Authors: Torquil MacLeod
‘Not at all.’ Anita could see the vulnerability behind the affable exterior. She felt some sympathy.
‘And you? Have you been close to anyone since whatshisname? Sorry, can’t remember...’
‘Björn.’
‘Since Björn?’
‘Yes. There’s someone.’ The stab of guilt she felt had more to do with the fact that she hadn’t even thought about Ewan for a couple of days. Had she deliberately shoved him to the back of her mind? Maybe it was because he had been trying to tell her something and she hadn’t had the time to let him. Yet it also felt strange that she was acknowledging to a virtual stranger that Ewan was part of her life.
‘Is he in the force?’
‘No. It’s complicated.’ Ash took the hint and didn’t press any further. ‘Anyhow, let’s get back to Nicky and Carol Pew.’
‘There’s not much to tell. After the robbery, a couple of the gang were picked up locally. Roller Weatherley did the collaring. Pew and the fourth member of the gang disappeared. But then a few months later, they surfaced in Australia. I know Weatherley went out there and came back with Dobson.’
‘And what of Pew?’
‘He died in a chase, apparently. I don’t know the circumstances but Weatherley was there when it happened.’
‘Did they ever retrieve the diamonds?’
He gave a hollow laugh. ‘No.’
‘Could Carol have them?’
‘Now that’s a thought. It might explain why Graeme Todd believed he was onto a winner.’
Oxie was an unremarkable satellite town of Malmö. It was an unimaginative urban sprawl of neat, featureless houses, typical of today’s Sweden, thought Nordlund. The twenty-minute drive from the polishus had taken them past the large Jägersro course, the home of the Swedish Derby, and one of the few tracks that accommodated both horseracing and trotting. His wife had enjoyed the odd visit there. He hadn’t been back since her death. Westermark parked the car in front of the swimming pool. They had already been to Andreas Holm’s house. His anxious wife had been alarmed at two detectives turning up at her door. Nordlund had explained it was to do with the death of one of her husband’s colleagues and reassured her that they were just making routine enquiries. She told them that each Tuesday – he worked a four-day week – Andreas took their youngest daughter, Helena, to a baby swimming class at the local pool.
They were greeted by the smell of damp and chlorine as they went through the glass doors of the main entrance. There was a small reception and an area where mothers could feed their young. Three baby chairs were stacked up in the corner. Through a glass wall they could see a small pool. Beyond was the main pool. In the former, an enthusiastic woman was in the centre of a circle of parents who were clutching their offspring. They were singing, and manoeuvring the babies in the water in time with the rhythm of the song. Nordlund watched with a twinge of envy. Hannah had had two miscarriages. He would have loved to have had children. And grandchildren to keep him occupied in his old age.
‘There he is,’ said Westermark pointing at a rotund man with flattened red hair. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. He appeared to be enjoying the session and was joining in the singing enthusiastically. ‘Shall we go in?’
Nordlund went over to the reception desk and asked how long the session was due to last. He was told five more minutes. ‘We’ll wait.’
‘Don’t you think we should just go in? It’ll put the pressure on. He looks the sort of fat shit who molests women.’
‘No, we wait’ Nordlund replied firmly.
Fifteen minutes later, a bespectacled Holm emerged from the changing rooms with young Helena in his arms and a backpack slung over his shoulder. Already, a couple of mothers had set up the highchairs for their babies and were busily feeding them. One yowled as it refused the proffered yoghurt.
‘Andreas Holm?’
Holm stopped and looked at Nordlund. And then at a scowling Westermark.
‘Yes,’ he replied warily.
‘I’m Inspector Henrik Nordlund and this is Inspector Karl Westermark. We’d like a word. About your colleague, Greta Jansson.’
Nordlund could see that Holm was embarrassed to be confronted in such a public area.
‘I really should get Helena home. It’s time for her feed.’
‘We could take you to headquarters in Malmö if you prefer,’ Westermark said nastily, conscious that the mothers were paying more attention to what was going on than to their children.
‘We can do it here,’ Holm said quickly. ‘But outside.’
Nordlund opened the door. It was chilly outside and Holm hugged Helena to his chest as the baby began to whimper unhappily.
‘Let’s go to your car,’ suggested Nordlund.
