Authors: Torquil MacLeod
From Stora Nygatan they quickly turned into Gasverksgatan, and the modern art gallery was in front of them. The main part was an attractive brick building with heavily shuttered windows over two floors. It had been an electricity plant in the early 1900s and was now cleverly renovated. At one end, an enormous, orange, perforated-steel annex had been added in 2009. This was to give the building’s interior “an entirely new spatial order”, as Nordlund read in the pamphlet he was given in return for his hefty seventy-kronor entrance fee. His growing doubts about the wisdom of accompanying Hakim were increased the moment he entered the main gallery area, which had been the turbine hall. After he had seen the first two paintings, Nordlund consulted his exhibition leaflet to try and understand the theme of the oddly grotesque, half-abstract, half-cartoon-style pictures on display. Apparently they formed “a surrealistically spinning narrative that sucks you into the brutal and contradictory world of the male of the species”. Nordlund pondered that the artist must have come across some seriously appalling men in her time to issue such a blazingly harsh indictment of his sex. The images were disturbing. Many of the paintings were difficult to decipher, but some were blindingly obvious. One depicted a rape scene. This gave Nordlund a jolt. Had Greta Jansson’s attacker worn the callous expression of the man in the painting? Was it someone who loved women or hated them? Nordlund found the exhibition hard to take, and excused himself to Hakim, who was engrossed in the work. Nordlund escaped upstairs in the hope of finding something lighter. He was disappointed. Despite the size of the gallery, there were few exhibits; mostly comprised of random explosions of paint and textile. One had so many spots of colour that he felt a headache coming on.
He was glad to be back in the open air. He would go and find a sandwich. Though his visit may not have increased his appreciation of modern art, it had enabled him to see the murder of Greta Jansson in a different light. He hadn’t really thought about the mental make-up of the man behind the crime. The professor’s love and rejection, Fraser’s temper, Holm’s weakness, none of them strong enough motives for such an abhorrent act. The rape of the painting was the deed of a monster. Underneath the superficiality of their characters, one of the suspects must have a much darker side to his nature. None struck Nordlund as being psychotic, but one of them was sick enough to rape an innocent girl, cold-blooded enough to murder her, and then cool enough to return to the scene of the crime to cover up his tracks. But which one?
CHAPTER 37
Anita had a pint waiting on the table for Ash’s arrival. She had plumped for a fruit tea – had to be better than the coffee.
A couple of minutes later, Ash came breezing through the door.
‘That’s my kind of lunch!’ As soon as he sat down he launched into his beer as though he hadn’t had a drink for days. On replacing his glass on the table, he smacked his lips with satisfaction. ‘Thank you. Needed that. Want any food?’
‘No.’
‘Are you all right? You sounded a bit off on the phone. Anything happened?’
‘No,’ she lied.
He could tell that something was preying on her mind, but was wise enough not to probe. He went to the bar and ordered a sandwich and a pork pie. On his return, Anita fished out the photo of Carol Pew. Ash studied it in silence. Eventually, he said, ‘She was a bit of a looker.’ Anita didn’t pass comment. ‘At least it’ll give your lot over in Sweden something to go on.’
The young man behind the bar came across with Ash’s food.
‘Sure you won’t have anything, Anita?’
She shook her head.
Ash shrugged and took a large bite out of his prawn mayonnaise sandwich.
He said, his mouth still half-full, ‘There doesn’t seem to be any sense of loss in Acomb for Billy Hump. Had a word with the police in Hexham and they’re no further forward with the hit-and-run. They don’t know whether it was deliberate or an accident. Apparently, he was good at making enemies.’
He took another sizeable chunk out of his second sandwich. Anita waited for him to continue, though she was finding it difficult to rustle up any enthusiasm.
‘I did talk to a few of Billy Hump’s neighbours and I tracked down a cousin in the village. Since coming out of prison, he hadn’t worked and had spent most of his time getting drunk and being objectionable. What I did gather was that when he was in his cups, he’d talk about Nicky Pew. He’d tell people, if they could be bothered to listen, that Pew had sold him down the river. Chapman too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Hump reckoned that it was Pew who’d set him up; tipped off the police. No one had known where they were hiding. It was Pew who’d told him and Chapman where to lie low until everything blew over.’
