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

by Torquil Macleod

  Kevin took Anita by the arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘That text was Klas signing his own death warrant.’

  They had gone through the airport security and made their way past the shopping area. Normally, Anita would have automatically stopped at the duty free to pick up a bottle of spirits, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything other than their present predicament, which she was solely responsible for landing them in. They hadn’t seen Benno Källström on either of the two trains they took to reach the airport, but both of them had been aware that he was probably somewhere close by. Kevin may have fooled him once – but not twice if he was a real professional. They found seats in the corridor leading to the departure gates.

  ‘They must also have bugged your holiday home.’ Kevin was simply articulating what she had already worked out.

  ‘I know. They must have been listening in to all our conversations – and were probably watching us once they knew our suspicions had been aroused, and I had started asking questions. That would explain the police patrol materializing at the Källströms’ that night.’

  ‘And Zetterberg turning up when you went to Klas’s home.’

  ‘You’re right. How the hell does she fit into all this?’

  ‘Of course, she may have been unwittingly involved. Just doing her job. Given a tip off that someone was in Klas’s house. That sort of thing.’ The scowling glance she threw in his direction immediately had him retracting the theory: ‘Then again, maybe not.’

  ‘I’m not inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. But you may be right,’ she conceded. Anita opened her bag, rummaged around and then gave a heavy sigh. There was no comforting snus to help calm her.

  ‘What surprises me,’ started Kevin. He stopped for a moment, then continued: ‘What surprises me is that as they obviously knew we were coming to Berlin, why didn’t they contrive to stop you meeting Hans-Dieter Albrecht? They must have known that we couldn’t discover a motive for the murders without his background story. Actually, now I think of it, why didn’t they stop Klas from coming? They must have heard Rylander telling him. You got the address from a recording.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ mused Anita. Then she suddenly sat bolt upright. ‘No, no, they didn’t know. I remember now, that recording had the sound of the sea in the background. They must have been sitting outside. It wouldn’t have been picked up by the microphones in the house. So, they might not have even known that Klas was going to Berlin until they realized he’d already been from the text message to me.’

  ‘He told us though. If—’

  ‘But they probably hadn’t started listening into us at that point; we only started fishing after Klas’s death. At that stage, they’d assume that Klas hadn’t got enough to finish the book. Other than the Lenin story, it wasn’t exactly best-seller material. And nothing to shed light on their activities. Then, to their horror, they realize he’s been in Berlin and probably knows the whole truth, or at least some of it. The fact that he texted me alerted them to us – perhaps they bugged the house after that.’

  ‘Yeah; I can’t work out when they could have done that.’

  Anita went quiet. ‘I reckon they only had one opportunity to do it; you were out on a walk and I was in Simrishamn.’

  ‘I wonder why they didn’t find Klas’s file. I reckon they would have searched the house while they were bugging it; they obviously gave his place the once over.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have found it,’ she said with some glee. ‘I took it with me!’

  ‘Clever shite! So, what about when we talked about Albrecht? They would have heard us then.’

  ‘We were outside, remember? Having a beer. That’s when I told you we were coming here. Now it all makes sense! Once we were being monitored, they would have found out about our Berlin flight bookings. That’s why Benno Källström followed us here.’

  ‘This is doing my head in. I need a drink. Fancy one?’

  They got up and walked back along the corridor and found a bar. Kevin ordered himself a beer and Anita a glass of red wine. They took sanctuary at a corner table.

  ‘I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do. I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this.’ She took his hand and pressed it between hers.

  With his other hand, he gently pushed back a couple of stray hairs that had flopped over her glasses.

  ‘I’m just glad I’m here for you. I lo…’ He checked himself. ‘I’m really fond of you, Anita.’

  She beamed back at him gratefully. Then they both returned to their drinks in silence.

  After a long draught of his beer, Kevin spoke.

  ‘Look, Anita, can you go to your boss in Malmö with this?’

