MALICE IN MALMÖ

by Torquil Macleod

  Anita hung back. ‘Yes?’ Zetterberg said sharply.

  ‘Look, Alice. The team... we are doing our best. Some of this stuff we have to shift through slowly and methodically. It’s a painstaking process. That’s the nature of it. It’s not going to happen overnight. But we’ll get there. There’s no need to put everybody under undue pressure; that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Are you finished? No wonder you’ve never got anywhere in this job. What sort of career have you had? You’re still just a jobbing detective. You’ll never amount to anything special. You’re not focused enough, you’re not tough enough and you’re not professional enough. I could see that at the Police Academy. And nothing’s changed. So off you go and “do your best”. But in my book, sometimes doing your best isn’t good enough.’

  Kevin stirred from a deep sleep. As he woke, he realized he was faced with his familiar nightly dilemma – to pee or not to pee? He could roll over and try and get back to sleep or get up and stumble to the bathroom. The problem was that by the time he’d got back to bed, he would be wide awake and would often lie there for hours before drifting back into whatever strange dream awaited him. On this occasion, the call of nature won. As he eased himself as quietly as he could out of his side of the bed so as not to disturb Anita, he became aware that she wasn’t there. He glanced at the digital clock: the bright red numbers proclaimed that it was 4.07. He reached the safety of the bathroom and relieved himself. Back out in the corridor, he saw that there was a light on in the living room. There was Anita on the day bed in only her knickers and T-shirt looking at something on the coffee table. As he approached her, he could see it was a photograph album.

  Anita turned to him. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you?’

  ‘No.’ He nodded towards the album.

  ‘It’s from when I was at the Polishögskolan at Sörentorp.’

  ‘Police Academy?’

  ‘Yeah. In Stockholm.’

  Kevin sat down beside her. He noticed a classroom photo of a very blonde girl in a T-shirt, with glasses shoved back onto her head. ‘Bloody hell, is that you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shit, you were gorgeous!’

  ‘You mean I’m not now?’

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said hurriedly. ‘You’re still stunning. You look amazing.’

  ‘Stop it before you dig yourself into a bigger hole.’

  He caught her playful smile in the light of the lamp. ‘It’s just that I’ve never seen you in any photos when you were younger.’ Then he saw another couple of snaps of her in her first formal uniform. The blue outfit with the white sash and belt and the police hat perched precariously on her head seemed slightly too large for her.

  She noticed. ‘God, I was so much thinner then. I look so young and keen. Naïve actually. The world was so full of hope. Well, my world was.’

  ‘We all start out like that. It’s our job that turns us into cynical old farts. Anyway, why the sudden urge to revisit the past? At four o’clock in the morning!’

  Anita turned over a page and there were a dozen photos of young people enjoying themselves. In some they were sat around a table strewn with bottles and cans, drinking, smoking and chatting happily. In a couple, they were dancing. It was easy to pick out Anita, as she was the blondest of the group.

  ‘This is where I met Alice Zetterberg.’

  Even Kevin could spot her. She was thick-set even then with short, dark hair. On the next page, there was a photo of just Anita and Zetterberg standing together in their day-to-day uniform, each wearing cumbersome white gloves; the type traffic cops wear. Both were grinning coyly. In another shot, they were relaxing together in what appeared to be a student bedroom.

  ‘You seem friendly enough there.’

  ‘We were. Most of us were in student accommodation; at Kungshamra in Bergshamra. Not just the police cadets; university students, too. Alice was in the same block, so we got to know each other very quickly. She had a beaten-up old car in which she’d give me a lift to the Academy. And it was there that she hooked up with Arne.’

  ‘Which one is he?’

  Anita pointed to the group sitting on some grass with a large redbrick building behind them. All were casually dressed. ‘That one,’ said Anita, pointing to a young man with floppy hair with a centre parting and short sideburns. His thick eyebrows distracted attention from a prominent nose. He was holding court and the others were all looking at him. Alice Zetterberg was gazing at him like a wistful puppy. Kevin took a totally irrational dislike to him.

  ‘Arne was fun.’

  Kevin disliked him even more now.

