Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (13 page)

‘Have you got a photo of her?’

‘I’ll drop one in to your office. I don’t want you to investigate; just keep an ear open in case she turns up. If she turns up.’

CHAPTER 21

‘Oh, dear.’

Martin Tripp, the Malmö-based businessman who had been lumbered with the role of British consul, was shaking his head. A dapper, fussy man in his late thirties, he didn’t like dealing with awkward situations. A dead British national, and a murder victim at that, was ghastly enough. But having to give up his Friday afternoon game of golf – the ritual start to his weekend – to try and sort out the removal of the body from Swedish soil was just too much.

‘The widow... em...’

‘Jennifer Todd,’ Anita helpfully supplied the missing name.

‘The poor woman must be desperate to get her husband back and buried as soon as possible.’

‘We appreciate that, but we need to carry out further investigations before we can release the body.’

‘Oh, dear,’ he repeated. Anita knew exactly what was going on in Tripp’s mind. Ewan had given her an amusing description of his meeting with the British consul when he had first been arrested and held in custody. As though by telepathy, he launched into his next grumble.

‘It’s bad enough having that awful journalist fellow in prison here. Now that was a bad business. Not good at all.’

Anita was tempted to say something nasty back but she bit her tongue. Despite what Ewan had done, she hated anyone saying disparaging things about him. As soon as she got back from England, she would go and see him. She was feeling guilty enough for leaving him so abruptly the last time. He’d be interested in her visit to the north, though she wouldn’t be going near Newcastle or Durham on this occasion.

‘Why Malmö?’ Tripp whined. ‘Couldn’t they have done this sort of thing in Stockholm?’ Then a thought struck him. ‘It doesn’t do the Swedish reputation any favours if you go round killing British visitors.’

‘We don’t tend to do it as a habit,’ Anita snapped back. Tripp was just annoying her now. ‘Look, Mr Tripp, I’ll get someone in the department to give you a call and tell you when you can organize the body’s transportation. Then you’ll have done your duty.’

‘Quite so.’ He glanced at his watch. He might just have time to squeeze in nine holes before it got dark.

Before she left the office, Anita briefed Hakim. She stressed that he must get in touch with her immediately anything came up at the Malmö end. ‘You’ll be working with Klara so, hopefully, you won’t have to put up with Westermark. But if you have any worries, speak to Henrik Nordlund.’

She realized that she was fussing like a mother hen and not a professional colleague.

‘It’s fine. I’ll be OK.’

Anita smiled. She knew he would be. He was a bright young man who could handle himself. He’d proved that during their time together. But she was naturally protective of him.

‘What are you doing this weekend?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘Avoiding Jazmin.’

‘What’s your sister up to then?’

‘She’s just a pain at the moment. She’s always giving my parents a hard time. And me. Says it doesn’t do her credibility any good having a brother in the police. And we’re all stuck in that apartment together. At least when I get posted to Gothenburg, I’ll be able to move out.’

Selfishly, Anita had hoped they’d have found something for him in Malmö. It hadn’t happened. She would miss him.

‘I expect she’s just going through a rebellious phase.’

‘My parents want her to get a good job or settle down and get married. She doesn’t want either. She’s now working at the supermarket round the corner.’ Anita remembered it well. The “Malmö Marksman” had picked off two of his ethnic victims there. ‘No ambition,’ said Hakim incredulously. He was very single-minded when it came to his career. ‘Where she spends her money, I have no idea. But she usually comes in late. My father stays up until she returns and demands to know where she’s been. When she refuses to answer, they argue and wake me up. Of course, it doesn’t help that my dad’s always comparing her to me. The whole thing just drives me mad.’

Anita had a thought.

‘I’m flying out tomorrow. Why don’t you have a few days at my place? Or at least the weekend. Nothing’s going to happen with the case in the next couple of days. Give you a break. I’ll change the sheets and you can have my room.’

Hakim looked unsure.

‘That’s very kind... but what about Lasse?’

‘It’ll be company for him.’ She avoided mentioning her ulterior motive. In Lasse’s present state, she was worried about leaving him alone. She had no idea how long she would be away, and it would be perfect if Hakim could keep an eye on him. Lasse would object, but she knew he liked her young colleague. And as Hakim didn’t drink, he might be a sobering influence on her son, at least while she was away. She had heard Lasse being violently sick in the bathroom at two o’clock that morning after he had staggered in from God knows where.