It took a few minutes before Holm managed to secure Helena in the baby seat in the back of the vehicle. He sat in the back alongside his daughter, who had a dummy in her mouth and was fiddling with a woollen doll. Nordlund and Westermark sat in the front.
‘I can understand your reticence talking to the police,’ Nordlund began. ‘Especially after what happened in Sundsvall.’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘We’re bloody policemen,’ said Westermark. ‘That’s what we do. Check up on creeps like you.’
‘It was blown out of all proportion. The woman was delusional. Nearly ruined my life and my family’s.’
‘But do your present employers know about your past?’ Westermark’s smile couldn’t have been more unfriendly.
Holm lowered his head so he didn’t have to look at the piercing blue eyes of the blond detective, who had swivelled round from the driving seat of the car.
‘We’re not here about Sundsvall. It’s Greta Jansson we’re interested in.’ Nordlund’s measured tones managed to take the edge off the hostile atmosphere. ‘Is it true that you appointed her?’
Holm found it easier addressing the older detective. ‘Yes. She was a late appointment. The person who’d been lined up for the job found another school. Probably a better one. But that wouldn’t be hard. Greta was available at short notice.’
‘Did you get close to her? As a colleague, I mean.’
‘Not really. She wasn’t with us long enough.’
‘Was she particularly friendly with any of the other staff?’
‘Not really... I suppose Alex Fraser. Yes, they seemed to get on well.’ Nordlund and Westermark exchanged glances.
‘Do you know if she was dating anyone?’
‘Oh, no.’
‘That sounds very definite.’ Westermark immediately latched on to Holm’s quick reply.
Holm became flustered. ‘Well... that’s what I heard anyway.’
‘Did you know where she lived?’
‘No. Yes. I remember her telling me. It was close to the school.’
‘Did you stalk her?’
Holm was forced to look at Westermark’s craning head. ‘No!’ He spoke so vehemently that he set Helena off crying. It took a couple of minutes to settle her down.
‘Where were you on the night of September 28th?’ Nordlund asked. ‘It was a Friday.’
Holm made a great play of thinking back. ‘Greta didn’t turn up on the Monday, so it was the Friday before. I worked late that night.’
‘Late on a Friday?’ Westermark asked incredulously.
‘I had lots of marking.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘Went home. And that’s it.’
‘Can your wife vouch for you?’
Holm blinked nervously. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What do you mean by that? Either she can or she can’t.’
‘We’ve a weekend place. Nybrostrand. Outside Ystad. Next to the beach.’
‘I know it,’ confirmed Nordlund.
‘Lamija took the girls there on Friday afternoon.’
‘Lamija?’ Westermark queried.
‘She was born in Bosnia.’
Westermark didn’t hide his contempt. ‘So you were by yourself on Friday night?’
‘I went across first thing Saturday morning for the rest of the weekend. Our last trip of the summer.’
‘And your wife drove over?’ asked Nordlund.
‘Erm... no, she didn’t. Took the train. I had the car at work.’
‘So, you have no alibi,’ Westermark said, pointing out the obvious.
Holm looked unhappy.
‘This car?’ Nordlund asked.
Holm nodded.
‘We’ll drive you home. Then Inspector Westermark will drive it back to headquarters.’
‘Why?’ Holm protested.
‘Because we’ll need to strip it down to see if Greta Jansson was in it the night she died.’
CHAPTER 33
Anita woke up late. The sun was peeking through the curtains and cast a beam of light through the glass of water by her bedside. She had spent the night at Jennifer Todd’s. Anita had insisted, despite the late hour, that they call into Jennifer’s to give her an update. Ash, tired after two long drives in the day, just wanted to go home. After a cup of tea, he had gone and Jennifer was adamant that Anita stay the night. Anita realised that Jennifer wanted some company. She could see that Jennifer needed to keep connected to reality, and helping to find out who was responsible for her husband’s murder was her way of doing that. Until Graeme’s body was finally released and returned to Britain, there would be no chance of closure and moving on. However, the news from Worcester was encouraging, even if it did do little to stem the emotional pain that haunted her every waking moment.
There was a light knock on the door. Anita managed a sleepy, ‘Yes?’
Jennifer came in with a mug of tea. ‘Thought you’d probably need this. I’ll have breakfast for you when you’re ready.’
