Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (14 page)

Ten minutes later Ekman returned.

‘I have looked at my father’s appointments over the last three months. He had meetings with Olofsson on three occasions.’

This information raised Anita’s hopes. ‘They were here?’

‘No. In Malmö. Two at the bank and the other at a company office.’

‘Could Olofsson have made social calls here in that time?’

Ekman gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You don’t know my father. His life is business. He wouldn’t welcome social calls unless they were from his family. You can be sure that Olofsson has not been here. I assume that’s all?’

Anita’s dismissal couldn’t have been curter.

Moberg wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or angry. His morning meeting with prosecutor Sonja Blom and Commissioner Dahlbeck had gone really well at first. He had been able to report that the investigation was starting to take shape. He outlined all the evidence they had against Bo Nilsson in the Tommy Ekman case – possible motive, opportunity and access to the crystals. And now they had a motive for his murdering Olofsson too. What had been discovered since his meeting with Nordlund and Westermark was encouraging. It seemed that Nilsson was more than keen on an occasional flutter. He was a regular gambler at the trotting races, but was also known to the staff at Malmö’s opulent casino in Kungsparken. It was not the sort of place that a company’s financial director should frequent. His bank accounts confirmed the erratic nature of his finances. There were two large deposits made in the past two months, though it had to be conceded that they might be big wins.

They had discovered that Nilsson lived on his own, though he had an ex-wife in Falkenberg. Wallen had been sent to speak to her and the woman knew nothing of his gambling. He had frowned on such practices during their marriage. In fact, one of the reasons she had left him was his meanness. So the habit had taken hold in the last couple of years. Certainly the ex-wife believed that Dag Wollstad would never have entrusted Bo with any senior position of financial responsibility if he thought he was cavalier with his personal finances. Wollstad always checked his people out. The team had yet to discover what had caused this sudden change in Nilsson’s behaviour.

As for the murder of Martin Olofsson, they needed to talk to Nilsson before they could establish whether he had an alibi for that Monday night. Westermark was going to bring Nilsson in for questioning later in the morning. What they had established at the bank was that Olofsson’s notes indicated that he thought something was definitely amiss at the agency, though there were no specifics. His investigation was at an early stage. Both Blom and Dahlbeck were pleased at this turn of events, mainly because it meant that Wollstad wasn’t implicated. Dahlberg had said all along that Wollstad couldn’t have been connected directly with the case, and he had been right to make him off limits. Potentially embarrassing for the force to have involved him. And the sooner these murders were cleared up, the sooner everybody could concentrate on the “Malmö Marksman”.

Blom had left the meeting and Dahlberg had asked Moberg to stay behind for a moment. Then he had torn into the chief inspector. Why the bloody hell had Anita Sundström gone to Wollstad’s country home and questioned his daughter Kristina? She had no right to be there and Moberg had been warned not to let anyone go near the family. Moberg had no answer, which made him even more furious. He could think of no reason on earth why she should have gone. She wasn’t even working on the Ekman case. So Moberg wasn’t able to stand his ground with the commissioner and had to take the censure. The commissioner said that if Moberg didn’t sort her out then she would be out of the force. And good riddance.

Moberg had stormed off to Anita’s office to give her a bollocking she would never forget. But she wasn’t there. Hakim said that she had a hospital appointment. Moberg was even more enraged. He didn’t want to have time to simmer down. She deserved his full wrath.

Doctor Axelsson’s continuous tapping of his pencil against his lips was beginning to seriously bug Anita. Why wasn’t he in the park playing with the other kids instead of sitting in this stuffy room prying into her private thoughts? She was also finding it hard to concentrate because she knew she should have told Westermark or Moberg about her investigations yesterday. They hadn’t thrown up anything dramatic other than that it was unlikely Martin Olofsson had a lover, he didn’t play golf when he said he did and he may have visited Wollstad one weekend. The golf club member might have been wrong about that one. Anita was jolted back by Axelsson’s next question.