‘If Lasse doesn’t mind...’

‘He’ll be fine.’ Lasse would forgive her eventually.

On her way home, Anita decided on a whim to pop into The Pickwick. With a bit of luck she might have the chance to sample a British pub when she was over in Cumbria – she was due to meet Detective Sergeant Ash at Penrith station late tomorrow afternoon. Her time in London had given her a taste for traditional hostelries, which The Pickwick pub mimicked in an over-the-top way in its layout and decor. British beers behind the bar, a dartboard on the wall, and a model of a spitfire suspended from the ceiling to remind visitors that two wars had been fought while Sweden had remained neutral. Not exactly diplomatic. The bar was full of the early Friday evening crowd. She ordered a pint of Bombardier from the Scots manager.

‘Any luck?’

She turned round and saw a grinning Fraser, clutching a half-drunk pint to his chest.

‘No.’

‘Have a pew,’ Fraser said, pointing to a couple of vacant seats under the hovering spitfire.

Anita put her pint on the table and settled down in a comfortable mock-leather chair. It was nice and warm after the distinctly chilly wind she’d battled through on the way from the polishus. A storm was brewing.

‘Cheers!’ said Fraser, raising his glass. ‘I’m celebrating tonight.’

‘What are you celebrating?’

Fraser pointed to the wall. She had noticed before the line of small bronze plaques. Each bore a name. She had no idea of their relevance.

‘Got my name up there at last. It’s taken a lot of years and a lot of pints. Shows you’re a regular. Had my name on a couple of cups at school but this beats everything. I’ve made it!’ he laughed.

‘Skål!’ she smiled back before taking a long sip.

‘Nothing about Greta, then?’

‘She’s completely disappeared.’ Anita put her glass back down on the beer mat. ‘It’s very strange. But maybe she has her reasons.’

‘I didn’t know her that well because she hadn’t been at Kungsskolan that long, but she didn’t seem to be the flaky type. Not the sort to suddenly up sticks at a moment’s notice.’ That’s the impression Anita had gained from Greta’s apartment.

‘Was there anyone at the school who was close to her?’

‘Not really.’ Then he smirked. ‘I tried to...’

‘A date?’

‘I did ask her out, but she said she wasn’t ready for anything like that just yet. She told me she was getting over some fella. Actually, got the impression he was over-possessive and she was trying to distance herself from him.’

‘Did she say who it was?’

‘No. I assumed it was someone at uni in Uppsala.’

Anita found that very interesting. If Greta was attempting to get over someone, then it must have been Björn. It certainly didn’t sound as though they were still an item, as Björn had claimed. It might explain why she was down in Malmö, but not why she left the city so abruptly. And it wasn’t as though her escape had been triggered by Björn finding her hiding place, because he didn’t turn up in Malmö until a week after she disappeared.

Anita changed the subject and, after she mentioned that she was flying over there the next day, they exchanged stories about Britain and British life.

As she left the pub three quarters of an hour later, the wind was whipping the rain into her face. Now she wished she had brought her car to work. She would get seriously buffeted on the walk home. But that was nothing to her mental turbulence on finding out about Jansson’s real relationship with Björn. If she was in Malmö trying to get away from him – and they weren’t a couple any more – how the hell had he got hold of a key to her apartment?

The breakers came rushing in from the Sound. It was not a night to be out at sea. The water crashed against the concrete wharfs that stretched like a giant’s fingers out into the harbour. Even the biggest ships rocked to the rhythm of the storm, and the skinny quayside lampposts swayed back and forth, casting pinpricks of light on normally darkened corners of the dockside. Plastic crates, an old tyre, bottles, bits of rope and rotten wood, the usual flotsam and jetsam of every large port, ebbed and flowed around the old jetty at the edge of Nyhamnen. Now fenced off, it had not been used for some years – too close to the burgeoning buildings of the university around the Inner Harbour and the phalanx of new apartment blocks further along the Outer Harbour. Among the rubbish, something else was being unceremoniously tossed by the waves onto the ravaged concrete, and used as a battering ram against the fencing, constantly thrown at the unyielding mesh. A flickering beam from the nearest lurching lamppost picked it out – only for second – a crumpled, broken body with bedraggled hair, the blonde strands gleaming in the light.