  ‘He was a flirt. Which I didn’t mind. Thought he was a ladies’ man.’

  ‘And was he?’

  ‘He was quite successful.’

  ‘But not with you?’

  She blew out her cheeks. ‘No way!’

  ‘So how did Zetterberg get the idea that you’d slept with him?’

  ‘Some of us had a night out in Stockholm. Went clubbing. Alice wasn’t there that night as she’d gone home for the weekend. Anyway, it ended up with me and Arne as the only ones left. We got back to our accommodation. We were both pretty pissed and we had a kiss and a cuddle. He did try to get me to go to his room but, even in that state, I knew it was wrong and I refused. No harm done, or so I thought. Then, about a week later, I started to get strange looks from some of the other cadets. It turned out that Arne had boasted about taking me to bed. Of course, it didn’t take long for Alice to get wind of it. That was the end. The last couple of months of the course weren’t very pleasant. Some of the other girls sided with Alice. I denied it, but no one believed me. Arne and I had been seen staggering back together, so it all fitted.’

  ‘And sleeping with the most gorgeous girl on the course was a feather in his cap?’

  ‘Not sure about the most gorgeous. But it did help cement his reputation among the other boys.’ She gazed at the group again. ‘I only ever really kept in touch with Lennart.’ She indicated a chubby young man with sandy hair sitting cross-legged. ‘He didn’t judge me. He was lovely. Sadly, he died a few years later in Africa. Part of an international force monitoring an election. He was shot. Wrong place, wrong time.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, Alice and Arne married later and lived unhappily ever after. Well, she did. It was only a matter of time before he went off with someone else. As it turned out, it was Juni, who was in our year as well.’ Anita pointed to a pretty auburn-haired girl. ‘But as far as Alice is concerned, it was all my fault because I’d led her darling Arne astray in the first place.’

  Kevin shifted on the day bed. He suddenly felt cold. He wasn’t wearing anything. ‘What made Arne go for Alice in the first place? He’s not bad looking. She’s not exactly Angelina Jolie.’

  ‘Her devotion. She’d do anything for him. She was great for his ego. Isn’t that what men like?’

  ‘You don’t show me any devotion.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’ve let you come back despite you being a pain in the backside last time you were here.’

  ‘You cheeky cow,’ he laughed and he pushed her playfully over. The glimpse of her rounded buttocks straining against her knickers, and bare legs put an idea into his head. She sat back up, her T-shirt doing little to cover up her shapely bottom half.

  ‘As we’re now both awake,’ he said, eyeing her lustfully, ‘we can either go back to bed and make passionate love, or have a cup of tea.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ she cooed. ‘Lemon and ginger would be perfect.’

  CHAPTER 29

  The gym was busier this time late on a Wednesday afternoon. Anita wasn’t quite sure what she was doing here with Zetterberg’s warning still ringing in her ears. Maybe it was because of that warning. Like a recalcitrant child, she was doing the exact opposite of what she’d been told. There was little she could do about the other two suspects. Claes Svärdendahl was out of her hands. Hakim had made a breakthrough of sorts and found that Folke Allinger had boarded a midday tra
in at Ystad heading for Malmö on the Sunday afternoon of the murder. She had left him going through CCTV footage from the Central Station, which was an obvious place to get off the train for easy access to Västra Hamnen. At least he knew what train he would be arriving on. If that proved unsuccessful, he would go through footage from the underground station at Triangeln, the stop before. Allinger’s movements were now of real interest, especially as they’d found out that Mikael Nilsson, AKA Sami Litmanen, had been cautioned after an incident outside one of the city’s nightclubs. He hadn’t been charged, but the police had details of his Västra Hamnen address. If Allinger had a friend on the force, then he could have had access to that address, though how they had worked out the connection with The Oligarch, she had no idea. She’d visited the area of the apartment again that morning and asked around, armed with photos of Allinger, Svärdendahl and Absame. The latter two were recognized, but only because their faces had been spread all over the media. She’d had a coffee in the Italian café that Sami Litmanen had regularly breakfasted in. On the wall above Anita’s table were two photographs by Mario de Basi: one of Sophia Loren, the other entitled Italians are Flighty, Milan, 1954. This one, depicting a woman braving the leering attentions of a crowd of men, caught Anita’s eye and set off a train of thought about her role within the department. For several years, she’d felt like the woman in the photo. Her looks hadn’t helped. She’d often received the wrong sort of attention: the lecherous glances, the lewd comments, the unsubtle sexual invitations and the physical groping. But what was more damaging was that she had often been sidelined because of her appearance. It was as though you couldn’t have both beauty and brains. Attitudes had changed slowly over the years, though some of her male colleagues had never been able to slough off their ingrained prejudice. Yet now that the present team was predominantly female, it was a woman who was judging her by the same criterion, despite the fact that her youthful looks had waned. Zetterberg had always regarded her as a bit of fluff right from their academy days, and her unfounded jealousy had only exacerbated that opinion. Was that why she was at the gym again? To prove Zetterberg wrong? Partly. And partly because she couldn’t understand why Zetterberg was reluctant to pursue a very legitimate line of enquiry.