Anita managed to drag her mind back to the matter in hand. ‘Why would he tell the police?’
‘Hump maintained that it was so Pew didn’t have to split the money four ways.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘If it’s true. I think there’s more to it than that. Pew was on the run because of the shooting. It would be easier for the two stars of the show to get away if the excess baggage was jettisoned. Throw the police a couple of titbits and it draws attention away from Pew and Dobson. And then, of course, Pew probably did the same thing again.’
‘You mean in Australia?’
‘Exactly! The heat was on, so he betrayed Dobson. Except it didn’t do him any good in the long run. What a ruthless bastard! And he was also quite happy to dump his wife as well. Maybe that wanker Weatherley did the right thing for once.’ He took a rueful sip of his pint.
‘And what about the diamonds? Or the money from them?’
‘Pew must have salted that away somewhere. But with his death, that knowledge has gone. Probably sitting in some off-shore bank account to this day. If there’s one thing to come out of this, it’s knowing that none of them benefitted from the security guard’s death. Three are now dead and the other... oh, by the way, I’ve been on to Doncaster. Graeme Todd didn’t visit Dobson, but he did go to Acomb. That cousin of Hump’s I mentioned was round at his house when Todd called. But she left before they discussed anything.’
‘That’s a pity.’
‘There was one curious thing the cousin said, though. After the visit, Hump said he was going to come into some money. She just put it down to the drink talking. “His usual bullshit” was how she described it.’
‘I wonder what Hump could have told Todd?’
‘As they’re both dead, we’ll never know.’
‘Unless...’ Anita paused as though thinking something through.
‘Unless what?’ said Ash, who was now enthusiastically attacking his pork pie.
‘Unless he took the picture from the Swedish newspaper to see if Billy Hump could confirm that Carol was in it.’
Ash nodded, a lump of pie restricting any speech.
‘It still doesn’t get us anywhere,’ Anita sighed.
‘I’m afraid you’re right.’
‘There’s nothing more I can do here. I’ve got to go back to Sweden.’
Ash stared at her. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘All I can do is to try and find Carol Pew. She may not be directly behind Todd’s death, but we’ve nothing else to go on.’
The rain had passed, and the quayside was deserted. Standing in the car park, Anita watched the light of a fishing boat heading out to sea.
She had been spent that afternoon in an almost-comatose state. She had gone through the motions of arranging an SAS flight out of Newcastle to Copenhagen for the next morning, but her mind was fixed on Kirseberg Prison. Ash, who seemed in no hurry to return to Cumbria, had gone off to see one of his daughters. He had returned in time for a dull meal at the restaurant next door to the hotel. She hadn’t been much in the way of company, and it had been left to Ash to fill in the long gaps in the conversation. Afterwards, she had gone out for a walk.
She couldn’t get her head round the fact that Ewan wouldn’t be there in Malmö when she returned. Ironically, he would leave a huge hole in her life. How she had allowed herself to get this attached to such a man was a conundrum. But however much she chided herself for being so stupid, it didn’t change a thing.
And what else would be awaiting her? A recalcitrant Lasse. An ex-husband who could be a murderer. An angry boss who would be quick to point out that her trip to England had been a waste of the department’s time and money. A hopelessness enveloped her entire being. It was as though she could physically feel her confidence and any sense of self-worth draining from her.
‘I was worried about you.’
She turned to see Ash’s face illuminated by one of the streetlamps, like Humphrey Bogart in a black and white movie.
‘Thought you might have got lost.’
Anita folded her arms against the cold. She didn’t say anything.
‘Returning to the scene of the crime?’ The levity in his voice didn’t lift her mood.
‘Look, I’ll piss off. I don’t know if it’s something I’ve done or said. Whatever, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not you, Kevin.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’
‘It’s...’ From nowhere came a surge of grief. It caught her totally unawares. It was like a tidal wave that she had no defences against. She grabbed her mouth with her hand, but it was too late. The huge sob just couldn’t be controlled and the torrent of tears followed. Ash watched helplessly as Anita’s body shook uncontrollably. He was embarrassed and had no idea what he should do. He tentatively held out a hand. Her convulsions began to recede and she took off her glasses and began to wipe them distractedly with her fingers. With pleading eyes, she looked at Ash.
