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

by Torquil Macleod

  ‘I’m well aware that one of my officers is in peril. Leave her to me.’ The implications of what was happening began to dawn on Moberg and simultaneously raised his blood pressure. ‘Get Wallen to get as many people as we need on this – on my authority. Everybody meet again in two hours. Now fucking go!’ he bawled.

  Moberg lumbered into Hakim’s office. He wore the expression of an extremely frustrated man.

  ‘Anita. I can’t get hold of her. She’s not answering her mobile or home phone. Do you know where she was spending her holiday?’

  ‘Up the coast from Simrishamn.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Not really sure. But Jazmin went over there last week with Lasse. She’ll know.’

  ‘Right, get the address out of her, and then I’ll get someone from the Simrishamn station to go and pick Anita up. We can’t afford to have her wandering around if Sigyn Westermark’s on the loose. I want her here, or at home under protection.’

  The meeting room was buzzing, but the underlying tension was inescapable, as they knew that one of their own was being targeted. Besides Wallen, Hakim and Brodd, there were seven other officers who had been hastily co-opted onto the investigation. Moberg came storming in.

  ‘Right,’ started the chief inspector before he had even taken his place at the head of the table. ‘Anita Sundström. She’s still out of mobile phone contact. I’ve been onto the police in Simrishamn and they’re sending a couple of officers round to where she’s staying. I just hope she’s there. OK, background on Sigyn Westermark, please.’

  A petite detective called Ylva Forsgren chirped up. ‘She was brought up in Trelleborg with her brother Karl. Parents both dead; and the only living relative we’ve managed to contact is an aunt who’s still living there. Said she hadn’t seen Sigyn since Karl’s funeral. Hardly anyone turned up to that. I got the impression that the family had been badly affected by Westermark’s cop-killing antics and his sticky end, and they didn’t want to be associated with his memory. That’s why the aunt wasn’t even aware that Sigyn had returned from America in March. She did say that Sigyn was deeply troubled by her brother’s death. As far as she’s aware, no one she knew had seen Sigyn recently.’

  ‘What about America?’

  ‘Per here,’ she said pointing to a prematurely balding man in his thirties, ‘has spoken to the husband, Brad Guzman.’

  Per Mattinsson took over. ‘They were married for four years. He says that Sigyn worshipped her big brother. He admitted he never really took to Karl, though he made an effort for her sake. The marriage seemed happy enough, but everything changed after Karl’s death. She became moody and distracted. Started taking all sorts of medication. The job she loved at the local high school no longer interested her. Brad puts their split directly down to Sigyn’s inability to cope with her brother’s death. He’s had no contact with her since the divorce. He’d heard that she’d left her job and assumed she had probably gone home to Sweden.’

  Moberg puffed out his cheeks. ‘So, we’re dealing with a seriously disturbed lady who seems to be putting the blame for her brother’s death at Anita’s door. Klara, where are we up to with Sigyn’s movements?’

  ‘We found out that she’s been living in an apartment near the Torso. Three-month rental: paid up to the end of June. We’ve had a squad car out there but there’s no sign of her. Doesn’t appear that she’s gone back there on her return from the US. So we’re now doing the rounds of hotels, hostels, and bed and breakfast places. Nothing yet.’

  ‘Hakim?’

  ‘Through the tax people, we’ve discovered that she was working most of that time as an attendant at the Kallbadhus down on the beach. As soon as this is finished, I’ll head down there.’

  ‘Good,’ snapped Moberg. ‘Where are we at with your sister’s phone?’

  ‘Brodd was dealing with that.’

  All eyes turned on Brodd. News of his “girlfriend” had quickly spread through the corridors of the polishus.

  He answered nervously. ‘There’s no signal at the moment. The last time it was used was last night at 22.03. Nothing since. We’ve managed to trace the location where the phone was last used. It was somewhere in the vicinity of Roskildevägen.’

  ‘Where Anita lives?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And the last call made was to Sundström’s mobile.’

  ‘Fuck! So has Sigyn already made contact with Anita?’ Moberg fell silent. Everybody watched him as he swiftly evaluated the situation and decided what action to take.

  ‘Maybe once she’d got hold of Lasse, she assumed that my sister would get straight onto Anita, and she’d come rushing back to Malmö. Eventually she’d go home, and Sigyn would be waiting for her. But she didn’t appear, so she tried to ring her.’

