Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4)

by Torquil Macleod

  ‘Surely not,’ said Anita in all seriousness.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded. ‘Might be being a bit harsh there. They’re lovely girls, but Abigail and Hazel live in a different world to mine or yours. Like Lasse, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kevin. I’ve been so absorbed with this Rylander business, I haven’t even asked you about your girls.’

  Kevin drained the last of his coffee. ‘They’re good. Abigail’s twenty-first is coming up next month. My ex is generously allowing me to pay for the night out.’

  ‘But you’re going?’

  ‘I’ll put in an appearance. Abigail wants to have a few drinks at her mum’s place and then go off with her mates clubbing in Newcastle. I’ll have to meet Leanne’s new bloke. Works in advertising, apparently, so he’s probably a dick. And Abigail’s boyfriend will be there too. Darren isn’t going to become a member of Mensa any day soon, but he’s all right. They met at work in the council offices In South Shields. That’s the other side of the Tyne from—’

  ‘North Shields.’

  Kevin grinned. ‘Of course, that’s where we first… you know.’

  ‘I think that was one to forget.’

  He toyed with his coffee cup, still with an amused look on his face. ‘Anyway, they live in a flat down there. She gave up a hairdressing course when she realized she would never earn enough to go out all the time. As for Hazel, she’s getting on for eighteen now. Doing ‘A’ levels at Newcastle College. Might even be the first one in our family to go to university. Still lives at home, but she’s got a sensible head on her shoulders. She comes over to see me from time to time for the weekend. Likes the countryside and getting out. Her big sister is too like Leanne for comfort. Abigail took one look at Penrith and decided it was the most boring place on earth because it didn’t have the nightlife you get in Newcastle; and she hasn’t been back since.’

  ‘It must be hard not seeing them that much.’

  ‘They could be at the other end of the country. Or abroad.’

  ‘I’m lucky to have Lasse in the same city, even though I don’t see that much of him since he moved in with Jazmin.’

  ‘Feisty girl. I wouldn’t like to get the wrong side of her.’ Anita nodded in cheerful agreement. ‘Anyway, I hope you’ll meet the girls sometime. I’m sure they’ll like you, if Leanne doesn’t poison their minds first. It’s all right for her to have lots of men but, strangely, she’s not keen on me moving on.’

  ‘And I think we should be moving on,’ Anita said decisively. She stood up before Kevin launched into a tirade about his ex-wife. ‘You’re the tour guide. Where next?’

  ‘We’d like you to accompany us to headquarters,’ said Wallen firmly, Hakim standing rigidly at her side.

  Markus Asplund stood wavering at the end of the platform. He could see that the two officers weren’t going to budge. His eyes suddenly lost the usual brightness that shone out of the glossy photos of him in the Malasp Travel advertisements. The haunted expression showed Wallen and Hakim that their number-one suspect had been expecting this.

  CHAPTER 36

  ‘Here it is.’

  Kevin and Anita stood on the pavement, gazing at a long block of apartments with shops and offices underneath, made up of prefabricated concrete panels, only broken up visually by some low trees and straggling bushes. Even by GDR standards, the blocks were dreary, yet, according to the various information boards dotted all along Wilhelmstrasse, this was where some of Germany’s most historically important buildings once stood: a street of palaces that had gradually morphed into offices of state. The one they were looking at now was the site of the Foreign Ministry. To the left had been the Reich Chancellery and to the right, the Presidential Palace; behind them was the office of Hitler’s Deputy, Rudolph Hess, and the Reich Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda run by Joseph Goebbels.

  ‘To think, nearly a hundred years ago, the people in there,’ said Kevin pointing towards the apartments, ‘were planning to surreptitiously whisk Lenin across Europe and let him loose on Russia and change the world forever. Yet without Oscar Rylander’s intervention, he might never have made it. Think of what might have happened… no Bolshevik takeover. There might not have been the spread of communism. Hitler might never have happened, but if he had, there wouldn’t have been an implacable communist enemy like Stalin to help swing the war, and we might all be part of the thousand-year Reich right now.’

