And Ewan? He had spent the night in hospital before emerging relatively unscathed. The few bruises would heal quickly. The mental trauma of his experience might take a lot longer to come to terms with. She had only seen him on one occasion after he came into the polishus to give a brief statement as to the events on the rooftop. They had met for a coffee at the Malmö Konsthall gallery, not far from her apartment. It hadn’t been as awkward as she feared it might be.
Now he was treating her to dinner at Elysée on Lilla Nygatan, close to the canal. She wanted to look good for him. Choosing the right clothes had been difficult – her choice was limited. Eventually, she had decided on the black and purple one she had bought last year at Indiska and had never found an occasion to wear. It was as short as she dared wear these days and had a shapely neckline, but without the worry of her boobs falling out. She knew what would go well with it – her Lotta Lind starfish pendant. As she put it on – it was turquoise rather than Malin Lovgren’s deep blue – she reflected that she had got that all wrong. She had thought its discovery would be the key to the case. She smiled ruefully at the mirror. That was just one of a number of mistakes she had made.
Now she was ready for Ewan. She was pretty sure that she would invite him back to the apartment afterwards. She had rushed around tidying up and even did some much-needed dusting and cleaning. More tellingly, she had changed the sheets on the bed. Well, you never knew what might happen. Whatever did, she had a feeling that this could become a more meaningful relationship than she had had with anyone since Björn. She wondered how Lasse would take the news that she had found someone new. Maybe now that he had Rebecka, he would be fine with it.
Sudden last-minute thought. Should she wear her glasses or not? Vanity said no. Practicality said yes. She wanted to be able to read the menu. Practicality won. She reached for her coat. If the opportunity arose, she still had one question that she needed to ask Ewan. He might not know the answer, but she could no longer ask Roslyn whether he had murdered Debbie Usher. She wanted to be able to put Inspector Gazzard’s mind at rest.
Ewan waited nervously inside the restaurant. Anita had chosen well. Elysée was both cosy and sophisticated. Classical striped wallpaper, old pictures and portraits and glass mirrors achieved the French effect he assumed it was striving for. The padded leather chairs shimmered in the glow of the inevitable tealights on the tables. The music was eclectic, ranging from Roy Orbison to Vivaldi, via Miles Davis. As he perused the menu, he kept glancing towards the entrance. Was she being fashionably late? It was a big night for him. It could be the cherry on his rapidly expanding cake. The last few days, which he had spent at David’s flat, had been eventful. His extraordinary Swedish experience had turned out very nicely, thank you. Ewan couldn’t help smiling to himself. He had been at the epicentre of what had turned out to be a huge story in Sweden, where his face had been plastered all over the media. And in Britain, too, thanks to the articles he had written and Brian’s desperate bullishness. He had even done interviews from a Malmö TV studio with both ITN and BBC’s Newsnight. Things would change when he got home. Novo News would be history. A high-profile job within the group awaited. Maybe even a national paper would come sniffing. A book? Now that was a thought. As long as he didn’t have to work for Brian again he would be happy. And, best of all, he had fallen in love with an amazing woman. Even more astonishing, Anita seemed to be keen on him. For the first time since Debbie, he felt that he had met the love of his life.
Anita arrived fifteen minutes late, full of apologies. On leaving her apartment she remembered his passport, which she was returning to him officially. The meal went well. Ewan had avoided piling too much on his plate from the complimentary self-service salad bar, despite the mouth-watering choice. Then he had a fancy mushroom dish before settling for a beautifully tender, thin steak. He had ordered a Rioja, which Anita seemed to love. Conversation had come easily. Nothing was stilted or forced. They just seemed to get on naturally. And he had cracked it at last – he could imagine Anita totally naked. The thought gave him an illicit thrill.
Anita had the large wine glass in her hand and took a gentle sip. Over its rim she fixed Ewan with a mock stare. ‘You still haven’t told me about that Scottish lord who ended up in Malmöhus.’
‘Ah, yes. James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell. I discovered why he was imprisoned here.’ He put down his knife and fork. The plate was embarrassingly clean. ‘Before his time with Mary Queen of Scots he came over to Copenhagen and fell for Anna Tronds, a Norwegian noblewoman, whose father was a famous admiral serving as Danish Royal Consul. This was a time when Norway was under Danish rule. Bothwell got engaged to Anna and left for Flanders. Haven’t discovered why they went there. Then the wicked Bothwell announced he had no money and persuaded Anna to sell all her possessions and to ask her family for money too. He then failed to marry her and disappeared with the dowry.
