Meet me in Malmö: The first Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (21 page)

‘I can’t understand why you just didn’t meet up in Stockholm.’

She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I think it gave Mick a thrill to do it with Malin and Bengt so close. It was also easier for me because Bengt was becoming very possessive. He might even have suspected us. He knew that Mick was supposed to have a meeting up there and was taking an early flight down here. And I was supposed to be driving north after leaving him in Lund, so, in theory, we wouldn’t have had time to hitch up.’

Tegner’s smoke was getting to Anita. She got out her snus tin. ‘Do you know why Mick asked Strachan to come to Malmö instead of Stockholm?’

‘He knew it would make life easier for Strachan. They have direct flights between Kastrup and Newcastle. Mick’s used the service a number of times when he’s gone back to visit his parents.’

Anita pondered this information as she took her snus. ‘Ok. We need you to come with us to make an official statement. Mats will see to that.’

Tegner flicked her cigarette into the dock and it hissed as it hit the water. Olander raised his eyebrows at Anita and smiled.

‘Oh, this is yours, Tilda.’ Anita handed over Tegner’s mobile. ‘Don’t use it until you’ve left the polishus.’

The cell door was opened. Every time it was unlocked a little hope stirred, usually to be crushed as another meal was brought in. But this time it was Anita. She looked like death warmed up. Ewan was mighty pleased to see her, as she was his only possible route out of this madness.

‘Have you any news?’

She ignored his question and went straight into one of her own. ‘What makes you think Mick set you up?’

Ewan sat down slowly. ‘I’ve had plenty of time to think while enjoying your Swedish hospitality. At first I just wondered about the timing of my arrival and Malin’s murder. All very convenient. And then Mick turns up late at the flat and it’s me who’s found with the body. Fortunately, you didn’t immediately jump to the conclusion that I’d done it – not then anyway!’

Ewan waited as he concentrated on ordering his thoughts. He had to get this right. ‘When you did get round to suspecting me you couldn’t find a motive. Then who conveniently supplies one? My old mate Mick, of course.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘I tell you what keeps coming back to me.’ Anita shrugged. ‘His fucking film. That
Gässen
thing.’

‘Why?’

‘Seen it?’ Anita shook her head. ‘In the film, the husband murders his wife so that he can carry on with his mistress. The wife, played by Malin Lovgren, is strangled by the husband. The “other woman” is acted by Tilda Tegner, who just happens to be Mick’s mistress. Recognize the scenario?’

‘It’s only a film.’

‘That’s not it really. What strikes me about this whole business is that it’s been stage-managed. From the moment I was invited over to Malmö. I think he’s been after me from the beginning.’

‘He supplied us with other lines of inquiry first.’

‘If they had come to anything, would I be here?’

Anita had to admit that he had a point.

Suddenly Ewan banged his fist on the newspaper and made Anita jump. ‘Mick’s a film director, for Chrissake! He manipulates people, he manipulates their emotions, he manipulates situations. He
does
manipulation! And he does it brilliantly!’

Anita knew there would be trouble when she saw Nordlund sitting in Moberg’s office. The distorted features on Moberg’s angry face left nothing to the imagination. When Westermark came in behind her she felt as though she had walked into a trap. She had hoped to catch Moberg alone.

‘Henrik hasn’t dropped you in it, because he’s not that sort of man.’ Nordlund grimaced apologetically. ‘But I was wondering why you asked him to come back down here with Tilda Tegner without me knowing. I was under the impression that I was running this fucking investigation!’

Anita kept calm. She held up a piece of paper. ‘This is why.’

It stopped Moberg abruptly just as he was about to launch into another blast of invective. ‘What’s that?’

‘A statement from Tilda Tegner. It shows that Ewan Strachan could have been set up by Mick Roslyn.’

Moberg turned enquiringly to Nordlund, and then to Westermark.

‘That’s crap,’ sneered Westermark. ‘It’s the fucking journalist.’

Anita smiled. ‘Funnily enough, Karl, it was you who put me onto this.’

Westermark feigned puzzlement. This wasn’t something he wanted credit for. He knew she was trying to get her
boyfriend
off. ‘It’s ridiculous.’ This attitude was why Anita had wanted to speak to Moberg alone.

