Meet me in Malmö: The first Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (15 page)

It was a rather surreal experience watching a game of indoor cricket in Scandinavia. But here Ewan was, after taking the bus with Alex and David into the suburbs to some faceless sports centre in the middle of a housing estate. Ewan had totally lost his bearings by the time they had reached the building where the shivering teams from Malmöhus and Lund were gathering in the car park. Cricket whites seemed incongruous in a Swedish summer, let alone a Swedish winter. The players were drawn from all over the British Commonwealth with a handful of keen Swedes thrown in. Many had obviously just dragged themselves out of bed on this freezing Saturday morning, but appeared jovial enough as greetings were exchanged, complicated rules discussed and last cigarettes smoked.

As he watched the enthusiastic sixteen-overs-an-innings contest, Ewan was starting to chill out. Sweden, so far, had been a disconcerting experience to say the least. Being caught up in a murder within the first twenty-four hours wasn’t what he’d planned, but now they had a culprit he could rest easy. The name of Halvar Mednick was all over the newspapers this morning after Public Prosecutor Blom had successfully applied in the district court for his further detention. Ewan could savour Sweden as a country that he was starting to recognize had similarities to his own Scotland. The only real difference as far as he could work out was that the Swedes weren’t as confrontational and they were far healthier. And, of course, the women. Or one woman in particular. He realized that he would probably have to be on the plane back to Newcastle on Monday. That left him the rest of the weekend to try and contact Mick to get some sort of story out of him and, more important, contrive another meeting with Anita.

Anita was on her third coffee of the morning. It would be another long day. It was her own fault. If she hadn’t raised doubts about Halvar Mednick she could have had the weekend off. Westermark watched her resentfully as they gathered in Moberg’s office. He had a hot date that he had had to put off. Olander was also there, but no one else, as this was an informal meeting.

‘Right,’ Moberg began, ‘we’re here unofficially. The investigation of Mednick continues.’ He glanced over to Anita. ‘However, doubts have been raised among the team and I think, to protect our arses, that we need to be one hundred per cent sure that Mednick’s our man. At the moment, we can place him at the scene of the crime, but not in the room where the crime was committed. Anita’s also raised the question of the pendant and its lack of fingerprints, except Mednick’s. Malin’s prints should have been all over it.’

‘Shouldn’t Henrik be here?’ Westermark asked. Why should he be dragged in after they had solved the case and the old bugger was let off?

‘I’ve sent him to Stockholm. Took a plane from Sturup this morning.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re following up other lines of inquiry. Roslyn has identified his Säpo contact. Henrik is following that up.’

‘Surely we’re not taking that seriously.’ Westermark was getting annoyed with the whole situation.

‘We have to take everything seriously,’ snapped Moberg, who was quickly becoming irritated by Westermark’s negativity. He didn’t like officers questioning his judgement, and certainly not a slimy fart like Karl Westermark. ‘If Mednick isn’t our murderer, then we really have to take the method of killing seriously. It smacks of a professional job. No noise, no prints, no witnesses.’

Westermark shut up and sulked.

Moberg turned to Anita, who was leaning against the windowsill. ‘And what theories are we getting from you this morning?’

‘I think we need to look at Roslyn’s inner circle. We know that Roslyn lied to us about being at a meeting. The reason now seems to be because he was having a night of passion in Stockholm with his business partner’s girlfriend, Tilda Tegner.’ This attracted the huffy Westermark’s interest.

‘So, they have given each other an alibi,’ mused Moberg.

‘On the face of it, yes. But it does give Bengt Valquist a possible motive to kill Malin. Jealousy. According to Tegner, the affair has been going on for a couple of months, which gives Valquist time to find out and time to plan his revenge. Tegner left Lund on the Monday and drove to Stockholm to meet Roslyn. Valquist was in Lund and he would have known that Malin would be alone. He could be down here, kill Malin and be back in Lund in an hour. Of course, he might have killed Malin for another reason. Self-preservation. According to office rumour, Malin wanted to get rid of Valquist. If it were true, then everything he had worked for would be lost. Position, prestige, girls like Tilda Tegner.’

‘Have you talked to him yet?’ Moberg asked.

‘I’m speaking to him later. He was in Stockholm last night.’

Moberg eased his chair away from his desk. ‘This Tilda Tegner? She couldn’t be covering for Roslyn, or Roslyn for her?’

