Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) (23 page)

‘Her home wasn’t as you would expect,’ added Hakim. ‘Smart but basic. And she didn’t fly first class or anything like that.’

‘Basically, a good Christian girl who was corrupted.’

‘I’d agree with you, Klara.’ Moberg shifted in his seat. The room was warm even at that time in the morning. The scorcher was continuing. ‘OK, have we got anything else on Ebba Pozorski?’

‘I have,’ piped up Hakim. ‘After Klara discovered her real name, I was able to search the usual sources – criminal record database, tax office records, vehicle licensing, old electoral registers et cetera. She was certainly living in Malmö in 1996; she was working in a convenience store down in Möllevången. That didn’t last long though, and she seems to have drifted from one job to another. In 1998, she was caught soliciting; that was before the law changed. She was let off with a warning. Then she disappeared from official sight until February 2003, when she found taxed employment.’

‘Where?’

‘Lund. Do you want to guess the name of the company she worked for?’

Moberg clapped his hands together. ‘Malasp Travel!’

‘Yeah.’

‘Fantastic! How long was she there?’

‘Five years. She was classed as a travel representative, whatever that means. Then she suddenly drops off the radar.’

Moberg rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Right, so she disappears in 2008 and turns up in Switzerland…’

‘A year later; but with a new name.’

‘And a new profession – or returning to an old one,’ Moberg mused. ‘So how come she goes from travel representative to high-class call girl in a year?’

‘Well, I think Markus Asplund must be behind all this,’ weighed in Wallen, who was horrified at the role this man must have had in the poor girl’s life.

‘That neatly brings us on to our first suspect.’

Wallen went up to the board, wrote Pastor Kroon’s name, and then linked it with red arrows to the photos of Asplund and Isaksson. ‘According to Pastor Kroon, it was Asplund who turned Ebba from sweet Christian girl into call girl. That’s why he was expelled from the church. Despite the fact that Asplund was a man with a young family, he took an unhealthy interest in Ebba, and led her down the path of depravity, if Kroon is to be believed.’

‘And is he?’

‘I didn’t like him,’ Wallen confessed, ‘but there’s no reason for him to lie. He seemed to have liked the Pozorskis.’ She sat down.

‘Is that your impression, Pontus?’

Brodd looked momentarily startled. ‘Yeah. Bit creepy if you ask me. In a religious sort of way, of course.’

Moberg stood up, went to the board, and looked hard at Markus Asplund’s smiling face.

‘We’ve got a lot against him now. We know that he knew Ebba from an early age. If the pastor is correct, he knew her too intimately. We don’t know what relationship they had between him leaving Sjöbo and her becoming one of his employees in 2003. She leaves five years later. By 2009, she’s living in Switzerland under a false name, servicing clients all over Europe. We know they’re still in contact because he’s on her client spreadsheet. Fast forward to twelve days ago, and she’s murdered in the park. Asplund, we think, probably had sex with her the day she died. We should have that confirmed tomorrow, according to Thulin. He’s got an apartment in town not far from hers. Where did they meet to shag? His apartment? He has no proper alibi for the time of the murder, and we know he’s fit – runs and works out – and is right-handed; so that tallies with the attacker. And, as a frequent visitor to America, he could easily have got hold of the murder weapon. So, he has means and opportunity.’

‘I don’t know if it’s relevant, but he lied about knowing Isaksson,’ said Wallen.

‘No, that’s interesting. Why? Is Isaksson involved in the murder too?’

‘We still haven’t got a motive.’ This was still a detail that was nagging Hakim.

‘She must have had a lot of dirt on him,’ Brodd suggested as he emerged from the fog of his hangover.

‘He did have sex with a prostitute but, of course, we can’t arrest him for it,’ reasoned Hakim; ‘he never seems to have paid for it. Anything else she might have said would simply be her word against his, and his professional reputation would carry more weight than hers.’ Brodd sniggered. ‘I’ll tell you what’s been troubling me from the moment I found out what she did for a living, and even more so now we’ve found out a bit about her background: how did she find these wealthy clients all over Europe?’

There was silence as they all pondered the question.

‘It’s quite a leap from travel representative to trollop,’ agreed Moberg.

