Meet me in Malmö: The first Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (14 page)

‘By the way, can I have a cup of tea sent in?’

He looked pathetically grateful at the suggestion. ‘Don’t drink tea, but a coffee would be…you know.’

‘What do you want doing with Roslyn?’

Moberg didn’t answer Nordlund. The bar of chocolate he’d bought from the machine after the news conference didn’t taste nice. Was it the chocolate, or the doubts that Anita Sundström had put into his mind and that he hadn’t been able to dismiss during the press questioning? That was why he hadn’t revealed more details, such as the CCTV footage, Mednick handling the body and the pendant turning up in his apartment. The commissioner had been quite short with him afterwards. ‘This was a golden opportunity to give the press some real information for a change. It would have made us look good instead of putting up with the shit they normally give us.’ Yet something had prevented Moberg from revealing too much. Too many mistakes had been made before.

‘Leave him for the moment.’

‘What if he wants to go? We can’t stop him.’

‘Tell him that there may still be a Säpo connection. He will know from the press conference that we’ve arrested an ex-military guy. That would fit in with his own suspicions.’

Moberg flung the uneaten chocolate into the bin. ‘That fucking woman!’ He got out his seat with surprising speed and glanced out of the window. ‘She gets on my tits.’

‘She’s not stupid.’

 ‘We’ve got an excellent case against this prick, but she’s not happy.’

‘Which means you’re not happy either.’ Nordlund paused. ‘Maybe we’re so keen to tie this one up we’re not looking at other possibilities.’

Moberg was still gazing outside. ‘You mean
I’ve
rushed into this.’

‘There’s pressure…’

Moberg pivoted round like a ship manoeuvring into its berth. ‘Henrik, you were in there with me in the interview. Mednick was shitting himself.’

Nordlund pulled out a white handkerchief and whisked it briefly across his nose. He knew why Mednick was nervous. A full-blown Erik Moberg interrogation wasn’t for the faint-hearted. It was like being gored by a raging bull. ‘Erik, maybe we have to take a step back. Our big problem is that we can’t place Mednick in the kitchen where we know, or are pretty sure, the murder was committed. There’s no evidence in the forensic report.’

Moberg gave a rueful grin. This was the nearest that Nordlund would go to admonishing him. Moberg hadn’t read the report right through, concentrating on the bits that fitted his case. His lips smacked as he pursed them.

‘Do you suggest I stop Blom from going to the district court?’

Nordlund stuffed his handkerchief back in his trouser pocket. ‘Too late for that. Anyhow, it would make us look ridiculous after the press conference. At least while Mednick’s locked up, it’ll stop further press speculation and keep the commissioner off our backs. It’ll give us time to gather further evidence against Mednick…maybe another forensic search of the apartment. They may have missed something. We can also pursue other avenues.’

‘The Säpo route?’

‘I’ve got the ex-Säpo operatives’ photographs. I’ll go out and see Roslyn and use them to persuade him to stay put. See if he recognizes his “Deep Throat”. If Mednick isn’t our man then the killer may have been more concerned with getting at Roslyn than at his wife.’

 ‘Ok. But keep this under your hat for now, Henrik.’

‘I’d have a word with Anita. She may have another angle worth exploring.’

Moberg snorted. ‘Tap into her feminine intuition.’

Nordlund was smiling when he left the office, as Moberg pretended to throw an imaginary object at him.

Ewan was busy putting his first murder investigation piece together for Brian. Though the press conference hadn’t been particularly illuminating, except of the way that the Swedish legal system operated, he had plenty of background. He had painted portraits of the main players in the tragedy. Mick Roslyn, the Geordie-boy-made-good in Sweden. Newcastle upbringing, then onwards and upwards in the glamorous world of films. Then there was the victim – his stunning actress wife. He built up the sultry Swedish beauty bit and sprinkled his description with facts he’d purloined from Google. The golden couple whose magical existence was cruelly cut short. A grisly murder on a cold winter night in southern Sweden. Strangled by an ex-military man.

 Ewan was in a good position to fill in some details of the actual murder scene, though he made no mention of his role in the proceedings. Despite Anita telling him there was no connection, Ewan went as far as hinting that there might even be a link with the Olof Palme murder - he used it in reference to previous high-profile slayings in a country not noted for a huge homicide rate.

And central to the story was the sexy Swedish policewoman who was masterminding the investigation. Not true, though more newsworthy for British readers, who always wanted their stereotypes reinforced. The way he described Inspector Anita Sundström was as a brighter version of Britt Ekland with specs. It all made a merry mix among the mayhem of a murder case that was gripping northern Europe.