‘Do you know why you fell in love with Ewan?’

Anita sighed heavily. ‘Is this relevant?’

‘I think so. It might help explain your actions.’

Anita shifted uneasily in her seat. She wasn’t very good at this sort of thing. She took after her father, who had never been forthcoming when it came to expressing his feelings. She admired some of her friends, like Sandra, who could quite openly discuss any subject in the frankest of terms. Björn had often teased her about her reticence over talking about intimate matters, especially in public. Privately, she was sensual, sexual, physically and emotionally expressive. She knew that the one thing Björn missed was their love making, and that gave her some satisfaction. But exposing herself to other people was anathema to her. Which was daft really, as in her work she expected other people to expose their private lives in minute detail.

‘He was different.’

‘How?’

‘Well, he wasn’t Swedish, for starters.’

‘Is that important?’

‘After my abysmal record with Swedish men, yes.’

‘Go on,’ Axelsson prodded.

Anita took out and started to fiddle with her snus tin. It was a prop. ‘Ewan made me laugh. He didn’t make demands on me. Didn’t seem to expect anything. We never even got round to...’

Axelsson waited. Then he filled in the gap, ‘Having sex?’

Anita laughed out loud. ‘No. We never even got round to kissing.’

She was amused to see that Axelsson was astonished.

The moment seemed to open the flood gates. She had fallen for Ewan gradually, as the case had progressed. They got on so well. She felt relaxed in his company. She described the awful moment when she was sent to arrest him at the train station when he was first suspected of Lovgren’s murder. It was at that moment that she realized that she had feelings for him. And now that he was in gaol, she kept thinking about him. Worrying about how he was being treated. His beating by his fellow prisoners had upset her badly. And then she confessed. She’d retraced the steps Ewan had taken during his brief time of freedom in Malmö. She had visited the places they had been together - the Moosehead bar in Lilla Torg, the cafe in the Malmö art gallery. And the places she knew he had been to – the Pickwick pub and Café Simrishamn 3. At the Pickwick, she had recognized Alex and David from Ewan’s descriptions. They were the two ex-patriot Brits who had befriended Ewan on his arrival in Malmö. She didn’t think it was a good idea to make herself known to them. She assumed that they didn’t want to acknowledge their connection with him now. Yet she could picture Ewan in the pub. It was his natural habitat.

Above all, there was the guilt she felt for loving a man whom she knew she mustn’t. She couldn’t reconcile the contradictions.

‘I think that’s all for today, Anita.’

‘You mean you can offer me no insight? No advice?’

‘Do I need to?’

Anita shook her head slowly.

‘I’m here to listen. You’ve expressed thoughts that you’ve buried deeply. I’ve helped you to unearth them. Now I think it’s time you moved on. Whether Ewan is part of that process is up to you.’

Her timing couldn’t have been worse. Anita had decided, against her better judgement, to report back directly to Westermark on her trip to Österlen. She didn’t want to give Moberg or Westermark any more reasons to reprimand her, and thought it best to go through the correct chain of command on the case. As she walked into Westermark’s office, Moberg was just coming out. The moment she saw the chief inspector she knew something was up. She was ushered into the room and Moberg slammed the door behind him. It was like being trapped in a cave with a big bear blocking her escape route.

‘What the fuck were you thinking of?’

Anita was taken aback.

‘What?’

‘Visiting WolIstad’s home.’ This came out as a strangled yell.

‘I was following up on the Olofsson case. The mystery woman, who I don’t think exists by the way.’

‘And you didn’t happen to think this mystery woman was Kristina Ekman?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So why bother her? Now I’m getting loads of shit from the commissioner. Didn’t I say the family were off limits, or was I just talking to myself? Or does Inspector Sundström think she knows better than the rest of us?’

Anita could take the aggressive sarcasm. It was Westermark’s obvious delight that aggravated her.

‘I was following up a lead. I didn’t even know Kristina Ekman would be there. I just wanted to check something out.’

‘Without checking it out with me first?’

