‘That’s strange, because Pastor Elias Kroon, the founder of the church, reckoned you were a member for a time. Well, that’s what he told me. So, I ask the question again.’
‘I was, briefly,’ he said dismissively.
‘Why only briefly?’
‘I got fed up with all that millennialism nonsense. And I didn’t like Kroon.’
‘The feeling seems to have been mutual. And during your “brief” time as a member of the church, you must have come across the Pozorski family.’
‘Yes, I remember them. They were nice.’
‘And Ebba Pozorski?’
Asplund licked his dry lips. ‘OK. I did know her. Can I have some water?’
Hakim got up and left the room.
‘Inspector Mirza has left the room to fetch some water,’ Wallen said for the benefit of the recording. Until he returned, they sat in silence. Wallen was feeling good, as she could see that they had got to Asplund. Not a trace of his trademark smile had appeared, and he was flustered. She suspected the water was a ploy to gain time to marshal his thoughts. Hakim returned with a bottle and a plastic cup, and passed them over the table. Asplund slowly unscrewed the bottle top and carefully poured himself a cup full of water. After he had drunk the whole lot, Wallen proceeded.
‘Now we’ve established that you knew Ebba at least twenty years ago, can we come back to your long-term relationship?’
‘There was no long-term relationship,’ Asplund protested.
‘Then explain why you took her on at Malasp Travel.’
Asplund fixed his eyes on the bottle of water, which he was now twisting back and forth in his hands.
‘As I said, Ebba was down on her luck. Things hadn’t gone well for her since leaving Sjöbo. I took pity on her.’
‘Then took advantage of her?’
‘It wasn’t like that!’ The flash of temper was there again. In an instant, it was gone. He gripped the bottle tightly and spoke evenly. ‘I’d heard that she’d been on the game, and I thought this would help get her off it. By then, her mother was dead and she was estranged from her father. That upset her because she loved him more than anyone. That’s why she used to visit him at the nursing home whenever she was in Malmö.’
‘We hear she gave a lot of money to the home.’
‘She was that sort of girl. And, believe it or not, she was very religious.’
‘So, why did she leave Malasp?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘More to the point, why would someone want to kill her?’
‘I’ve no idea. It’s tragic.’ Asplund looked across to Wallen directly, the hint of tears in the corners of his eyes. ‘She didn’t do anyone any harm. But her life was blighted.’
Wallen returned the stare. She wasn’t going to fall for the emotional act. ‘That brings me neatly back to Pastor Kroon. You use the word “blighted”. According to Kroon, it was you who blighted her life.’
‘What?’ He was incredulous.
She referred to her notes again. ‘“She came under a malign influence within my own church. I will never forgive myself for being blind to the perverted designs of one of my own flock until it was too late. Ebba had turned to the path of sin and depravity.”’ She finished reading and looked up. ‘According to him, that was you.’
‘That’s totally wrong. It’s rubbish.’
‘That’s why he threw you out of the church.’
‘That’s not true. I wouldn’t have touched a teenager. I can’t believe he’s saying such a thing.’
Wallen let him wallow in the implications of what she’d just accused him of and then nodded to Hakim, who took up the attack.
‘Can we talk about Axel Isaksson? You denied knowing him.’ Asplund remained mute. ‘Not only was he a member of the church, so you must have known him there, but also you’ve been in regular contact with him since Ebba’s murder.’ Hakim held up Asplund’s phone. ‘Fifteen calls. And ten from him. Why?’
Asplund didn’t bother with the cup and took a swig of water straight from the bottle. He put it down on the table very deliberately. ‘Ebba,’ he said quietly. ‘It was about Ebba.’
‘What about her?’
‘Well, her death, of course. We both knew her. I phoned him as soon as I saw her picture in the paper, but I didn’t know he was sleeping with her until I saw his name on that spreadsheet,’ he said, nodding towards the table. ‘I asked him if he could find out what was happening. He can find things out… you know, in his position.’
‘And in “his position”, could he clear up your mess?’ Hakim pressed. ‘An old connection from the church.’