Ewan was sitting in Café Simrishamn 3. The staff were beginning to recognize him and the service was now accompanied by a warm smile. Ewan bit contentedly into his cake as he read over what he had written. He particularly liked the way he had set the scene by juxtaposing the dourness of the city in winter with the glitzy world in which the victim moved. Brian would love it. Not that that could be regarded as a benchmark of quality. The only scoop that Brian had ever come across before was the sort used for digging out ice-cream from a carton. But it
was
a scoop because Ewan hadn’t found more than a couple of paragraphs about it in the
Guardian
and the
Daily Mail
among the British nationals he had picked up in Malmö that morning.

He ordered another coffee. He sent off the piece to Brian with a covering email, then stretched his arms. Now it was time to go back onto the Internet and discover more about the fate of the Earl of Bothwell. How had he ended up imprisoned in Malmöhus? His mind went back to Anita’s call this morning. He was still cross with himself. Maybe he should call her and thank her for telling him about the press conference. If they had found someone to pin the murder on, then maybe she would have time on her hands. Could he ask her out for a meal? His time in Malmö might be limited if this man was charged. The trial wouldn’t be for months and he would have to go back to Newcastle. He would have no reason to stay, except the real reason he didn’t want to leave Malmö. Inspector Anita Sundström.

Moberg found Anita in the car park. She had gone to her car with the idea of taking it home and cleaning it up properly. On opening the door she had recoiled at the smell and slammed the door shut. That was when she saw Moberg heading in her direction. She groaned inwardly. She wasn’t in the mood for another Moberg blast. So when she was greeted with an unexpected smile, she was immediately on her guard.

‘Heading home?’

‘Need to clean the car. Bit smelly.’

Moberg shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘You ok? I mean, after yesterday. Not a nice position to be in. You could see the police shrink.’ Anita shook her head. ‘Get off home and put your feet up.’

‘Well, the case is solved, isn’t it?’

Moberg shrugged his large shoulders. ‘Sort of.’

Anita squinted into the low sun and shaded her eyes with her hand.

‘I thought—’

‘As there is so much riding on this case we can’t afford any slip-ups. So, I think while things are proceeding against Mednick, that we shouldn’t discount other routes. Henrik is pursuing the Säpo connection. I was wondering whether…’ He was having difficulty admitting any weakness in front of a female officer. He knew she was a good cop, but he didn’t like the thought of a woman standing up to him, questioning his decisions. He had managed to crush the challenges offered by his two ex-wives. He knew Anita Sundström was different. He found the physical attraction got in the way and he couldn’t view her as just another one of his detectives. The only way he could cope was usually to dismiss what she had to say or fight her off with sarcasm. But this wasn’t the time for either approach. He offered her a cigarette instead.

‘Trying to give them up.’

Moberg eased out a cigarette, flipped it between two flabby lips and lit it. He didn’t speak until he’d exhaled the first plume of smoke.

‘Apart from Mednick, what thoughts have you got?’

‘I keep going back to Roslyn.’

‘And?’

She breathed in the reassuring aroma of smoke and was tempted to ask for a cigarette but fought the impulse.

‘He lied to us about his whereabouts on the night of the murder. He didn’t attend the meeting he said he was at.’

‘Is that significant?’

‘Might be. I went and had a word with him.’

‘You…,’ Moberg bit back his rebuke. There she goes again, doing things without his say-so.

‘Want me to continue?’ He clamped the cigarette back in his mouth and nodded. ‘I asked him if he had an alibi. And he produced one.’

‘So that definitely puts him out of the picture.’

‘Yes. But his alibi raises another possibility. The alibi he was sleeping with happens to be the girlfriend of his business partner, Bengt Valquist. She’s called Tilda Tegner. Actress.’

Moberg stopped, mid-puff. ‘Those thespian types seem to fuck like rabbits. When do they find time to act? This Valquist – he’s the “poodle”, right?’ Anita nodded. ‘Does he know his girlfriend’s cheating on him?’

‘We don’t know. If he did, then there might be a possible motive. Getting his own back on Roslyn?’

‘Wouldn’t it be more natural to go after his girlfriend or the lover?’

‘Maybe he loves Tilda Tegner too much to kill her. And he’s certainly in awe of Roslyn, who’s his mentor. Could it be his way of punishing Roslyn?’

Moberg shook his head slowly. ‘Not totally convinced.’

‘There’s something else. When I was talking to the girl from Roslyn’s office in Stockholm, she said there was gossip that Malin wanted to get rid of him. If that was the case, Valquist had a lot to lose. Malin’s death would protect his position. And he was in Lund on the night. Just up the road.’

