Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) (34 page)

On the beach Kevin stripped down to his bathing trunks while Anita spread out a blanket, which she sat on with a book at her side.

‘I hope to God they’re still listening.’

‘You can be bloody sure they are.’ Kevin paused and then: ‘I’ve just had a nasty thought.’

Anita looked up abruptly. Was there a defect in their plan? She was worried about it as it was. Everything could go horribly wrong, and it was all her fault for being so bloody inquisitive. The very characteristic that had served her well in her career had now put her and her friend in serious danger.

‘What about?’ she mouthed anxiously.

‘Those bastards have probably been listening in on our lovemaking.’

Anita found herself laughing, a welcome break in the tension she was feeling. ‘I hope we were good then.’

‘All that screaming!’

‘And that was just you.’

Pastor Elias Kroon’s photograph had been placed in prime position on the whiteboard next to a large map of the centre of Malmö. He was their main suspect now. Not that Brodd was paying much attention as they gathered for the review meeting that Moberg had called them to.

‘She didn’t turn up!’ moaned Brodd to a disinterested Wallen. ‘Nora, that is. Booked a flaming restaurant as well. Expensive, too. I looked a right berk just sitting there on my own.’

‘That’s hard to believe.’

Her sarcasm went straight over his head as he wittered on. ‘No call. Nothing. What did she think she was playing at? I mean—’

Fortunately, Moberg’s entrance stopped him in mid-flow, and they all took their seats round the table.

‘Right, let’s find out where we are with him,’ Moberg said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Pastor Kroon’s photograph. ‘Have we anything new? Pontus?’

Brodd was caught off guard, as he was still bewildered by the fact he had been stood up.

‘Em… yes…’ he mumbled as he flicked through his notebook. ‘The city library. Kroon did go there and he was caught on the CCTV.’ He scrutinized his scrawly writing. ‘Arrived 11.27 and left 15.32. As he said, he was returning some books. He also took out three new ones. Do you want the titles?’

‘No, I fucking don’t,’ Moberg said petulantly. Anything that didn’t further the case against Kroon was an aggravation best avoided. ‘Did Ebba Pozorski turn up at the library that day?’

Brodd shook his head. It produced a heavy sigh from the chief inspector.

‘Any luck with his movements at the time of the murder?’

Wallen and Hakim had been beating the streets around Lindroth’s address, searching out possible sightings by people living in the area and possible CCTV coverage.

‘Kroon did go out that night.’ This was brighter news from Hakim. ‘He passed a school building on Ribevägen and they have CCTV. He appears walking past the entrance at 21.31.’

‘Did he go back that way?’

‘No. Not that we can find. But the thing is, if you look at the map there, Ribevägen literally leads straight into Pildammsparken.’

Moberg thumped the table and made the coffee mugs jump. ‘Yes!’

There were smiles around the table. They knew that they were on the right track, and that all the pieces were falling into place.

‘OK. Kroon comes into Malmö to take his books back.’ Moberg got up and stood next to the map. ‘He gets off the bus at 9.38 down here at Södervärn. He makes his way through town. He doesn’t reach the city library until 11.27. That’s nearly two hours. What was he doing in between times? My guess is he bumps into Ebba Pozorski during that period. They argue. She threatens him. Something of the sort.’

‘Or it’s the other way round,’ suggested Hakim. ‘She was upset when she turned up at Asplund’s apartment later on.’

‘Fair point. He spends the rest of the day at the library. What next?’

‘He’s planning what to do,’ Wallen advanced.

‘But how does he know where to find Ebba?’ asked Hakim, to which Moberg’s reply was a scowl. ‘Unless someone told him,’ Hakim said quickly to make amends. ‘Isaksson?’

‘That’s an interesting one,’ observed a placated Moberg. ‘Despite what Isaksson says now, they must have been close once. Isaksson and Asplund knew where she lived. Asplund wouldn’t have told him, but a slimeball like Isaksson might. I expect Kroon has dirt on him which he could use to get that information out of him. If he knew in advance she would be there, that would explain why he had the knife on him. Anyway, we can fill in those gaps later.’