‘No! Absolutely not.’
‘Do you possess a butterfly knife?’
‘A what?’
‘A butterfly knife. They’re sold in the US, which you visit regularly. It was the murder weapon.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ He sounded very agitated.
‘She was stabbed with it. But it wasn’t the first time. Someone had previously stabbed her in the shoulder. With your preferred type of lovemaking,’ Hakim said pointedly, ‘you must have spotted the scar.’
‘She never talked about it.’
‘It doesn’t look good for you. We know you had sex with her the day she died. Maybe an argument took place. Did she threaten you?’ Asplund just kept shaking his head. ‘She could have ruined your marriage and damaged your business if your relationship came out. You could have had access to the murder weapon; and you have admitted that you run and train regularly, so you could easily have jogged up behind her and killed her. After all, you knew where she lived, which isn’t far from your own apartment. Most tellingly, you were probably the only person in Malmö who would have had any idea about her routine. Motive, means and opportunity.’
‘It’s not true! I didn’t kill her; I loved her.’ And, virtually in a whisper, ‘I protected her.’
‘Protected her?’ Hakim queried.
Asplund’s head sank onto his chest, and he muttered: ‘Ask Axel Isaksson.’
CHAPTER 38
Chief Inspector Moberg scooped up his last dollop of pie and ice cream. Even he was struggling, but he had had two main courses. Brodd had recommended the Gästgifvaregård in Sjöbo, and, as he had had no luck finding anything about Axel Isaksson that would be useful to the investigation, he might as well take advantage of the local facilities while he was here. He had talked to some people in the town hall, and they had spoken highly of the politician. A couple of the shops had been the same. He’d even gone round to Pastor Kroon’s house, but the cleric hadn’t been in. There must be someone round here who didn’t like the pompous prick. Even the middle-aged waitress had said he was a decent enough fellow – so she wasn’t going to get a tip.
He had turned his phone off, as he was sure that Commissioner Dahlbeck would be trying to get hold of him. And, yes, when he had checked it before sitting down to his meal, there had been three missed calls from his secretary. There was also one from Brodd. He ignored that, too, as he assumed that he wanted to arrange a drink after work. He didn’t mind boozing with Pontus as long as he didn’t drone on about this supposed new girlfriend of his. She sounded too good to be true. Let’s face it, Brodd was no catch. Moberg, being naturally suspicious, was beginning to suspect that he had invented this woman to give him some much-needed credibility among his colleagues. He checked his phone again as he drank his coffee, and saw that he’d missed a recent call from Wallen. He would ring her back as soon as he was finished. She might have news of the Asplund interrogation. Everything seemed to be pointing in the travel agent’s direction, but Moberg still wasn’t sure about the motive. In his mind he was convinced that Isaksson had most to lose. But that didn’t mean Asplund wasn’t involved. They were connected, but what was the specific link other than the bizarre religious cult created by Elias Kroon? His appetite sated, Moberg hurriedly paid his bill, and left. Outside the ornate portal of Gästgifvaregård, next to a pole on which the
national flag dangled wistfully, he dialled Wallen.
He was pleased with what Wallen had to report, even though Asplund had flatly denied murdering Ebba Pozorski. They had established the Sjöbo link when Ebba was a teenager, the fact that he’d employed her to give her a break when she had fallen on hard times, and that he knew she was a prostitute both before and after working at Malasp Travel. Asplund wouldn’t be drawn on whether he had fixed up her clients, but they had a good case against him except for a clear-cut motive.
‘What about Isaksson?’ Moberg asked.
‘Didn’t Brodd get in touch?’
‘Must have missed his call,’ he answered vaguely.
‘Asplund’s mobile showed he’d phoned Isaksson fifteen times since Ebba’s killing. And Isaksson had rung him ten.’
‘I bloody knew it!’ he said, smacking the flagpole with his free hand. The jolt left the metal pole vibrating.
He heard a little chuckle at the end of the line. ‘You’re going to like this. When Hakim presented the case against Asplund, he reacted by saying that he didn’t kill her, that he loved her, and that he protected her. Then, when Hakim pressed him on what he meant by protecting her, all he would say was “ask Axel Isaksson”.’