‘It may be rubbish but let Anita have her say. She’s a lot of explaining to do as it is.’ Moberg had reduced his level of anger to simple scowling.

Anita stared at the chief inspector. ‘I’m sorry for going over your head but I wasn’t sure you would go along with it. I needed to sort out the facts, do some checking, and talk to Tilda Tegner.’ She paused. Nordlund gave her an encouraging nod. Westermark just appeared petulant.

‘Karl here told me that Roslyn hadn’t been at the meeting he was meant to be attending in Stockholm on the Monday.’

‘He was still in Stockholm,’ Westermark said defensively.

Anita dropped the statement onto the desk in front of Moberg. ‘But he wasn’t. He was here in Malmö with Tilda.’ All three men showed their surprise at the news. ‘They were in an apartment belonging to one of Roslyn’s friends.’

‘So he was playing away. He’s not the first.’

Anita gave Westermark a withering glance. ‘I’m sure you’re the expert.’

‘Just let her get on without any fucking interruptions,’ barked Moberg.

‘Roslyn flew down on the Monday afternoon, not on the Tuesday morning as he claimed. We’ve checked with the airline. He was booked on the Tuesday flight but didn’t actually board the plane. No taxi delivered a passenger from the airport straight to the apartment at Östra Förstadsgatan that morning. He met up with Tilda late Monday afternoon. Strangely, Strachan saw them but thought he must be mistaken as he knew Roslyn was meant to be in Stockholm. Tilda left the apartment at eleven to drive overnight to Stockholm where Bengt Valquist thought she had already gone.’

‘Ok, so he had opportunity.’ Moberg was scratching his stomach again. ‘How do you fit him in with the murder of his wife?’

‘It goes back to Durham twenty-five years ago. Strachan and Roslyn fell out over Debbie Usher. Each blamed the other for her death. Roslyn may even have believed that Strachan had actually killed her. They don’t see each other again until they meet at an Edinburgh film festival. It’s there that Roslyn suddenly invites Strachan to come to interview him in Malmö. Even Strachan is surprised. Is Roslyn putting together his plan already?’

‘What plan?’

‘It’s the old story of the middle-aged man who has found a younger model. Malin has done well for his career but she’s not getting any younger. Was Malin holding back the ambitious Mick? She was a home-bird who shunned the limelight. Surely he must want bigger things. International films and fame? Hollywood maybe? Malin wouldn’t have liked to be part of that. Now he’s got a new muse, an actress who will fit in with his grander plans. But the beauty of his scheme is that he can get rid of his wife and get his revenge on Strachan as well by helping us to pin the murder on him.’

‘Hang on a minute.’ This was Nordlund. ‘Roslyn put us onto Mednick.’

‘And the ex-Säpo angle,’ put in Moberg.

‘Yes. Let’s take Mednick. We know he was fixated on Malin but we only have Roslyn’s word for it that he actually sent threatening letters, as opposed to lovesick notes. Conveniently, Malin supposedly got rid of them. As for the ex-Säpo hitmen? He put us on to them and asked for a safe house. Again deflecting attention from himself. And what did that turn out to be? Linas Tapper trying to tap Roslyn for money, while peddling a story that may or may not be true. When those routes didn’t work, Roslyn served us up a motive for Strachan. Clever; he’s got his man and he’s got away with murder.’

‘So how do you think the events played out?’ She could tell that Moberg was at least opening up his mind.

‘Tilda has gone by eleven, but he’s already got her to agree to an alibi if needed. That gives Roslyn time to go round to the apartment. Malin would be surprised to see him but he probably said that he’d caught an earlier flight. It’s late, so Malin starts to make him a cup of tea in his football mug. She turns away and he uses his judo skills he learned at university. According to Strachan, he was very good. Then he moves the body and sets it up on the sofa, and places the starfish pendant on her lap after it had come off in the struggle. We’ve assumed all along that the body was left for Roslyn to find. What if it was the other way round? Then Roslyn turns up half an hour late, giving Strachann time to go inside – the door was left conveniently unlocked – and be caught with the dead body. He’s even got a photographer with him, giving himself a witness as to his time of arrival. Olander wondered why Roslyn was only wearing a leather jacket, having come from Stockholm on such a cold morning. Well, he’d only come from Mäster Johansgatan.’