‘It was on the spur of the moment.’

‘There are too many spurs of the moment with you. The commissioner wants you off the force. And you’re playing right into his hands you silly b...’ Moberg just managed to rein himself in before he blurted the word out.

Anita lost her temper. ‘I followed up a valid lead. Olofsson made mystery trips when he was supposed to be playing golf. I got a tip off that he went to Wollstad’s country place. I was doing what any competent police officer would have done.’ Her eyes were blazing by the time she had finished.

Moberg shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ This took the wind out of her sails. ‘The Wollstads aren’t involved. The killer is Ekman’s financial director, Bo Nilsson. We just have to prove it now. So, Anita...’ and this time he added a condescending smile, ‘you can get back to your paintings and we’ll wrap this up.’

When she left the office, it wasn’t Moberg’s expression that she couldn’t get out of her mind. It was Westermark’s. There was a cat that had swallowed the cream.

Anita had taken Hakim down to the ice-cream parlour on Drottningtorget. She needed to get out of the office to escape the smug arrogance and excess testosterone. She was off the Olofsson case and stuck with this wretched art theft investigation. Her one chance to get her teeth into some proper policing, and she had given Moberg the perfect excuse to shove her ignominiously off the case. Maybe her findings were insignificant. That didn’t stop her wondering what Olofsson had got up to on his supposed golf days and, if the golf club member had been correct about him driving into Wollstad’s estate, why Kristina Ekman had lied to her.

She might be feeling pissed off and unwanted, but it cheered her up to see Hakim’s childlike glee at licking his ice cream. The Italian stuff served here was particularly good.

‘So, while I was getting myself into trouble yesterday, did you find out anything useful about Gabrielsson?’

Hakim couldn’t answer immediately, as he had swallowed a mouthful of cold ice cream.

‘Stig Gabrielsson has been running his business for about twenty years. Like many gallery owners, he’s a failed artist. He sold insurance before that. Started to cash in when the Öresund Bridge opened up the market. Even tried to set up another gallery in Copenhagen. It failed. Most of his income seems to be from legitimate sales, though, according to your art theft contact up in the Stockholm police, he’s known to them.’

‘That’s what they told me.’

‘Apparently, they first came across him in Stockholm when he tried to sell some fakes. Small stuff, but the police made a deal with him. They said they wouldn’t prosecute if he would feed them information on stolen artworks. His tip-offs have led to a couple of high-profile arrests over the years. They turn a blind eye as long as he’s useful.’

‘So, he’s still allowed to try and sell Serneholt a fake Pelle Munk?’

‘Exactly.’

‘We’ll need some pretty hard evidence against him if we decide he’s behind these thefts. Great!’

Anita returned to her ice cream. It didn’t taste as nice as it had before. This was hopeless. She looked across the square. At the top of the tall building opposite was Tommy Ekman’s apartment. That’s where the real action was taking place. That’s the investigation she wanted to be on.

She finished off her cone. ‘Well, let’s go and rattle Gabrielsson’s cage. At least we can have a go at him for trying to sell the fake to Serneholt.’

Nilsson furrowed his brow. He was trying to recall where he was on the night that Martin Olofsson was murdered. He was also trying to ignore the intimidating atmosphere in the interview room. ‘Monday night, you say.’

‘It’s not that difficult,’ Westermark said with a hint of annoyance. ‘It was the beginning of this week for God’s sake.’

‘I must have been at home. In my apartment in Limhamn. A quiet night in.’ Nilsson fussily brushed the sleeve of his jacket with his hand. ‘By the way, should I have my lawyer here?’

‘Only if you think you need one,’ said Moberg.

Nilsson flashed a confident smile. ‘No. But I don’t know why you’re asking me about Monday night.’

‘Because that’s when Martin Olofsson was killed in his car. Not far from you, as it happens.’ This was Westermark again. It had been decided beforehand that Westermark would lead the interview and Moberg observe initially.

‘The banker. Yes, I heard. Very distressing.’