CHAPTER 22

The train didn’t zip through the countryside; it rumbled quickly. The rolling stock on the Manchester Airport to Edinburgh route wasn’t of the inter-city sleekness of the Virgin pendalinos that whizzed through the fringes of the Lake District. For that, Anita was grateful. She could take in the beauty of the mountains. It was such a contrast to the flatness of Skåne. Memories of childhood visits with her parents came rushing back. Her father had loved the hills and would have quite happily settled among them had their circumstances been different. She remembered one camping holiday outside Keswick. It had rained continuously, and her mother was not a happy camper. Her father was oblivious to the weather and had dragged her up the fells while her mother went shopping. Though she would rather have been inside, watching the television or playing with friends, she did it to please her father. The higher they climbed, the more relaxed he became. She had revelled in his contentment. It was just the two of them on top of the world. Inseparable. Sadly, it would be short lived. Within a year of their return to Sweden, her parents divorced. She had always wondered if there was something she could she have done to save the situation. Of course not, but it did plague her teenage years.

Anita also felt guilty about Ewan. As she was rushing out of the apartment that morning, her mobile had rung. Like every trip she made, she had left her packing until the last minute. She had also prised Lasse out of bed so he was awake when Hakim came round. Lasse had been less than enthusiastic that he was going to have a flat-mate for the weekend. She was dragging her case along the pavement on the way to Triangeln to catch the train to Kastrup, so she answered breathlessly.

‘It’s Ewan.’

She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. Prisoners were allowed to make regular calls, but Ewan had never rung her before.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked when she didn’t immediately respond.

‘Yes.’

‘Is this a bad time?’

‘It is really. I’m off to the airport.’

‘Oh.’ Ewan sounded disappointed.

‘To England. On a case.’

Anita hovered at the crossing on Carl Gustavs väg, waiting for the pedestrian lights to change.

‘Will you be away long?’

‘I don’t know.’

The light went green and Anita hurried across the road.

‘This is obviously a bad time.’

‘Was there anything specific you want to talk to me about?’

There was a pause. ‘Yes.’ Anita nearly dropped the phone as the wheels of her case bounced off a raised paving stone, and she didn’t quite catch what Ewan said.

‘...but it doesn’t matter.’

‘Ewan, can I get back to you? I’ll come and see you when I get back. I promise.’

There was no sound at the other end of the phone. All she could hear was her own heavy breathing.

‘Send my love to Britain,’ he said at last.

‘I’ll bring you something back.’

‘Anita...’ It sounded as though he was about to say something. But all that eventually came out was a clipped ‘Goodbye.’

He was gone, and Anita had put her mobile away and managed to get to the station just as the Copenhagen-bound train was pulling in.

The sun glinted on the rugged, green Howgills with their patchwork of dry-stone walls, clinging at precarious angles to the steep slopes. Sheep could be seen grazing, even in the upper reaches of the fells. The train snaked through Tebay and passed its colourfully painted railway houses. There was something about the way Ewan had said goodbye that stuck in her head. It was so final. But any further thoughts about him were pushed to the back of her mind as the train came out of the hills. In the cool, late-afternoon sunshine, she could see the buildings of Penrith sprinkled over the valley and up the slopes of the wooded Beacon Hill. The sandstone station, with its red-painted stanchions supporting the glass and wrought-iron canopy, matched Anita’s idea of what a Victorian British station should look like. The huge, old-fashioned clock hanging above the platform added to her romantic notion. The other travellers alighting with her were mainly walkers, who would be heading off into the heart of the north Lakes.

The man who was obviously waiting for her didn’t fit her pre-conceived image of Detective Sergeant Ash of the Cumbria Constabulary. He was smaller and thinner than she had expected. He wore a crumpled, grey suit and light blue tie, which was loosened at the neck. She had never understood why British plain-clothes policemen dressed so formally. His hair was severely cropped, though there wouldn’t have been much of it even if it had been allowed to grow. He hadn’t shaved that morning, so there was a stubbly frame around his lined face. What caught her attention most were the brown, humorous eyes that lit up when he spotted her. She put him in his early fifties. Later, she found out that he was only forty-eight. She was greeted by a wide smile followed by a firm handshake.