  She shook her head. ‘Hardly. We’ve got no evidence. We’ve got a nurse’s suspicions about Rylander’s suicide; we’ve got the theories of a local historian who’s now dead; plus some other weird stuff like the Källströms finishing their holiday early – and that they’re certainly not called Källström at all. We’ve got a cow of a police detective acting oddly but, on the face of it, not operating outside the law. We think we’ve been followed to Berlin but can’t prove it. We’re basing our theories on the word of a shifty ex-Stasi operative who won’t come out of hiding to back up our story. We can’t prove a damn thing. We’ve got no autopsy or accident-scene reports. Nothing concrete. And Moberg certainly wouldn’t contemplate sniffing around someone else’s enquiry, because it’s officially Zetterberg’s remit. He’d think I was on drugs. I’d do the same in his position. So would you.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He gave a little groan. ‘I’ve got to go back on Thursday, but I can’t just sit in Penrith waiting and wondering what’s happening to you, and then get some message that you’ve been in a fatal accident – or whatever these spooks dream up to keep you quiet.’

  She could see the worry etched across his features. She realized at that moment how much he cared for her.

  ‘I can look after myself. I’ll be fine.’ Not that she felt remotely fine.

  ‘Anita, that’s not enough,’ he said forcefully. ‘These people – whatever the fuck they’re called – have killed twice. You now know too much. They know you know. Do you think they’ll let you just carry on merrily as though nothing’s happened? They can’t be sure you’ll not let the cat out of the bag at some stage, even if you don’t pursue it now.’

  ‘Kevin, why would they harm me? They know I can’t prove that Rylander and Klas were killed. End of story.’

  ‘But that’s not the story, Anita. Rylander’s past is the story. What he did, with their connivance, is what they’re worried about. They know you can’t touch them for the murders, but it’s all the other stuff they’ll be afraid might come out. That’s what’s putting you in peril.’

  Anita was quite shaken by what Kevin had just said. She hadn’t thought it through properly; hadn’t grasped the real significance of what she had done. Suddenly, she realized with alarming clarity that she was totally out of her depth.

  He drained the last of his beer decisively and slammed down his glass. ‘Right, the first thing we both do is turn off our mobile phones so they can’t be traced.’

  ‘My last text was to Lasse, just to tell him we’d be away for a couple of days.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter because they followed us here. But we don’t want to make life easy for them from now on.’

  They both took out their mobiles and switched them off.

  ‘What if Lasse—’

  ‘No “what ifs”,’ he said firmly, putting away his phone. ‘Now, you lot carry guns, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. But I’m not allowed to carry a weapon around with me when I’m not on duty.’

  ‘Is it back at the holiday home or your flat?’

  ‘Of course not. Locked up in headquarters, where it should be,’ she said primly.

  ‘Right, as soon as we reach Malmö, I want you to go and get it.’

  She placed her hand on hi
s. ‘This is daft. I’ll be OK,’ – though she knew she wouldn’t be. And she was now dreading his return to England; she would be lost without him.

  ‘Just do as I say,’ he said resolutely. ‘I’ve got a plan. It’s probably a shit plan, but it’s all we’ve got.’

  CHAPTER 43

  Moberg just had to look into the demonic eyes to know that they were dealing with a seriously strange man. A man who had wielded extraordinary power over his congregation. He must have assuaged a need in these people. Not that Moberg was remotely sympathetic to their spiritual wants, whatever they were. It was their own damn fault that they’d been sucked in by his manipulatory rhetoric. If they had chosen that route to heaven, they had mistakenly stumbled across the devil. This might be the first time he had clapped eyes on Elias Kroon, but he could easily imagine the creepy pastor quite capable of unspeakable behaviour towards the young Ebba Pozorski. Now they were going to have to prove that and place him at the scene of the crime. That might be difficult. Having taken Kroon’s fingerprints on his arrival at the polishus, Moberg had got straight onto forensics to recheck their findings from Akerman/Pozorski’s apartment to establish whether he had been there. There was no match.

  The one ace Moberg had up his sleeve was conducting the interview with Hakim. The young Muslim’s presence in the room made a disquieting impression on the pastor, who wouldn’t look at him directly. This was the effect Moberg had wanted.

