Authors: Torquil MacLeod
‘Did you meet him?’
‘No. He was away fishing somewhere. By the way, did Hakim send you the picture of Carol out of the newspaper?’
‘Yes.’
‘The husband is in the jazz trio. He’s the one playing the drums. So, have you anything to report from sunny Cumbria?’
‘Sun’s nowhere to be seen. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to Doncaster on Tuesday to see George Dobson. Now I’m having second thoughts after what you’ve just told me. Sounds like the Commission Quay robbery’s been a red herring.’
‘We’ve nothing to lose. If nothing else, it’ll give you a day out.’
‘Have you ever been to Doncaster?’ he spluttered in amusement.
‘No, but I’m sure you’ll find a pub.’
This was followed by an awkward silence.
‘Right, I’ll let you know how I get on. And if there’s anything you want me to do, just get in touch. I’ve got your work email. Have you a personal one? Just in case I need to send you something when you’re at home,’ he added hurriedly in a voice that sounded increasingly dry.
Anita’s first instinct was not to give him an excuse for even more contact. Then she relented.
‘Right, got it!’ There was a pause at the other end of the line. ‘Thanks. Take care, Anita.’
‘Goodbye,’ she said more brusquely than she had intended.
As she was putting her phone down, she noticed that she had missed a call. It was from Henrik Nordlund. She listened to the message with increasing concern.
‘Anita, Henrik here.’ There was an urgency in his voice that she had never heard before. ‘I need to speak to you. Tonight. It’s about Greta Jansson. Don’t come to the apartment, as I think I’m being watched. Come to the park opposite. Nine o’clock. Come through the Amiralsgatan entrance and I’ll meet you at the back of Moriskan.’ The message ended. Anita sat back and watched the silent characters moving on the TV screen. This was so unlike Nordlund. He was the last person in the world who would be described as melodramatic, yet that was exactly the tone of his message. She texted Nordlund back saying she would be there at nine. Now she had yet another thing to worry about.
Sunday night in Malmö was quiet. The traffic on the normally busy Amiralsgatan was down to a trickle. At the entrance of Folkets Park she walked past a semicircle of flags, whose cords flapped unharmoniously against their poles. The Cuba Café at the corner of the park was shrouded in darkness. The trees beyond were being tousled by the wind, and the minarets of the Moorish Pavilion, known locally as Moriskan, flitted in and out of view as the clouds raced across the moon. In daylight, this extraordinary Arabian Nights building, which had become the centre of this People’s Park in 1902, was a wonderfully gaudy sight. In the dark, it was mysterious and forbidding. The nature of Anita’s tryst only helped to make its shadows more unsettling. She steadied her nerves by reminding herself that this was a happy spot, where families came to play and picnic and ride on the amusements. In far off days, it had been a meeting place for workers expressing their political views and in later years it had become an entertainment venue where many world-famous artists had performed; her mother remembered Frank Sinatra singing here in 1953.
Anita rounded the pavilion and made her way along the path towards the centre of the park. Ahead of her, there was an avenue of trees stretching to the right leading up to the original entrance with its pagoda-style portico. Between the rows of trees was a large, rectangular water feature with paths on each side. On the paths, benches were positioned at regular intervals. Though the light was dim, she could see a figure sitting on one of them. The straight back could only belong to Nordlund. A couple, hand in hand, were leaving the park through the portico. No one else seemed to be around. They would not be disturbed, which was presumably what Nordlund wanted, as he obviously had something vitally important to tell her.
Anita approached the figure. ‘Hello, Henrik,’ she called lightly. Nordlund didn’t move. He was staring straight in front of him at the water.
She sat on the bench next to him. She leaned over and touched him on the arm. ‘Henrik.’
Silently, he flopped forward and fell to the ground in front of the bench onto a carpet of fallen leaves.
‘Henrik!’
She bent down. He wasn’t moving. She put her ear next to his mouth to listen to his breathing. There was no sound. She felt in the dark for his wrist. There was no pulse either. Then she realized her knee was becoming wet. It wasn’t from the earlier rain – it was blood. She could hardly breathe herself when it finally dawned on her that Henrik Nordlund was dead.