  Again, the aromatic wall of stale sweat knocked her back. Half a dozen boxers were busy pummelling their bags, and two more, both wearing padded head gear, were in the ring, sparring under the watchful gaze of Absame. None of them were white. The official Swedish attitude to professional boxing had turned it into an immigrant sport.

  Anita sidled up to Absame, the ex-boxer unaware of her presence. One of the fighters was dominating his opponent, who was continually taking evasive action.

  ‘Is he good?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s got promise.’ When Absame turned to see who was making the enquiry, his demeanour immediately changed. ‘I thought I warned you.’

  ‘I’m here for the boxing. Big fan of the noble art, as they call it in Britain.’ She didn’t know one end of a boxing glove from the other, but Kevin had given her a quick crash course with the aid of Wikipedia.

  Absame’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Now Gennady Golovkin; he’s some fighter.’

  This really threw Absame. He was staggered that this female cop would know about the Kazakh boxer who was regarded as the best fighter in his division and joint holder of four boxing boards’ world titles – only the WBO title was missing.

  ‘How—’

  ‘The most feared middleweight puncher there is. Unbeaten, too. Thirty-six fights, thirty-three knock-outs. Did a decent job on Daniel Jacobs in March. Mind you, Jacobs took him all the way. First time GGG had to go twelve rounds. But what about the Canelo Álvarez fight later this year?’

  Absame gave it some thought. ‘Could be close. Reckon Golovkin will shade it.’

  ‘How do you think you’d have shaped up to him?’

  Absame blinked shyly. ‘Too early. I wouldn’t have been ready yet.’

  ‘The point is that you were deprived of your chance. The Oligarch pretended to be a Kazakh promoter, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah. Bastard said he was connected to Golovkin. That was his way in. Promised me the earth. I was conned. So was Bogdan.’

  ‘Your trainer, Bogdan Kovać?’

  ‘The idiot blabbed about giving me steroids. I was only on them during the early days. I was a skinny little runt to start with. Built me up. But when I realized they might be doing me harm in the long run, I stopped all that. Bogdan wasn’t happy. I think he was making money out of the steroids. Got some of the other kids onto them. I was clean when I came across that journalist bastard. Not that it mattered when he’d finished with me.’

  ‘Is that when you fell in with Dragan Mitrović?’

  The suspicion came back into his eyes. She was pushing too quickly. ‘I only ask because he might have been better for your career than Kovać.’

  The two boxers in the ring had stopped fighting. ‘OK,’ Absame called and they ducked out through the ropes.

  ‘Herr Mitrović likes boxing. He would have been good for me. He cares about me. He was angry when my career was ruined. He was angry with Bogdan. He said Bogdan had let the Serbs in Sweden down. But it was Bogdan who taught me everything I know.’

  ‘And he’s not around anymore?’

  ‘Disappeared. Probably pissed off back home to Serbia. And good riddance.’

  Anita doubted that Bogdan Kovać had ever got as far as Serbia. That was one body that wasn’t likely to turn up any time soon.