‘Then he gets caught up with Mary Queen of Scots, kills her English husband Lord Darnley, and then marries the monarch. However, it didn’t last long as they were defeated in battle and he escaped to Scandinavia to raise an army to put Mary back on the throne. But his luck ran out. He was picked up off the coast of Norway without proper papers and taken to Bergen, which just happened to be Anna’s home town. While under arrest there, she made an official complaint against him. Even then his charm seemed to have worked and he persuaded Anna to take his ship in compensation. She agreed, but the King of Denmark heard about the English wanting him for the murder of Lord Darnley and he was brought here to Malmö and thrown in your local prison. And I know what that’s like,’ he added with a smirk.
Anita flushed. She didn’t want reminding. ‘Did he ever get out?’
Ewan nodded his head. ‘Out of Malmöhus? Yes, after five or six years. But then he was sent to the dungeons of Dragsholm Castle in Denmark. They say you can still see the pillar he was chained to. After ten years of captivity he went mad and died.’ Ewan shivered. ‘I’m not bloody surprised. Three days inside your place and I was going insane. Enclosed spaces freak me out.’
Anita reached across the table and placed her hand on his. ‘I’m sorry. It should never have happened.’
He manoeuvred his hand round, so he could squeeze hers.
‘It’s ok. I could always forgive you anything.’
Their eyes met.
‘Anita, you look fantastic.’ She beamed. Her pleasure at his remark was evident. He knew he was hopelessly in love.
‘That pendant really shows off your neck. It’s lovely. I’ve seen one like that somewhere before.’
Anita removed her hand and it automatically went to the pendant. She absent-mindedly fingered it gently. ‘It’s from my home town of Simrishamn. It’s by Lotta Lind. Just like the one that Malin Lovgren wore on the night of…’
Ewan saw her face change slowly from one of proud reflection to puzzlement and then on to appalled horror. ‘Herregud!’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Mick was trying to kill you because he knew you had murdered his wife. Thanks to me, you were about to get away with a perfect murder.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘The pendant. We never released that information. You could only have seen it on that night!’ She couldn’t shake the incredulity from her voice. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’
Ewan stared at Anita. This was the face of a woman who had captured his heart. He never thought he would fall in love again, but it had happened. He couldn’t lie to her, not any longer. He nodded. ‘Almost exactly as you described at the police station.’
Anita struggled to get the words out. ‘And Debbie?’ she whispered.
What the hell!
‘Yep.’
By The Same Author
Now read the beginning of the next Anita Sundström mystery, MURDER IN MALMÖ
Available from all major eBook retailers.
PROLOGUE
It was a fine, clear, tranquil evening and there was nothing to hamper his line o
f fire. He could see the two women chatting animatedly. They waved their arms extravagantly as they spoke, to add emphasis to whatever they were discussing. Their actions were caught in the lights of the entrance to the drab block of apartments. The whole area was a sea of faceless, formless concrete. Unimaginative buildings filled with unwanted people.
Rosengård wasn’t a part of Malmö that he had been to before. It had taken him time to get his bearings. To get a feel for the urban terrain; his new war zone. And he was in enemy territory. These people weren’t his people. They were invaders from foreign lands. Intruders, like these two women in front of the apartment block, who were now the centre of his attention.
He moved further behind the bush. No one else was around. He could hear snatches of music and voices coming from televisions because windows were open, due to the warmth. He smelt the faint whiff of cigarette smoke from somewhere nearby; probably someone on a balcony. But he wasn’t worried about being spotted. He could deal with any situation. And he had his favoured large-calibre handgun, which gave him an automatic advantage.
Now the women seemed to have come to the end of their conversation. They looked as though they were about to part. He raised his gun and lined up his targets. Each of the women was wearing a brightly coloured hijab. Somehow it made it easier that he couldn’t see their faces clearly. He would need to shoot quickly, as he wanted to hit them both. His finger hovered gently over the trigger. He steadied himself. There was now a gap between the women. He tensed.
Two shots. The women silently slumped to the ground. There was a shout from a nearby window, but he didn’t hear it. He was gone.