CHAPTER 44
Below the tops of the trees, the arc lights illuminated the centre of the park. Together with the flashing lights of the police cars on the road outside, the roped-off entrance and the tent erected over the dead body, it made an eerie spectacle for the curious onlookers who had emerged from the nearby apartment blocks. There was activity all around Anita. Completely dazed at first, the enormity of what had happened was now slowly sinking in. Her first action had been to phone the polishus. Then, as the mental fog had begun to clear, the practical policewoman had taken over. She had called Moberg at home. Then Hakim, who had made his way quickly on foot. Eva Thulin and her team had appeared, and quickly went about their gruesome business. No black humour from Thulin this time. This was serious. This was one of their own. Westermark had arrived shortly after Thulin, after Moberg had raised him on his mobile. Everything was carried out in efficient silence. No one felt like talking.
Moberg appeared from the tent and came across to Anita, who was standing on the grass above the water.
‘Thulin has confirmed it was a stabbing. In the back. From your description of his position, she reckons Henrik didn’t see it coming. Neat job.’
Anita was grateful that it must have been a very quick death.
‘Anita, what I need to know is what he was doing here? And, more to the point, what were you doing here?’
Anita tried to clear her mind. It was important to act swiftly. If they wasted the first twenty-four hours, the harder the investigation would become. The time that had elapsed before Graeme Todd and Greta Jansson were found had caused the headaches that followed. This murder had just taken place; probably minutes before she had turned up. The attacker could still have been in the park when she arrived. Grieving had to be put on hold.
‘He left me a message today saying he wanted to meet me here at nine.’
‘Why here?’
‘Because he thought he was being watched.’
‘Watched? By whom?’
‘I don’t know. He wanted to speak to me about the Greta Jansson case. Something was bothering him about it.’
‘But we’ve got your ex. As far as Blom is concerned, it’s nailed down.’
‘Henrik wasn’t sure. Or he wasn’t certain when I spoke to him the other night. Something must have changed over the last couple of days.’
‘Could this have been a random attack? Some nutter? A robbery? Thulin thinks that his pockets have been riffled. His wallet is missing.’
‘It could be an impulse robbery or drug addict after money. But it’s quite a coincidence that Henrik wanted to meet me here because he thought someone was watching him, and he ends up dead. Maybe the attacker just wanted it to look like a random killing. Maybe the killer took something that he was going to show me.’
‘So you’re pretty sure it was something to do with Greta Jansson?’ This wasn’t the barking Chief Inspector Moberg speaking. It was a softer version. He was hurting as much as Anita. Henrik Nordlund was one of the few detectives he had had time for. He didn’t have friends in the force; Nordlund had been the closest thing.
‘Have you any clues as to what he was thinking?’
‘Not really.’ For some reason she found herself withholding the fact that Nordlund had wanted to listen again to the recording of Björn’s interview, and to speak to Eva Thulin. She would do that herself first.
‘You should go home.’ Moberg put a huge consoling arm round her. She felt gratitude, not revulsion. ‘I know he was close to you.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll be fine. This has to be solved. Someone has got to pay for this.’
Moberg withdrew his arm.
‘Take your time.’ He then strode off back towards the tent. Westermark, Wallen, Hakim and a couple of other detectives were standing talking quietly, all still in a state of shock. ‘Right, let’s get fucking moving.’ Moberg was back to his most bullish. ‘I don’t care who does what, but I want Fraser and Holm brought in now!’
No one could remember seeing so many lights on in the polishus at midnight before. As soon as the word had got out that Nordlund was dead, people had come in to see what they could do. Even Commissioner Dahlbeck, from his country retreat, was closeted with Moberg and Chief Inspector Larsson. Westermark had overseen the picking up of Fraser and Holm, who had been put into separate interview rooms. Everyone else was hanging around waiting for instructions. One notable absentee was Anita. After issuing instructions at the park, Moberg had decided that she must concentrate on her existing case as she hadn’t been involved in the Greta Jansson investigation anyway. Privately, he thought that her close relationship with Nordlund would affect her judgement. Even if Sundström and Mirza weren’t exactly making progress on the Todd case, they couldn’t afford to step back from it.
