Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (24 page)

‘What time will Kevin Ash be here?’

Jennifer Todd had joined Anita at the breakfast table. She, too, had a coffee in her hand. Her breakfast had been eaten very early. She found sleep difficult since Graeme had first disappeared.

‘Not sure. He had a few calls to make. We’re also after a photo of Carol. We don’t actually know what she looks like.’

Jennifer put her cup down thoughtfully while Anita tentatively cut herself a small slice of Cumberland sausage.

‘I’ve just remembered something.’ Anita watched Jennifer intently as she ate her sausage, which was far spicier than she had expected; it was rather tasty. ‘Graeme was always closeted in his office and when I went in one night, he was trawling through a foreign website. He told me it was Swedish. Anyway, he became very animated. “I’ve found her!” That’s what he said.’

‘Found who?’

‘I kind of ignored it at the time. He was always finding people – that was his job. So I just forgot about it. But now we know there’s a Swedish connection with Carol Pew, I think it must have been her.’

‘On a particular internet site?’

‘I didn’t really see it properly, but I think it was probably a newspaper.’

‘Was it an article or a picture?’

‘I think it was a photo. But I can’t remember what it was of.’

Anita put down her fork. ‘Jennifer, please think very, very carefully. Try and imagine that you’re back in the office with Graeme. There’s the computer screen. On it is a photograph. Try and think.’

Todd shook her head slowly. ‘No.’

Disappointed, Anita returned to her breakfast.

‘I do remember Graeme saying something about jazz.’

Anita’s head jerked up. ‘Well, Nicky Pew was a jazz fanatic. Could it have been a jazz group? A concert? Some event?’

‘Could have been a concert. I’ve got a feeling there may have been a number of people in the photo. Yes, now I think about it, there were. I suppose the woman Graeme was getting so excited about must have been in there somewhere.’

Moberg was eating a large bun. Nordlund didn’t want to hazard a guess at what it contained. He assumed that it was the chief inspector’s second breakfast.

‘I’ve just had a call from Anita Sundström. She’s starting to get somewhere. I’ll fill you in later. But I’m more concerned about Greta Jansson at the moment. Where are we with the various cars?’

‘We’ve got Holm’s and Fraser’s cars in. Eva Thulin’s forensic team will be giving them the once over. Westermark flew up to Stockholm first thing this morning and he’ll bring Professor Sundström’s car down from Uppsala. We should know Thulin’s findings in the next couple of days.’

‘Well, that should turn up something.’

‘That’s if the killer got her to the harbour by car. It’s walkable from the apartment.’

Moberg huffed impatiently, ‘Don’t throw in any negatives, Henrik. We’ve only got these three suspects. So, the sooner we get evidence on one of them, the better. My money’s on the professor. What do you think?’

Nordlund had had plenty of time to ponder the question. ‘On the face of it, Professor Sundström certainly seems to have the best motive if Greta rejected him. It’s a hard thing for a man to take. Rapes her, then realizes what he’s done. And he has the most to lose if the rape comes out. He’s the one with the high-profile career.’

‘Exactly my thoughts.’

‘Westermark thinks both of Greta’s colleagues had a thing for her. I’ve sent Hakim off to the school to talk to other members of staff to see if we can actually establish that. If Fraser’s and Holm’s interest was unhealthy, and she spurned any advances then...’ Nordlund shrugged. ‘Whoever did rape her was let into her apartment. So we can assume that she knew her attacker.’

Moberg happily finished the last of his bun. ‘I don’t think this will take long to clear up.’ Then he looked at Nordlund and his faced dropped. ‘OK, Henrik, I sense a “but”.’

‘You may be right. But the killer was smart enough and, I suppose, brave enough to go back to the apartment and try and get rid of any traces of his being there. Rape might have been the result of an emotional, overheated reaction to a situation. But cleaning up the apartment was done with cool deliberateness. Do any of our suspects fit that dual personality?’

‘Oh, yes. Professor Sundström smacks of being just such a guy.’

CHAPTER 34

Though they didn’t leave Penrith until the afternoon, the day stayed fine throughout their drive to Newcastle. They took the motorway up to Carlisle before turning onto the A69 and heading east. At Greenhead, Ash decided to take the scenic route along the old Military Road, to avoid the convoy of lorries they were stuck behind. To her left, Anita could see the outline of some of the remains of Hadrian’s Wall. Now a World Heritage Site, it had been built by Emperor Hadrian as a way of defining the edge of his empire. Everything south of the wall, stretching as far as Africa, was civilized Roman territory; beyond was nothing but barbarians. Ash had some colleagues who still thought the same.

