own behaviour and misjudgements never really occurred to him. So he was immediately flattered by Zetterberg’s words.

  ‘I try my best,’ he said modestly.

  ‘Of course you do. We all do. We’re a team. And that’s where we appear to have a problem. We should all be pulling together in the same direction.’

  ‘And you think we’re not?’

  ‘You heard Anita. “Bumping” into Absame. She’s kidding no one. We all know that she went out of her way to find him. We have to tread a fine line with him. He has connections. Yet she must have barged in like a bull at a gate. It’s going to be harder to make a case against him if he thinks he’s under close police scrutiny.’

  Brodd wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at. He soon found out.

  ‘Anita’s a loose cannon. She undermines the rest of the team. I’m sure you can see that. Her actions could jeopardize our investigations. I don’t want that happening.’

  ‘How can you stop it?’

  ‘By being forewarned.’

  ‘Forewarned?’

  ‘Yes. I want you to come and tell me whenever you think she’s trying to do things on her own initiative.’

  ‘Spy on her?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t call it that. It’s about keeping control. All I’m asking is that you be my eyes and ears. And if you do a good job, I’m sure Commissioner Dahlbeck will be pleased. I’ll make sure that he knows you’re a real team player. Think what that might do for your career.’

  CHAPTER 27

  The drive to Ystad was awkward. Hakim seemed lost in his own thoughts. Anita didn’t want to initiate a conversation as she was still treading carefully. Instead, she put her foot down so that they’d reach the small harbour town as quickly as possible.

  ‘I should be angry. I was at first.’

  Anita squinted at the passenger seat. Hakim wasn’t looking at her but straight ahead.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Liv. I was furious at first.’

  ‘Honestly, I still feel terrible about what happened. If I could change things now...’

  ‘I don’t mean that. I’m slowly coming to terms with that.’

  Anita was puzzled. She slowed her pace; there was a lumbering truck ahead of them and no chance to pass.

  ‘The research you’ve got Liv doing.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘She told me. I couldn’t believe you’d asked her. I’ve been trying to protect her from anything to do with the job. Any reminders of what she’s been through.’

  Anita didn’t know what to say. The passing lane opened up and she eased the car past the truck.

  ‘But as she said, her condition is a constant reminder. She’s always defended you. She likes you. And I suppose I have to thank you.’

  Anita nearly swerved into the central reservation as she turned to Hakim.

  ‘What for?’

  She pulled into the inside lane and kept an even speed.

  ‘You’ve given her a sense of purpose. She’s loved digging around. Makes her feel useful. She has a role. She doesn’t want sympathy; she wants respect. I don’t think I was giving her that. I was being overprotective.’

  ‘You love her. It’s only natural.’

  Hakim muttered something that she didn’t quite catch. Whatever he’d said, Anita immediately felt better. Though they didn’t speak again for the rest of the drive, the tension between them was starting to evaporate.

  Folke Allinger lived at the top end of Ystad. The attractive town cradles the port from where ferries depart daily to Poland and the Danish island of Bornholm. Back from the harbour, colourful streets of low, traditional houses radiate from the main square before morphing into more modern estates and apartment blocks creeping sedately up the hill behind. Allinger’s home was close to the ring road that encircled the landward side of the town. Within minutes, they were on a wide, pleasant road with large individual residences on one side and blocks of four semi-detached houses on the other. Some architect had had a challenge with the latter. Each pair consisting of two floors, they were built on a steep bank and were staggered like steps. Allinger lived in one of the lower houses, his aspect facing trees with a small park area beyond. Anita and Hakim descended the steep concrete steps to his front door and rang the bell.

  They could smell the booze on Allinger’s breath as soon as he opened the door. Anita recognized the brutish, square-jawed face and startled eyes from his photo in the meeting room, but the shaved head was now covered in long, lank hair that showed hints of grey and which partially covered up the tattoos on his thick neck. Personal grooming had gone out of the window along with personal hygiene.

  ‘Yes?’