But Anita had no intention of detaching herself from Nordlund’s murder. As she left the forensic team to their work, she had been outlining in her mind a plan of action, which she knew Moberg wouldn’t allow her to carry out. She had questions to ask, facts to check. After speaking to Moberg, she was worried that he and the team would end up concluding that it was a random killing. But she was convinced it was tied up with Greta Jansson. She knew it would be quickly established whether Fraser and Holm had alibis or not. If it was one of them, then the case would be swiftly solved. But one thing was certain; it wasn’t Björn, who was safely in custody in Kirseberg prison.
Anita told Hakim to go home. Naturally, he was upset at Nordlund’s death. He was fond of the old detective. She said they would review the Todd case in the morning. In truth, she had no idea how to proceed on that. Now, however, she was more interested in talking to Eva Thulin.
The forensic technician emerged from the tent looking pensive and drained. White-suited members of her team were searching the area under the arc lights for evidence. The entire park would have to be combed in the morning, when they could work in daylight. But there might be something that might turn up now. She spotted Anita and gave her a weary wave.
‘This is the worst part of the job, when you have to examine someone you know.’
‘Any initial thoughts?’
‘It was quick and clean. It was either someone who knew what they were doing, or they were dead lucky; excuse the pun.’
‘Eva, did Henrik come and see you or speak to you on the phone yesterday?’
Thulin pushed back the plastic hood on her body suit. ‘He did, actually.’
‘What was it about?’
‘The fingerprints in Greta Jansson’s apartment. He just wanted to clarify my findings. He wanted to know exactly which parts of the apartment had been wiped clean and which hadn’t. He was interested in the discrepancy in the findings. Basically, where Björn Sundström’s prints were or were not.’
‘And?’
‘Well, his prints were on the front door, in the kitchen, on the bedroom door, around parts of the living room. On books and things.’
‘And where would you expect to see them where they weren’t?’
‘As we think the rape took place there, the bedroom would be the most likely. That was wiped clean of all prints, including Greta’s. The bedding was fresh. The bathroom, too, was clean. Cleaner than mine at home. Oh, except for the toilet seat. Sundström must have had a pee. Some of the floors had been cleaned too. Apart from the ones left of Jansson’s, the only fresh prints were yours and your ex-husband’s.’
‘Did Henrik make any comments on what he told you?’
‘No. Just thanked me in his usual polite way.’
‘Thanks, Eva. Sorry to keep you from your work. You’re going to be under the cosh with this one. I’ll let you get away.’
Thulin knew Anita of old. She recognized the glint in her eye. ‘Do you know who did this?’
‘Not yet. But I’ll find out.’
CHAPTER 45
The next morning, Anita and Hakim held an impromptu meeting overlooking the canal outside the polishus. She hadn’t slept much and had woken to heavy rain. That wouldn’t help forensics’ work in Folkets Park. Now, there was a rainbow arcing over the Turning Torso. Headquarters was still in a state of agitated alert. The sense of disbelief was palpable, as was a deep feeling of helplessness. Fraser and Holm had been allowed to go, after providing alibis. Fraser had been in The Pickwick at the time of the murder; Holm with his family and his visiting mother-in-law. As Anita suspected, they were now talking about a random or opportunistic killing. The police were rounding up every criminal in Malmö with a history of violence, every drug addict and every undesirable they could think of.
It was a new, resilient Anita who leant against the canal-side railings with a paper cup of coffee in her hand and snus firmly embedded under her upper lip. The emotional traumas involving Björn, Ewan and now Henrik Nordlund had left her dazed and confused. But she realized that the only way to cope with all life’s present slings and arrows was to be strong, put emotion aside and do everything in her power to find Nordlund’s killer, even if it meant taking her eye off the Todd case. And to do that she would have to follow the methods and thinking that her mentor had passed on to her over the years. He had left her a couple of clues, and Hakim had a good idea as to what had gone on in the Jansson investigation when he had helped Westermark in the early stages. She needed to clear her mind, gather evidence methodically and combine it with her cop’s instincts. Nordlund had often said she had a cop’s nose for a case. She didn’t always believe it herself, but now she needed to put faith in her own judgement and find his killer.