‘Tell you what you could do,’ he said like a teacher who can’t think of what task to give a persistent student who has finished their work too quickly, ‘You can go over to see our Mr Roslyn and tell him that we are making progress with the case. You can even tell him we’ve arrested someone and that his theory about Olof Palme is a load of bollocks.’
‘Do you want me to let him leave the safe house?’
Moberg scratched his stomach. ‘Better not. Forget the Palme stuff. I think I prefer him out of the way for the moment until this is all tied up. He’s the sort of guy who will rush off to the press with his bleeding-heart story.’
Anita knew exactly why he didn’t want Roslyn running around free. Moberg didn’t want any of the limelight taken off himself. Besides, Anita had her own reasons for talking to Roslyn. She wanted to ask him a question.The car still stank horribly all the way to the farmhouse outside Vellinge, south of Malmö on the E22 to Trelleborg. The sky was threatening snow and she wanted to get back to Malmö before it started. Right now she knew that Moberg would be piling the pressure on Halvar Mednick to get him to confess. He was such an intimidating presence that she had seen a number of suspects and non-suspects crumble under his aggressive interrogations. She hadn’t much sympathy with Mednick, but she had this nagging feeling that they were after the wrong man. So much pointed to him, yet the way he had said “I didn’t kill her” had the sound of a man who believed it to be true.
The farmhouse was long, low-slung and narrow, like so many in Skåne. It stood by itself at the end of track surrounded by dark fields waiting for the new planting. No fences or hedges broke up the landscape around it. There were a few winter-weary trees behind the farm buildings, which needed a lick of paint. So did the farmhouse; its once brilliant whiteness now grubby and peeling. That was why it didn’t attract attention. That was why the Skåne County Police had squirrelled Mick Roslyn away here.
She asked the policeman who met her at the door how Roslyn was getting on. ‘Pain in the arse,’ was his succinct reply. Mick was watching television when she came into the main room. He had the remote control in his hand and was idly channel-hopping. When he saw Anita, he threw away the remote but left the TV on, which immediately irritated her.
‘What’s happening?’ he asked without bothering to get up. He had let himself go in the twenty-four hours he had been at the farm. The artfully dishevelled appearance had descended into the merely dishevelled. The designer stubble was sprouting into a fledgling beard, which went neatly with the black rims under his eyes. Mick Roslyn hadn’t slept much recently.
Anita went straight to the television set and switched it off to make sure she gained his full attention. She knew that she should just tell him about the arrest and get out of there. But she couldn’t. In fact, she knew that what she was about to ask would probably come back and haunt her. Certainly get her into trouble with Moberg. After what she had been through today she no longer cared what anybody thought.
‘Monday night?’
‘What about Monday night?’ Mick’s eyes narrowed as though the light in the room was too strong.
‘You told us you were in a meeting.’
‘Yeah.’
‘But you weren’t, were you?’
She could see he was about to bluster, but he realized that it was a waste of time. They must have checked. So he didn’t say anything.
‘That means you have no alibi for the night your wife was murdered.’
‘I shouldn’t bloody need one.’ His anger was instant, just as it had been in the interview room in the polishus. He wasn’t used to being challenged. She had riled him and that was a positive sign. Nordlund had once told her that getting a suspect to lose their temper was a great way of getting them to drop their guard. Then they might let something slip out as their carefully prepared thought process had been thrown out of the window.
‘We have to look into every possibility. You wouldn’t expect us to do otherwise.’
‘I was in Stockholm. I was nowhere near Malmö.’
‘All we need to do is confirm you were in Stockholm when you said you were. You certainly weren’t at the meeting you said you attended. You lied,’ she said pointedly. ‘So I’m going to need you to provide us with proof that you were up there that night. And this time, the truth please.’ She knew Moberg would have a fit if he knew what she was doing. He was running the investigation and she was prying into an area that was closed to scrutiny. Mick Roslyn was not a suspect. If Roslyn kicked up a fuss then she might even be hauled in front of the commissioner. Even talking their chief suspect into handing over his gun without a shot being fired wouldn’t shield her from official wrath.