  ‘You have no right to hold me here. I should be doing God’s work; I’m late for an appointment already.’ He made a show of looking at his watch, which, Moberg noted, was on his left wrist.

  ‘We have every right. Surely even your God would approve of you, one of his disciples, helping us try to find the murderer of an innocent young woman.’

  ‘She was a whore. Ungodly. She got what she deserved.’

  Moberg restrained an impulse to reach across the table and grab the pastor by the throat.

  ‘OK, let’s find out why she became a prostitute. I want to take you back to when you were running the Church of God’s Mission on Earth. The Pozorski family join the congregation. They bring along their pretty daughter, who becomes obsessed with religion. When she was killed, she was wearing this cross.’ Moberg pushed the object into the middle of the table.

  ‘She shouldn’t have been wearing that.’

  ‘Despite everything that had happened to her, she still believed. Despite everything you’d done to her.’ The chief inspector nodded to Hakim. Hakim produced a sheaf of papers.

  ‘These are statements by ex-members of the Church of God’s Mission on Earth that claim that, at the very least, you sexually abused Ebba Pozorski. They include one from Axel Isaksson. Do you deny the allegations?’

  Kroon stared at the pieces of paper before returning his gaze to Moberg.

  ‘There is only one being I’m answerable to. I won’t be judged by the likes of you.’ He stabbed a finger in the direction of the statements. ‘Or them.’

  ‘Are you saying you played no part in corrupting Ebba Pozorski?’ Moberg pressed angrily.

  Kroon remained collected. ‘All I will say is that if anyone was doing the corrupting, it was that girl. She was evil disguised as innocence.’

  ‘So, you’re trying to tell us that it was Ebba who led you astray?’ He ramped up the astonishment in his voice for the benefit of the digital recording.

  ‘I will let you draw your own conclusions. She died a harlot.’

  Hakim could sense that Moberg was about to lose it.

  ‘Is that why you attacked her with a knife?’ Moberg roared.

  Kroon was not intimidated. ‘I was defending myself.’

  ‘She was stabbed in the shoulder. How could you have been defending yourself if she had her back to you?’

  ‘I have nothing further to say about that incident.’

  Hakim could see they would never get him to admit culpability. In his own warped way, Kroon had probably justified his actions by transferring the guilt to Ebba. Before Moberg lost control, Hakim quickly changed tack.

  ‘Why did you come into Malmö on Tuesday, the third of June?’

  ‘Did I? I can’t remember.’

  Hakim pushed across the table a CCTV image of the pastor getting off the bus.

  ‘This is the bus station at Södervärn. It’s SkåneExpressen 8 from Sjöbo. You can see the time and date there,’ said Hakim, pointing. Kroon still avoided looking at the young detective.

  ‘I must have then.’ he said absently.

  ‘What was the purpose of your visit?’

  ‘I am not sure whether it was that date, but I came into Malmö to return some books to the city library.’

  ‘And doesn’t Sjöbo have a library?’ said Moberg taking over the interview again, his temper now under control.

  Kroon gave the chief inspector a contemptuous look. ‘Not with the kind of religious or philosophical works that I find mind-improving.’

  Moberg was beginning to dislike Kroon even more than Isaksson.

  ‘And how long were you at the library?’

  ‘I spent much of the day there.’

  ‘And then?’

  He sucked in his thick lips. ‘I visited a member of my flock.’

  ‘Former flock,’ Moberg corrected.

  ‘The believers – the true believers – will always be loyal.’

  ‘And how long did the visit take?’

  He wafted a hand in the air. ‘As long as I was needed.’

  ‘We can’t find you getting the bus back that day,’ put in Hakim.

  ‘That’s because I didn’t get the bus back. I stayed the night.’

  Both Moberg and Hakim tensed.

  ‘Can we have the name and address of this person?’ Moberg snapped.

  ‘He is not well.’

  ‘Name and address?’

  Reluctantly, the cleric gave them the name of man called Jaspar Lindroth living in Dammfri.