‘Maybe that’s it.’ Hakim said suddenly. ‘Travel is the key. All the clients were in cities that had an Easyjet flight to and from Geneva. That’s probably not a coincidence. The flights are well priced, so she could save money, much of which she passed on to her father’s nursing home. Budget travel’s also low profile; she wouldn’t stand out in the crowd. She’d know all about that sort of thing from working for Malasp. And she might have met her future clients on business trips while working for the agency. We need to check how often she worked out of the office during her time there – and how often she went abroad. And go through the names on the spreadsheet to see if the men listed have travel connections.’

‘It’s still not the easiest thing to do,’ Moberg pointed out doubtfully. ‘You can’t just walk up to someone and say “oh, by the way, I’m going to be a freelance whore soon; do you want to sign up here?”’

‘It might have been difficult for
her
,’ rising excitement was creeping into Wallen’s voice, ‘but it’s something that Asplund could do. In his business, he must have made masses of contacts all over the place.’

‘Fuck me, Klara. That’s a helluva thought. Asplund is Ebba’s pimp!’

‘That would make sense of all those free shags he was getting.’ Even Brodd had perked up now.

‘He really would have everything to lose if that came out,’ Moberg said with a certain amount of glee. ‘Maybe she was fed up with their arrangement, whatever it was, and wanted out. That might explain all the religious stuff. She wanted to repent.’

‘Or maybe she was becoming a liability,’ Wallen had a further thought. ‘There might have been an argument when they met that day, and she said something that forced him to act quickly and get rid of her that night while she was still in the country.’

‘That might answer another question that’s been bugging me,’ ventured Hakim. ‘He would probably know that she jogged in the park when she was in Malmö. As she wasn’t a frequent visitor to the city and, if we accept that the murder was premeditated, then the killer would have had to be familiar with her routine. He’d probably be the only person who’d know her movements.’

‘Someone else might.’ They all turned to the chief inspector.

‘Who?’ Hakim asked.

‘Axel Isaksson. I haven’t told you this because, unfortunately, it’s not official. But it’s been confirmed by Thulin that one of the DNA samples found in Ebba belonged to the esteemed politician. What’s more, it’s his semen on the nun’s habit. Isaksson definitely had sex with her during the two days she was here. Probably on the Monday.’

‘Could you see him running after Ebba with a knife?’ Wallen enquired.

‘Oh, I think he’s fit enough. Though he is a smoker; that’s how I got his DNA. So, you see, our problem is that it can’t be used in evidence against him. And anyway, I’ve been warned off by the commissioner. However, I think another little visit is called for to put the wind up him. After all, he paid for sex from a known prostitute, which is illegal. He also lied about knowing Ebba, who, as a member of this daft church, he’d probably known off and on for thirty-odd years. And what intrigues me is that both Isaksson and Asplund deny knowing each other. Why? They’re both on the spreadsheet. I can’t believe they haven’t been in contact recently. The question remains, are they in this together?’

‘So what action should we be taking, Boss?’ It was as though Brodd had made a major contribution to the meeting and was now helping to tie it all up.

‘As soon as we hear from Thulin tomorrow about the other DNA sample, I want Asplund brought in for questioning. When’s he back?’

‘Tomorrow sometime,’ Wallen confirmed.

‘He’s bound to want a lawyer in, but I want him to feel the pressure. I want him to know we’re after him. And make sure you get his phone. I want that checked for any link with Ebba Pozorski, or Isaksson.’

‘What about Isaksson?’ Hakim asked.

‘An unofficial visit. I’m going to twist the knife tomorrow.’

‘What about the commissioner?’

‘Sod him. I’ve got two good reasons to talk to Axel Isaksson. One, he’s a serious suspect. Secondly, I can’t stand him.’

Jazmin plonked the Willy’s supermarket bag on the small kitchen table. The apartment had looked very clean when she had come in through the front door. Lasse had been hard at work getting their home ready for Hakim’s visit, and had managed to hoover up nearly all Messi’s cat hairs. As she was about to unpack, Lasse came in from the living room.

‘He’s not coming.’

‘What!’ Jazmin exploded.

‘Sorry. He’s been called into work,’ Lasse said, giving her arm a consoling rub.

‘You’ve nothing to be sorry about! It’s typical of him. Any excuse. We make an effort and he can’t be bothered.’ She angrily banged a packet of rice on the table top.

‘He really did sound apologetic. But he’s working on that case of the jogger murdered in Pildammsparken.’

‘Look, Lasse, don’t make excuses for my brother. If he doesn’t want to come, then I wish he was honest enough to tell me.’ Further items of shopping were aggressively disgorged.