‘I was working on the Palme documentary. I told you that.’ He avoided any eye contact. He was flustered.
‘You’re saying no one can vouch for your whereabouts all afternoon and evening, until you got your flight first thing in the morning?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘By my reckoning, if you had a fast car…and I assume you have at least one…you could have got down here to Malmö and back up to Stockholm in that time. Just.’
‘You’re not seriously suggesting—’
‘I’m only saying that it is physically possible.’
Mick was out of his seat. He glared at her. ‘This is bloody unreal. I can’t believe you’re even asking me this.’
‘You’ve lied once. Why should I believe you now?’
He shook with fury. ‘Because I was with her!’
Anita let the silence settle on the room. Mick stormed over to the window and stood transfixed. The first feathering of snow was descending from a darkened sky.
She addressed his back. ‘Who is she?’
‘I loved my wife, you know.’ The anger had abated. ‘I wouldn’t have done her any harm.’
‘Who is she?’ Anita repeated. Gentler this time.
‘Tilda. Tilda Tegner. She’s an actress. She was in my last film.’
‘And you spent the evening with Miss Tegner?’
He half turned. ‘Yes. I’m not proud of what I did.’
Anita nearly screamed at him. Björn had said the same thing to her, more than once. Men seemed to use it as a get-out clause in their fidelity contract. It made everything ok.
‘Would Miss Tegner corroborate this?’
Mick looked genuinely appalled. ‘This won’t come out, will it?’
‘I don’t know.’ She knew it wouldn’t because he now had an alibi and therefore would never be considered a suspect. But she wasn’t going to let him off the hook just yet. ‘We may have to speak to her. For corrobaration.’
‘Bengt mustn’t know.’ He played distractedly with his wedding ring. Anita wondered how long he would go on wearing it. While it remained on his hand it would be a constant reminder of his unfaithfulness. Ewan Strachan had been right; Roslyn was “a ladies’ man” and he hadn’t changed his ways. He had a beautiful wife, yet he still couldn’t keep his hands off a younger model.
‘Bengt Valquist?’ Mick nodded. She could see that might not go down too well with his close associate. Bedding his girlfriend. It wouldn’t look good if it came out in the press, either. Public sympathy would soon dissipate.
‘What makes you think he doesn’t know already?’ She let that little grenade explode. ‘All right, that’s it.’ Anita bent down and turned the television back on. ‘I don’t have to interrupt your viewing any further.’
Mick appeared bewildered. Anita headed for the door, which she opened. ‘Oh, by the way, we’re interviewing a suspect at headquarters. He was arrested this morning. The Chief Inspector Moberg thought you might want to know.’
She didn’t wait for his reaction.
She had no idea why she had agreed to meet Ewan Strachan for a drink. She didn’t really want to see him; she was incredibly tired and she wanted to wash away the day in a hot shower. But the bathroom was half-painted. She had started it three weeks ago. The initial burst of enthusiasm had qu
ickly gone down the plughole and now the project had turned into a pain. She couldn’t face the lonely apartment by herself. Not tonight, or not yet anyway. If only Lasse were at home she could talk things through with him. He would cheer her up. Reassure her that everything would be all right. She had left the farmhouse on a high. She had felt good. She had made the confident Roslyn uncomfortable. But it was a cheap victory.
By the time she had got back to Malmö she was starting to worry about Roslyn making a complaint of harassment against her. She was a natural worrier. Lasse had often said that she could worry for Sweden if it ever became an Olympic sport. Lasse could always sense when something from work was bothering her. He would sit her down with a cup of something or a glass of wine and let her pour out her worries. And once they were out, they didn’t seem so bad. She had often felt guilty that he had to do the job of a husband or a partner. At his age he shouldn’t have to listen to his mum moaning on. But he did. An old head on young shoulders. Now that he was gone, there was no one to speak to.