Anita waited for the information to sink in. ‘What we were beginning to think was a spur-of-the-moment murder was, in fact, meticulously planned.’

No one spoke for a good couple of minutes. Moberg broke the silence. ‘Now neither Roslyn nor Tilda Tegner has an alibi.’

 Westermark shook his head. ‘I don’t buy it. With your version of events, Tilda Tegner could have done it.’

‘She could have,’ Moberg answered before Anita could speak. ‘Or both of them in it together? That would make sense.’

‘I don’t think so.’ They all turned to Nordlund. ‘I’ve been with her since yesterday. She was very upset by Valquist’s death. The grief seemed genuine to me. If she’d been involved in Malin Lovgren’s murder I don’t think she’d have been so distressed by the death of her supposed boyfriend. Guilt seems to be the overriding emotion. If she was willing to get to the top by killing a rival, or colluding in her death, then…’ He opened his hands wide and shrugged. The point was made.

Now the focus of attention returned to Moberg. He was scratching his stomach again, which meant he was either having difficulty reaching a decision or he was hungry. He picked up a Biro and started to flick the plastic top up and down with his thumb. The annoying, constant clicking only increased the tension. ‘Henrik?’

‘I think Anita’s made a strong case. It’s more watertight than the one against Strachan. Roslyn’s lied. There’s motive and opportunity.’

Moberg nodded. ‘Anita?’

‘We should bring Roslyn in for questioning. Strachan’s up to you.’

Moberg looked at Westermark.

‘I think that the only thing Roslyn’s guilty of is screwing around and getting caught.’ He glowered at Anita. ‘The journalist did it. I know he did.’

Moberg’s chair scraped back as he drew himself up. The office seemed to shrink as he did so. ‘I’m afraid it’s three to one. I’m going to see the commissioner and the prosecutor and organize an arrest warrant.’

‘What about Tilda Tegner?’ Anita asked.

‘She’ll keep.’ Moberg trundled over to the door. As he opened it he turned to Anita. ‘You can go down and let your friend go.’ He wagged an admonishing finger at her. ‘But he’s not to leave Malmö.’

After Moberg left the room a seething Westermark eyeballed Anita, ‘You’ve got this
so
wrong.’ Then he stormed out.

Westermark walked straight out of the building, down the ramp and headed directly for his car. He got in and sat in silence for some moments. Then he took out his mobile and toyed with it in his hands. He flicked through his contacts list until he came to the name he wanted and, after a momentary hesitation, he pressed “call”. He didn’t have to wait long for it to be answered.

‘Hi, it’s Karl. Karl Westermark. There’s something you need to know.’

Anita gazed out of her office window over Rörsjöparken, just across the road. It was a good place to go and clear the mind and soak up the sun or, if it was too hot, sit in the shade of the giant weeping willow tree, which in summer resembled a green-headed Rastafarian. The door opened behind her. The Ewan who entered was a pale version of the man she had first met. She could see that three days in the cells had been a shock to his system. She felt awkward. Even though she was responsible for his release, she didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Ewan spoke first.

‘So, you’re letting me go.’ She nodded. ‘Are you to thank for this?’

‘We’re only doing our job. But you are not to leave Malmö yet. We will keep hold of your passport for the moment.’

Ewan suddenly grinned. ‘Admit it; you’re only doing this to keep me here so I’ll buy you some more drinks.’

Anita was totally disconcerted. She had expected recriminations and accusations, anger and resentment. But he was laughing. ‘Was I right about Mick?’

Anita was grateful that she could retreat into police-speak. ‘I cannot say. But we are pursuing another line of inquiry.’

Ewan smiled again. ‘So, it’s definitely Mick.’ He held up his hand in acknowledgement that he wasn’t going to get any more out of her. ‘I’ll bugger off, Inspector. The first thing I’m going to do on leaving this building is smoke two cigarettes. And the second is go to a spot where there are no walls to entrap me, where I can witness this beautiful earth as far as the eye can see. I want to go up your bloody Turning Torso.’

Half an hour later, Nordlund came into her office. ‘Erik’s got the arrest warrant. You, me and Westermark are to go with him to fru Lovgren’s.’

‘Isn’t that rather heavy-handed?’