‘He did want to explain to you, but he couldn’t get an answer on your phone.’

This gave Jazmin a jolt. She hadn’t had the courage to tell Lasse that she had lost her new mobile. This was a good moment to come clean, but she found herself making a feeble excuse instead. ‘Must have forgotten to switch it on. Just being dozy.’ It had the effect of deflating her indignation.

Lasse put a consoling arm round her shoulder. ‘Don’t be so hard on him. With Mamma being a cop, I know how many extra hours they have to put in on a big case. And I also know how difficult Chief Inspector Moberg can be to work for.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ She gave him a rueful grin. ‘I just wanted to show him the apartment. Show him that I can stand on my own two feet.’ He pretended to look hurt. ‘With your help, of course. Now make some coffee!’

‘It should be the other way round. Have you seen all the cleaning I’ve done? Messi’s flaming hairs were everywhere. Sometimes you feminists don’t appreciate all the housework men do.’ This was answered with a good-natured slap.

As Lasse started to brew some coffee, she reflected on the real reason she was disappointed that Hakim hadn’t turned up. That
person
had been there again last night. She’d recognized the green hoodie. She had gone out to the garbage bins with the kitchen rubbish about midnight, just before heading for bed. There had been movement on the far side of the hut. She thought it must be a kid playing – they were often out long after they should be. But as she re-emerged, she saw the figure in the light of a streetlamp, disappearing round the far end of the apartment block. That in itself had troubled her. When she had mentioned it to Lasse, he had dismissed it again; it was some kid causing trouble. But it wasn’t an adolescent. And before she went to bed, she had peered out of the living room window – and the figure was back. She had rushed through to the bedroom, where Lasse was already asleep. By the time she had dragged him to the window, there was no one to be seen. Lasse had got annoyed and said that she must stop this paranoid behaviour. Then they had argued, and he had ended up sleeping on the sofa. At three in the morning, she had gone through and told him to come back to bed. The make-up sex had patched up the quarrel, if not exactly putting her mind at rest about the person who seemed to be stalking her.

The plane landed bumpily on the runway at Schönefeld, which had formerly been East Berlin’s airport and was now home to busy budget airlines. It had none of the seductive trappings of most international airports. It was simply a place for moving people from one destination to another with the minimum of fuss. Kevin was glad to be back with Anita, as they had sat miles apart on the plane because of the last-minute booking. Once they found themselves out in the sunshine, there was a long covered walkway to the train station. They were greeted at the ticket machines by queues of Berliners returning from weekends away. When they reached the end of their queue, the machine wouldn’t take notes or Visa cards, and, as they had no coins at this early stage of their visit, they had to return to the airport terminal and buy tickets at the tourist information counter. Kevin saw the funny side of it – Anita didn’t.

The journey into the city took nearly an hour. Through windows besmirched with graffiti, they saw nondescript suburbs, which gradually developed a more interesting character as they got nearer to the centre. This was East Berlin awakening from its years of communist rule and now becoming a fully-fledged part of the new Germany. Many of the boring old GDR-era blocks were interspersed with eccentrically innovative modern design. At Frankfurter Allee, they had to change to the underground, and they stepped onto a yellow train with stencilled images of the Brandenburg Gate on the windows. The plastic seats were sticky to sit on in the heat. It made Kevin feel nostalgic for the London tube.

They emerged at Alexanderplatz under the shadow of East Berlin’s most prominent structure, the 368-metre-high television tower – a soaring concrete spike supporting a huge gold and silver bauble, from the top of which protruded an antenna. The ball and the antenna, to Kevin’s mind, resembled one of those fancy decorations which you see on top of Christmas trees. The whole thing was impressive, he had to admit. This showpiece of the GDR must have been a gigantic v-sign to the West. Seen from every viewpoint and a useful marker for tourists, it loomed large over Anita and Kevin as they trundled their cabin bags over the bustling Karl-Liebknecht-Strasse and found their way to their hotel on the corner of Dircksenstrasse and Rosa-Luxemburg-Strasse. The hotel was clean and modern, as exemplified by the Arne Jacobsen turquoise egg-chairs in the lobby. The bedroom was the usual neat box with a large flat-screen TV. Kevin immediately switched on the television, while Anita inspected the bathroom. After freshening up, she returned to see Kevin stretched out on the bed glued to some drama.