CHAPTER 18
The bus passed the two police cars. He couldn’t see any policemen. Maybe they were in the park. But why? Or could they be visiting fru Lovgren, who lived on the street? If that was the case, why two police cars? Surely it didn’t take that many cops to interview an old woman.
The bus reached the end of Beijersparksgatan and turned left into the wide avenue of Östra Fäladsgatan. His stop was coming up. He was now wary and glanced around for any signs of police activity. He couldn’t see anything suspicious, but he couldn’t quell his growing unease. Everything appeared normal, yet he was sure that things were different. Or was his mind just playing tricks?
He stood up and made his way to the middle of the bus. The bus came to a standstill and the doors whooshed open. The only people to get off were himself and a woman, who had difficulty manoeuvring a pram. She was black so he didn’t offer to help. She must live over in Segevång. On the spur of the moment he decided to pop into the video shop and pick up something to watch tonight. He fancied an action film. Stefan would recommend something good. He knew his movies.
By the time he left the video shop he really was feeling anxious. Stefan had acted strangely. They usually exchanged a bit of banter. In fact Stefan was one of the few people he knew round here. In the twelve months since he’d moved into Smedjekullsgatan he hadn’t made any friends. Not that he had actively sought any. Like most Swedes he didn’t go out of his way to be friendly. He didn’t know any of the five other people on his staircase. Two he had never even seen. The only one he had spoken to properly was the strange overdressed, over-dyed and over-bejewelled woman below, and that was to complain about her fluffy, yappy dog crapping outside the front door. They hadn’t spoken since. But the dog had stopped crapping there. Stefan had been offhand, and had avoided eye contact. In Afghanistan he had learned to sense danger, to register facial expressions and body language, and immediately assess if they were a threat. Even with the kids out there. Let your guard down and you might be standing next to a human bomb.
He stood outside the video shop clutching his DVD. He had picked it out himself, as Stefan had been so uncommunicative. He decided against going into the mini-mart. If they were after him he would be trapped in there. Only one entrance/exit. He needed to get back onto home ground. He needed his gun.
It was Olander who spotted him first. His tell-tale red cap was pulled down over his eyes. The blue ski jacket.
‘That’s him, Inspector.’
‘Hell. Moberg expected him to be in the apartment.’
Anita could tell immediately that Mednick knew that something was up. His movements weren’t those of someone casually making their way home. He was furtive. Had he seen one of the policemen who were dotted around the area? She cursed. They should be out of sight. She realized she had to make a quick decision. Moberg must already be in the apartment by now. Knowing him he would have kicked the door down when there was no answer. If Mednick had a gun then he might catch the three officers unawares – and there wasn’t time to ring them. She had to distract Mednick.
It was instinct that drove her through the door and across the garden as she ignored Olander’s despairing call. Mednick was already inside the building opposite but the heavy glass door hadn’t quite clicked shut when she reached it, and she was able to slip inside. The concrete steps in front of her rose up to the first set of apartments, on the left and right at either end of the short landing. The steps then continued up. She could hear Mednick right above her, so he must be approaching the next set of apartments. The three officers were on the landing above that. She heard him stop. She froze. She held her breath. He must have been alerted by noise coming from his own apartment. Would he come back down? If he did, she was in trouble because she hadn’t brought her gun with her. When they set off from the Polishus it hadn’t been that sort of operation. But what if he had a gun and was desperate? She didn’t have to time to think that one through.
Suddenly she heard Mednick move. He leapt up the stairs quickly. She was about to call out as she herself moved forward, but he bolted past the open door of his apartment, which was wobbling on its hinges, and up the steps beyond. Anita realized that he probably wasn’t armed, otherwise he would have tried to escape down the stairs or burst in on the police intruders. She knew he was heading for what must be the apartment block’s storage cages in the attic. He must have something up there that he desperately wanted to get hold of. She stifled a call as she rushed past the open apartment door because she didn’t want to alert Mednick. If she was quiet enough, she could surprise him and avoid the inevitable shoot-out with her in the middle.