‘It was. He had strong connections with Ekman & Johansson.’

‘Did he?’

‘Oh yes. It was he who recommended that your company got Sydöstra Banken’s advertising.’

‘I know there is a connection with the bank and Dag Wollstad, so I suppose it was only natural. The agency now has its account there. My contact is Lena Lowén. And I actually bank there too, though I didn’t know Olofsson.’

‘But he knew
you
.’

‘Really?’ Nilsson appeared genuinely surprised.

Westermark suddenly leaned across the table so that the startled Nilsson instinctively jerked backwards. ‘He was investigating
you
.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Moberg noted the panic in Nilsson’s eyes.

‘Your boss, the late lamented Tommy Ekman, thought that you were taking money out of the company. So, he called on his banking friend, the late lamented Martin Olofsson, to pry into your accounting practices.’

‘This is absurd,’ Nilsson protested.

‘Is it? Why would Ekman instigate an investigation if there was nothing untoward?’

‘I was recommended by Dag Wollstad himself. I was put in a position of trust. How could I—‘

‘Quite easily. Advertising agencies are notorious for their extravagance. Making expensive commercials, client wining and dining... it must be simple to salt a little off here and there. Then a bit more. And so it grows.’

‘But why would I? I have a perfectly decent salary.’ Nilsson was starting to regain his composure.

Westermark pushed himself away from the table. ‘We’ve been looking into your bank account.’

‘You’ve no right—‘

‘We’ve every right when we’re investigating a double murder. We’ve discovered that your account has gone up and down like a fucking yo-yo in recent months.’

‘Well, I’ve had things to spend it on...’ Nilsson blustered.

‘We know you have. At the trotting track. At the casino. You seem to be a bit of gambler.’

Nilsson hurriedly glanced around the bare room in search of invisible help. ‘It’s the odd flutter.’

‘It’s more than that, isn’t it? Why else were you embezzling Ekman & Johnasson?’

Nilsson shook his head vigorously, though his eyes were now fixed on the table.

‘You see, this gives you a motive to kill both Tommy Ekman and Martin Olofsson. With both of them out of the way, you’re in the clear. No one knows about your financial thieving.’

‘You can’t possibly be accusing me of...’ Nilsson sat with his mouth open in horror. From the body language of his inquisitors, that is exactly what the two policemen were thinking.

Nilsson pulled a handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket and dabbed his forehead. Then he nervously twisted the material in his hands as his accusers sat impassively. Every movement seemed to rubberstamp his guilt.

Nilsson then neatly folded the crumpled handkerchief and replaced it carefully in his pocket. He was back to his neat movements. A man once again in control of his thoughts and feelings. He rallied.

‘I had no idea that Tommy was investigating me. Nor that the bank was either. How could I have killed anyone if I didn’t know what they were up to? I had no motive.’

It was Moberg’s turn to lean forward. ‘But we know you were stealing from the company.’ They didn’t know for sure. Or, more to the point, they had no proof.

Nilsson was about to object again before deciding against it. ‘Yes. All right. I did. But it was only a temporary measure. I had a personal liquidity problem. I was going to pay it back. Every öre. That’s the truth.’ This confession didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Nilsson became panicky again. ‘Please, please, believe me! I had nothing to do with the deaths of Tommy or the banker.’

There were no customers in the gallery when Anita and Hakim arrived. And there was no sign of Stig Gabrielsson. The supercilious assistant sat at her desk cutting up pieces of art board with a shiny new scalpel. She informed them, without bothering to look up, that Gabrielsson was in Germany, then Denmark, on business. Anita and Hakim exchanged glances. Delivering stolen Munks? was the unspoken question. When was he due back? The next day. Or the day after. She never knew with Stig. Not that she seemed bothered one way or the other.

‘Tell him to contact me as soon as he returns,’ demanded Anita to a still bowed head.

Before they left, Anita let Hakim have a brief wander round. When they emerged into the sunshine, he said. ‘Some good things and some real rubbish.’ Anita didn’t bother to ask for an explanation of which was which. She wouldn’t know the difference.

