Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) (8 page)

Now they were sitting at the side of the Maritim Hotel on the raised decked area overlooking the harbour. Though the early evening was still warm, it was cool under the canvas canopy, and the waitress had thoughtfully brought out a couple of rugs to cover their knees. They had decided on beers, and Kevin was tucking into his Skånsk sisker from a local brewery in Tomelilla as he surveyed the fish he had ordered. When eating in a harbour town, fish was an obvious choice, though it certainly looked different from anything that was served up in his favourite Penrith chippy. Anita couldn’t remember the name of the fish in English but, after tentative prodding, it turned out to be fried plaice. She had gone for the steamed lemon sole with lobster and elderflower pickled vegetables.

‘Quite a boat that,’ remarked Kevin, pointing with his fork over Anita’s shoulder at a two-masted tall ship swaying gently at its berth.

‘That’s the Sarpen,’ Anita replied, squinting round to see. ‘It’s old. Used as a training ship these days. When the masts had to be replaced, the new ones were made by a guy called Sven Geistrand. Lives not far from where we’re staying.’

‘That’s what I call woodwork.’

After a pause for some more food, Anita looked across at Kevin. ‘By the way, I’d better warn you that we’ve got visitors tomorrow.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Kevin said warily.

‘Lasse and Jazmin are coming over from Malmö for the day.’ She grinned. ‘I think he wants to give you the once-over. See the unfortunate sap that his mother has dragged into bed.’

‘Is that the way he sees it?’

‘No. The other way round actually. He’s very protective of me, so you’d better be on your best behaviour.’

‘I’ll have an extra shower so I smell nice. And I’ll try and do it without flooding your bloody bathroom!’

Wallen had been working closely with Hakim all day. Fruitless calls and dead ends. They hadn’t been able to find any evidence that Julia Akerman was an air stewardess. The mobile phone hadn’t yielded anything either. No deleted texts or calls, except one to the nursing home a month ago. Wallen had dispatched a grumpy Brodd off to Sjöbo to see if he could find out anything. She had to admit that it was only to get him out from under her feet. He couldn’t do much damage out in the middle of Skåne. They could find no criminal records for Akerman – or health records either. Nothing on the electoral roll, no registration for a driving licence, nor enrolment on educational courses. And to add to their frustrations, they were also having difficulty at the Swiss end, as it seemed virtually impossible to get hold of anyone at the weekend.

Wallen had gone out of the meeting room to get some fresh coffee, and was thinking of calling it a day when she returned to see a smiling Hakim. ‘Found her!’

She still held on to the two mugs. The butterflies in her stomach were a good indication that this was a pivotal moment.

‘That was the airline. They’ve got her booking details, and we’ve got an address. It’s in a place called La Sarraz in Switzerland. I’ve Googled it, and it’s not far from Lausanne.’

‘Brilliant! Is Moberg still in?’

A few minutes later, they were standing in front of the chief inspector’s desk.

‘Right, we’ve got to follow this up. One of you needs to go out there and find out as much as we can about this woman. Actually, you can go, Mirza. I need you here, Klara.’ Wallen was secretly quite relieved. She was enjoying the responsibility that Moberg was giving her, and she wanted to remain at the heart of the investigation. Akerman may have come from Switzerland, but the murder took place here, and she was sure that the real answers lay in Malmö. ‘I’ll get it sorted out at this end and try to establish contacts with the Swiss police.’ He pointed a large, chubby finger at Hakim. ‘I want you on a plane on Monday.’

Anita let Kevin drive back from Simrishamn after their meal. He had wanted to try out driving on the right, and, as the insurance covered the car and not the driver, there was no problem. Anyway, she was weary after the day out and wanted an early night.

As they approached the house, there was the outline of a figure on the porch.

‘Who’s that?’ Anita called out.

‘Klas,’ came the reply.

Anita inwardly groaned. Much as she liked Lennartsson, she wasn’t in the mood to listen to his stories. She had other plans.

‘It’s important,’ he said in Swedish.

‘You’d better come in.’

Once the lights were turned on and Kevin had offered to make them all a cup of tea, Lennartsson sat down on the sofa. Anita could see that he was tense and worried.

‘What’s the matter, Klas?’ The sooner she got to the point, the sooner he would go.

‘It’s Rylander.’ She knew it had to be. ‘I don’t think it was suicide. I want you to look into it.’