  ‘That’s not far from Pildammsparken. Hakim, get Wallen to check that out immediately.’ Hakim hurried from the room.

  ‘I don’t want you to distress Lindroth. The man has cancer, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘I’m sure Inspector Klara Wallen will be gentle with him. Now, did you go anywhere near Pildammsparken that night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘As God is my witness.’

  ‘We’ll let him sweat,’ Moberg said to Hakim as he helped himself to coffee from the vending machine. He took a sip and pulled a face. ‘Why do I buy this crap? It never gets any better.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Hakim asked.

  ‘Is he our man? I bloody hope so, but I suspect we’ll have a job proving it. Well, finding enough evidence to satisfy Blom anyway.’

  ‘He was in Malmö on the night of the murder. He’d attacked Ebba before with a knife.’

  Moberg gave a heavy sigh. ‘Again, we can’t prove it. There’s a medical record showing she was treated for the wound in Ystad, but no formal complaint was made by her or her father. So that won’t stand up in court. It’s hearsay.’

  They began to wander along the corridor towards Moberg’s office.

  ‘He’s got a motive. She could still have brought charges against him at any time.’

  ‘But why now?’

  Hakim had to agree that the timing was odd. He could have tracked her down when she was living in Malmö before she moved to Switzerland.

  ‘Unless he ran into her on that Tuesday. Probably accidently. Maybe something was said, and he realized that she was still a danger to him. She could have threatened to expose him.’

  ‘And the butterfly knife?’

  ‘I don’t know. There might be a number of ways he could have got hold of one. Maybe a member of his congregation had been to the States at some time. Or maybe he had. There are a lot of weird religious sects over there.’

  ‘It’s a problem when there’s no sign of the murder weapon. Look, while we’re waiting for Wallen t
o speak to Lindroth, get Brodd to go down to the city library and see if the pastor was there and for how long. And I know it’s a long shot, but see if Ebba Pozorski went in there that day too.’

  The call that came in from Wallen was encouraging. Lindroth had confirmed that Pastor Kroon had visited him on the afternoon of Tuesday, 3rd June at about four o’clock. They had talked and prayed together and, as it was getting late, Kroon asked if he could stay the night. ‘Are you sure it was Kroon who suggested he stay the night?’ Moberg had asked. Wallen confirmed that it had been Kroon’s suggestion. Lindroth had become very tired after their discussions, so he had gone to bed shortly after eight. He left Kroon to fend for himself, but he was adamant that he heard the front door open and close before he dropped off. He wasn’t sure of the time but says it must have been before nine. He has no idea when Kroon came back because he was asleep by then.

  Moberg and Hakim were back in the interview room soon after the call from Wallen ended. The chief inspector came straight to the point: ‘The night you stayed with Lindroth; where did you go out to?’

  ‘It was hot in Jaspar’s apartment. I went out for some fresh air.’

  ‘And where did you go?’

  ‘Along the streets. I’m not sure where. I don’t know the district well.’

  ‘You didn’t happen to go to Pildammsparken?’

  ‘Do you not listen? I have already told you that I did not go to the park.’

  Moberg had already recognized that Kroon was going to be a tough nut to crack, but at least they knew he had motive – and now, opportunity. He could feel that they were getting closer.

  Kevin was on his second cup of tea when Anita returned from the polishus. He had taken up a seat in one of the café areas in the newly laid out Central Station. It reminded him of Kastrup Airport, which they had just come through a couple of hours before. He had been tempted to wander round Malmö for a while to get to know the city a little, but decided that he didn’t want to go sauntering off with the possibility of secret service operatives in the vicinity. From the station, he had allowed himself a peek at the Savoy Hotel. In its art nouveau magnificence, it purported to be every bit as chic and expensive as its London counterpart. It was there that the mess they had got themselves into had begun in 1917. It was extraordinary to think that Lenin had walked through the very arch he was standing under, had crossed that bridge over the canal to eat at that hotel, and there have his life saved by a Swedish waiter – an action which impacted on millions. And caught up in the dying ripples of that one brave deed were the deaths of the saviour’s son and an innocent historian nearly a century after the event.