‘I’m sure they spent the night together. Roslyn was reluctant to tell me about it and Tegner seemed genuinely horrified when I brought the subject up. If she’d been around Malmö, I’m sure she would have been capable of doing it. She ambitious enough. She’s also tall enough, and she’s done combat-type training for some German film she was in. But she was in Stockholm, so that’s a dead end.’

‘Ok. Off you go. Take Olander here. Put the pressure on Valquist. Squeeze the bastard’s balls if necessary. Time’s not on our side.’

Anita, Olander and Westermark started to move towards the door.

‘A word, Westermark.’

They were using the requisitioned car again, as Anita still hadn’t been able to summon up the required enthusiasm to take her own car back home and clean it. This time she drove, and ignored the mobile call that started off the familiar Samba ring tone in her pocket. She had forgotten about it by the time they met Bengt Valquist outside Lund’s main university building, situated beyond the impressive Romanesque cathedral. The main university building was un-Swedishly extravagant, with its white colonnaded façade entrance and two ornate wings. Anita had always assumed the style was mock-Grecian, but it always reminded her of a Mediterranean casino. Valquist wanted to meet there and not at the home of his parents, so not as to upset them. They had taken Roslyn’s death badly and his mother had been worried after Anita’s appearance at her door the previous evening. What Anita didn’t know was whether Tilda Tegner had come clean with him after their talk – or even whether she was in Lund any more. Her guess was that Tegner had scurried back to Stockholm so she didn’t have to face the music. If he didn’t already know about the affair – and had killed Malin – then he was going to be in for a shock in the next few minutes.

Valquist was waiting nervously over by the circular fountain. He wore a thick, expensive coat and elegant leather gloves. He was tall and spindly, and the coat seemed too large for him. He certainly didn’t fill it out. He was more the young business executive than Anita’s vague idea of what a film producer should look like. As Anita and Olander approached, he pushed his glasses upto the bridge of his nose.

‘Thank you for meeting us.’ Anita said, trying to weigh him up physically. Was his physique right for the killer they were after? Difficult to tell in that coat, was the answer.

‘Where’s Mick? He hasn’t been in touch.’

‘He’s safe. We have to make sure that he doesn’t call anyone so that he’s untraceable, hence his lack of communication.’

Valquist stamped his elegantly shod feet to ward off the cold. Anita wondered why they couldn’t have met indoors somewhere.

‘It’s just I…I mean the company needs decisions making on a couple of ongoing issues.’

‘I am afraid they’ll have to wait.’

As if they had been given a signal, they all began to walk slowly away from the university. The destination was unclear.

‘This man you’ve arrested. Henrik Mednick—’

‘Halvar Mednick,’ Olander corrected.

‘This man is connected with the secret service?’

‘We haven’t established that yet.’ Anita was remaining non-committal.

‘But he is ex-army?’

‘Yes.’

Valquist was now looking over towards the cathedral. ‘So, how can I help you?’

‘We’re still exploring other lines of inquiry. Other possible suspects.’

He turned his head towards Anita, who was walking by his side. ‘And you have others?’ he said in some surprise.

‘Yes. You, for example.’

Valquist stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth opened, but he was too flabbergasted to say anything.

Anita pressed home her advantage. ‘Where were you last Monday night?’ She cut short his protest.‘Just tell me your movements.’

He clasped his gloved hands together. He was starting to fret. ‘I was…I was here, in Lund.’

‘Times, please?’

‘Well, I gave a talk to a group of students about film production at 7.30.’ He started to nibble anxiously at the gloved index finger of his right hand as he reminded himself of his whereabouts that night. ‘I had a quick drink with some of them afterwards, then went back to my apartment at…well, it must have been around ten.’

‘Anybody vouch for your movements after that? Your parents?’

‘No. My mother goes to bed early each night. Usually about 9.30. Dad was with a friend over in Landskrona until late. Though we share the same entrance, my apartment has a separate staircase. I converted it about three years ago for when I’m down from Stockholm. I do some part-time lecturing at the university and I can keep an eye on my parents.’

‘So, what were you doing between eleven and one that night?’

‘Erm…I was reading some scripts that some of the students had given me. Checked emails. Then watched a movie I had on DVD. Must have gone to bed about half twelve.’

‘No alibi?’

Anita stared at Valquist, which only increased his nervousness.

‘Why should I have an alibi? I’m hardly going to kill off the business’s main asset.’ It struck Anita as a funny way to describe Malin.