‘He’s not taking any chances after last time,’ he said pointedly. Anita half-blushed at the thought of the fiasco of Mednick’s arrest.

‘Ok.’

 ‘And Anita, bring a gun this time.’

Once Ewan had gone past the university education department building, and headed directly towards the Turning Torso, the full blast of the icy wind hit him. It was an effort to walk upright. The cold was as raw and uncompromising as the surroundings of Stora Varvsgatan, which he was now walking down. The Turning Torso might represent the new Malmö but there were still reminders that this had been the industrial heart of the city. To his left were the remains of the Kockums works, with its large spaces and box cranes, and to the right a more modern Kockums office block. The solid Malmö Mässen exhibition centre and the squat Maxi ICA hypermarket beyond certainly weren’t examples of Swedish space-age designer cool. But the towering Turning Torso, just behind, definitely was.

He rounded the hypermarket and there the tower reached up to the gloomy sky – a futuristic rocket ready for take-off. On one side of the building, white girders criss-crossed their way from top to bottom, while each of the nine white cubes, stacked one on top of the other at jaunty angles, meant that the windows were crazily aligned. On reaching the tower, Ewan found it was completely surrounded by a man-made water feature, with access to the entrance provided by a walkway into the circular glass portico. There was no denying that this was an audacious piece of design. Before its completion many had thought it merely foolhardy. Ewan entered the building and walked past typically Scandinavian light wooden panelling, which surrounded the building’s circular core on the ground floor. He approached the reception desk and asked for Daniel, Anita’s contact.

The two cars parked opposite Beijers Park, a few houses beyond Britta Lovgren’s house. Moberg and Anita got out of one and Nordlund and Westermark emerged from the other. They gathered round the protective bulk of the Chief Inspector.

‘I don’t expect him to put up a fight, but we have to be sure he doesn’t try and bolt. Westermark, you go round the back.’ Westermark nodded, though Anita couldn’t help noticing how edgy he appeared.

As they approached the front door from the street Westermark slipped round the side of the house. Moberg rang the door bell. He looked sharply at Anita. ‘I’m handling this, so I’ll do the talking.’

After a few moments, the door was answered by Britta Lovgren, who was taken aback to see three officers on her doorstep. She patted her immaculately groomed hair in a nervous gesture.

‘Sorry to disturb you, fru Lovgren,’ said Moberg. ‘We need to speak to your son-in-law.’

‘Mick? But he’s not here.’

Moberg flinched. ‘Do you know where he is?’ There was more urgency in his voice.

‘I don’t know. He got a call on his mobile and left in a hurry. Why—’

Moberg didn’t let her finish. ‘How long ago?’

‘Oh, less than an hour ago. He seemed very upset.’

‘Do you know who the call was from?’

‘I’ve no idea. He muttered something about having to get someone?’

‘”Get someone”? To fetch someone?’

‘What else could it mean?’

Just then Westermark appeared behind Britta Lovgren. She was startled by his sudden presence. Moberg didn’t stop to explain as he turned away and stalked off to the gate, leaving the unnerved and bewildered woman. The other three followed.

‘He’s buggered off,’ snapped Moberg, bringing Westermark up to speed. ‘We don’t want the bastard disappearing.’

‘He might be coming back with someone,’ suggested Nordlund.

Anita noticed Westermark shuffling his feet and looking distracted. The body language was evasive. ‘Has he been tipped off?’ she wondered aloud.

Westermark’s head jolted up. Anita could see that her instincts were right. It was enough to alert Moberg, who fixed Westermark with one of his trademark glares. ‘Well?’

Westermark gulped. ‘I rang him.’

Moberg grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and virtually hoisted him off the ground. ‘You fucking imbecile,’ he yelled in his face. ‘What did you do that for?’

Westermark could hardly spit the words out. ‘I thought he was innocent.’

Moberg threw him backwards and he ended up on his backside on the pavement. ‘Now we’ve got to fucking find him! Christ, he could be anywhere.’

‘I don’t think so. When he said he was going to “get someone” he wasn’t going to pick them up.’ Anita spoke with a persuasive certainty. ‘I think he’s going to settle a score. Thanks to Karl’s call, he knows it’s all up. So, he’s going to get the guy who he tried to set up for Malin’s murder.’