  Anita held up her warrant card. ‘Inspector Anita Sundström of the Skåne County Police. This is Inspector Hakim Mirza.’ Hakim flashed his warrant card, too. He didn’t bother to disguise his look of disgust.

  Allinger squinted at the ID. ‘Malmö? What are you doing out here?’

  ‘We’re working on a murder investigation. We’d like a few words.’

  This was greeted by a snort of derision. ‘Don’t you read the newspapers? I may have gone to prison, but I didn’t actually murder anyone.’

  ‘Can we come in?’

  Allinger hesitated. ‘I don’t think I want to speak to you.’ He started to close the door.

  ‘It’s about the murder of the man who put you in prison.’

  The door remained ajar. Then he opened it. They followed him in.

  Allinger had already thrown himself down on an old, faded, brown sofa by the time they entered the open-plan living-cum-dining room. The kitchen was tucked in round a corner. The room was filthy; empty beer cans and whisky bottles, brimming ashtrays and the remains of a TV dinner being the only ornamentation. An unpleasant aroma pervaded Anita’s nostrils and she hated to think what state the kitchen was in. Through the large picture window, she could see an area of decking, liberally littered with similar detritus. The ultimate in low-maintenance gardening. In the middle, a battered barbecue caked in grease sat forlornly. A huge television dominated the sitting room, and appeared to be the only thing that wasn’t second hand. In one corner, there was a small, untidy bookcase. Anita couldn’t help but notice the swastikas emblazoned on several of the book spines. Magazines and newspapers were strewn about the floor. Again, it didn’t take much mind-stretching to guess the content. She glanced anxiously at Hakim. This was a difficult environment for him to be in. Hakim, however, seemed surprisingly calm.

  Allinger rested his feet on a stained coffee table, odd socks poking out from his grey tracksuit bottoms. He leant forward and picked up a half-finished can of beer as Anita and Hakim sat down on a couple of hardback chairs. Anita shifted her backside slightly, as the chair felt sticky.

  Allinger waved his can at them. ‘Is this the best the Malmö police can come up with these days?’

  Anita knew from Allinger’s file that he was forty-six. He could have passed for ten years older. She also knew that he was unemployed. His old comrades hadn’t come to his rescue when he’d come out of prison.

  ‘We are here about the death of Sami Litmanen,’ Anita began. ‘You know him better as The Oligarch.’

  ‘Someone killed him? The fucker deserved it.’ There was something in Allinger’s voice that made Anita think that it wasn’t news to him. Yet the story wouldn’t appear in the media until this evening. Zetterberg would tell the world that Mikael Nilsson’s real name was Sami Litmanen, but there would be no reference to the fact that he was The Oligarch.

  ‘We want to know where you were on the Sunday night before last. That’s the fourteenth.’

  ‘Haven’t a fucking clue. Pissed in front of t
hat, most likely.’ He jerked his can in the direction of the television. ‘There’s not much else to do these days.’

  ‘Except read.’ This came from Hakim.

  ‘Oh yes, I read. You should have a look at some of those books over there. Might persuade you to go back to where you came from. A certain Herr H knew how to deal with your kind. We could still learn from him. And,’ looking at Anita, ‘some of your lot would agree.’

  Before Hakim could come up with a rejoinder to Allinger’s baiting, Anita jumped in. She didn’t want the interview sidetracked by the man’s loathsome politics. ‘You’re going to have to establish an alibi,’ she said with a warning look at Hakim.

  ‘You suggesting I killed him?’

  ‘You’ve certainly got motive. And opportunity. You live near enough to Malmö.’

  ‘I’d quite happily see him rot in hell. But there are a few others I’d put away first before I got round to him.’ Anita immediately noted that he didn’t question the fact that The Oligarch lived in Malmö. No one else seemed to know where Litmanen lived, except his editor.

  ‘You’re referring to Hans Leonardsson, the head honcho of White Justice?’

  ‘Him for one. I’d have gone after him first. I think he set The Oligarch up in the first place. Got him to infiltrate the organization so he could root out his rivals.’