So now she was sitting in the Mellow Yellow bar in Lilla Torg nursing a glass of red wine, with Ewan Strachan sipping a beer opposite her. She was too weary to feel self-conscious about the fact that they were easily the oldest customers in that evening. She had been expecting him to try and pump her for information on the case but he hadn’t. She had mentioned that they had a suspect who was helping them with enquiries, though he had already seen that on the TV. She didn’t reveal how the suspect had come into police custody.
‘Was that stuff that Mick told you of any use?’ Ewan asked when the first conversational exchanges had run into an awkward silence.
‘We’re looking into that. The only thing I can tell you is that the suspect at the polishus doesn’t seem to be connected with Mr Roslyn’s documentary.’
Ewan looked disappointed. That was a good story gone for a Burton. Never mind, he wouldn’t tell Brian just yet.
‘Are you married?’
The sudden question took Anita by surprise.
‘Sorry, that just popped out. None of my business.’
‘You’re right. It’s none of your business.’
Ewan flinched at the brusqueness of the reply. Yorkshire folk were meant to be blunt, but they had nothing on Swedish women. To his inherently polite British sensibilities it was a bit of a shock. Coming from such an attractive woman it was even weirder. Ewan retreated into his beer.
Anita realized that he had been taken aback. Maybe it was a chance to take her mind off the case for a while and talk about something else. After today she was even more confused. The dramatic arrest of Mednick and the revelation of Mick’s affair had only raised more questions than provided much-needed answers. Maybe she would shove the case to the back of her mind and re-examine it when she walked back to the quiet of Roskildevägen. She had left her stinking car in the polishus car park, as she couldn’t bear the smell any longer. She took off her glasses and put them next to her drink.
‘Divorced.’
Ewan came out of his beer.
‘I believe there’s a lot of divorce in Sweden. I mean, more than in a lot of countries.’
‘It’s a national pastime. Now, I haven’t time for a husband,’ she lied. ‘I’ve got a lovely son to look after.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Lasse. He’s coming up for nineteen. Away at university.’
‘Letting go. Can’t be easy. My mum died just before I went off to Durham, so I don’t know how she would have reacted. My father was delighted to see the back of me.’
Again Anita didn’t know whether he was being facetious or not.
‘It’s very hard for a mother.’ Anita put her glasses back on. Ewan thought she was just as beautiful with as without them.
‘And where’s your husband now?’ Ewan was feeling more relaxed in her company now. He was trying to get her to unwind because he could sense that she was tense and preoccupied.
‘He’s at the university in Uppsala.’
‘Obviously an academic.’
‘Professor now. He was just a lecturer when I met him.’
‘So how did a cop meet an academic? Not exactly the same line of country.’
‘I arrested him.’
Ewan looked at Anita blankly. Then he guffawed. ‘That’s fantastic.’
She was taken with his delight. His face lit up when he smiled. She thought that many things in life must amuse him. That was a good way to view things. Not the Swedish way.
‘So how come you arrested him?’ he said, still laughing.
‘We were called out to a rowdy party in Lund. That’s where I started after the National Police College in Stockholm. The neighbours complained. Parties with Björn were always noisy.’
‘Did he spend the night in the cells?’
‘Yes. He was drunk so he needed to sleep it off. It hadn’t helped that he had insulted the neighbours for complaining, but he came quietly enough.’
‘Not surprising. I’d happily be arrested by you.’ He smiled.
‘I don’t think you would.’ Though she said it seriously she couldn’t help but be flattered.
‘So how come arrest led to the altar?’
‘When we released him the next day he asked me out on a date. I was so surprised that I said “yes”.’
‘But it obviously didn’t last?’
‘Being surrounded by beautiful students was too much of a temptation.’
‘From lecturer to lecher?’
Anita smiled wearily. ‘Something like that.’
‘I won’t pry any further. Another drink…? Sorry, I can’t keep calling you Inspector.’
She finished her drink with an unladylike swig. ‘Another wine would be nice.’ She handed him her glass. ‘And it’s Anita.’
He took her glass. That twinkle was in his eye again. ‘Red wine…’ he let his tongue linger over ‘…Anita.’