  They moved off slowly along the street in the direction of Unter den Linden.

  ‘More to the point,’ said Anita with some exasperation, ‘what effect did Oscar’s story have on his young son? We know that, in retrospect, Oscar was ashamed of what he did. In the light of that story, it’s given credence to what everybody in Sweden saw as Albin’s anti-communist stance.’

  ‘But maybe that was all a front. I once saw a TV programme about Kim Philby and Guy Burgess. They were famous communist spies who joined an organization called the Anglo-German Fellowship. It was a pro-Hitler group in Britain before the war, made up of aristocracy, politicians and businessmen. This was a way that the future traitors used to publicly show that they were right-wing and disguise their communist affiliations. It certainly worked for them. What if Rylander was doing the same? He doth protest too much… and all that. He had the opportunity when he worked here between 1972 and 1974.’

  They turned off Wilhelmstrasse before they reached the new British Embassy at the top of the street. Outside the embassy the road was cordoned off to traffic to stop bombers driving up and attacking the building. They were now in Behrenstrasse, which housed the American Embassy.

  ‘But if he was working for the Soviets, I don’t understand how that can be so important now.’ Kevin shrugged. ‘It’s all just history.’

  ‘Well, that’s something I do know about, being Swedish,’ Anita responded. ‘During the Cold War, we were neutral.’ She added, ‘Of course,’ before Kevin had time to say it. ‘It was a delicate situation because we were physically close to the Soviet Union. That’s why we didn’t fight in the Second World War: because of the fear of communism and Russian invasion. After the war, Moscow had to believe that Sweden was credibly neutral. And to the Americans, we had to keep alive the notion that we were a neutral country, but on their side. That’s why we’ve never joined NATO. It was a constant balancing act. In many ways, things still haven’t changed. We’re still pulled between Obama’s America and Putin’s Russia.’

  Kevin nodded. ‘So, if a very senior Swedish diplomat was spying for the Soviets in the heart of Washington, that would be incredibly embarrassing for the Swedish government even now. Treasonous, of course, but is it reason enough to kill him in order to keep him quiet? Were his revelations going to expose someone who is still alive?’

  They had had to wait an hour for Markus Asplund’s lawyer to turn up. On his arrival, they moved into the interrogation room. While Asplund appeared calm, even relaxed, Wallen was nervous, as she hadn’t conducted such an important interview before, though she had sat in on a few. Usually, these had been carried out by the late Henrik Nordlund or Westermark or Anita Sundström. Part of her tenseness was down to the fact that Hakim was sitting in with her. She knew how close he was to Anita. Would he be judging her against his friend? Would he report back to Anita about how she was doing? Would they end up laughing at her behind her back? But Hakim gave her an encouraging nod, and she started: Asplund gave his name and address for the benefit of the recording.

  ‘First of all, could you confirm your movements on the evening of Tuesday, the third of June? That was the night that Julia Akerman was murdered in Pildammsparken.’

  ‘As I’ve already told you, I was in my apartment at Östra Rönneholmsvägen.’

  ‘And you skyped your wife and son for twenty-three minutes that night?’

  ‘As I’ve mentioned. I have fully cooperated,’ he said with a nod to his solicitor.

  ‘Which still leaves you without an alibi. But we’ll leave that for the t
ime being. Now, when we visited you last Thursday, we asked you if you knew the victim, Julia Akerman. You denied all knowledge.’ Wallen was warming to the task.

  ‘That’s correct,’ he answered confidently.

  ‘What about Ebba Pozorski?’

  For a second, Markus Asplund’s composure was ruffled, and he didn’t answer. The moment soon passed.

  ‘I believe we had someone of that name briefly working for the company some years ago. I’ve had quite a staff turnover as the business has expanded.’

  Wallen turned to Hakim, who spoke next: ‘According to her tax records, Ebba Pozorski was with you for five years. Between 2003 and 2008. She was a sales representative. Do you remember her?’

