Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) (32 page)

Moberg was still undecided about his early lunch when his office phone rang. He grabbed the receiver. It was Hakim.

‘We’ve found four people who have reluctantly admitted that they were uncomfortable with the pastor’s unsavoury relationship with Ebba. One elderly ex-member, according to one of the constables I spoke to, said that she was expelled from the church for raising the subject. She didn’t report it, as she thought the police wouldn’t believe her because Kroon was well respected in the town. But they’ve all kept quiet. I think they were frightened of Kroon. Still are. And they justified their silence by the fact that Ebba suddenly went away. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.’

‘That’s good work. Right, I want you and Wallen to go round to Kroon’s place now. Pick him up and bring him in.’

Another decision. A Chinese carry-out. Things were looking up.

The Stasi Museum at Lichtenberg was a five minute walk from the Magdalenenstrasse underground station. It was the sheer size of the old Stasi headquarters’ twenty-two-hectare complex that blew Kevin’s mind. As they didn’t have to be at the airport until one o’clock, he had convinced Anita that they could spend the morning going round the museum and find out what sort of organization Hans-Dieter Albrecht had worked for – and Albin Rylander had spied for. And it was sort of on their way.

The museum was in the building which had housed the Stasi hierarchy. It was much like any other unimaginative early 1960s office block you’d find anywhere in the world – except the business of “house 1” was more ominous. Its role was to police, spy upon and terrorize a whole nation; to seep into and control every aspect of its citizens’ lives.

The centrepiece of the museum was the office suite of the Minister for State Security; the fiefdom of Erich Mielke, who held this position for thirty years. It was just the same as it was when the frenzied citizens of East Germany forcibly occupied the administrative buildings before all the documents could be destroyed; and they were able discover the files on themselves, their families, friends and colleagues. What they found was an organization that had compiled 111 kilometres of paper files, 1.7 million photos and 28,000 recordings. Kevin was much taken with Mielke’s conference room and private quarters. They were vivid snapshots of 1960s design with wood-panelled walls, parquet flooring and clunky furniture. Not too ostentatious, of course, but solid, practical, comfortable; reeking power. Mielke’s vast, plain, highly polished desk still had the telephones of the time in place. Kevin mentally speculated about what dreadful instructions and fateful decisions must have been conducted over those lines.

In various rooms the story of the Stasi was told through their imaginative, yet often clumsy, listening and photographic devices in what was a surveillance seventh heaven. Many aped the technology of the early James Bond films – the watch with a recording device, the clothing that contained miniature cameras, and innocent handbags that picked up idle but subversive snippets of conversation; even the Rosa Klebb shoe with the metal spike at its tip. What tickled Kevin most was the watering can with a concealed camera – even gardeners weren’t safe.

As he moved through the rooms, he realized that Anita was not with him. He made his way back and found her staring at a case containing domestic listening devices.

‘There’s some fascinating stuff through there, Anita.’

She didn’t acknowledge him but continued to be transfixed by the objects in front of her.

‘We’d better not be too long; we’ve got to get to the airport.’

‘That’s what all this has been about.’

‘What?’

Anita swivelled round to face him. ‘Surveillance. Listening in. That’s what they’ve been doing.’

Kevin was still unsure what she was alluding to.

‘Rylander. They were listening in.’ The penny dropped. ‘That’s what the Källströms were doing next door. They had Rylander under surveillance. There must be bugs planted in his house. They were listening to his conversations with Klas. When they realized that he was going to reveal everything, they killed him. Maybe not they themselves, but other members of their team or organization. That’s why they left when they did before their holiday rental was up.’

‘Maybe it was our Mr Large I saw in the trees observing the house.’

‘He’s obviously the same man Moa Hellquist saw with Alice Zetterberg when she reported Rylander’s death.’

A young couple came wandering into the room, and Anita and Kevin slipped out into the corridor.

‘They must have bugged Klas, too. They would have suspected that he would find out at least some of Rylander’s life story that he hadn’t yet told.’ Anita suddenly smacked the wall with her hand in exasperation. ‘The text! The text he sent me. They would have intercepted that. Oh, the poor fellow!’