  ‘You tried to do that once,’ commented Hakim.

  ‘I served my time. I could have made a difference to White Justice. Hans Leonardsson hadn’t the balls to go all the way. He’s now something to do with the Sweden Democrats. Gone all legit. Pathetic.’

  ‘Why pathetic?’ Hakim asked.

  ‘Because the Sweden Democrats are pathetic. They’ll never go far enough to cleanse the country of all you fucking immigrants. At least the Nordic Resistance Movement has the right idea.’

  Anita could see that he was really riling Hakim. This wouldn’t get them anywhere.

  ‘Right, thank you, herr Allinger. That will be all for now.’

  Hakim was bemused. ‘But—’

  ‘We’ll be in touch. Maybe you can come up with a better alibi by then.’

  Once outside, Anita mounted the steep steps to the car park.

  ‘Why are we leaving?’ protested Hakim.

  Anita didn’t answer him until she’d reached the top of the steps and was standing next to her car. ‘Because we’ve got to try and establish that he was in Malmö that night. He knew Sami Litmanen was living in Malmö and he knew that he was dead. Of that I’m sure.’

  They were standing on the foot bridge that spanned the railway line. It was a good vantage point. Just down the track was Ystad station, where passengers were boarding a train to Simrishamn, the end of the line. To their right, the town; to their left, the port, where two large ferries were berthed. Both the Polferries and Unity Line ships went to and from Swinoujscie in Poland. A smaller ferry had recently docked, and trucks were already trundling off. This was one of the five daily sailings from Rønne, the main town on the island of Bornholm. As the Simrishamn train pulled out of the station and passed under the bridge, Anita’s mind briefly turned to Peter Uhlig’s kidnap. She realized that Klara Wallen was right about the proximity of the railway line to the harbour. Uhlig was definite about not hearing any trains. Besides, there wasn’t an obvious building around that the gang could have used.

  ‘I want it to be him.’

  She arched her head round to catch the determined expression on Hakim’s face.

  ‘Allinger?’ It brought her back to a case that was solvable. ‘Well, you’ve got a lot of work to do when we get back. He hasn’t got a car registered so he either travels by train or bus. Actually, you could start here,’ she said pointing to the now-empty station.

  ‘And you’re convinced he knows more than he’s willing to admit?’

  ‘Don’t you? Something’s not right there.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe I was letting him get under my skin.’

  ‘He’s not stupid. He knew exactly what he was doing. Deflecting us.’

  ‘Even if that’s true, how could he have discovered where Litmanen lived? I can’t see him as a sleuth. Look at the state of him. And why would Litmanen let him in?’

  Anita watched a large, blue articulated truck emerge from the ferry’s lower deck and ease its way up and over the ramp and onto the road that funnelled the traffic out of the port.

  ‘I can’t answer that. I have no idea why he would let his killer in. Maybe he didn’t see Allinger as a threat. Maybe, as you suggested, Litmanen was looking into some of Allinger’s old associates.’

  ‘He may be turning into an alcoholic, but I reckon he’d still be as strong as a horse if he was motivated. Hatred would probably do it. I wouldn’t like to see him turning up at my door at ten o’clock at night.’

  ‘Agreed. But I do have an idea how he found out where Litmanen lived.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Did you clock his reference to “some of your lot would agree”?’ Hakim raised his eyebrows. ‘Exactly. The sad fact is that some of our colleagues still haven’t adapted to the way things are in Sweden today.’

  ‘That’s putting it kindly. You don’t have to tell me.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if one or two ex-members of White Justice were in the force. What if Allinger is still in touch?’

  ‘That’s entirely possible. That wouldn’t explain how a Malmö cop could find Litmanen’s address though.’

  ‘Was he ever cautioned or got a ticket for something?’

  ‘We know he didn’t. There’s no record of Sami Litmanen in any of the files.’

  ‘What about Mikael Nilsson?’