  ‘That makes sense. But if Anita’s phone is still off, Sigyn might still be hanging around hoping that she’ll turn up. Klara, take Brodd and as many officers as you need, and comb the area. Now, what about Lasse? This is a question we’ve got to ask – is he alive or dead?’

  Wallen gave Hakim a pitying glance. ‘I’m sorry to say that there must be a good chance he’s not alive. If Sigyn was in the vicinity of Anita’s apartment last night, what’s she done with Lasse? There can’t be many places she could keep him captive. It’s simpler stashing away a dead body than a living one.’

  Hakim was clearly upset by the thought. ‘But on the other hand, would she get rid of Lasse before she knew that Anita was back in the city? Unless killing Lasse is an end in itself,’ he admitted reluctantly.

  ‘OK, until a body turns up, we’ve got to work under the assumption that he’s still alive. We need to find him fast. Where’s your sister, by the way, Mirza?’

  ‘She’s still at her flat.’

  ‘Right. I’ll send round an officer to keep an eye on her, just in case. We’ve got a bitter and twisted woman running around our patch and she might get it into her head…’ He didn’t have to complete the sentence; they all understood the scale of the task they faced.

  CHAPTER 49

  Hakim walked along the white pier that jutted out from the beach, towards the Kallbadhus. Built in 1898, the low, wooden cold bathhouse, painted a restful willow green, stood on stilts in the water, veering off at two symmetrical right angles at the end of the pier; the whole forming the shape of a T. Visiting it for a sauna and sea dip, whatever time of year, was a Malmö institution. Not that Hakim was a regular visitor. He had only been twice, and that had been in the company of Lasse, who was grateful that Hakim was paying. Saunas of increasing heat alternated with jumping into the sea to cool off. It hadn’t been his idea of fun, but he had to admit he had felt better afterwards.

  There was a café at the entrance, and it was a pleasant place to while away a few hours in the shadow of the Turning Torso, which loomed over the surrounding sea. The Kallbadhus was on the first pier of five dotted along the length of the beach at Ribersborgs, stretching out like a bony hand into the Sound. This was the only one with a large building at the end. Pier number three was also T-shaped, while the other three were just straight. The beach itself was filling up, as this was now the school vacation, and with the Midsummer holiday long weekend beginning tomorrow, it would get even busier.

  At the small reception, Hakim flashed his warrant card at a gangly young man with short, brown hair and the beginnings of a moustache. ‘I need to speak to someone about Sigyn Westermark.’

  The young man pulled a face. ‘Well, I know her. As much as anyone. We worked shifts together.’

  ‘Can we have a word? Outside, preferably.’

  The young man looked round and called over to a girl who was cleaning one of the café tables. ‘Saga, can you take over reception for a minute?’

  She nodded. ‘No problem, Magnus.’

  He followed Hakim out onto the pier decking. Hakim got straight to the point.

  ‘When did you last see Sigyn?’

  ‘Is she in trouble?’

  ‘Just an
swer the question.’

  Magnus thought carefully. ‘It was a Sunday. I remember that. Beginning of the month.’

  ‘That would be June the first – that fits in. Did she resign?’

  ‘No. She just didn’t turn up on the Tuesday. Monday was her day off. Never heard anything from her. Mind you, she was a bit weird.’

  ‘In what way?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You know, just strange. Not very friendly. Kept herself to herself. Didn’t join in much – unless someone or something was useful to her. The old, wrinkly guys loved her, though. She’s attractive. Good body,’ he said admiringly.

  ‘Did she ever talk about living in America?’

  His surprise was obvious. ‘I didn’t know—’

  ‘Did she ever mention having a brother?’

  He shook his head. A steady stream of clients wandered in and out of the building. A middle-aged couple came walking up and hovered near where Hakim and Magnus were standing. They were more interested in the design of the building than Hakim’s conversation. Nonetheless, Hakim moved away a few steps. Magnus followed.

  ‘Did she ever talk about the police?’

  ‘Don’t think so.’ Then he clicked his fingers. ‘There was an incident on the beach. Some lads getting obstreperous. Too much drink. The police were called. I remember her being really rude about them. The police, that is. “Murdering bastards.” That’s what she said. I was quite taken aback. They were only breaking up a fight.’

