Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) (16 page)

‘I definitely saw a figure this time. About eleven.’

‘What did this “figure” look like?’

‘I couldn’t tell; it was dark by then. He had a hoodie on.’

‘Honestly, Jazmin, there could be a thousand reasons why someone was out at that time of night. Granted, he might have been up to no good. This isn’t exactly a crime-free neighbourhood. You’re getting upset over nothing.’

‘Your mother didn’t think so,’ she said vehemently.

‘Bloody hell! I can’t believe you mentioned it to her. She’s turned worrying into an art form. We’ll never hear the end of it now.’ He couldn’t take the incredulity out of his voice.

‘Forget it!’ She was annoyed that he kept sweeping away her concerns.

They drank their coffees in moody silence. Messi sensed the unease and jumped off Jazmin’s lap and wandered into the bedroom.

‘Look,’ Lasse relented. ‘If you think you see anything when I’m out tonight, give me a call.’ Then he smirked. ‘You have got a mobile, haven’t you?’ he teased.

She managed to turn her sulky pout into a suppressed grin. A month ago Lasse had bought her a brand new mobile phone with all the bells and whistles. She suspected that he had borrowed some money from Anita to cover the cost.

‘I’ll call.’

‘Let’s review the evidence.’ Moberg sounded more upbeat than usual. Wallen’s visit to Markus Asplund was the most positive development they had so far encountered. ‘Two suspects. Marcus Asplund?’

Wallen, Hakim and Brodd all sat round the table in the meeting room. It was late. Brodd was the least happy to be there and had muttered that it was time for a drink. Moberg hadn’t taken the hint.

‘What we seem to have is a successful travel agent who has his family conveniently tucked away up near Växjö in Småland while he spends a lot of time down here in an apartment in the centre of town. And that apartment is an easy walk from the victim’s. And he keeps fit, though he doesn’t jog much – allegedly. We know that his initials are in the Akerman diary.’ They had decided that they would refer to the murdered woman as Julia Akerman until they were a hundred per cent sure of her real name; “Ebba” would just confuse things at this point. ‘We’ve got his name on her spreadsheet, even though he doesn’t appear to pay for her services. Yet intercourse must have taken place at some stage, as she had noted his… em… sexual idiosyncrasy.’

Brodd’s smirk elicited an angry glare from Wallen.

‘And we know that that was the method of sex she had with her last client on the day she died. So, the probability is that she was with Markus Asplund on the day of her murder.’

Moberg turned to the whiteboard and tapped the photo of Asplund.

‘We also know that he’s a frequent visitor to America, so could easily have picked up the butterfly knife. He has opportunity and the possible means, which is all well and good – but where’s the motive? Any thoughts?’

‘It must be sexual.’ Brodd could always be relied upon to come up with the obvious. ‘She’s a whore. So it’s bound to be.’

‘I think there’s more to it,’ suggested Hakim.

‘You would,’ Brodd muttered.

‘If he saw her that day, why wait until later to kill her? I mean, the murder was very premeditated. I know Klara said that he couldn’t do it at the apartment because it would be very difficult to dispose of the body in such a central location, and she’s right. But what had got so bad between them both in a matter of hours that he turned to murder later in the day?’

‘Are you suggesting he didn’t do it?’ Moberg asked.

‘Not at all. I think there’s a strong possibility that he did. But the reason must run deeper. How did he get to know her? Was it before she moved to Switzerland? He travels a lot, so did he make any trips to Switzerland in the last year? Did he meet her there as well as here? Shouldn’t we be looking into his background more? We might find the missing connection there.’

Moberg nodded as he took in what Hakim had just said. He couldn’t help but be impressed by the boy from Rosengård. ‘OK. There’s stuff we can follow up there. I want to know everything about him, from his bank accounts to his eating habits. Talking of habits, have we had any luck on the semen stain, Pontus?’

‘Sorry, Boss, we’ve drawn a blank there. Neither Asplund nor Isaksson are on the DNA database. No reason why they should be, as neither has a criminal record.’

‘So, we’ll have to get samples from them. That might be difficult in Isaksson’s case. He’s bound to kick up a stink. I had a meeting with the commissioner and Prosecutor Blom this morning, and they don’t want us to approach the tosser until we have some definite proof of his connection with Akerman.’