He turned his attention back to the map. ‘After the library, he goes to visit his friend in Dammfri over here. After nine, he slips out of the apartment when Lindroth’s in bed. He passes along Ribevägen at around half nine. So we now know that he was in the vicinity of Pildammsparken; something he vehemently denied. And the timing’s right for him to get into position to kill Ebba when she came out for her jog.’

‘What next?’ Wallen asked. The growing excitement was infectious.

‘We’ve virtually got him on all counts. But I want a team down at Pildammsparken tonight with Kroon’s photo,’ indicating the one on the whiteboard. ‘He’s got such a creepy face that someone must have noticed him. Once we place him in the park, we’ll have nailed the bastard.’

Jazmin was getting desperate. She had gone and bought a pay-as-you-go phone in Mobilia. Immediately, she had rung Lasse’s mobile. All she got was his answer message. She had tried twice more without success. She had convinced herself that he must have turned his phone off while he was waiting on tables and had forgotten to turn it on again. But it wasn’t like him to do that. She had become increasingly restless around the apartment and had even shouted at Messi for tipping over his water in the kitchen. It was then that she had phoned the café in Kungsgatan. Lasse hadn’t turned up for work last night. They assumed that he must be ill. Would he be all right for his Thursday-evening shift?

This was startling news. Where the hell was he? There was probably some rational explanation, which he would have innocently left on her stolen phone. Oh, why hadn’t she said something about the phone before? Maybe Anita would know where he was. She had phoned her, but her mobile was switched off. She had cursed. Too busy having a good time with her English boyfriend! Yet Lasse would probably walk through that door any moment now. She would give him a piece of her mind when he did; out of relief more than anger. At half past five, she tried Lasse’s and Anita’s phones again. Nothing. She was feeling sick. Something just wasn’t right. Who could she turn to? Reluctantly, she picked up her new mobile and rang her brother.

‘Missing? Are you sure?’

Hakim had never heard Jazmin so upset before. Her story was garbled and difficult to follow, but he got the gist.

‘I’m sure there’s nothing wrong. He’ll turn up soon.’ His attempts to calm his sister weren’t working.

‘Something’s not right, Hakim.’ He could hear the frenzy in her voice. ‘He didn’t turn up for work at the café. And with all this being-watched stuff.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I mentioned it to Lasse’s mamma. I told Lasse but he wouldn’t listen, and now he’s gone missing. And my phone, too. I don’t know what to do.’ It all came out in a rush.

‘Wow! Wait on, Jazmin. What’s this “being watched” business?’

‘Someone has been watching the apartment.’

‘Since when?’

‘I don’t know. A week or so ago and then the last few days. I’m frightened.’

This really wasn’t like his sister at all. She had a strong personality, which is why so many arguments had broken out within the family.

‘Look, you stay put. I’m sure Lasse will come back. I’m working at the moment in Pildammsparken.’ He could see Wallen with a couple of uniformed officers intercepting walkers and joggers further along the path. ‘I’ll be here for a few hours. But if you’ve heard nothing by then, I’ll come round. I’m sure it’s nothing.’ He attempted to sound reassuring. ‘Don’t worry.’

Anita drove along the main coast road. She wasn’t going fast, but her mind was racing. What had she let Kevin in for? At the last minute, before he was about to head off, she had changed her mind. She had begged him not to go. But he had been obdurate. This was the only way. She had considered calling Moberg, but that would have been futile. Kevin was risking his life. These people, whichever secret service department they worked for, were ruthless. They had thought nothing of getting rid of Klas. Her only hope was that it would be harder to explain the death or disappearance of a foreign policeman. She no longer cared what happened to her, but realized that she didn’t want any harm to come to Kevin. It was dawning on her what a great support he was; more than the friend she had been happy to have fun with while emotionally keeping at arm’s length. The one thing she could do for him now was to not let him down; to be there when this appalling situation reached its climax.

She turned off to the right, and put her foot down as she hit the side road that led to Stenshuvud. It was vital that she got to the car park before Kevin did. She glanced in the mirror to see if there was any vehicle following her. The long, straight road behind her was totally clear. At least that was good.