  Hakim was beginning to wonder if Sigyn had come across Lasse in one of his visits to the bathhouse; he knew he came as often as his wallet would allow. Maybe that’s when her plan B had been formed. Plan A had worked a treat, except she’d got the wrong person.

  ‘You say she didn’t mix much. Was she friendly with anyone?’

  ‘Not really. Didn’t make an effort. Not even during lunch breaks and things. She would just wonder off down the beach. Sometimes, I’d see her at the end of one of the other piers over there, usually having a smoke.’ He chuckled. ‘Not something she’d do in front of our clients, who are all trying to stay fit or live as long as they can.’

  ‘One last thing. Can you ever remember her mentioning an Anita Sundström or a Lasse Sundström?’

  ‘No. Definitely not; though Lasse Sundström sounds familiar.’

  ‘He sometimes comes here.’

  ‘Ah, that’s probably it.’

  Hakim took out his notebook, wrote a number on it, ripped off the page and passed it over to the man. ‘That’s my number. It’s a long shot, but if Sigyn turns up here, ring me immediately, though make sure you don’t tell her that the police are asking after her.’

  ‘She must be in trouble.’

  The clouds were now starting to gather. The hot spell was drawing to a close. It was typical that the weather was about to break in time for Sweden’s biggest annual holiday. But it wouldn’t dampen the celebrations. Every Swede would embrace this high point of the summer, even if the sun they worshipped failed to appear. As he didn’t drink, Hakim was never a great participant in the pagan festivities, though he was happy to see people let go of their inhibitions for a change. That in itself showed how Swedish he was, despite his heritage.

  He wandered down the beach, as Sigyn Westermark must have done on numerous occasions to escape her colleagues and customers. What bitter thoughts must she have harboured to go as far as killing someone whom she blamed for her brother’s death? Karl Westermark’s last selfish act had destroyed his sister’s life as well. As he walked along the path towards the second pier, more and more groups of young people were heading for the beach itself. There was excitement in the air. The summer stretched in front of them. He’d better report in; he rang Moberg. His boss didn’t sound in a good frame of mind at all. Before he could report his conversation at the Kallbadhus, Moberg immediately launched in: ‘We can’t find her. Bloody Sundström. Simrishamn have reported that she’s not at her holiday home, and her car’s not there. Where the fuck is she?’

  Hakim knew that Moberg and Anita had a long history of conflict, but he could tell that the chief inspector was worried about her.

  ‘Anita can look after herself.’ He tried to sound reassuring.

  ‘But she might not know she’s in danger. I just hope this mad bitch hasn’t got to her already,’ Moberg spluttered angrily. ‘OK, have you got anything for me?’

  ‘Not really. Sigyn was a bit of a loner. Didn’t turn up for work the day of the murder. I think she may have come across Lasse at the bathhouse. But it doesn’t get us any nearer to finding her, or him.’

  There was silence at the other end of the phone. Hakim thought that the chief inspector might even have rung off. His gaze wandered to the next pier; the other T-shaped one. Nestled in the corner where the pier changed direction, was a small wooden cabin with a metal roof and short black chimney stack. There were a couple of swimmers climbing out of the water nearby.

  ‘Look, if Sigyn’s got Lasse somewhere, we have to think of the sort of place she might have access to or know about.’ Hakim’s attention returned to his phone. ‘She didn’t know Malmö that well until she came to live here in March, so where would she choose?’

  ‘I gather she didn’t socialize,’ said Hakim thoughtfully, ‘so she’d be most familiar with everything between here, where she worked, and over near the Torso, where she was staying. Other than hanging around Anita’s and Pildammsparken – and following Jazmin, of course.’

  ‘Maybe it’s somewhere she passed every day on her way to work. OK, what I want you to do is go from the Kallbadhus, trace her route back to her apartment and see if anything jumps out at you as a hiding place on the way. I’ll send more men to help.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Anything from Klara?’

  ‘Zilch.’