‘What about the spreadsheet?’ Hakim pointed out.

‘Yes, but the way you got hold of it wasn’t exactly kosher.’ Moberg suddenly felt awkward using the expression in front of a Muslim. Fucking political correctness! ‘For it to stand up in court, we’d need to get the information officially through the Swiss police. I suspect that would take forever. Despite what our superiors think, I’m going to pay Axel Isaksson a visit tomorrow. Friendly, of course.’

Laughter tinkled round the room.

‘Right, tomorrow I want everyone to concentrate on Asplund. Do we know if there’s any connection between him and Isaksson other than that they both appear to be Akerman’s clients?’

‘Asplund denies ever meeting Isaksson, though he’s heard of him,’ Wallen answered.

‘Haven’t we all? OK, another visit to Asplund might be a good idea. Keep the pressure on. Asking him for a DNA swab should put the wind up him.’

Wallen and Hakim gathered up their notes.

‘Beer?’ Moberg suggested to Brodd.

‘Sorry, not tonight, Boss.’ Moberg’s face fell. ‘Having a drink with a rather attractive young lady.’

Moberg couldn’t help betraying his scepticism.

‘On a promise?’

‘You never know!’ Despite his cheeriness, his answer didn’t carry great conviction.

‘Oh, by the way, did anything emerge from your visit to Sjöbo?’

‘Nothing of interest. The nursing home was a waste of time. I’ve got a list of staff and patients, but there’s no Akerman connection. And I asked around about Isaksson. He’s popular there, even if he’s left them for the big city.’

‘We’ll see how popular he is when all this comes out.’

Kevin was sitting by the harbour at Simrishamn. There was now a gentle breeze, which took the edge off the heat of the day. The crowds had dispersed now that the ice cream and fast food outlets had closed. He sat on one of the benches that faced the sea. Three old men along from him were busy discussing some important topic, or maybe what was on the telly tonight. He couldn’t tell. Would he be in a relationship with Anita long enough to attempt to learn some Swedish? Or was it worth it? People seemed to speak excellent English here. And as long as they understood him when he ordered a beer, he would be fine. He was gasping. He wished Anita would hurry up. She had called into the police station to see Stefan. She was to do it casually in case Alice Zetterberg was about. That was half an hour ago. It was all right admiring the harbour in the bright evening sunlight, but there was a limit. It would look better with a glass in his hand.

‘Beer?’

Anita was standing behind him.

‘Bloody right!’

They went to a bar on Storgatan. In the summer it’s a pedestrianized area and they sat outside.

‘Well?’

‘Well nothing.’

‘Oh, that means that we can concentrate on the holiday.’ Kevin was relieved.

‘But I’m not happy with “nothing”. It’s as though no one at the station is involved. Except for Zetterberg. And she’s not telling them anything.’

‘Maybe everything is straightforward, and there’s nothing to it. A suicide and an accident.’

Anita lowered her voice as though they might be overheard, though the nearest drinkers were a couple of tables away.

‘Stefan says he doesn’t know where the motorbike is. And they haven’t had an autopsy report back on Rylander’s suicide. That’s nearly a week!’

Kevin looked at an animated Anita over the top of his glass.

‘Maybe they’ve been busy.’

She shook her head. ‘This isn’t any ordinary body we’re talking about. He was a well-known figure. He’ll probably have a memorial service in somewhere grand like Lund Cathedral.’

‘I’d like to visit that sometime. Sounds really interesting. Lund Cathedral.’

‘Don’t change the subject. I might give Eva Thulin a ring. She’d know. The point is: I’m beginning to think Klas was right about Rylander’s suicide.’

‘Stop it, Anita. This is fanciful.’

‘Is it?’ she came straight back at him. ‘A man, albeit suffering from cancer, takes his own life in the middle of telling his story to the world. He actually chooses Klas to write it. We know from Klas that there was some big secret he wanted to reveal. It doesn’t come out. Klas goes off to Berlin to see somebody who seems to have the answer. I get that excited text. Next thing, he’s dead – and so is Rylander’s secret.’

‘You’re turning this into a conspiracy theory.’ There was too much talk. He wanted a second beer.

‘No note either. And you saw somebody watching the house – twice.’

‘I could have been mistaken.’