‘Did you ring fröken Tegner when you got back?’ asked Olander. The attack was now coming from two fronts.

‘No. I got an SMS from her when she arrived in Stockholm, but it said she was tired and wanted to go straight to bed. I didn’t want to disturb her.’

‘She went straight to bed.’ Anita paused. ‘But not by herself.’

It took a few moments for the implication of what she had said to sink in. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m saying she wasn’t in bed alone.’

‘This is fucking stupid,’ Valquist burst out furiously. ‘What are you trying to do?’

‘Don’t you want to know who she was in bed with?’

The mouth was open again. Confusion, agitation and anger fought for a place on his face. ‘You’re talking rubbish. You’re trying to get me to say something. To incriminate myself.’

‘Herr Valquist, your girlfriend was in bed with Mick Roslyn on the night that his wife was murdered. If you knew about their affair, then you had a motive for killing Roslyn’s wife. Getting your own back.’

‘I’m not going to listen to any more of this shit!’

‘Or was it because Malin was going to have you sacked?’

Valquist stared at Anita in disbelief. ‘Why would she do that? Mick would never—’

‘That would have ruined your reputation in the film business. Get rid of Malin and you might save yourself. You had opportunity. It’s easy to get to Malmö and back quickly from here. And you knew that Roslyn was out of the way in Stockholm. It appears that Malin let her murderer in because she knew him. Her business partner, for example? No one can vouch for your movements before, during and after the murder. And, finally, you have the means. You’re tall enough. So, I think it’s not unreasonable for us to ask – did you kill Malin Lovgren on Monday, the eleventh of February?’

 ‘Should we have brought him in?’ asked Olander, who had taken over the driving for their journey back to Malmö.

‘We can’t arrest someone on the basis of office tittle-tattle,’ Anita answered distractedly. She had remembered the call that she hadn’t answered before and discovered it had come from Ewan. For some inexplicable reason she felt too self-conscious about ringing him back in front of Olander. She put her mobile away.

‘Do you think he could have done it?’

‘Quite possibly. I can’t work out whether his nervousness is just his natural state or a sign of guilt.’

‘I’m not sure he looked strong enough. Bit of a weakling.’

‘It’s amazing the strength you can summon up when you’re spurred on by jealousy, or you think you’re about to lose everything you’ve worked for.’

They were clear of the houses on the outskirts of Lund. ‘He seemed quite shaken when you told him about Tegner and Roslyn. You certainly didn’t break it to him gently.’ He laughed.

‘Always best to put them on the spot. You’re more likely to get a genuine reaction.’

‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he next talks to Tilda Tegner.’ With that he put his foot down.

The debriefing with Moberg was short. The upshot was that they would return to the CCTV footage and see if they could find a sighting of Valquist, check the multistorey car park at the back of the
Systembolag
to find out whether his blue metallic Volvo had been in there that night and to cross-reference the forensics with any prints. Anita felt the last was a waste of time as Valquist must have been a frequent visitor to the apartment. However, she couldn’t be bothered to argue the point. At least Moberg was widening the investigation.

As she was leaving the phone rang.

‘Moberg. Ah, Henrik.’ Moberg motioned with his platelike hand for Anita to stay while he took the call.

It didn’t last long and consisted of Moberg saying ‘yes’ a dozen times. ‘You do that, Henrik. Speak tomorrow.’ Moberg put the phone down.

‘Well?’ Anita asked expectantly.

‘Roslyn’s contact, Andreas Tapper. He’s dead.’

The noise in The Pickwick was rising and Ewan nearly missed hearing his phone go off. The Malmöhus boys were celebrating their victory. One more drink and they would be off to an Indian restaurant just off Möllevångstorget. Ewan was in the process of passing drinks from the bar when he heard the call.

‘Sorry. Bit loud in here. I’ll just go outside.’

As he pushed his way towards the pub entrance and down the steps, his excitement was mounting. Anita was on the other end of the line.

‘Are you in a bar?’

‘Yes. Sorry about that. I’ve been watching a cricket match. Out having a few drinks with the winners.’

‘A cricket match!’ Anita sounded incredulous. ‘In Malmö? In this weather?’

Ewan laughed. ‘Fortunately it was indoors, but it was still bloody freezing.’ There was a pause as he didn’t know how to go on.

‘You called,’ Anita said uncertainly.

‘Yes. So I did. Erm…two things really. Business and pleasure.’

‘Ok,’ came the guarded reply.