Moberg leant against Anita’s car and she hoped it wouldn’t roll over.

‘That’s an interesting possibility. The affair thing raises another one, too. This actress. What do we know about her?’

‘She was in Roslyn’s last film. Sleeping her way up the ladder?’

‘If that’s so, then she might be a suspect, too? Getting rid of her rival?’

‘I thought you’d dismissed the possibility of a woman doing it.’

Even Moberg had to laugh after he caught the mocking flicker of amusement in Anita’s eyes. ‘You know me. Always open-minded.’

‘It can’t be her, anyway. She was in Stockholm enjoying a night of bliss in the arms of our dirty director. Should I follow up Valquist?’

‘You were going to anyway, weren’t you?’ Moberg dropped his cigarette. ‘Keep me informed. Find anything and I’m the first to know.’

‘Of course.’

Moberg gave her sceptical glance as he eased himself away from the car. It was undented.

‘I saw your British journalist at the press conference. Surprised he’s still about.’

‘Ewan’s covering the story for his newspaper.’

‘Ewan?’ Moberg’s eyebrows arched. Anita couldn’t believe that a hint of a blush appeared on her cheeks. Why? There was nothing in it. She didn’t even fancy the man. ‘Rule of thumb, Anita, never trust a journalist.’

‘He might still be useful. He knows something about Roslyn that he’s not telling us.’

Moberg could see that Anita hesitated. ‘And what else?’

‘Something nagging. It comes back to the so-called friends. When Roslyn discovered Malin’s body in the living room he attacked Strachan and the photographer had to pull him off.’

‘Only natural. There’s someone bending over your dead wife.’

‘Even in that instant, Roslyn must have realized that it was his old university friend there because he’d asked him to come. Roslyn wouldn’t seriously expect him to kill his wife and then hang around. He’s got no motive anyway. What sparked his overreaction?’

‘It’s almost as though he assumed Strachan had killed her,’ said Moberg slowly.

‘Exactly. Or maybe it was a way of covering up the fact that he already knew she was dead.’

‘A bit fanciful. Let’s stick to the real world.’ The sarcasm had returned.

As Moberg made his way back to the main building he had his mobile in his hand.

‘Westermark. I need you to look into something.’

Mick was anxious to speak to someone of a senior rank when Nordlund entered the room. Though the safe house had been at his own instigation, being confined in some peasant farmhouse was not his idea of being incognito. At least they could have given him a hotel suite. Were the police trying to save money? And he hadn’t been able to contact anyone because the police said that any call might be traced, particularly if he used his mobile. He wanted to speak to Tilda, to warn her that he had been forced to spill the beans about their last night together on Monday. He just hoped she wouldn’t be fazed, that she would stick to their agreed story.

The man who came in was in his early sixties, bald on top, with what little hair he had left almost totally grey. His presence wasn’t threatening like that of Chief Inspector Moberg, nor had he any of the suppressed hostility that seeped out of every pore of Inspector Sundström. Yet, behind the sad expression and deeply sunken eyes, this man was someone he had to be wary of. He was of the age of someone who might have had Säpo connections from the 1980s.

The man could have been reading his thoughts. ‘I voted against the euro and I dislike the EU, but don’t worry, I’m not a neo-Nazi sympathizer.’ Before a startled Mick could answer, Nordlund continued courteously in Swedish, ‘How are you bearing up, herr Roslyn?’ Nordlund’s English was too poor to tackle this particular conversation.

‘I don’t like it here.’ Mick was on his fourth beer of the afternoon.

‘It’s probably best you stay put.’

Mick held out his right hand, which was clutching the Carlsberg Export. ‘This guy you’ve arrested. All they said was that he has a military background.’

‘That’s correct,’ said Nordlund, who sat down on the sofa while Mick prowled about the room.

‘Anything to do with Säpo?’

By not answering the question he let Mick jump to his own conclusions.

‘It’s about Säpo that I am here.’ He put down a file on the plain wooden coffee table in front of him. ‘I have here the photographs of a number of Såpo operatives at the time of the Palme murder. I would like you to go through them carefully and see if your “Deep Throat” character is among them, or “Henrik Larsson” as I believe he called himself.’

Mick came and sat down in the chair opposite, placed his bottle carefully on the table and flicked open the manila file. There were fifteen photographs for him to go through. He took each one in turn and scrutinized it carefully, screwing up his eyes as he did so.

Nordlund watched to see if there was any sign of recognition. ‘Remember, these were taken over twenty years ago, so your man may have changed quite a lot. Balder, greyer, fatter.’