There were two other vehicles in the dusty car park when she reached it ten minutes later. She hoped the occupants would have gone down to the sea and not up the hill, as that was where they had prepared their trap. It was a clear, warm evening with just a light breeze – and it wouldn’t get dark for a while. She locked the car and carefully scanned the area as though the tree-lined car park would be bulging with armed secret service personnel. She felt for her Sig Sauer pistol. She had checked it and rechecked it before leaving the house. Satisfied at last, she quickly made her way towards, then past, the information centre and up the path into the trees. She had instructed Kevin to go up the main path that would take him to the South Head first and then onto the North Head. He was to wait there in the open. She would stealthily make her way by an alternative route that encircled the side of the hill and came out at different point on the North Head. From there she would have an open view so that anyone following Kevin would be in clear sight.

When Anita reached the fork which was signposted to the North Head, she stopped. She decided that she would change her plan. Instead of going and waiting close to the rocky outcrop, it made more sense to find out as soon as possible if Kevin
was
being followed – and how many people she was going to have to deal with. She glanced round for a good piece of cover so she could linger out of sight. The trees were thick here, and there was a convenient rock to hide behind. It gave her a perfect view of the path leading up from the bottom of the hill. She took out her pistol and checked it yet again. Now the time was 20.47. Kevin should be here within minutes. She couldn’t remember being more nervous, and she could feel a trickle of sweat running down her spine. Her mouth was dry, and she tried to moisten her lips with her tongue. So much could go wrong. Running round a hillside brandishing a pistol was idiotic. It went against her every instinct. She wasn’t a maverick. It was breaking all the rules by which she worked. For the hundredth time, she cursed her own stupidity and single-mindedness that had landed them in this increasingly terrifying situation. And where was Kevin? Had he got lost driving here? Then an even worse thought struck her – had they already intercepted him?

Moberg had emerged from one of his few positive meetings with Prosecutor Blom. He hadn’t had to battle with her to keep Pastor Kroon under lock and key for the next three days. Maybe it was the late hour that had helped and she wanted to get home to whatever poor sap was waiting for her there. She had pointed out it was Midsummer on Friday, and that the whole of Sweden would be partying by then. He assured her that he was confident that they would have the final piece of the jigsaw – Kroon’s presence in Pildammsparken on the night of the murder – in place in time for the national holiday in two days’ time. Blom thought that his team had built a good enough case, and she was confident that, with more time, they would be able to gather further, conclusive evidence, such as how the pastor had got hold of the murder weapon and where it was now. Moberg was convinced that he’d be able to sweat it out of the repugnant reverend. He was also sure that he could get Isaksson to dish the dirt as a way of saving his own skin.

As he sat down in his office and began deciding where he was going to eat on the way home, he was congratulating himself on a job well done. They had wandered up a couple of blind alleys but, luckily, they had led them to the killer. And when the murderer was as despicable a character as Pastor Kroon, then it made it all the more satisfying. And all achieved without Anita Sundström throwing her usual spanner in the works.

He still hadn’t heard from Wallen about how they had got on with any Kroon sightings in the park, which was an irritation. They might have to spend another day on that, but the truth would emerge in the end. There was a note on his desk asking him to ring Eva Thulin as soon as he got the message. He looked at it in some surprise. She must be working late. Maybe she had found some evidence of Kroon being in Ebba Pozorski’s apartment after all. That would tighten up the case even further. So, he was more than happy to punch in Thulin’s number and wait for her to answer.

‘Moberg here. Returning your call. Got something for me?’

‘Yes,’ came a guarded reply.

The tone of her voice immediately troubled him. ‘Well?’

‘I didn’t want to leave you a message. Thought it best if I talked to you direct.’

‘Just cut to the chase.’ Moberg hated wafflers.

‘It was a bit of a long shot, but we’ve managed to get some DNA from Ebba Pozorski’s running vest.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked warily.

‘She was jogging when she was attacked. She was stabbed twice. Whoever stabbed her was sweating because they were running as well. Basically, there was sweat on the hand that inflicted the blows and, because the knife was quite short, when it was shoved into Pozorski’s back, the killer physically touched the material of her running vest at the point of the second, deeper incision. There was a stain. A minute one, barely noticeable, and we didn’t think we’d be able to get anything from it at first.’