It was glacial out in the street and Ewan had taken off his coat inside the pub. ‘The business. Is there any chance of seeing Mick Roslyn? For a quick interview before I leave on Monday.’

‘No. I am afraid there is no chance of that at the moment. Once everything is cleared up he is free to speak to anyone he chooses.’

‘Ah, it was just a long shot. My editor won’t be pleased. I’ll just have to make something up.’

‘I thought that was what journalists always did.’

‘That’s harsh.’ He smirked. ‘Only crap journalists, like me, who can never be arsed to search for the facts.’

He heard her laugh and it made him feel good. This was an opportune moment to put the question he really wanted to ask.

‘I’m booked on a flight out of Copenhagen on Monday morning.’

‘I’m sorry your first visit to Sweden has caused you so much trouble. We’re really a nice country.’

‘As tomorrow is my last day, I was wondering whether we could meet up. For a drink, a chat or something.’ The words petered out as his confidence ebbed away. He suddenly felt like a teenager asking out his first date. For the record, Mary Young had turned down his offer to watch a film at the Lyceum in Lothian Road.

After an agonizing pause at the other end: ‘Ok. Tomorrow night.’

Anita was starting to have second thoughts almost immediately. After her last experience she had sworn never to socialise with another journalist unless he could be of use in terms of the job. But this wasn’t really a date. Besides, he was leaving the country and she doubted she would ever see him again. There was nothing to lose. It would give her a chance to find out about how much Durham had changed since her childhood. They had a place in common. He also amused her. And if she was honest, she was quite flattered at his obvious attention. His embarrassment when asking her out was endearing – it had sounded like a case of hope over expectation. With most of the Swedish men she had come across it was usually the other way round.

She was now standing outside her apartment on Roskildevägen. She had her car doors and boot open, as well as having wound down all the windows. The short drive back from the Polishus car park had been extremely smelly. She had scrubbed the passenger seat down and sprayed around the inside of the vehicle with two different types of air freshener she had found under the kitchen sink. They were ancient and she wondered whether cans of air freshener had sell-by dates. Their combined odours didn’t make much difference. In fact, they nearly made her gag. They seemed to attack her throat in the same way that ladies’ toiletry sections did in smart department stores, where all the scents fight each other to attract the customers’ attention, but cumulatively are a rather nauseous combination. She decided to leave all the windows open and to keep an eye on the car from the living room while she phoned her mother. She doubted whether the car would be stolen, as the thief would be overcome by the pong.

She had been feeling guilty about her mother. She hadn’t visited her in Kristianstad for weeks. They talked regularly on the phone but there was always the unspoken rebuke about lack of filial visits. She loved her mother, but they drove each other mad, which was why she always found excuses not to invite her across to Malmö. Her parents’ break-up had hit her hard because she adored her father. He had stayed in Stockholm while she had gone back with her mother to Simrishamn to live with her maternal grandmother. Her teenage years had been difficult and she had been glad to escape to the National Police Academy in Stockholm and spend some time near her father. And then his drowning severed that side of her life. After her grandmother’s death – Anita had left home by then – her mother had moved to Kristianstad to live with her sister, Aunt Fanny. Both had been unlucky in love and enjoyed their mutual moaning about men, life and the price of fish. Anita’s visits to Kristianstad only depressed her and she always rushed back to Malmö at the first excuse. The horrid truth was that she feared that she would turn into her mother.

Inside her living room she could see the car just a few feet away. Passers-by would get a whiff, and assume some occupant had been sick after too much booze. God knew what her neighbours would think. Not that it mattered, as there was only one other person in the block she ever talked to. It was time to ring her mother. As she stared at the phone, her mind went back to Nordlund’s call to Moberg earlier.

Andreas Tapper was dead. He’d died six months before in a road accident. Taken to drink after being shoved out of Säpo and was drunk at the wheel when he drove off the E4 north of Norrköping, where he was living at the time. That was the official version. So “Deep Throat” couldn’t be Andreas Tapper, as Roslyn claimed to have seen his contact in recent months. Did “Deep Throat” exist or was he a figment of Roslyn’s fertile imagination? Moberg had wondered, not unreasonably. Nordlund said that he had tracked down a brother, Linas, who lived in Västerås. He would get out there tomorrow, snow permitting. But, she was now more interested in Bengt Valquist. She would plump for an emotive murder over a cold conspiracy killing every time. She picked up the phone and rang the familiar Kristianstad number.