  ‘I’ve had lots of them working for me over the years. The name rings a bell, but I don’t keep track of those that leave.’

  ‘Not even the attractive ones?’ This was Wallen.

  ‘I think that’s a totally inappropriate comment to make,’ put in Asplund’s solicitor.

  ‘I only mention it because we have matched your client’s DNA with that of a sample of semen found in the body of the victim. He appears to have had anal sex with Ebba Pozorski shortly before she was stabbed to death. How would your client like to explain that?’

  They moved along Behrenstrasse as far as the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. To Anita, this was an extraordinarily sombre site, even in the sunshine, as she viewed row after row of concrete blocks laid out linearly over undulating ground.

  ‘It’s like a faceless cemetery,’ Anita said thoughtfully.

  ‘Maybe that’s what it’s meant to be. I’m going to have a wander in. Coming?’

  Anita shook her head. She had no idea why she didn’t want to enter the labyrinth of concrete, but something held her back. She watched Kevin disappear between the rows of blocks, among which crowds of visitors, particularly parties of school children, were walking and contemplating and playing and shouting. For a weird moment, it felt as though the memorial was being desecrated by all this activity, yet she reflected that maybe that was the point. Possibly the best way of remembering the millions who had died was to fill it with the living: those with futures in a better world than the one experienced by those who had been murdered. Suddenly, she was aware that Kevin, standing a few blocks in, was waving to her to join him. When she showed reluctance, his hand gesture became more frantic. What was the matter? It was probably him just being silly, and there’d be some joke at the end of it. She entered into the grid and found that he wasn’t where she thought he’d been standing. She called out his name and moved further through the memorial, stepping down a gradient. A noisy group of kids appeared to her left, and she let them through.

  ‘Anita!’ It came in a loud whisper.

  This was pathetic. She wasn’t in the mood for games. Then she noticed him up a slope to the right.

  ‘What the f—’

  He shushed her, finger to his lips. He did a double shake of his head to motion her to join him.

  She was about to get cross with him when she registered his expression. This wasn’t a game.

  ‘You were being watched.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I could see from in here that you were being observed.’

  ‘An admirer?’

  ‘If it had been, I would have come out and smashed his face in. It’s more serious than that.’

  ‘You recognized someone?’

  ‘Yes. It was Benno Källström.’

  She looked at him in disbelief. ‘Surely not! Mind you, I wouldn’t have recognized him. Didn’t even see him at the beach house.’

  ‘I did. So what’s he doing in Berlin?’

  CHAPTER 37

  ‘I would appreciate it if I could have a few words with my client alone.’ Wallen and Hakim glanced at each other and left the room in silence.

  Out in the corridor, they saw Brodd coming towards them with Asplund’s mobile phone in his hand.

  ‘Well?’ asked Wallen.

  ‘He’s made fifteen calls to Axel Isaksson since the sixth; three days after the murder. And received ten.’

  ‘What about before?’ asked Hakim.

  ‘Nothing. No contact; then suddenly, mad activity.’

  ‘Good,’ said Wallen holding out her hand to take the phone off Brodd. ‘That’ll help us in there. Sounds as though Moberg might be right and that they’re in this together. Go and tell the chief inspector what you’ve found out.’

  Brodd slouched off.

  ‘He’ll make the most of it,’ Hakim commented wryly as Wallen handed him the mobile.

  Asplund was ill at ease when Wallen and Hakim returned.

  ‘My client wishes to cooperate as much as possible in your investigation,’ explained the solicitor.

  ‘That’s very good of him,’ Wallen replied with mock civility. She stared straight at Asplund. ‘Did you have sex with Ebba Pozorski on Tuesday, the third of June?’

  Asplund nodded.

  ‘Sorry, can you speak up for the recording?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘At what time did you meet?’

  ‘That afternoon.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘My apartment.’

  ‘Is that where you met each visit she made to Sweden?’

  ‘No. I used an apartment of a friend of mine. I didn’t want to leave… traces of her that my wife might discover.’