Kevin took Anita by the arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘That text was Klas signing his own death warrant.’

They had gone through the airport security and made their way past the shopping area. Normally, Anita would have automatically stopped at the duty free to pick up a bottle of spirits, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything other than their present predicament, which she was solely responsible for landing them in. They hadn’t seen Benno Källström on either of the two trains they took to reach the airport, but both of them had been aware that he was probably somewhere close by. Kevin may have fooled him once – but not twice if he was a real professional. They found seats in the corridor leading to the departure gates.

‘They must also have bugged your holiday home.’ Kevin was simply articulating what she had already worked out.

‘I know. They must have been listening in to all our conversations – and were probably watching us once they knew our suspicions had been aroused, and I had started asking questions. That would explain the police patrol materializing at the Källströms’ that night.’

‘And Zetterberg turning up when you went to Klas’s home.’

‘You’re right. How the hell does she fit into all this?’

‘Of course, she may have been unwittingly involved. Just doing her job. Given a tip off that someone was in Klas’s house. That sort of thing.’ The scowling glance she threw in his direction immediately had him retracting the theory: ‘Then again, maybe not.’

‘I’m not inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. But you may be right,’ she conceded. Anita opened her bag, rummaged around and then gave a heavy sigh. There was no comforting snus to help calm her.

‘What surprises me,’ started Kevin. He stopped for a moment, then continued: ‘What surprises me is that as they obviously knew we were coming to Berlin, why didn’t they contrive to stop you meeting Hans-Dieter Albrecht? They must have known that we couldn’t discover a motive for the murders without his background story. Actually, now I think of it, why didn’t they stop Klas from coming? They must have heard Rylander telling him. You got the address from a recording.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ mused Anita. Then she suddenly sat bolt upright. ‘No, no, they didn’t know. I remember now, that recording had the sound of the sea in the background. They must have been sitting outside. It wouldn’t have been picked up by the microphones in the house. So, they might not have even known that Klas was going to Berlin until they realized he’d already been from the text message to me.’

‘He told
us
though. If—’

‘But they probably hadn’t started listening into us at that point; we only started fishing after Klas’s death. At that stage, they’d assume that Klas hadn’t got enough to finish the book. Other than the Lenin story, it wasn’t exactly best-seller material. And nothing to shed light on their activities. Then, to their horror, they realize he’s been in Berlin and probably knows the whole truth, or at least some of it. The fact that he texted me alerted them to us – perhaps they bugged the house after that.’

‘Yeah; I can’t work out when they could have done that.’

Anita went quiet. ‘I reckon they only had one opportunity to do it; you were out on a walk and I was in Simrishamn.’

‘I wonder why they didn’t find Klas’s file. I reckon they would have searched the house while they were bugging it; they obviously gave his place the once over.’

‘They wouldn’t have found it,’ she said with some glee. ‘I took it with me!’

‘Clever shite! So, what about when we talked about Albrecht? They would have heard us then.’

‘We were outside, remember? Having a beer. That’s when I told you we were coming here. Now it all makes sense! Once we were being monitored, they would have found out about our Berlin flight bookings. That’s why Benno Källström followed us here.’

‘This is doing my head in. I need a drink. Fancy one?’

They got up and walked back along the corridor and found a bar. Kevin ordered himself a beer and Anita a glass of red wine. They took sanctuary at a corner table.

‘I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do. I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this.’ She took his hand and pressed it between hers.

With his other hand, he gently pushed back a couple of stray hairs that had flopped over her glasses.

‘I’m just glad I’m here for you. I lo…’ He checked himself. ‘I’m really fond of you, Anita.’

She beamed back at him gratefully. Then they both returned to their drinks in silence.

After a long draught of his beer, Kevin spoke.

‘Look, Anita, can you go to your boss in Malmö with this?’

