Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (4 page)

Anita was grateful to seek the sanctuary of her office and shut the door. It had been a nerve-racking walk from the polishus car park up to her room. She had deliberately got in early so that she wouldn’t bump into too many people. Coming through the main door she had passed Carl Svanberg. He had greeted her with a half-smile and told her that the pedestrian knocked over that day was going to be all right. He was just off to interview the driver of the car. Fortunately, the only other person she had come across was Klara Wallen; another inspector in the Criminal Investigation Squad, who had given her a reassuring smile and a hasty ‘I’ll catch you later’ as she rushed off on some unknown errand. Wallen was the nearest thing Anita had to a female friend at headquarters, though their only real areas of common ground were red wine and a dislike of Inspector Karl Westermark. From the few others that she had scurried past she had got some strange looks, which she hadn’t been able to interpret. Scorn or disinterest?

After a sleepless night she was tired, and her nervousness only made her feel more lethargic. She leant with her back against the closed door and sighed. The office hadn’t changed; just a hell of a lot neater than she had kept it. There were still two desks squeezed into the small room. Apart from the chairs, the only other piece of furniture there was space for was a wooden bookcase, which was more a general dumping ground for files, notebooks, unread memos and mugs than it was for holding anything more intellectually stimulating. What prevented the office from being totally claustrophobic was the window, which overlooked the green swathe of Rörsjöparken. Her desk was bare except for her computer and the small photo of her teenage son, Lasse, in a wooden frame. He had bought it for her as a birthday present some years before. The other desk meant that Mats Olander must still be here. She liked Mats, who was a police assistant; she was meant to be showing him the ropes. Fine example she had set. Yet she was a bit sad that he hadn’t tried to contact her when she had been off “sick”. Maybe he was embarrassed by the whole escapade and it wouldn’t do his career any good to be associated with the detective who had killed one of Sweden’s most famous film directors, and become the authorities’ official scapegoat.

As she put her bag down and sat at her desk, she idly pulled open the top drawer. She started. Her throat went dry. She felt a pang of panic. She hadn’t expected Moberg to be so efficient. Next to her warrant card was her Sig Sauer in its holster. The P225. The pistol she had used at the top of the Turning Torso. She began to tremble as she slumped in her seat. Images of that awful day replayed themselves in her mind for the umpteenth time. The sight of Mick Roslyn about to tip a struggling Ewan Strachan over the edge of the skyscraper. Her shouting at Roslyn to stop and the split-second realization that he wasn’t going to. And then the explosion in her hand as the weapon went off and then... Anita stared at the pistol and swore to herself that she would never use it again, whatever the circumstances.

She heard the door opening and guiltily shoved the drawer shut. The young man who entered was unfamiliar. He was tall and thin with short-cropped, jet-black hair, swarthy complexion, and a face that was too youthful to be anywhere near a police station, unless on a school trip. At first glance he looked distinctly Middle Eastern. A broad smile spread across his face and she noticed that he was holding a coffee mug in each hand. One was being offered to her.

‘It’s strong. Inspector Nordlund told me that Inspector Sundström likes her coffee strong.’

‘And who are you?’ asked Anita ungraciously.

The young man put the mug down in front of her. The pleasant smile was still in place. ‘Khalid Hakim Mirza. I’m your new trainee assistant.’

‘Where’s Mats Olander?’

‘He was sent back to Stockholm just after...’

Just after she had fucked up. She couldn’t suppress her growing annoyance. She was being palmed off with another trainee. She had got used to Olander, and didn’t want to have to start with another one. Why couldn’t someone else have this bloody kid? Why was it always her? Because she was a woman? She wasn’t going to be a bloody nursemaid again!

‘I’m sure there’s been a mistake, em... Sorry, what was your name again?’

‘Khalid Hakim Mirza. But people call me Hakim.’

‘Well, Hakim, I wouldn’t get too used to that desk.’ Hakim was now sitting behind it, opposite her.

The smile had been replaced by a perplexed expression. ‘I was put here on the express orders of Chief Inspector Moberg.’

The bastard! He had done this deliberately. It was Westermark’s turn. They had probably laughed about it as they assigned Hakim to her. She took her coffee grudgingly. ‘Thanks,’ was all she could muster.