  ‘So why not there this last time?’

  ‘We were scheduled to meet at my friend’s place. But she just turned up at my apartment before I was due to leave. I wasn’t happy for her to be there, but she was acting oddly. Upset.’

  ‘Upset?’

  ‘Something had spooked her. I don’t know what. She wanted comforting.’

  ‘So, anal sex was your way of comforting her.’ Wallen couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  ‘She calmed down first. Then we…’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘We agreed to meet in a month’s time at my friend’s flat, and she left.’

  Wallen consulted some notes she had laid out on the table.

  ‘Did you pay for the sex?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you knew she was a prostitute?’

  Asplund glanced at his solicitor and then back at Wallen. ‘Yes.’

  Wallen pushed a copy of the Julia Akerman spreadsheet across the table.

  ‘We’ve shown you this spreadsheet before. Why are you on it if you’re not a paying client like all the others?’

  Asplund pursed his lips. ‘Maybe for old time’s sake. As you reminded me, she had been an employee.’

  ‘Come on, you don’t expect us to believe that. My colleague here, Inspector Mirza, has a theory about that. Haven’t you, Inspector?’

  ‘We think that Ebba Pozorski probably met her clients while working for your travel business. Either that, or you made the initial contact.’ It was Hakim’s turn to consult some notes. ‘We’ve done a bit of digging over the last twenty-four hours, and the names we’ve been able to check on turn out to be members of the travel industry in their various countries. It can’t be a coincidence.’

  Asplund sat mutely.

  ‘Were you – I can’t think of another suitable word – Ebba Pozorski’s pimp?’

  ‘This is outrageous!’ cut in the solicitor. ‘You can’t accuse my client of such a thing.’

  ‘And why not?’ Hakim asked innocently. ‘Ebba Pozorski’s a high-class call girl with clients all over Europe, many of whom are in the same business as herr Asplund. Your client has admitted that he regularly had sex with this woman, who was one of his ex-employees. She had to find the clients somehow, and we’ve no evidence from her computer to suggest that she advertised her services over the internet. I think it’s a perfectly legitimate question.’

  Asplund stared hard at Hakim. ‘No comment.’

  ‘OK, let’s go back,’ continued Wallen. ‘As you were having sex with her, we can safely assume that you remember h
er as an employee. Were you sleeping with her then?’

  ‘Is this relevant?’ The solicitor was starting to annoy Wallen.

  ‘We are establishing the relationship between your client and the murdered girl. We want to know how far this relationship went back.’ Turning her gaze back to Asplund: ‘Were you sleeping with Ebba Pozorski when she was working at Malasp Travel?’

  ‘Occasionally,’ Asplund admitted.

  ‘Is that why you employed her?’

  The solicitor was about to jump in again, but Asplund answered.

  ‘No. She was good at her job. She was a hard worker. Honest.’

  ‘What experience did she bring to the role of sales representative?’ This was Hakim’s turn to probe.

  ‘I can’t remember exactly. But she must have had a good CV.’

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Hakim shaking his head as he bent over a typed sheet of paper. ‘The jobs that she seems to have done don’t seem to tally with being a qualified sales rep – unless working in a convenience store counts. Or the fact that she was caught soliciting in 1998.’

  ‘Look, she was down on her luck. I gave her a break. And she didn’t let me down.’

  ‘That’s very good of you,’ Wallen weighed in. ‘Giving her a break. Did you know that she had been soliciting for sex?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘Are you sure that your kindness to a girl who had hit the skids was entirely altruistic?’

  ‘If you mean I just employed her to have sex with her, you’re dead wrong!’ he said angrily.

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ she carried on calmly. ‘I think you knew her before she came to work for you.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ he blustered.

  ‘You knew her when she was a teenager in Sjöbo.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t!’

  ‘Along with her parents, she was a member of the Church of God’s Mission on Earth. You’ve already denied being a member of that church. Do you still deny it?’

  ‘Yes.’ But there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.