As the road crested a ridge outside Once Brewed, Ash pointed out a lone sycamore tree in a deep dip in a crag along which the Wall was straddled. It was an image discordant with a bleak landscape dominated by rough grass, bracken and bogs. ‘That’s where they filmed Robin Hood. The one with Kevin Costner. A fugitive kid climbs that tree and Robin Hood saves him from the Sheriff of Nottingham’s nasty henchmen.’

Anita nodded in recognition. Though she was no film lover, Lasse had made her watch it.

‘And is Weatherley your Sheriff of Nottingham?’

Ash snorted. ‘Not exactly. Just as slimy, but there’s no denying he must be a good policeman. His record speaks for itself.’

‘And where are we meeting him?’

‘He’s going to some official dinner, so that’s why we’re going directly to his home and not to police headquarters in Ponteland. He lives in Gosforth. That’s posh to you and me. Success has its rewards.’

Earlier, they’d picked up her things from the Carrock Guest House. It was unlikely that the investigation would take Anita back to Cumbria. She and Ash would seek answers in Newcastle, and then she would return to Sweden and start the search for Carol Pew. She had told Ash about the jazz photograph that Graeme Todd had found. One of their priorities would be to find a likeness of Carol, though it was likely to be nearly twenty years out of date. Once they had something to go on, she would get Hakim to trawl the internet and through the local Skåne newspapers and find a jazz event. If they could match the two, then they were going in the right direction.

They headed down a steep road and found themselves stopped at the traffic lights at an old single-file bridge over the North Tyne at Chollerford, next to the George Hotel. Ash gave a sidelong look. He smacked his lips. ‘Could do with a quick pint.’

‘No,’ said Anita firmly. She could sense that he was nervous. She could see this meeting with Weatherley was going to be difficult for him. ‘Why don’t we stop for a smoke?’

Ash managed to coax his car up the bank on the other side of the bridge. He was reduced to second gear to reach the first bit of level ground. He pulled into a lay-by. Beyond was a small church perched on the hill top.

‘Why don’t we go over there?’ Anita suggested.

They wandered over a field full of grazing sheep, and entered the churchyard. Round the back of the church the view was unbroken. The late- afternoon sunlight cast a rich yellow glow on the rough-hewn terrain that rose and fell all the way to the horizon. Leaning against the dry-stone church wall, Ash lit two cigarettes and passed one to Anita.

‘I love this countryside. Essex is beautiful, but it’s too ordered. Too flat. This is untamed,’ he said, with a flourish of his hand. ‘The main drawback is that it’s too bloody cold.’

‘If you think this is cold, try a winter in northern Sweden.’

Ash laughed. ‘Fair enough. Shouldn’t complain. My girls think I’m a sissy because I’m always complaining about the weather. They were brought up here, so don’t know any different. But the young don’t seem to feel the cold. You should see them in Newcastle on a Friday night wearing next to nothing.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘No. Even in the middle of winter.’ He shook his head in disbelief.

‘Why?’ Anita couldn’t conceive of going out in the cold without wrapping up, even on a night out with friends.

‘Don’t ask me. My sister says it’s getting like that in Essex, too. Some of the sights are not for the faint-hearted either. It’s worse when you’ve got daughters that age and you wonder what the hell they’re getting up to. Safer for me to live in ignorance in Cumbria, I think.’

‘My son is the same. He met this awful girl who then dumped him, and he changed completely. He was very level-headed, but now I don’t know what to do with him.’ She’d managed to track Lasse down earlier and he’d reported, with what sounded like relief, that his father had left the apartment and was staying somewhere else in town. The press had disappeared too. He had been his now-usual monosyllabic self and couldn’t speak for long, as he was going out to meet somebody. Anita hadn’t managed to worm out of him who it was before he’d ended the conversation with, ‘Sorry, Mamma, I’ve got to go.’

‘Bloody kids!’ she agreed with Ash.

To take her mind off Lasse and the sense of loss she was feeling as a mother, she changed the subject back to the case in hand.

‘What’s the itinerary?’