Anita tried to keep the sigh out of her voice, but failed. ‘Honestly, Klas, it’s obviously suicide. It’s disappointing, particularly for you. I understand that. But he’ll have had his reasons. And anyway, there’s nothing I can do about it. It’ll be officially dealt with.’ She plonked herself down on the chair opposite. After a pleasant meal with a nice male companion, this was not something she wanted to get involved with. ‘Besides, I’m on holiday.’

‘I’m sorry. But it’s not that simple. For starters, he didn’t leave a note. Isn’t that unusual?’

‘Yes. Suicides do tend to. But who was Rylander going to leave one to? He had no family.’

‘To me then.’

‘Why to you?’

‘I guess I was closest to him at the end.’

‘Is that all you have to go on?’

‘No.’ This was said with more determination. The self-pity of a moment ago was gone. ‘I spoke to Moa this afternoon. She was just as surprised as me.’

‘For the same reasons as you, I expect.’

‘No. She thinks that something’s not right.’

‘And why?’ One amateur sleuth was bad enough, but two! She just wanted to go to bed.

‘He was taking morphine sulphate for the pain. Once every twelve hours.’

‘Was this what he took to kill himself?’

‘In theory.’

‘Well, it’ll come out in the autopsy.’

‘That’s not the point, Anita,’ Klas said vehemently. ‘To kill himself, he must have taken ten to twenty tablets. With all the whisky he drank, that would do it. But Moa says that he didn’t have enough tablets left to take that kind of overdose. Moa says she usually gave him enough tablets to last four weeks. They were nearly finished. She was taking his next lot to him when she found him dead. Where did all the other morphine sulphate come from?’

‘Maybe he hadn’t taken all the tablets at the prescribed times. Maybe he was storing them up for the time when he felt he had had enough. Look, who’s going to bother killing someone who’s about to die anyway?’

Lennartsson looked unconvinced, but it seemed perfectly logical to Anita.

‘Anyway, after I’d seen Moa, I went to the police station and saw Inspector Zetterberg. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. She’d only say that it was a straightforward suicide. End of story.’

‘Oh, Klas. I know you’re upset, but going to the police! You just make yourself look daft. Especially in front of someone like Alice Zetterberg.’

They both sank into a sullen silence. Kevin entered with a tray with three mugs of tea. He passed the milk-free ones to the Swedes.

‘Did I miss anything interesting?’ Anita flashed him a filthy look. She didn’t want to start Lennartsson off again.

Lennartsson took a sip of his tea and reverted to English. ‘Albin Rylander made a remarkable claim. It’s one that can’t be proved.’

‘What’s that then?’ asked Kevin trying to lift the subdued atmosphere he’d walked into.

‘He reckons that his father saved Lenin’s life. In Malmö.’

Anita’s amazement was mirrored by Kevin’s.

‘I didn’t realize Lenin had ever been to Malmö,’ Kevin said in a tone of disbelief.

‘I must admit, I took it with a pinch of salt when he first mentioned it. Until he produced the old red handkerchief. He was clutching that when Moa found him, by the way.’ He took another gulp of tea.

‘What was Lenin doing in Malmö?’ asked Anita, whose lack of historical knowledge had already been exposed by Kevin’s questions on their trips out.

Lennartsson grimaced. ‘Long story.’

‘Short version please.’

‘When the Revolution broke out in 1917 and the Tsar was deposed and Imperial Russia collapsed, the provisional government that took over was still committed to fighting what was the First World War against Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This was important to their allies: France and Britain. It meant that the Germans were still fighting on two fronts – in the West against the French and the British, and eventually America – and Russia in the East. However, the hard-line revolutionaries such as Lenin, Sokolnikov, Zinoviev et cetera, who had been living in exile for many years, were stuck in neutral Switzerland, and obviously couldn’t have much impact on events back in Mother Russia. Of course at the time, there were lots of revolutionary groups, each with its own agenda, but many still supported the war that was being carried on by the Kerensky-led government, which was largely made up of liberals and moderate socialists. The one group that was totally committed to withdrawing Russia from the war was the Bolsheviks. They were small, but had a dynamic leader in Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov.’

‘Lenin,’ Kevin put in helpfully. The First World War was a subject that had always fascinated him. His great-uncle’s name was engraved on the Thiepval Memorial for those who had died in the Somme but whose bodies had never been found.