CHAPTER 1
The mirror caught Tommy Ekman’s self-satisfied smile. The brilliant white teeth between open lips were the most obvious sign, but it was the sparkle in the cool blue eyes that really reflected the inner delight. Despite it being seven in the morning, his eyes weren’t fogged up with sleep. He had been lying awake for the last half hour. He had been thinking about her. Not his wife Kristina, who was staying over at her father’s country place near Illstorp, but Elin.
He took out his toothbrush and squeezed on some toothpaste. Must keep those teeth looking dazzling. The smile again. Yes, he had made love to Elin at last. Over his office desk. He had been trying to engineer the opportunity ever since he had employed her as an account executive six months before. She had rebuffed his advances for awhile. “We’re both married,” had been her defence strategy. He started to brush his teeth vigorously, without ever losing sight of himself in the mirror. But last night he had breached her fortifications. His advertising agency had won that important pitch. Elin had led the successful team. They had broken out the champagne in his office. Others had slipped away over the next hour or so until they were the only ones left. Elin was a little high on her first big success with the agency. From then on in it hadn’t been that difficult to get into her knickers. Even he had been surprised at how easily she had succumbed. He would give her the raise he had pantingly promised her shortly before he had manoeuvred her onto his desk – but only as long as she was happy to provide “extracurricular” services to the boss.
Tommy rinsed out his mouth. He would still have to be careful with Kristina. He wouldn’t want her to find out. Her money was still useful - and her father’s business contacts. He didn’t want to rock the domestic boat, though he found it harder to make love to Kristina these days, despite the fact she was still an attractive woman. Maybe it was familiarity that had led to boredom on his part, or perhaps she hadn’t been as interested in the physical side of their relationship since the kids arrived. But the business was doing well, despite all the economic doom-mongers. Still, he didn’t want her to take him to the cleaners.
Kristina’s father had been useful with the “group”, too. Given him a foot up. Now he had cemented his place with his strategy ideas. They had gone down very well. One of the suggestions had been acted upon within a week. And the film had been a real success. He was confident that he would be running the show very soon. Then the “group” would make people sit up. On this beautiful, sunny May morning life couldn’t get any better.
He slipped off his pyjama bottoms and admired his naked figure in the mirror. He was still finely toned, despite all the client business lunches. And he still had stamina. Just ask Elin. Once aroused, she had been very accommodating. He was still laughing to himself when he stepped into the spacious wet-room cubicle, closed the door and flipped on the shower. It sprang into life, and he tilted his head upward and enjoyed the hard spray of hot, refreshing water hitting his face. It was invigorating. As he soaped his body, his mind began to wander again. Back to Elin. It had been so exciting. That triumphant moment of conquest. He could feel the first stiffening in his groin. It was only as he put the soap back in its cradle that he became aware of a strange tingling in his throat. He looked down at the silver circular outflow cover on the floor beneath his feet. The water was running out as usual, but something didn’t seem quite right. His head began to swim and he started to feel giddy. His eyes were misting over.
Tommy flapped at the shower tap and the water stopped flowing almost immediately, except for a few final drops. He swayed in the cubicle, not sure whether he would be able to keep on his feet. What the hell was happening to him? With great difficulty he managed to slide the cubicle doors apart. In front of him the bathroom was a blurred vision of dancing pale green and blue tiles. He stumbled out of the cubicle, still dripping wet. He tried to steady himself against the wash-hand basin, but his grasping fingers missed the edge and he sank to his knees as he wretched up some dribbled green saliva and the remnants of last night’s champagne. Why was his skin so itchy? Frantically he ripped at his arms and chest with his nails. With a huge effort he half staggered to his feet and fell forward towards the door of the bedroom. He didn’t make it, and sprawled on the bathroom floor. He tried to call out for help. Not that there was anybody in the apartment to hear him at that time in the morning. But all that came out of his mouth was a fresh burst of vomit. The dizziness was sickening. He couldn’t fight it any longer. Why was this happening? His throat, his skin, his eyes, his head were all on fire. He lay in a heap on the floor. He could feel himself slipping into a void of unconsciousness. His limbs, totally independent of his fast-evaporating will, gave a last defiant jerk.
Rays of early morning sunshine speared through the frosted glass of the bathroom window like a prism and bathed the dead body of Tommy Ekman in a brilliant light show. Below the bulging eyes, his mouth was wide open, frozen in the moment, in the cry for help that never came out. The sunlight made his teeth sparkle.
Meet me in Malmö: The first Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Page 27