‘Roller first. Whatever he has to tell us will probably dictate our next move. But afterwards, I thought we might visit the scene of the crime.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Pew’s diamond heist. See where this all began. It’s near where I’ve booked us in. A Premier Inn in North Shields. Then tomorrow, I’ll go to the North Shields nick and get all they have on Pew and the robbery. Then it should be easy enough for your lot to find Carol Pew in Sweden.’

‘Don’t sell the skin before you’ve shot the bear.’

It was Ash’s turn to say, ‘Pardon?’

Anita smiled. ‘Swedish expression. It’s the same as don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.’

‘I like shooting the bear better. Must remember that one.’

‘I’ve already been onto Malmö about tracing Carol Pew – or Ridley; she may have reverted to her maiden name.’ That morning, Anita had managed to get hold of Hakim, who had been at Kungsskolan doing interviews when she called. He said he would look into it as soon as he got back to the office. Other than moaning about Westermark, he’d seemed chirpy. ‘I suspect that it’s not going to be that simple, though. She might have a completely different name. Married again, or just wants to disappear.’

Ash tossed his finished cigarette over the wall.

‘I still don’t really understand why she would want to kill Todd. That’s if she’s responsible at all. Even if she did have the money from the diamonds, surely there’s nothing that Todd could have done to put her in jeopardy. Torturing and killing someone is a bit of an overreaction.’

‘Perhaps he was blackmailing her.’

‘But with what? How could he prove anything?’

Anita had to admit that Ash was right.

Ash watched her finish her cigarette.

‘I have to say, Anita, to use another British expression, we might be barking up the wrong tree.’

They came off the central motorway and up onto the road that crossed Newcastle’s Town Moor. Which was exactly what it was – a large expanse of green, right in the middle of the city. Cows could be seen grazing in the distance. It was a surreal urban sight. As they headed down the bank towards Gosforth, Anita could see a line of large, smart houses with gardens backing onto the open space. At the end, there was a big apartment block that commanded fantastic views across the moor, the city, and Gateshead beyond. ‘Expensive,’ Ash commented.

The traffic lights at the bottom of the hill filtered them past a Kwik Fit garage and Ash took an immediate turn to the left. They were in Montagu Avenue, and now Anita could see the fronts of the grand residences, stylistically all at odds with each other. Ash drew the car up outside one, which was pretending to be late Georgian. It was a huge, cream-stuccoed edifice; covered in Virginia creeper, russet and gold in its autumn glory. The portal, flanked by Ionic pillars, had obviously been an afterthought and seemed out of perspective with the rest of the house. What had once been the front garden was now paved over, and a large four-by-four and a slick Mercedes were parked in front of a garage the size of a normal semi. A fierce laurel hedge lined the boundary wall and screened the ground floor from curious eyes. Ash turned off the engine and slid out his key. He just sat there looking straight ahead.

Anita put a hand on his. ‘Kevin, don’t let the situation get to you.’ The last thing she wanted was this vital discussion dissolving into an unseemly personal vendetta.

He glanced down at her hand, which she quickly withdrew.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll wait until he tells us what we need to know... then I’ll kick the shit out of him.’

Mrs Weatherley ushered Anita and Ash into the spacious sitting room, explaining that her husband would be down soon. She was quite short with them and her body language made it obvious that she didn’t approve of Royce bringing work home in the form of junior detectives cluttering up her home. A large flat-screen TV dominated the room in its position above the mock-Adam mantelpiece, which displayed a row of what looked like Royal Staffordshire figurines. A coal-effect fire created the illusion of a warm hearth. The room was big enough for three sizeable, heavy, black-leather sofas, which sank into a thick, white pile. Why were the British so obsessed with carpets? Anita idly wondered. Scandinavia was colder but, except for the odd scattering of rugs, Swedish floors were bare. All this compacted fibre everywhere can’t be that hygienic; there’d even been carpet in the bathroom in the guest house she had just stayed in. Unlike the figurines, the art on the walls was not genuine. Even Royce Weatherley couldn’t afford a real Constable or Van Gogh. A huge gilt mirror adorned the wall opposite the fireplace. Next to a silver drinks tray on a highly polished mahogany table, a large, silver-framed photograph showed the uniformed Deputy Chief Constable and his wife at an official function. In the growing gloom, Anita spied through the French windows one of the neatest gardens she had ever seen. It was laid out mainly to lawn, in the middle of which was a fountain presided over by a trio of cherubs delicately balanced on a central pedestal. Flowerbeds and rockeries bordered the lawn, and in the far reaches of the garden were crammed conifers and rhododendrons.