‘Strachan?’

She felt panic rising. ‘Yeah. He’s nothing to lose and he wants to take his old rival with him. He would have had time to get to the polishus as Ewan was leaving the building.’

‘Do you know where Strachan was going?’

‘Yes. The Torso.’

Daniel had been very chatty. He had filled Ewan in on numerous facts and figures about the tower, none of which Ewan could remember, except that the Torso moved up to ten metres in the wind and some of the residents had complained of seasickness. The inside of the tower struck Ewan as part spacecraft, part lighthouse. Daniel had even taken him into one of the futuristic conference rooms on the fifty-third floor. Ewan wondered how anybody could concentrate with such staggering views out of the windows. Eventually, Daniel had shown Ewan how to reach the top of the tower, where normally nobody was allowed to go other than maintenance staff and the man mad enough to go out and clean the building’s 2,500 slanting windows. ‘But as a friend of Anita’s, then I make this the exception, no?’ said the grinning Daniel with a confidential wink. He had been so effusive about Anita that Ewan wondered what the nature of their relationship was. Was he getting jealous again?

All was forgotten when he stepped through the white metal door and stood at the top of Scandinavia’s tallest structure. He had emerged from the central core of the building, which up on the roof was circular, resembling a new, uncut Stilton cheese. Running round the roof was a kind of elevated monorail track, which came up to his waist. Daniel explained that this was for the cleaning cradle, which was moved round the roof until positioned above the side of the tower that needed attention. As none of the sides of the building were straight, the workman guided his cradle carefully into the required position before getting out his squeegee. Ewan assumed that the only applicants for the job came from the local lunatic asylum.

The wind whistled round the tower, so Ewan didn’t venture near the edge. Having escaped prison and a murder charge, he didn’t want to spoil things by being blown off the top of the tallest building in Sweden. Despite the greyness all around, the view was still breathtaking. Malmö was laid out way below. He could make out the main landmarks like the castle and the big churches. Despite all he had been through, it was a city that he was growing fond of. A city of parks and cyclists. A city of contrasts - a place that was growing more cosmopolitan yet where Netto wasn’t considered an embarrassing shopping experience. Over the expanse of water he could see Copenhagen, which he promised himself he would visit next time. What really caught his eye was the perfect symmetry of the Öresund Bridge. Its incredible length made him appreciate what an engineering marvel it was. A large tanker was ploughing its way towards it. This was the gateway to the Baltic.

What was most exciting of all was that he was free, out of the cell that had trapped him for three days. Out here nothing could imprison him. He had fought endless battles to keep his sanity and it was the recurring image of Anita that had saved him from totally losing control in that confined space. Up here, the wind was blowing away the fears that had taunted him, hour after hour, in that locked room. And now the police thought it was Mick who had killed Malin. That really was a turn up for the old book. The bastard deserved to be locked up. It served him right for what he had destroyed all those years ago in Durham.

Ewan took out his packet of cigarettes. Despite his best efforts he couldn’t compete with the wind and he replaced the unsmoked cigarette. As he did so he noticed the door open. From the flash of yellow maintenance jacket he assumed it must be the window cleaner. Ewan turned his attention back to the view. Up here he could appreciate all the green areas given over to the parks. Why couldn’t they do that in Britain? Any public space was immediately built on by some avaricious developer with the connivance of weak and moribund local councils.

Ewan couldn’t see the man who had come through the door a few moments before. He must have gone round the other side of the roof. It was now becoming blustery and he decided to go back down and then find himself a cosy bar.

‘You fucking shit!’

Ewan spun round. Standing in front of him was a wild-eyed Mick.

Moberg pressed his huge hand on the horn on the steering wheel. The driver in front panicked and slammed on his brakes. Cursing, Moberg violently manoeuvred the car round the vehicle and jumped the red light, narrowly missing a taxi coming from the road on the right. Aggressive finger gestures were exchanged but nothing was going to stop the chief inspector. In a country of careful drivers, this was like a scene from
Starsky and Hutch
bursting onto their streets. Westermark’s car was hot on their heels as they raced past the station, then the central post office. Alarmed pedestrians rushed back off zebra crossings that they thought had been safe to negotiate.