Anita reached the upper landing. She fought to control the gasps of breath that would give her away. In front of her was an open door. A Hamrelius Bokhandel plastic bag lay on the floor in front of her. She eased herself forward. She could hear the rattle of a key. He was unlocking his cage door. She peered in but it was semi-dark. He hadn’t wasted precious time by switching on the light. All she could see from the light cast through the open door was the metal mesh of the cages and the jumble of unidentified objects behind - the assembled rubbish, heirlooms and unused items collected from six different lives. She could hear Mednick breathing as he rummaged around in the gloom. In that moment she decided to dash across the few feet of floor and shut him in his cage and try and lock him in – or hold him there while she called out for reinforcements. The theory might have been right but she hadn’t made allowance for Mednick’s swift reactions. Though he had been taken by surprise by her sudden appearance, the instant Anita reached the cage door he was pointing a gun at her head.
Her mind had gone blank. She must have had thoughts but none of them registered. Anita stared at the hole at the end of the barrel of the gun that was aiming straight at her. It was almost hypnotic. The closest she had been to another person holding a weapon was on the police shooting range. She was aware that they were both breathing heavily. Nervous gulps of air. Anita managed to tear her gaze away from the gun and look up into Halvar Mednick’s eyes. Not that anything was revealed - the lack of light and the shadow cast by the peak of his cap ensured that. What she could sense was that he didn’t know what to do next. That indecision was a good sign. If he had been decisive she would already be dead.
‘I didn’t do it,’ he whispered.
Now she was aware that someone was coming up the stairs to the cages. Olander would have followed her and alerted the others in the flat. Mednick lifted his head.
‘Don’t come any further,’ he called out. ‘I’ll shoot her.’
‘No need for that.’ Moberg kept his voice calm. ‘Just come out. We won’t shoot.’
As Anita glanced towards the door to see where Moberg was, Mednick’s left hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her round so that her throat was lodged in the crook of his arm. She was now facing the door with Mednick’s arm round her neck in a headlock. The gun nuzzled against the side of her head. The cold metal sent a shiver through her. She couldn’t move. This was a strong man who could throttle her in an instant. Just as he had done with Malin Lovgren?
At last she found her voice, but it didn’t carry any conviction.
‘Please, let me go. Hand yourself over.’
His breath in her right ear was almost deafening.
‘I didn’t do it.’ His whisper was hoarse and strained. ‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘Come on, Halvar,’ Moberg called from just outside the door. ‘Kill a police officer and you’ll never see the light of day again. They’ll throw away the key.’
She could have spat at Moberg if he had been within range. She didn’t want him throwing around threats while she was in the grip of a nervous gunman.
‘You can’t get away. You’ll only make things worse for yourself.’
Shut it, Moberg! You’re closing down all his options. Anita tried to keep the mind-numbing panic that had enveloped her out of her voice as she spoke to her captor.
‘Halvar.’ There was no moisture left
in her mouth and the words came out in a dry croak. ‘If you didn’t do anything, then you have nothing to fear.’
If Mednick hadn’t been holding her she would have collapsed in a heap on the floor. Her legs had lost the ability to support the rest of her body.
‘Shut the door,’ he shouted. ‘Shut the door, or she’s dead.’
‘Anita, are you ok?’ Moberg called back.
‘Yeah. But do as he says.’
There was a moment’s hesitation outside the door. Moberg’s huge frame came into view and blocked almost any light from coming into the room. ‘Harm her and I’ll personally rip your balls off.’
Anita would have been touched by Moberg’s concern, but maybe it was just another opportunity to threaten Mednick.
‘Switch the light on, and then shut the door.’ Mednick issued his instructions to Moberg confidently.
Moberg leaned in and flicked the switch by the door. Now he could see the difficult position that Anita was in – and the potential problems his team faced with a hostage situation. Reluctantly, he closed the door.