  Anita drew the car up at the drop-off point for Terminal 2. They hadn’t spoken much during the drive from the underground car park in the centre of Copenhagen to the airport. They had had a congenial day of shopping and sightseeing, and an expensive farewell meal at a waterside restaurant in Nyhavn. Kevin hadn’t been his normal jokey self. Maybe the events of last night had knocked the stuffing out of him as much as they had her. And now that they were briefly parked outside the blazingly lit terminal building, she suddenly wanted to say so much. To thank him for the umpteenth time for his unquestioning support, to say how close she now felt to him; yet she was afraid that he would blurt out that he loved her. She suspected it to be the case, but she still didn’t feel she could truthfully reciprocate those feelings. Huge affection, strong friendship and physical desire were all part of how she saw her relationship with him – but not love. Not yet, anyway.

  Kevin got his luggage out of the car. He turned to her.

  ‘You’ll come over to see me before Christmas?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  He took her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. It was fleeting.

  ‘I…’ The words failed him at the last minute. ‘I’ll text you when I get back.’

  ‘Good. I’ll want to know you’ve arrived safely.’

  He picked up his case.

  ‘Next holiday, can we make it less complicated and dangerous? I hear Syria’s very nice.’

  She watched him go through the swing doors. He gave her one last wave through the glass wall, and he was gone. She suddenly felt empty. Alone. She would send him a text, just to thank him again. He’d get it before he boarded. Maybe she liked him more than she would admit to herself. She got back in the car. She reached into her bag, pulled out her mobile and switched it on. She glanced at the car clock – 23.27. It was too late to call Lasse. She’d do it in the morning, after a night back at her apartment. She’d planned to have a quiet Midsummer in Simrishamn with her friend Sandra but couldn’t face that now. But she would have to go back to the holiday home sometime and collect her gear before her rental ran out. She couldn’t bring herself to spend another night there.

  She noticed that she had a number
of missed calls from Hakim, Moberg, Jazmin – and five from a number she didn’t recognize. She had four voice messages.

  The first message – from the unfamiliar number – turned out to be from a very agitated Jazmin:

  ‘Please call back. Lasse’s gone missing. I don’t know where he is. Please, Anita. Come and help me find him.’

  The second was from a now distraught-sounding Jazmin:

  ‘He’s still not turned up. Please, please call!’

  Fear struck her like an icy blast. She decided to head straight for Lasse’s apartment immediately. What on earth was going on? She switched on the ignition as the next message played, this time from Jazmin’s number. She didn’t recognize the woman’s voice:

  ‘Anita Sundström, your worst nightmare is happening. I have your son. Now listen very carefully. If you want to see Lasse alive again, I want to see you at the end of pier three on Ribersborgsstranden at midnight tomorrow. Come alone. If I think anyone else is around – and that includes your incompetent colleagues – I will slit your son’s throat. That’s no empty promise. And then you’ll know the agony of losing someone you love. Midnight tomorrow.’

  Anita sat in dazed confusion. Then the fourth message came on and the familiar voice of Chief Inspector Moberg:

  ‘Anita, Moberg here. Look, as soon as you get this, call me immediately. I’ve got to speak to you.’

  While the car was idling, Anita quickly replayed the messages as though she’d been unable to really believe them the first time round. The menace in the unknown woman’s voice seemed even more vehement the second time. Her thoughts whirled. My God, my little Lasse! What’s happened? After the initial panic, which left her shaking, she managed to concentrate her mind, to psych herself into police mode. Her breathing became more controlled. Jazmin’s message about Lasse going missing fitted in with this appalling threat from the unknown woman. But why? She obviously knew her because the threat was very direct, but who was she? And was Moberg aware of this? Was that why he was trying to contact her? She had to think this through. She methodically beat the steering wheel with her clenched fist as she tried to map out a plan of action. She’d get onto Jazmin first, but the threatening woman’s message had come from Jazmin’s phone. Maybe best to get onto Moberg initially. She suddenly stopped herself in the middle of returning Moberg’s call – the threat had been very specific. This woman didn’t want her colleagues involved. And she knew Moberg of old. He might just charge in there; and Lasse’s life was at stake. But the woman had given her twenty-four hours – midnight tomorrow. Maybe she could catch Kevin before he went through the security check. Then a dreadful thought barged in and pushed all the others out of the way. She played the awful message again. This time she listened to the time of the call – 22.03 on the 18th of June. Oh, my God! That was last night! The back-lit digital clock on the car’s dashboard appeared to shout at her – 23.33. She had twenty-seven minutes to reach the beach – and she was even in the wrong country. She’d never make it in time.