Hakim sipped at his coffee. He looked disappointed. Hurt.

‘Oh, I was to tell you that Chief Inspector Moberg wants to see you in his office at nine.’

Moberg had been in since 6.30. He wanted time to reflect before catching up with Nordlund and Westermark. He was stumped. A neat murder carried out while the murderer could be on the other side of the world. As yet they had no suspects, unless you counted the possibility it was Ekman’s wife. But even if they found a motive they would have a real problem proving it. The murderer would have a watertight alibi. Literally!

He opened the discussion by asking Norlund, ‘What did you make of Kristina Ekman now that you’ve had time to think about what she said yesterday? I suppose I’m asking if she could have done it.’

Nordlund stroked his chin. ‘It’s possible, but we’d have to find a motive. Would she have more to lose than gain from her husband’s death?’

‘Yes, Tommy Ekman was obviously successful. She was too damn calm for my liking, until the waterworks at the end. Maybe they were for our benefit.’

‘People react to tragedy in different ways.’

‘We need to look thoroughly into her background. She might have skeletons which would point to her being the potential victim.’ Turning to Westermark. ‘What about the advertising company?’

‘I spoke to Daniel Johansson. He’s the co-owner. Strange bugger. Creative type. From what I gathered it was Ekman who was the silver-tongued front man, with Johansson doing all the arty-farty stuff in the background. Obviously a combination that worked. They were growing fast and had been planning to open an office in Stockholm before Christmas. Johansson couldn’t think of anyone who would want to kill his partner. Really shaken up when I broke the news.’ Westermark smirked at the memory. ‘I think he could see his rising business career crashing to the ground. But Ekman seems to have been popular among the staff. Well, certainly among the women. They seemed devastated to hear the news. A whole lotta crying going on.’

‘What about Tommy Ekman’s movements the night before?’

‘They’d just won an important piece of business and there were a few celebratory drinks in Ekman’s office for those involved. We don’t know what time he was there till because Johansson says that Ekman was still there with an Elin Marklund when he left. I haven’t been able to ask her, as she called in “sick” yesterday. But I’ll get to talk to her today whether she’s sick or not.’

‘Good. And keep digging at the agency end. There’ll be something there that’ll provide a motive.’

There was a knock at the door. ‘Come!’ bellowed Moberg.

Eva Thulin popped her head in. ‘I don’t know if this will be of any relevance, but our man had sex a few hours before he died.’

‘How long before?’

‘The night before. There was a pair of his pants on the floor of the bedroom. Traces of his sperm on them. So he probably had sex somewhere else and pulled his pants back on after. Left a tell-tale dribble.’

Moberg looked at the other two officers. ‘Well, well. That can’t have been the delectable Kristina. She was at her father’s. We need to find out who the lucky lady was. And if Kristina knew he was carrying on, that would give
her
a bloody good motive.’ He slapped an ample thigh. ‘I’m feeling happier already.’

Anita’s heart was racing. She hesitated outside Moberg’s door. She had been dreading this moment. How would her boss react? He was difficult at the best of times. Would he start shouting at her or would there be outright resentment? Sarcasm was his weapon of choice. She had no idea how he had felt about the final outcome of the Malin Lovgren case as it was Commissioner Dahlbeck who had sent her packing after the arrest of Ewan Strachan. She hadn’t seen Moberg, as they were so keen to get her out of the building and on sick leave that her feet had hardly touched the ground. And then nothing. No call to offer her support, as Henrik Nordlund had done. The trouble was she didn’t much like the chief inspector. He was a perfectly good policeman. Better than most. He was just a rather unpleasant person. She took a deep breath and knocked.

‘Take a seat.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘Anita.’

She sat down opposite his intimidating bulk.

‘It’s good to be able to call on a full team again.’ He watched her closely. She tried not to squirm. ‘For the record, I don’t blame you for what you did up on the top of the Torso. You had no choice.’

She was grateful for that. But he wasn’t going to let her off lightly. ‘Of course, if you hadn’t persuaded me that Roslyn was our killer I wouldn’t have let Strachan loose for Roslyn to chase after.’