  ‘Look, Absame, I’ve got to ask you where you were on the Sunday night that The Oligarch was killed. At least try and give me an alibi.’

  ‘Ask herr Mitrović.’ After opening him up, he was on the defensive again. He turned and strode off to the changing rooms.

  On returning to the polishus, Anita poked her head round Hakim’s door to see how he was getting on.

  A boggle-eyed Hakim rubbed his eyes. ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ she said, coming in and shutting the door behind her. ‘And then you won’t get into trouble with Zetterberg.’

  ‘So you’ve been to see Absame.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  He didn’t have to answer. She put a slice of sticky cake she’d picked up from ICA on the way back from the gym down in front of him. She knew Hakim had a sweet tooth.

  ‘Thought you might need this before Ramadan starts.’

  His eyes lit up. ‘Thanks. Yeah, Friday. Habit, I suppose. Liv’s being very good. She says she’s not going to eat when I’m around during the day. When I’m out of sight, that’s a different matter.’

  She went to the window and peered out. The mixed weather of the last few days was beginning to settle down. It was such a relief to see the trees coming into leaf and the sun caressing the buildings on Kungsgatan. If the weather kept fine over the weekend, she’d take Kevin off for the day somewhere. Potter around southern Skåne. Find somewhere off the beaten track to have lunch.

  ‘Oh,’ said Hakim behind her, his mouth full of cake. He swallowed it before continuing. ‘Pontus and Bea are rather pleased with themselves as they’ve found out that Claes Svärdendahl did leave his sex party at one stage. A woman saw him in the car park and get into his car. Then he drove off.’ Hakim smirked. ‘Apparently, she was disappointed as she wanted to... you know...’

  ‘Bag a celebrity bonk?’

  ‘I knew you’d have the right words. She thought it was around nine, though she couldn’t be positive. She saw him again later that night, after midnight, and snared him in a corridor. Didn’t bother going into one of the rooms. Up against a wall.’ Anita pulled a face. ‘If you want more graphic details, Pontus will happily oblige. What she did say, apart from finding his performance rather disappointing, was that she got the impression he was distracted. Needless to say, Zetterberg’s all excited, and she’s off to talk to him in Stockholm on Friday.’

  ‘That’ll give us a
break. I’m looking forward to Friday already.’

  Anita leant against the window. She could feel the warmth from the sun gently heating up her back. It felt good.

  ‘Any luck with Allinger?’

  Hakim shook his head as he wiped the last crumbs of the cake from his mouth. ‘No. He definitely didn’t get off at Central. I’m going through the Triangeln footage at the moment. Even if he got off there, it would be just before one. And if he went to Sami Litmanen’s at around ten that night, we’ll have nine hours unaccounted for. He could have been anywhere in Malmö.’

  ‘We’ll deal with that problem when you find him.’ Reluctantly, she pushed herself away from her sun bath. ‘Don’t work too late. Go and see that lovely fiancée of yours.’

  ‘And you’ve got Kevin to rush home to,’ he said with a sly grin. Was she getting the old Hakim back?

  ‘Not tonight. He’s babysitting Leyla. Loves it. Besides, I’m going to check this Mikael Nilsson incident. I want to know which officers were present and if one of them could have passed on information to Allinger.’

  It was after nine by the time Anita had parked her car opposite her apartment. She’d been through the system to find that Mikael Nilsson had been involved in an incident outside a Malmö restaurant two years before. He’d followed a customer out of the restaurant and an altercation had taken place. The manager had phoned the police, who had turned up just as the argument was getting physical. According to the statement Mikael Nilsson gave the two officers at the scene, the customer – one Thomas Olin – had been bad-mouthing Finns. Mikael Nilsson had taken exception to the man’s views. After things had calmed down, Nilsson was let off with a caution. In the report, one of the officers had remarked that they thought it was odd that a Swede was so defensive about Finns. Anita had checked out both officers. One had since retired and the other was still based in Malmö. She wasn’t sure if it was worth taking it any further given that anybody in the polishus could have accessed the file. At this moment in time, she was more interested in making herself something to eat and unwinding with a nice cup of herbal tea.