Mednick released his grip. Anita gingerly caressed the front of her neck, nursing the bruised muscles. She slowly turned and faced him. Mednick was tall and wellbuilt. A good physique for the army. Anita put him in his early thirties, though he had the gaunt, sallow features of someone older. He didn’t feed himself properly, she concluded. Then she chided herself for thinking like a mum when she should be thinking like a cop.
‘Sorry.’
She couldn’t make him out. He was frightened. Was that because he knew he had been caught for murdering one of his country’s leading personalities? Or was it because he found himself in an impossible position? At least he had choices again. He could give himself up. He could shoot her. He could shoot himself. He could shoot them both.
‘You know it’s best to give yourself up.’
‘They’ll say that I killed her. But I couldn’t have.’
He was almost pleading with her. He wanted her to believe him.
‘Why couldn’t you?’
He shook his head as though he couldn’t understand why she had even asked. ‘Because I loved Malin Lovgren.’
She could hear murmurings outside the door. Moberg was deciding what to do. Please don’t burst in with all guns blazing. Surely even he wouldn’t be that stupid. Mednick didn’t seem to notice the activity outside. His thoughts were elsewhere. Anita held out her hand. She spoke gently: ‘Halvar, give me the gun.’
When Anita and Mednick emerged, Moberg, Nordund, Westermark and Olander were standing on the stairs. Nordlund and Westermark’s guns were pointing at the door. They put their guns away when they saw that Mednick wasn’t going to put up any resistance. Moberg gestured to Westermark, who whipped out a pair of handcuffs and clamped them onto Mednick’s wrists. Then he took Mednick roughly by the arm and led him down the stairs. Olander followed. Moberg watched Mednick leave, then turned Anita. She handed him Mednick’s gun.
‘What the fuck do you think you were doing putting yourself in that position? It was utterly unprofessional.’
‘I was trying to stop you from getting shot,’ she spluttered in fury. She pointed viciously at the broken door. ‘And you call that professional? That alerted him.’
She saw his fist tighten. Was he going to hit her? Then he suddenly smiled. ‘Well done, Inspector.’
She couldn’t believe it. The bastard. It took the wind out of her sails.
‘You’d better have a look,’ he said, waving a massive hand in the direction of the apartment.
‘He said he didn’t do it.’
‘Oh yes he did.’
Anita followed the lumbering Moberg down the steps. As she passed Nordlund he laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His expression asked whether she was ok. She nodded that she was fine. Her fury at Moberg had buried her fear. The realization of what she had been through would hit her later.
The apartment was neat and tidy. Or maybe everything was just shoved out of sight from inspecting eyes, the soldier’s way. The wooden floor was beautifully polished. Lasse would approve. Moberg led the way from the hall straight into the bedroom. The sight that met Anita’s gaze was incredible. The walls were plastered with photos of Malin Lovgren, taken from magazines and newspapers. They were all shapes and sizes. The beautiful actress stared out from every wall, every nook and cranny, with summer clothes, with winter clothes, with no clothes. There was even a poster of her stuck to the roof, so that he could lie in bed and gaze up at her. This was obsession. This was sickness. It was a shrine to a goddess who didn’t want to be worshipped.
Anita was having difficulty getting her head round how any rational human being could get to this stage. Does this turn someone into a murderer because the object of their passion, their desire, their every waking thought can never really be theirs? Because they can’t get close, does it mean they feel rejected? Malin Lovgren hadn’t answered his first letter. Had he found that hard to accept? He had supposedly threatened her, according to Roslyn. Had that threat turned into actual action? Mednick had held Anita in the same grip that had killed the actress. It was the natural reflex of a highly trained man. Halvar Mednick fitted the bill for their murderer.
In the opposite corner of the room was a TV and DVD recorder. Below were a line of DVDs, which Anita assumed would all be Lovgren films. Moberg squeezed round the side of the bed. ‘And the final proof.’
He leant over a table on which there was a bedside lamp. Next to the lamp was a framed photograph of Lovgren. Moberg bent down and picked something up. He came back round the bed and stood in front of Anita.