‘You’re a cop, for God’s sake! You don’t make these things up. Have you seen this person since the suicide?’

‘Well, no.’

‘What about the couple next door? Your girlfriend on the beach?’

‘They were just some young Stockholmers on holiday. Surely you can’t suspect them. They were going on Friday, anyhow.’

Anita tapped her half-empty glass thoughtfully.

‘No, I don’t for a minute think they were involved. But they might have heard or seen something that night. What were they called?’

‘She was Fanny. I think he was Benno.’

‘Surname?’

‘It wasn’t a police interview. A few words exchanged staggering up your bank.’

‘I can find out from the letting agent.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Kevin getting up.

‘What?’

‘I’m getting another beer. Top up?’

Anita shook her head. She watched Kevin make his way inside, and she could see him ordering another drink from the girl behind the bar. She knew that she might be reading too much into the situation. She had thought that Klas was just being ridiculous when Rylander died, but his own death had put everything into a different perspective. Though nothing in itself was out of the ordinary – and cock-ups did happen; people didn’t do jobs quickly enough – there were little alarm bells going off. Yet why was she doing this? She was enjoying Kevin’s visit. She had started to genuinely relax. Was she spoiling his holiday? Carry on like this, and their whole fledgling relationship might come to an abrupt end. Maybe she should just let it lie.

Kevin returned, sipping his beer. He sat down. ‘Why don’t we have a bite to eat here? There’s some nice-looking grub inside. Then we can head home and maybe – I don’t know – maybe have afters.’

Anita grinned back. ‘OK. But between the meal and the “afters”, I just want to make a small detour.’

‘Where?’ he said despairingly.

‘To see Moa Hellquist.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she happens to live on the way back.’

Moa Hellquist lived off Kristianstadsvägen on Backgatan. Her home was a small cream house behind a neat hedge. It was as unassuming as the nurse herself turned out to be. Anita had left Kevin in the car because she didn’t want to have to keep translating for him.

Hellquist lived alone with her West Highland terrier dog. If she had been married and had had a family, there was no obvious evidence. After Anita had refused a coffee, Hellquist fussed the dog as she waited for the inspector’s questions.

‘Moa, you must understand that I’m not here in any official capacity. I’m here because I know that Klas spoke to you after Albin Rylander’s suicide.’

‘I know. Klas thought it was odd.’

‘Did you?’

Hellquist gave the dog another rub.

‘Yes, I suppose I did. I know it’s a strange thing to say about a man who was dying of cancer, but he was full of life. Does that sound stupid?’

‘Not at all. What was he like the day before he died? Did he seem depressed?’

‘No. Just as normal. Always had time for a chat. I think that’s what he liked. He wanted to talk about things, anything really, while he still had breath to do so. That’s why he always looked forward to his sessions with Klas.’

Anita could sense that Moa was uneasy talking about the subject. Rylander had been in her care. She wondered if there had been any official investigation by the medical authorities into the number of pills that Rylander had got hold of. The dog was acting as her comfort blanket.

‘Klas said you couldn’t understand where all the pills that must have killed him came from.’

Hellquist pulled a pained expression. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Could he have stored them up? Just pretended to take them?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she replied slowly. ‘He was on morphine sulphate. They’re slow-release tablets so he could manage the pain. And though he didn’t show it, he was suffering a lot. I saw him take them regularly. He took two one hundred milligram tablets a day. I gave him four weeks’ worth at a go. But he had nearly run out, and I was due to give him his next batch when he… died.’

‘So how many would he have needed with the alcohol to kill himself?’

‘Between ten and twenty tablets, plus half a bottle of whisky. That seems to the amount he drank, apparently. That would depress his breathing and render him unconscious. Coma and respiratory arrest would lead to death.’

Anita took time to process the information before proceeding.

‘What did you do you when you found him?’

‘Well, I could see he was dead. I phoned for an ambulance and called the police.’ Hellquist adopted a quizzical expression. ‘That’s odd. I hadn’t thought about it before. Though I called for the ambulance first, the police arrived before the medics.’

‘And this was Inspector Zetterberg?’

‘I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I didn’t like her.’ Anita offered a sympathetic smile. ‘She didn’t want me to hang around.’

‘Did she ask you about the tablets? Where he might have got that many?’