She shook her head. ‘Hardly. We’ve got no evidence. We’ve got a nurse’s suspicions about Rylander’s suicide; we’ve got the theories of a local historian who’s now dead; plus some other weird stuff like the Källströms finishing their holiday early – and that they’re certainly not called Källström at all. We’ve got a cow of a police detective acting oddly but, on the face of it, not operating outside the law. We think we’ve been followed to Berlin but can’t prove it. We’re basing our theories on the word of a shifty ex-Stasi operative who won’t come out of hiding to back up our story. We can’t prove a damn thing. We’ve got no autopsy or accident-scene reports. Nothing concrete. And Moberg certainly wouldn’t contemplate sniffing around someone else’s enquiry, because it’s officially Zetterberg’s remit. He’d think I was on drugs. I’d do the same in his position. So would you.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ He gave a little groan. ‘I’ve got to go back on Thursday, but I can’t just sit in Penrith waiting and wondering what’s happening to you, and then get some message that you’ve been in a fatal accident – or whatever these spooks dream up to keep you quiet.’

She could see the worry etched across his features. She realized at that moment how much he cared for her.

‘I can look after myself. I’ll be fine.’ Not that she felt remotely fine.

‘Anita, that’s not enough,’ he said forcefully. ‘These people – whatever the fuck they’re called – have killed twice. You now know too much. They know you know. Do you think they’ll let you just carry on merrily as though nothing’s happened? They can’t be sure you’ll not let the cat out of the bag at some stage, even if you don’t pursue it now.’

‘Kevin, why would they harm me? They know I can’t prove that Rylander and Klas were killed. End of story.’

‘But that’s not the story, Anita. Rylander’s
past
is the story. What he did, with their connivance, is what they’re worried about. They know you can’t touch them for the murders, but it’s all the other stuff they’ll be afraid might come out. That’s what’s putting you in peril.’

Anita was quite shaken by what Kevin had just said. She hadn’t thought it through properly; hadn’t grasped the real significance of what she had done. Suddenly, she realized with alarming clarity that she was totally out of her depth.

He drained the last of his beer decisively and slammed down his glass. ‘Right, the first thing we both do is turn off our mobile phones so they can’t be traced.’

‘My last text was to Lasse, just to tell him we’d be away for a couple of days.’

‘That doesn’t matter because they followed us here. But we don’t want to make life easy for them from now on.’

They both took out their mobiles and switched them off.

‘What if Lasse—’

‘No “what ifs”,’ he said firmly, putting away his phone. ‘Now, you lot carry guns, don’t you?’

‘Yes. But I’m not allowed to carry a weapon around with me when I’m not on duty.’

‘Is it back at the holiday home or your flat?’

‘Of course not. Locked up in headquarters, where it should be,’ she said primly.

‘Right, as soon as we reach Malmö, I want you to go and get it.’

She placed her hand on his. ‘This is daft. I’ll be OK,’ – though she knew she wouldn’t be. And she was now dreading his return to England; she would be lost without him.

‘Just do as I say,’ he said resolutely. ‘I’ve got a plan. It’s probably a shit plan, but it’s all we’ve got.’

Moberg just had to look into the demonic eyes to know that they were dealing with a seriously strange man. A man who had wielded extraordinary power over his congregation. He must have assuaged a need in these people. Not that Moberg was remotely sympathetic to their spiritual wants, whatever they were. It was their own damn fault that they’d been sucked in by his manipulatory rhetoric. If they had chosen that route to heaven, they had mistakenly stumbled across the devil. This might be the first time he had clapped eyes on Elias Kroon, but he could easily imagine the creepy pastor quite capable of unspeakable behaviour towards the young Ebba Pozorski. Now they were going to have to prove that and place him at the scene of the crime. That might be difficult. Having taken Kroon’s fingerprints on his arrival at the polishus, Moberg had got straight onto forensics to recheck their findings from Akerman/Pozorski’s apartment to establish whether he had been there. There was no match.

The one ace Moberg had up his sleeve was conducting the interview with Hakim. The young Muslim’s presence in the room made a disquieting impression on the pastor, who wouldn’t look at him directly. This was the effect Moberg had wanted.

‘You have no right to hold me here. I should be doing God’s work; I’m late for an appointment already.’ He made a show of looking at his watch, which, Moberg noted, was on his left wrist.