‘Remember what you said at the end of our first briefing? You said if we found the pendant, we would find our murderer.’
Moberg opened his paw and there was the Lotta Lind blue starfish pendant.
CHAPTER 19
He was in the sports bar on Östra Förstadsgatan when he heard that a man was helping the police with their enquiries. Ewan had gone to the bar with Alex to watch a mid-week FA Cup replay. English football was big in Scandinavia and all the Premier League matches were shown every weekend in Sweden. The place was almost empty. The freshly falling snow had put off the punters. The bar was sparsely furnished, with only the TVs passing for décor. There were no fripperies, no stylish touches, no imaginative flourishes. Beer and football were the only reasons for punters to come in. And warmth. Ewan had just bought in their second beer and the Swedish pundits were still giving the viewers the benefit of their knowledge and score forecasts when the broadcast was interrupted by a newsflash. An earnest female newsreader came on. Behind her Ewan recognized a picture of Malin Lovgren. He put his glass down and strained to understand what was being said. Then the cameras went over to a reporter standing in the swirling snow outside the police headquarters. It didn’t last long and he had to ask Alex to enlighten him.
‘The police have taken someone in for questioning.’
Ewan smiled. ‘Blimey, that’s quick.’
‘Doesn’t mean they’ve got the right one. They’ve cocked up before.’
They turned their attention to the match, which was just kicking off. But Ewan couldn’t concentrate. Before coming out he had had a call from Brian to know whether there were any fresh developments. He was keen. A bit too keen. He was putting the pressure on. Ewan had managed to fob him off with some scraps of information on Olof Palme that he had found on the Internet. That had only whetted Brian’s appetite further. He had already run upstairs to the managing director and promised him that a massive scoop was in the offing. The bloody halfwit! Ewan had tried to impress on him that there was nothing concrete yet. Now had come this piece of news. Ewan wondered who on earth it could be. Could they have tracked down some ex-secret service operative so quickly? If they had, could they make a murder charge stick? It was puzzling.
At half-time Ewan went to the toilet. When he had finished he took out his mobile and made a call. ‘What about that drink?’
&nbs
p; It had been another long day by the time she answered her mobile. Anita was sitting at her desk going over the events that had shaken her, then got her mind racing again. The after-shock of her experience in the loft of Mednick’s apartment block only hit home when she was sitting in her car near the park. When she had got into the vehicle she had been fine. Calm even, given the near-death situation she had just been through. Then she had begun to tremble. She couldn’t control her limbs. Then bile had gushed up from her stomach to her throat and she had been sick. All over the passenger seat. Fortunately, she had been alone. Then she had cried. Uncontrollably. A man had walked past and hurried on. He hadn’t stopped to ask her if she was all right. The sight of a woman sobbing had caused him embarrassment. She could tell by the way he pretended not to notice her.
Anita had done her best to mop up the mess but the car stank all the way back to the polishus. Moberg had told her to go home. Relax. Open a bottle of wine. But she knew that if she did that then she would just keep replaying the whole horrible scene over again in her mind. And in one of those replays she might not come out alive.
She had cleaned herself up in the ladies’ before reporting back to Moberg who, though pleased with himself, was smarting at the bollocking that the public prosecutor, Sonja Blom, had given him for rushing in to make an arrest without a warrant or her say-so. Moberg had explained that it wasn’t an arrest but simply a matter of asking Halvar Mednick nicely if he would like to come down to headquarters and answer a few friendly questions. Then he had lost his temper and told her that they had just caught a ‘fucking murderer’ and hadn’t the time to wait around for her ‘fucking permission’ to do his job. Moberg knew he would pay for his outburst later, but it had made him feel good at that moment. Sonja Blom was not the best person to cross. He told Anita that he and Nordlund would do the initial interview and he was certain it wouldn’t take long to get a confession. Anita was not so sure.
Meet me in Malmö: The first Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Page 13