Moberg felt a surge of excitement. It was the feeling he got when his gut instinct had been confirmed.
‘Is Asplund still there?’
‘Yes. We’re waiting for Prosecutor Blom to decide whether we’ve enough evidence to keep him.’
‘OK, I’m coming straight back.’
‘By the way, the commissioner wants to see you.’
‘After what you’ve told me, Klara, I want to see him!’
Anita emerged from the shower. She began to rub herself down with a towel. Kevin sat on the bed and watched, admiring her body. He was still pinching himself that this woman was sleeping with him. He had had attractive – and not so attractive – women in his life before. Leanne was regarded as a “looker”, which was why so many of his colleagues had tried their luck with her. Some had succeeded. But Anita was different. Smarter for a start. There was something sexy about intelligent women; that irresistible combination of brains and beauty. She was fun, too; when not chasing after invisible killers. What she saw in him, he had no idea. His dad had always said that you should never question luck. Now he knew what his old man had meant.
Anita slipped on a pair of black knickers and stood thoughtfully in front of him.
‘Are you really sure it’s him?’
‘Positive. That was the guy we know as Benno Källström, and I could see him plainly from inside the memorial. And he was definitely watching you. I’ve done enough surveillance in my time to spot the signs.’
Anita frowned. Even with the first wrinkles of middle age, her face seemed beautiful. ‘Do you think he’s followed us back here?’
‘I was pretty sure I saw him again when we got off the train at Alexanderplatz, so he probably has.’
He was trying to stop himself becoming obsessional, but a few days with Anita had created that worrying mindset. All the time they had been wandering round the sights of Berlin – the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag, the Tiergarten – he had been keeping an eye out for Benno. He hadn’t seen him and was starting to doubt himself until he caught a glimpse of him at the busy station.
‘Do you think the woman is here too?’ Anita asked as she slipped on a T-shirt.
‘I didn’t see her. Doesn’t mean she’s not here.’
Anita started to rub her hair again with the towel.
‘If they’re not who they say they are, who are they? What were they doing in the holiday home next to Rylander’s? Besides being very suspicious, it’s bloody unnerving. To be followed all the way here. What do you think we should do?’
That had been uppermost in Kevin’s mind since the Jewish Memorial.
‘Whoever these people are, they’re serious. We don’t know when Benno got to Berlin, so we can only hope that he didn’t follow us to Karl-Marx-Allee last night. If what Klas found out from Albrecht on his visit here led to his death, we have to make sure that the source of that information isn’t put in danger.’
‘But if Benno’s following us, he, or someone he’s working for, already knows what Albrecht told Klas – that’s if they got hold of his Berlin notes somehow.’
‘Not necessarily. If they had found the notes, Albrecht would probably have been disposed of by now. I’m sure they want to silence him, too, but they don’t know who he is, or where to find him. Basically, we mustn’t lead them to the granddaughter’s flat.’ Kevin got up from the bed, went to the window and glanced out as though he was expecting to see Benno standing there across the street. He turned back to Anita. ‘I think you should go alone tonight. I’ll leave the hotel first and see if he starts following me. If he does, I’ll ring you, and you can head off to Karl-Marx-Allee.’
She stopped rubbing her hair. ‘And if not?’
‘If not, you’ll have to make sure you lose him if he tries to follow you.’
‘You’d better give me a good description of him then.’ She threw the towel down on the floor in exasperation. ‘This is like one of those stupid spy movies Björn used to love.’
Kevin flashed a wan smile. ‘Except in this one real people seem to be dying.’
He could see that Commissioner Dahlbeck was furious. He also looked weary. Years of arse-licking must take its toll, Moberg thought uncharitably.
‘You’ve gone too far this time, Moberg. I gave you strict instructions not to harass Axel Isaksson, and instead, you’ve gone out of your way to do just that without the slightest justification.’ Moberg wondered if the commissioner was about to burst a blood vessel. ‘I’m going to have to take you off the case. I’m going to give it to Larsson’s team.’