Mick’s gaze never left the photos. Two of them attracted his attention for longer than the rest. Only when he had gone through them did he speak. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Try again, sir. There were two that you took your time over. What about them?’

Mick took a swig from his bottle before extracting two of the photos from the pile. He laid them side by side in front of him. He must have spent a good two minutes examining them before pushing one aside and staring fixedly at the remaining image. Then he tapped the photo with his index finger lightly. Then the tapping became more forceful. ‘I think this could be him. His hair is very grey now, but he has a look of “Deep Throat”. I think it’s the nose. The shape of the mouth as well.’

‘Sure?’

Mick nodded his head vigorously. ‘As sure as I can be, given the period of time that’s elapsed.’

Nordlund lent over and picked up the photo. He turned it over to check the back. He had numbered each image beforehand – this one was 5. He took out a piece of paper, which had names to correspond with the numbers. Andreas Tapper.

‘Thank you very much. We’ll check this man out.’

‘What’s his real name?’

‘Can’t tell you that at the moment. But we’ll find him.’

‘It’s his old colleagues I’m more worried about.’

‘Brilliant! I love it.’

Ewan had never heard Brian praise anything he had written before. He was rather chuffed.

‘I’ve had a word with upstairs and they’re going to run it across all the group’s flagship papers. I’ve got some great shots of the Malin woman. It’s putting some noses out of joint, I can tell you,’ Brian said with undisguised relish.

‘I’m not sure how much further I can take the story once they’ve made official charges. Then the process will take months before it hits the courts, if their system is anything like ours.’

‘Oh.’ Brian sounded disappointed. ‘Any chance of a Roslyn interview?’‘Don’t know where he is. Police hid him away when they thought there was a secret service connection.’

‘Surely he’ll appear now?’

‘I haven’t the faintest.’

‘Get onto that policewoman of yours. She sounds fantastic. Any chance of getting a photo of her? Sexy Swedish cop sounds even more of a turn-on than a sexy Swedish film star.’

Ewan realized he had gone a bit over the top with Anita’s description in his piece. ‘Best to leave it to the readers’ imaginations. As for Mick Roslyn, I doubt if he’ll want to talk publicly just yet.’

‘He’s in the entertainment business, for fuck’s sake. They all want to talk. Normally you can’t shut them up. First interview with heartbroken star’s husband. I can make a real splash with that.’

Now the first person plural had turned into
I
, Ewan noticed. ‘Even if I can find Mick and he agrees to talk to me, he might want paying.’

There was silence at the other end of the line. ‘Well, see what you can do.’ That meant that there was no money available for an interview.

‘How long are you giving me?’

There was another pause. ‘If you can’t get him over the weekend then you’d better come back on Monday. Don’t want you running up mountainous expenses. I know how expensive Scandinavia is.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get another piece out of what we’ve got even if Mick proves elusive.’

By the time Anita had requisitioned a police car to drive to Lund, the sun was going down. It would be dark soon. She sat in silence while Olander drove. It was a short twenty kilometre drive straight along the E22. She was relieved that at least Moberg was investigating other options. She was now convinced that Mednick wasn’t their culprit, despite running into a hassled Eva Thulin before leaving the polishus. She had just been ordered by Moberg to re-do the whole of Malin Lovgren’s apartment.

‘I don’t know what he’s trying to prove,’ Thulin said in exasperation.

‘He’s trying to prove he’s right.’ Anita smiled.

‘Men!’

‘Just think of the overtime. Oh, by the way, have you checked the Lotta Lind pendant for fingerprints?’

‘Yes. Strange actually. It had Halvar Mednick’s prints all over it, but no others. Not even Malin Lovgren’s.’

‘So someone must have wiped the pendant clean after the murder and before Mednick picked it up.’

The light was fading fast by the time they got into Lund. Anita had little difficulty directing Olander to the house, as it was not far from the main university buildings. The door was answered by Valquist’s mother, a tall woman with a gaunt face below dyed-blond hair scraped back in a severe bun. She was alarmed at first when she discovered that Anita was from the police, but when it was explained that it was only routine enquiries she relaxed. Bengt had had to fly up to Stockholm. Something urgent. But he would be back tomorrow lunchtime. Before leaving, Anita asked whether she knew the whereabouts of Tilda Tegner.

Anita got back into the car.

‘No luck?’ asked Olander.

‘He’s in Stockholm. Back tomorrow.’

‘Back to Malmö?’