As Anita sipped her tea, she started to marshal her thoughts. The visit to Worcester had given the investigation a kick start. There was now a plausible reason for Graeme Todd to find Carol Pew other than the paltry inheritance she might get if the claim on Doris Little’s estate was accepted. But Anita had to admit that that was based purely on the assumption that Carol had got hold of the stolen diamonds. What they now needed to know was what happened to Carol after her husband’s diamond robbery ended in murder. Ash was going to make some calls this morning, probably followed by a trip across to the North East. It was a journey that Todd himself had made after his visit to Vanessa Ridley. But who had he gone to see? They would need detailed background on the whole Nicky Pew case, and one person knew it more intimately than anyone. If that meant Ash having to see Deputy Chief Constable Royce Weatherley, so be it. He would have to put his personal animosity aside for the sake of the investigation. She had sympathy for his predicament, but she wouldn’t let it get in the way of discovering the truth and catching the killer. And from where she was standing, that person might be Carol Pew, or someone acting on her behalf. She didn’t even know what she looked like. Vanessa Ridley didn’t possess a photo of her. Ash was going to see what Northumbria Police had on file. As Pew’s wife, she must have come under the spotlight at some stage.
As Anita showered, her mind was still whirring. She must ring Lasse to see how he was coping with Björn. She still couldn’t bring herself to think that her ex-husband was a killer. It was bad enough for her to contemplate – it would be shattering for Lasse. With Björn in mind, she should also phone Nordlund and find out what the latest was on the Greta Jansson investigation. And she needed to report to Moberg. At least she had something to tell him now. Then there was Ewan. He’d just have to wait until she got back. But then her priority was to discover what he had wanted to tell her. Instead of feeling refreshed after her shower, she just felt stressed. Why was life so damned complicated?
Björn Sundström hadn’t slept well. He stared into the mirror above the basin as he brushed his teeth. Neat stubble was turning into a beard. He couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. He had too much on his mind. The grotty bed and breakfast he had moved into wasn’t the kind of accommodation he was used to on his many conference and colloquium jaunts around the world. But it was in an area of the city where he could keep a low profile. He had returned to Anita’s apartment to find that the press were still camped on the doorstep. Who the hell had tipped them off he didn’t know, other than it must have come from inside the police. He had a left-winger’s natural distrust of authority, and the police in particular. Anita had been an aberration. He had never taken to any of her colleagues and had gradually made a point of avoiding them. Basically, he didn’t trust them, and the last few days had only heightened that feeling. Anita had been different. She was almost too honest for her own good, and had a refreshingly liberal attitude to everything from politics to immigration. She didn’t have that fear of a changing society that troubled so many Swedes.
He stopped brushing and dropped the toothbrush into the horrid plastic mug next to the mirror. Maybe it was the mess he was now in that made him view his former marriage in a brighter light. They had been so happy at one time. The sex had been terrific. He may have been her teacher, but she had been a willing and inventive pupil. Strangely, he had no inkling of her subsequent love life. Lasse had never been very forthcoming. On the other hand, his own had been an open book. Lasse’s visits to Uppsala had usually coincided with a new woman. Had any of the details got back to Anita? Suddenly it mattered what she thought of him.
He rinsed out his mouth. More importantly, he knew he was in a bad position. The police wanted to take in his car. He had handed over his spare set of keys. That obnoxious younger detective was going to Uppsala to pick the car up today. Why had he driven down that weekend when he could have got the train or flown? He hadn’t thought it through. He had just wanted to find Greta. And now the university had got wind of his involvement with the murder. He had been told that when he had called a colleague from a pay phone to cancel his lectures and tutorials. They weren’t happy, and he was sure to have received a lot of irate calls on his mobile, which was still at the polishus. He tore himself away from the mirror. He hadn’t liked what he had seen.
‘You shouldn’t have.’ She meant it. Anita surveyed with some dismay the huge English cooked breakfast that Jennifer Todd had laid out before her. This was definitely one of the 5 indulgent days. She took a sip of coffee and tried not to pull a face. Through the window she could see the main part of the village and the market cross. An elderly couple were standing next to the bus stop waiting to go to Keswick, the only service available from Fellbeck. And Wednesday was the only day the bus ran.