They stood in the shade of a plane tree and watched the traffic stream past.

‘So, is Gabrielsson over in Germany flogging the stolen paintings?’ Anita asked.

‘Possibly.’

‘I’m not sure if he stole the paintings, but I’m sure he knows something about it. Maybe after the event.’

They began to walk up the street in the direction of the library and Slottsparken.

‘Is it worth finding out who actually painted the fake Munk?’ Hakim suggested. ‘Sometimes, when a well-known artwork is stolen and doesn’t reappear again, copies can be sold to collectors who think it’s the missing original. Gabrielsson might be up for such a scam. He could make more money selling two or three fakes than getting rid of the original.’

‘That’s a thought. Maybe Gabrielsson was testing out his con on Serneholt. Serneholt is an acknowledged expert. If he fell for it, then anyone would. But he wasn’t taken in.’

They came to a halt opposite the library. The old part, visible from the road, resembled a German schloss. It was built of red brick and looked solid and reassuring. The 1997 annex, designed by the Danish architect, Henning Larsen, reminded Anita of a couple of biscuit tins and was tucked away behind. Some people liked its innovative style, but Anita’s taste in architecture was similar to her taste in art – she remained unimpressed.

‘One thing still nags me, Hakim. Whoever stole the Lindegrens’ painting somehow managed it without breaking in. It could still be that Lindegren’s wife left the house unlocked. But, if so, the thief was bloody lucky to stumble across the property that particular night. No, someone got in and out without disturbing Michaela Lindegren. And that disturbs me.’

They crossed the road and wandered into the park.

‘It seems strange,’ observed Hakim, ‘that Gabrielsson implied that Serneholt might have the paintings, and that Serneholt virtually accused Gabrielsson.’

‘And neither of them have time for Lindegren. I’m sure Serneholt wasn’t happy to have missed out on
Dawn Mood
.’

Hakim stopped abruptly. ‘Serneholt said that he had nine Munk paintings. Yet there were only seven on display on that upper floor.’

‘You are observant. They might be in another part of the house. Or in another property. He’s rich enough. But the other two might be our missing paintings. He certainly can’t show them off publicly. I think we’ll pay our playboy another visit tomorrow.’

‘Blom says we’ve got enough to hold Nilsson for now. He’s admitted to the embezzlement, which gives him the motive to kill both Ekman and Olofsson. He had opportunity in both cases, as he doesn’t have any alibis – and he could have had access to the crystals that killed Ekman. What Blom wants is positive proof. At the moment it’s all circumstantial.’

Moberg was convinced that they had their man. He was sitting with Westermark and Nordlund in the sports bar on Östergatan. At that time in the late afternoon it was almost deserted. Old football matches were being replayed on the TV screens. Moberg needed a cold beer after his confrontation with Blom. Every meeting he had with that woman either wound him up or drove him to drink. High-flying prosecutors from Stockholm were a natural irritant. At least she had allowed them to keep Nilsson in custody for another forty-eight hours.

‘Any chance of a confession?’ enquired Nordlund. ‘That would save some time and trouble.’

‘He still denies it, despite the evidence stacking up against him.’ answered Westermark as he toyed with his beer bottle.

‘Do we know why Nilsson started gambling?’ Nordlund asked.

‘Do we need a reason?’ asked Moberg.

‘It just seems strange that such a methodical man, who his wife described as being “mean”, should suddenly get hooked on gambling. There must be a root cause. Find that out and we might get a better idea of the man and how he operates. It takes a lot to push someone from embezzlement to meticulously planning the murder of two people.’

Moberg drained his glass. ‘You may have a point, Henrik. Anyhow, we need to get weaving. I want Nilsson’s apartment taken apart, I want someone down at the pharmaceutical company to find out if he got any dodgy stuff from there, and I’m going to grill the little bastard again. He did it. And we’re going to bloody well prove it!’