‘No. We’ll wait here. Tilda Tegner should be turning up soon. She’s been in Malmö doing a voice-over for a commercial. She’ll be walking back from the station. Fru Valquist invited us in to wait, but I want to talk to Tegner with no one else around. So, you can pop out and get us a coffee.’

Olander waited patiently as she dived into her bag to find some kronor. On his return, Anita sipped at the coffee, which was as plastic as the container. But it was hot and the evening was now cold.

‘Could Bengt Valquist really be our killer?’ Olander asked.

‘I have no idea. But he’s got a couple of potential motives. Malin getting rid of him. That might have finished his career. And then there’s his business partner doing the business with his girlfriend.’ She took another sip of coffee. ‘As our resident movie expert, what do you know about Tilda Tegner?’

‘Good-looking lady. She played the husband’s lover in
En Gäss
. Not a big part, but she was ok. That’s the second film she’s done for Roslyn. The first was just a walk-on part.’

‘Maybe she’ll get a lead role in Roslyn’s next film after this.’

Olander put his coffee on the dashboard. ‘I think that’s her, Inspector.’

Anita could see a tall, slim woman walking along the street in their direction. She had on a blue woolly hat and plaid coat pulled tightly round her. When she got closer, Anita got out of the car.

‘Fröken Tegner?’

Tegner pulled up in surprise. ‘Yes.’

Anita produced her warrant card. ‘Inspector Anita Sundström. We’d like a word.’

Panic flitted across Tegner’s beautiful face. ‘What about?’

‘If you get in the car I’ll tell you,’ said Anita, opening the vehicle’s back door.

Tegner looked about nervously. ‘Why don’t we go inside?’

‘I don’t think you’ll want the Valquists to overhear this conversation.’

Tegner meekly slipped into the back seat and Anita got in beside her. Tegner kept her hat on and it was difficult to see her face clearly in the darkened car. Maybe that would make it easier for her talk, Anita hoped.

‘How well do you know Mick Roslyn?’

‘Is this to do with Malin’s murder?’

‘Just answer the question, please.’

‘Of course I know him. I’ve appeared in two of his films. He is Bengt’s boss and business associate.’

‘And Bengt Valquist is your partner?’

‘Yes, of course he is.’ It was either bluster or growing confidence.

‘So he doesn’t know about you and Roslyn?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ There wasn’t enough light for Anita to register Tegner’s facial expression.

‘Oh, I think you do, fröken Tegner. Where were you last Monday night, for example?’

Tegner didn’t answer straight away. The pause was too long. ‘In Stockholm.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘Nothing much. I had been here in Lund with Bengt and then drove north. I was tired when I got back to my apartment.’

‘Not so tired that you spent the night with Rolsyn.’

She tried anger. ‘What makes you think I was with Mick.’

‘Because he told me so.’

The instant intake of breath made her sound as though she had been slapped in the stomach. She didn’t say anything.

‘Are you denying it?’

Tegner’s head slumped. ‘Oh, God.’

‘How long has this been going on?’

Tegner didn’t look up. ‘A couple of months.’ The words were barely audible.

‘What I want to know, fröken Tegner, is this – do you think herr Valquist knows about your liaison?’

Tegner tugged nervously at her gloves with her teeth.

‘Well?’

‘Oh, God, I hope not. I didn’t mean…’ She started to sob. Anita let her cry gently until she stopped. She wiped her eyes with her gloves. ‘Why are you asking me this? What has this to do with Malin?’

‘You’ve given Roslyn an alibi.’

Tegner turned to Anita for the first time. ‘Why does he need an alibi? Surely you can’t think—’

‘We have to check everything.’

‘Are you going to tell Bengt?’ The worry had returned to her voice.

‘That’s all.’ Anita got out of the car and held it open for Tegner. Despite the situation, Anita noticed that Tegner eased herself out of the car elegantly. The trained actress. ‘By the way, do you work out? The gym, martial arts, that sort of thing?’

Tegner was now standing next to Anita. She was a good four inches taller.

‘I work out in the gym most weeks. I started when I got a small part in a German action movie a couple of years ago. I was supposed to be in a terrorist cell, so there were a couple of fight sequences. There were stunt doubles, but we still had to run around a lot.’

‘Did you kill anybody?’

Tegner laughed. ‘No, we were there to be killed by the goody German cops. Anyway, why do you ask?’

‘Good night, fröken Tegner.’ Anita slammed the back door shut and got into the car next to Olander.

Tilda Tegner watched them drive off before dragging herself slowly towards the Valquist residence.

Anita didn’t say anything until they were leaving the outskirts of Lund. ‘What did you make of her?’

‘She lied about something. But I don’t know what.’

‘I don’t know either.’