She had to bite her tongue and take the flak. Moberg was dead right, though she could have pointed out that they would never have been able to actually prove that Strachan was Malin Lovgren’s murderer. It was only his confession over their romantic dinner together that had clinched it.

‘Anyhow, I’ve got something for you to do.’

‘The death of the advertising man?’ Anita was surprised at the level of enthusiasm in her voice. Hakim, after she had broken the awkward silence that she had created, had told her of all the activity in the polishus the day before.

‘You’re not going to be working on that case.’

‘And why not?’ she demanded.

‘I can’t let you near a murder at the moment. Not after...’

‘In case I cause the department embarrassment.’

‘Yes, if you fucking well want to know.’ He was getting as annoyed as she was. ‘It’s a tricky case and the press will jump all over it if they think you’re involved. I’m keeping it as low profile as possible, so you’re not going to get in the fucking way.’ He brought his rising temper under control. Why did this bloody woman bring out the worst in him? The trouble was he had never worked out how to handle her.

He pushed a thin file in her direction. ‘You’re going to find a missing painting.’

‘You’re joking! That doesn’t come under serious crime!’

‘It does if you’re the guy who’s had it nicked.’

‘But Economic Crime handles that sort of thing.’

‘Not this time. The art collector just happens to be a pal of our beloved commissioner. This is your chance to keep your job and make him love you again.’

‘What about the shootings in Rosengård? Couldn’t I work on that?’

‘Inspector Larsson’s on that one. Probably just a local dispute,’ he added dismissively. ‘Take Mirza with you. It’ll give you chance to get to know him,’ he added caustically.

‘Why have I got stuck with another bloody trainee?’

‘Because we’re too busy trying to catch a murderer.’

Anita slammed Moberg’s door shut behind her. She had nearly thrown the file in his big, fat face. But that would have really finished her career. Even through her red mist she was beginning to realize that she had to watch her step. Everything she did would be monitored, noted and reported back to the commissioner’s office. And she knew that certain people would do their utmost to make her life as difficult as possible.

‘I’d recognize that lovely arse anywhere.’

A shiver went up Anita’s spine. She immediately regretted putting on a tight pair of black jeans that morning. Slowly she turned round and faced a leering Westermark. Still handsome. Still slimy. And still a problem she was going to have to learn to deal with.

‘Hello, Karl.’

His eyes were undressing her as he spoke. Anita might be in her forties but she was still in excellent shape. Particularly that backside snuggling into those figure-hugging pants. And her face had aged well. Not many lines. The short, blonde hair helped to accentuate the bright, green-grey eyes, the high cheekbones and the shapely mouth - not too wide, the lips not too thin. He remembered how quick she was to smile and how her whole face lit up when amused. That didn’t happen often these days when he was around. Then there were the glasses. They were a definite turn-on. What always amazed him was that she didn’t seem aware of how sexy she was. Not naive, more disinterested. ‘Nice to see you again.’ There was no warmth in his voice. ‘I’m not sure if Moberg was too keen to have you back. But
I’d
have
you
any time!’

Anita wanted to tell Westermark to “sod off”, but resisted the urge. He moved a little closer. Too close.

‘Pity I was right and you were wrong about your British “boyfriend”. He’s not much use to you in prison, is he? If you’re lonely...’

‘I’ll never be that lonely.’

He gave a grunt of derision. ‘You will one day.’

‘I’ve got a case to solve. So I won’t keep you.’

Another snort of mirthless laughter. ‘I’ve never been into paintings. I’m more cut out for serious crime. Anyhow, it’ll give you a chance to show the “immigrant” the finer things in Swedish life.’

‘What do you mean “immigrant”?’ It came out almost as a screech.

‘The Arab from some shithole in Rosengård you’ve got stashed in your office. I think it’s the commissioner’s way of showing the politicians what a multi-cultural force we are.’

‘You should go on a course with our Hate Crime educator.’

‘Hate Crime educator,’ Westermark repeated in a childlike voice. ‘What is Skåne County Police coming to? Can you think of anything more pathetic?’

Anita glared at him. ‘Yes.’ As she stalked off down the corridor, the thought of taking Hakim under her wing didn’t seem as bad as it had done half an hour before.