She whispered, ‘Hold me. Please.’
Hardly a word was spoken in the half hour it took Ash to drive from North Shields to Newcastle International Airport. He was confused, while Anita was ashamed. Ashamed that she had displayed such hysterical emotions in front of a new colleague. Ashamed that she’d allowed a sympathetic Ash into her bedroom. She hadn’t particularly wanted him, she just needed someone. It wasn’t the sex that was important, it was the physical contact. She just felt she needed the touch and caresses of another human being. In truth, the sex hadn’t been that good. She wasn’t the only one who was out of practice. Like an errant schoolboy, Ash had apologized for his poor performance. After he’d left, she had slept soundly. Over a continental breakfast, it had been business as usual. She could see that Ash was waiting for her to say something about what had happened between them, but that was in the past. She was grateful to him, but now it meant nothing to her. He would have to live with that.
As they hit the dual carriageway to the airport, the rain started again. A dismal end to a frustrating visit. They had agreed that while Anita would search for Carol Pew in earnest on her return to Sweden, Ash would see if there were any more connections he could dig up on the Doris Little front – and have another look at the events surrounding the Commission Quay robbery. They both had a feeling that there were still unanswered questions in England. Who broke into Jennifer Todd’s? Was the sudden death of Billy Hump an accident or premeditated? Ash said that he might go and visit Dobson, the last remaining member of the gang, in Doncaster prison. Something might come to light. They both knew they were missing something, but what?
The only positive news Anita had received was a call from Lund that morning before she left the hotel. Graeme Todd’s body was being released and shipment back to the UK was being organized. Jennifer would have closure at last.
They reached a parking barrier and Ash leant out into the rain to take a ticket. A few moments later, he parked opposite the main entrance. An Easyjet plane, easily distinguishable by its orange tail, was just taking to the bleak skies. It would be nice to head somewhere sunny – to get away from it all. She wasn’t looking forward to going back to Malmö. Ash took her small case from the boot of the car.
Ash wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it was certainly more than a cursory ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He watched her stride through the rain to the revolving door of the Departures section. He liked Anita. He had enjoyed working with her. More than that, he fancied her. And then last night. Had he taken advantage of her vulnerability? Or had she taken advantage of his? He had never been good at understanding women. If this was what Swedish women were like, he was both intrigued and bemused by them. All he could conclude was that Swedish men had their hands full.
Moberg could see the look of triumph on Westermark’s face as he burst through the open door of his office.
‘We’ve got him!’
‘Where’s Henrik?’
‘I have no idea,’ retorted Westermark, who didn’t want anything to stop him giving Moberg the news he had brought.
‘Get him, then you tell us both who you’ve got.’
Moberg could see that Westermark was trying to usurp Nordlund in the handling of the case. While
he
was in charge, that wasn’t going to happen. He’d always had time for Henrik Nordlund. He could trust him. He was going to be sorely missed when he retired.
Westermark, still looking triumphant, returned three minutes later with Nordlund in tow.
‘All right, what have you got?’
‘The cars belonging to Alex Fraser, Andreas Holm and Björn Sundström have been totally stripped. And the technicians have come up with evidence that Greta Jansson was in one of those three vehicles.’ He paused for effect. ‘We’ve got him!’
CHAPTER 38
Anita’s plane arrived fifteen minutes late. It took another half hour to get through passport control and reach the train station in the bowels of Kastrup airport. Having only taken hand luggage, she had avoided wasting time at the baggage reclaim area. However, travelling light also meant that she was desperate to get out of the things she was wearing, as she had survived six days with little in the way of a change of clothes.
When she boarded the train, she saw the latest edition of
Sydsvenskan
lying on the seat next to her. Her eye couldn’t escape the headline: PROFESSOR ARRESTED FOR EX-STUDENT’S MURDER. Anita felt winded. She had tried hard to dismiss such a possibility. She stared out of the window and saw the waters of the Sound flicker by as the train flew past the girders of the Öresund Bridge. With Nordlund in charge, she knew that an arrest would have to be based on solid evidence. Prosecutor Blom wouldn’t want any foul-ups either, as it would reflect badly on her if they had got the wrong person. This couldn’t be a worse homecoming.