‘Exactly. Of course, the Germans were keen to take Russia out of the war so they could concentrate all their forces in the West. Through a German Social Democrat called Alexander Helphand, known to history by his pseudonym of Parvus, channels were opened up with Lenin and the Bolsheviks. Eventually, an agreement was made with the German Foreign Secretary, Arthur Zimmerman, in Berlin. The Germans would facilitate Lenin’s journey across their country from Switzerland to the Baltic coast, where he and his followers could then travel on their own through neutral Sweden and on to Finland and then Petrograd.’

‘Where’s Petrograd?’ asked Anita.

‘Saint Petersburg. The name was changed in 1914 to get rid of the German “burg”. Anyway, the Germans backed up the transport of these revolutionaries with huge amounts of money for the Bolshevik cause to allow them to make an impact on their return to Russia. It was ironic that an absolute monarch like the Kaiser was bankrolling a communist venture. Anyway, a train was arranged to take Lenin and about thirty companions.’

Kevin asked: ‘Couldn’t Lenin have gone through France and reached Russia via England to Scandinavia? Wouldn’t it have been safer through the Allied countries?’

‘Interesting question: and one that possibly relates to the events that took place in the Savoy Hotel in Malmö. Basically, the British were worried about the Bolsheviks because of their stated intent to end Russian involvement in the war. They needed the Russians to stay in and, therefore, would have undoubtedly stopped Lenin going through Britain.’

Lennartsson swirled his mug of tea around in his fingers. ‘Lenin and company crossed Germany in a sealed train. Both sides were wary. Lenin didn’t want to be accused of being a traitor by being seen to deal with the enemy, which, of course, is what he was doing. That’s why the official front man was a Swiss revolutionary called Fritz Platten. The Germans didn’t want political émigrés fermenting trouble while they crossed the country. With the British naval blockades, food was short. There were few men around to work the farms and the factories because they were all at the two fronts. And Germany had its own revolutionaries to worry about. Everything was kept low profile as the train made its way across the country through various different railway systems. On Thursday, April the twelfth, the train reached Sassnitz on the Baltic coast, and the passengers boarded the Swedish ferry
Queen Victoria
.’

Lennartsson drained his tea.

‘Anything else to drink?’ Anita asked.

‘No,’ Lennartsson waved away the offer. He was enjoying telling someone the story which he had been sworn to secrecy not to reveal until after Rylander’s death. ‘Lenin arrived in Trelleborg, where his party was met by Jacob Fürstenberg. He was an interesting guy. He was a Polish Social Democrat who was regarded as a sinister character even by Lenin’s trusted allies, because he not only had dubious criminal contacts, but also had links with the German Imperial Foreign Office in Berlin’s Wilhelmstrasse. Despite this, he was a close friend of Lenin’s, and carried out various missions for him. Before Lenin’s journey back to Russia, he had been employed by Parvus in an organization that was basically war profiteering, which made him a strange bedfellow for Lenin. Anyway, he was given the task of guiding Lenin through Scandinavia. He met the ferry, and there was a warm welcome from Swedish socialists and the mayor of Trelleborg. Then Fürstenberg, Lenin and company took the train to Malmö, where they headed over to the Savoy Hotel.’

‘It’s opposite the central station,’ Anita said to Kevin to put him in the picture.

‘Rylander’s father remembered the debonair Fürstenberg. As a young man, Oscar Rylander worked as a waiter at the hotel. It was here that Fürstenberg had arranged for Lenin’s rag-tag group to eat before they took the midnight train to Stockholm.’

‘And it was here that Rylander’s father saved Lenin’s life?’ Kevin couldn’t keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

‘If it’s true. Albin Rylander obviously thought so. According to the tale Oscar told his son just before he died, he was walking along the corridor, hands full of used dishes, when Lenin asked him where the bathroom was. Just then, another man in a large coat and broad-brimmed hat appeared in the corridor and asked Lenin if he was Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov. When Lenin said yes, the man pulled out a gun of some sort. He was only a few feet away and couldn’t possibly miss from that range. Oscar instinctively threw the plates at the man, who was so taken aback he didn’t even fire and ran from the corridor and presumably into the night. Lenin thanked the young Oscar and said that the new Russia owed him a great debt of gratitude. It was then that he gave Oscar that red handkerchief. He told him that he had saved the revolution. And then Lenin was gone, and his party left for the station and on into history. The irony was that Oscar got an earful from the head waiter for dropping the plates and making a mess in the corridor!’