  CHAPTER 28

  ‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ Brodd said in a way that said he couldn’t believe it. He’d actually turned red. ‘Some of the things...’ Now he was lost for words. He turned to Bea Erlandsson for help, but he wasn’t getting any from that quarter.

  ‘I’m not interested in what the swingers or sex partyists or whatever they’re called get up to,’ said Zetterberg impatiently. ‘How they get their kicks is up to them. What I want to know is what Claes Svärdendahl was doing on the night of the fourteenth.’

  ‘Well, quite a lot as it happens. He was the celebrity guest and was in great demand. That’s according to the woman who runs the parties. Though the guests are meant to be anonymous... well, he wasn’t anyway. Face too well known. After that, a lot of other parts of him as well.’

  ‘Which must mean it would be easier to track him.’ Again Zetterberg showed her impatience. Brodd hesitated. He seemed to be fighting with the images in his head that their enquiries had created.

  ‘We’ve managed to speak to about five of the people who were at the party so far,’ said Erlandsson, who could see that Brodd was struggling. ‘It took some persuading that we needed names until we said that this was a murder case and Claes Svärdendahl was a suspect. And we’ve still got some to track down. One of the women we spoke to admitted that she’d been with Svärdendahl around half eight, near the beginning of the proceedings.’

  ‘And there was another woman with them,’ put in Brodd. ‘A threesome. Handcuffs, whips, the lot.’

  ‘They were his first appointment of the evening. She was very frank. Her husband was there, too, but he never takes part. He just likes watching his wife with other people. After Svärdendahl had finished... she used more colourful language... he left her and the other woman to carry on without him. She claims not to have seen him again. The party planner, for want of another name, Gail Goodtimes—’

  ‘That’s not her real name, by the way,’ butted in Brodd.

  ‘I didn’t think it was,’ huffed Zetterberg.

  ‘She said that Svärdendahl was around before midnight. He’d tried to hit on her but she “doesn’t do the guests”, as she put it. He then disappeared into another room for more “romping”. Again, her word. What we haven’t been able to establish is what he was doing during the time between leaving t
he two women and when he was seen by the hostess. It may be hard to establish his exact whereabouts as there are a lot of rooms in the house – it’s an old mansion – and many of the rooms were in semi-darkness. Apparently, there can be a lot of people in one room seething about, changing partners, and there are constant comings and goings.’

  ‘More comings than goings,’ Brodd grinned.

  Erlandsson ignored his smutty remark. ‘Most of the guests have never met each other before.’

  ‘Total strangers,’ said Brodd with amazement. ‘They’re just at it all night.’

  ‘This seems to be getting us nowhere fast.’ Zetterberg was chasing a quick result which would go down well with her superiors. ‘OK. Follow up as many people as it takes to narrow down where Svärdendahl was between half past nine and eleven that night.’

  ‘Presumably, they don’t film their antics?’ Anita enquired.

  ‘No. Though there are a lot of swingers, some are there without the knowledge of their partners. That makes it harder for us to get them to talk.’

  Zetterberg had had enough. ‘Right, that’s all for now.’

  ‘What about Absame?’ Anita asked.

  ‘He’ll keep,’ Zetterberg said dismissively.

  ‘But he’s a real suspect.’

  ‘I said we’ll get round to him when the time’s right. And leave him alone, do you understand?’ Anita didn’t. Why was Zetterberg so reticent?

  They had already discussed Folke Allinger. Both Anita and Hakim had expressed the opinion that he knew far more about what had happened than he was letting on. However, they kept to themselves Anita’s theory that a member of the force might have been in a position to tip Allinger off. It would be the sort of thing Zetterberg would make a much bigger meal of than it was worth. Hakim explained that he was going though fresh CCTV footage to see if they could place Allinger leaving Ystad and travelling to Malmö on the day of the murder. So far he hadn’t found anything. Hardly surprisingly, Zetterberg was dismissive about Anita’s hunch – she dealt in hard facts. Before finally packing them off like a teacher at the end of school, Zetterberg took the opportunity to admonish the team for not pulling their weight. She expected more of them.