Moberg calmly let him finish. Normally, he would have lost his temper by now, but he realized this wasn’t the right time and place.
‘Before you do that, Commissioner, have you thought why Isaksson is so keen to stop us asking him questions?’
‘A man of his standing is entitled to protection against baseless accusations,’ Dahlbeck said defensively. He hadn’t expected to have to justify his decision.
‘So it’s all right to hassle the scum of our streets, but not the politicians whose policies create most of the problems we have to clear up.’
‘I’m not going to argue with you, Moberg.’
‘Well, you might want to tell Larsson that your family-values politician has not only been paying for sex with a prostitute, but has been in regular touch with our chief suspect ever since the murder. They knew each other in Sjöbo, where they attended the same church. The victim, Ebba Pozorski, was also a member, so they both knew her from a young age. And now our chief suspect’s only defence is that we should talk to Isaksson. Apparently, he has all the answers. But that depends on whether you’re willing to let Larsson ask the questions.’
That was Moberg’s parting shot as he headed for the door. His hand was on the handle when the commissioner spoke: ‘Maybe I’m being hasty.’ Moberg managed to smother a smile as he swung back round. ‘I don’t like the man any more than you do, but he’s been beating us with a stick for some time now. We have to use the softly, softly approach.’
‘He’s broken the law for a start. Having sex with a prostitute.’
‘I’ll have a word with Blom first. See where she thinks we stand.’
‘I don’t want to arrest him… yet. But we need to talk to him as soon as possible.’ Commissioner Dahlbeck’s face creased into a worried frown. ‘The longer you wait, the more time he has to cover his tracks.’
The call from Sonia Blom came more quickly than even Moberg had anticipated. He was given the go-ahead to talk to Axel Isaksson, but she warned him that he must tread carefully. ‘An informal chat at this stage. We don’t want to give him any more opportunities to denigrate the Skåne County Police. And he has powerful friends.’
‘He might lose some of them by the t
ime I’ve finished,’ Moberg answered gleefully before putting the phone down. He had the satisfaction of knowing that his last comment would get her fancy knickers in a twist. Since her much-heralded arrival from Stockholm, Blom’s cautious, image-conscious approach to her prosecuting duties had stymied many of his investigations over the years. He prayed for the day when she would return to the bright lights of the capital, and they’d get someone in who was more effective.
To Moberg’s surprise, a call to Isaksson’s office had elicited an immediate response from the politician himself. He was suddenly being cooperative, in a cagey way. The commissioner must have warned him that there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable questioning. Isaksson would help if he could, but he’d rather not have the interview at his office, or at his home. Of course he bloody wouldn’t, thought Moberg. They agreed to meet in Kungsparken; near the casino at four o’clock.
Moberg took Wallen along with him because she was fully up to date with the Asplund situation. Isaksson was already there when they arrived. He looked cool in a short-sleeved shirt; his jacket discarded back at the office because of the warmth of the afternoon. He was smoking. Was this to calm his nerves? It did nothing to dim the hostility in his stare. And he appeared surprised at seeing Wallen accompanying Moberg. ‘I have to cover my back too,’ is how the chief inspector justified her presence. When Isaksson had finished his cigarette, they all sat down on a bench, with Wallen squeezed on the end next to Moberg.
‘When I spoke to you before,’ started Moberg, ‘you denied any knowledge of Markus Asplund and Ebba Pozorski. But the fact that you’re talking to us now indicates you were lying about that.’
‘Lying’s a strong word.’
‘Mistaken, then. You forgot.’ Moberg was hoping that this would wind the politician up. Get him angry and he might be less guarded. ‘We now know that you knew them both from your Sjöbo days in the Church of God’s… something or other. And we also know you’ve been in constant contact with Asplund ever since Ebba’s death.’ Isaksson’s eyes screwed up behind his glasses in puzzlement. ‘We’ve seen his mobile. He’s called you fifteen times, and you’ve been on to him ten.’
Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) Page 22