Anita clung on to the doorhandle as she endured this white-knuckle ride. What her dominant fear was she couldn’t decide - the lunatic driving of her boss or the worry that Roslyn had caught up with Ewan. She knew that she didn’t want Ewan to be harmed. That bloody idiot Westermark! What had he thought he was playing at? He might have Ewan’s death on his hands. Roslyn had already killed his wife. He could possibly have killed Debbie Usher twenty-five years ago, too. Moberg wrenched the car left onto Stora Varvsgatan and they had a clear run to the end by the ICA supermarket. Moberg rammed his foot down and the car nearly became airborne.

They were circling each other like two cagey boxers, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Mick hadn’t said a word after his first outburst, but his intention was clear. There was nothing left to be said. They knew why they were up there together. Ewan had opened his mouth to reason with Mick but promptly shut it. He knew it would be a waste of time. It was too late for that. Ewan weighed up his options. He could try and make a dart for the door, but that exit would be quickly cut off by Mick. When Mick pounced on him he knew that he would have the advantage of bulk, but that it would mean little as he was so out of condition. He could see that Mick worked out.

Despite the chill, sweat was running down his back. His mouth was dry. He was truly frightened. Mick was crazed. God, was it all going to end here? In sheer panic, he rushed at Mick and grabbed him round the waist and flung him to the ground. They crashed down together. Mick was temporarily winded as he was underneath. Ewan tried to get up before Mick recovered. Then he might make the door and the safety of the stairs. The tower was such a warren he might be able to lose him. He staggered to his feet and tried to dash towards the door. He had nearly made it when Mick’s arms whipped round his neck and shoulders and he found himself being dragged backwards. He gagged as the crook of Mick’s right arm pulled tight on his throat. He flayed with his elbows but he couldn’t loosen the vicelike grip. He hadn’t the strength or the stamina to stop Mick yanking him away from the doorway. The sky swirled in front of his eyes. He tried to scream. Could anybody hear him? Not in this wind. He was trying to make it as hard as possible for Mick, yet he knew that he was being hauled closer and closer to the edge of the tower.

They rushed into the building, Anita a few feet in front of the panting Moberg. Daniel was in the reception area and smiled as he saw her, though his grin froze when he saw her running. ‘Your English friend—’

‘Where is he?’ she shouted.

Startled, all he could do was point upwards with a finger. ‘The roof.’

Without a word of explanation, Anita rushed to the lift door and rammed her finger against the ascend button. A light flickered on to show the lift was coming down from the eighteenth floor. She swore. Moberg lumbered in.

Daniel was about to ask what on earth was happening when he saw Anita pull out her gun. The question never materialized.

The lift arrived. The wooden door swished open smoothly and a young professional couple got the fright of their lives when they were met by a woman brandishing a gun. Anita unceremoniously yanked them out of the lift and she and Moberg got in. The terrified couple watched as the lift doors swished back and the woman with the gun and the huge man with her disappeared. Before they could speak, another two men rushed into the building. The place had gone mad.

They stumbled back into the first piece of window cradle track. Mick had to loosen his grip and Ewan managed to prise away the arm around his windpipe. It was only a momentary respite, as Mick heaved him over the monorail, crushing Ewan’s ribs in the process. Ewan summoned up all the strength he had left and managed to halt for a few seconds their inexorable progress towards the edge of the building by clinging onto the track top. Ewan was even able to twist slightly so that he was side-on to Mick, so that he couldn’t be dragged. It was the wrong choice, as Mick’s now free fist smashed into the side of his head. The pain was shattering. He stood reeling, desperately trying to hang on to some semblance of thought. It was hopeless. His head was spinning. The second blow knocked him to his knees. He felt sick. He couldn’t fight this any longer. His head was pounding so much that he couldn’t reason. All he could think about was that he wanted this all to end.

The will to fight was seeping away. As if in a dream, Ewan was conscious that he was being pulled towards the second piece of track. He twisted again and Mick dropped him. He landed on the ground and lay there. For a second, it was a place of rest and blessed relief until Mick violently hauled him up again. Now Mick had got him to the track, which was next to the lip of the tower. Malmö was swirling in front of him. It was so far below. Suddenly he could hear his own voice, though it sounded as though it was coming from a distance. ‘Please, Mick, please.’