As Ewan was over at the bar ordering the drinks Anita was trying to work him out. He was pleasant. Funny even. She was beginning to relax, which she didn’t often do socially in the company of men these days. She wasn’t so unaware that she couldn’t detect that he seemed smitten with her. He was no pretty boy, but she had been seduced down the handsome route too often for comfort. Yet something nagged at her; she had no idea what. She could see that he covered his loneliness with humour. But there was a hidden sadness. Swedes were good at detecting melancholy. They knew all about what they called svårmod, that blackness of the mind that came from the long winter nights. That was why the country went crazy at midsummer.
‘Skål!’ Anita said, raising her glass.
‘Skoll!’ Ewan replied, not quite getting his pronunciation right.
After a deep sip of beer, he put down his glass. ‘So, where have you hidden Mick?’
Ah. Was this the reason for the drink? Just when she was thinking it was because he wanted to be with her. Now it made her think again about Mick’s revelation.
‘Out of harm’s way.’
‘I hope I was useful to you. I mean, getting Mick to talk to you. He wasn’t keen until I persuaded him that he could trust you.’
It was her turn to smile. ‘Are you trying to say that I owe you a favour?’
‘No, that’s not what I’m after, honestly.’ He appeared genuinely horrified. ‘I just…’ but he seemed unable to complete the sentence.
Anita delved into her bag to try and find her tin of snus. The bag was like a black hole, and she was forever losing things in there. Had she left the tin in the office or the car? Oh, there it was. She pulled it out. She opened the lid and offered the tin to Ewan.
‘What’s that?’
‘Snus.’
‘What is it?’ he asked, pulling a face. ‘Looks like miniature teabags.’
She picked out a small sachet and held it in the palm of her hand. ‘It’s tobacco. You put it up here,’ she said putting her finger in her mouth between gum and upper lip. ‘It has minute fragments of fibreglass inside to punct
ure the gum so the tobacco gets in the bloodstream.’ Ewan pulled a face. ‘It’s good. It has helped me stop smoking. Snus is very popular in Sweden.’ And she popped a sachet into her mouth.
‘It sounds disgusting. I’ll stick to fags.’
Anita felt herself switching back into cop mode. ‘Actually, I was going to ask you about when you met Roslyn, at the Edinburgh film festival.’
He smirked. ‘Are you interrogating me again?’
‘We’re just chatting in a bar,’ she said holding up her glass, letting the light catch the richness of the red liquid. He hadn’t bought her the usual rubbishy wine she was used to on her occasional social outings.
‘Fair enough.’
‘Roslyn was there with Tilda Tegner and Bengt Valquist?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How was Roslyn with Miss Tegner?’
Ewan twirled his beer glass and puckered his lips. ‘Has he been playing away from home?’
Anita knew the expression from her time in London. She had also learned how to say “get lost” to over-amorous colleagues who saw the words “blonde Swedish woman” as a green light for an easy shag.
‘I am not saying that. It is just he’s a successful man and Miss Tegner is a young actress making her way in the business. He might be a mentor.’
‘I think Bengt Valquist assumes that role. To answer your question, there didn’t seem to be any untoward body language between them. In fact, it was Valquist who was the attentive chaperone. Possessive almost.’
‘And you’ve met Valquist since?’
‘A couple of times. Very nervous bloke, if you ask me.’
‘Could he easily become jealous?’
Ewan contemplated his beer. ‘A man with that little obvious self-confidence? Definitely.’
CHAPTER 20
Ewan had enjoyed going to bed last night. He had played various scenarios over and over in his mind. They all ended up with Anita Sundström in his arms. On waking he was disappointed that she hadn’t featured in any of his dreams. In fact, the only woman he could remember was Malin Lovgren. He had run away from her but, however far he scuttled, she was still there. Still dead. However, he had a spring in his step this morning. He had got Anita – yes, Anita – to promise him that if there were any new developments, she would tip him the wink. This was only extracted after he explained that he wouldn’t print anything unless she had given him the ok to do so. He had no way of delivering that promise.
Meet me in Malmö: The first Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Page 14