Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) (35 page)

Minutes later, she was running into the car park, where she spotted Westermark’s car. Her feet were in agony as she pushed her way through the glass entrance doors. She caught Westermark just as he was coming out of his office.

‘I need you to take me to Löderup... or near there.’

‘I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘Fuck that, Karl! Hakim could be in serious trouble.’

‘The silly shit—’

She hadn’t time for this. ‘Just bring your pistol. I’ll fetch mine.’

Westermark hesitated.

‘Now!’ she yelled at him.

CHAPTER 48

It was a relief to turn off the road onto the dirt track to the Johanssons’ home. The first part of the journey had been undertaken in hostile silence, with Anita resisting the urge to slip off her ankle boots and massage her feet – she could already feel the blisters forming. Eventually, she thought it prudent to fill Westermark in on what she had just discovered from Ash. He had made little comment and had remained quiet. As they passed the first two houses, there was no sign of Anita’s Peugeot. Maybe Hakim was fine. If she had dragged Westermark out here for nothing, then she would never hear the end of it.

‘What do we do now?’

‘I’ll try Hakim again.’ Again the answer message kicked in. Now she was in a dilemma. Hakim might well be safe, but she had no idea where he was. But, now they were on the spot, maybe she should have another word with Carol Johansson. She couldn’t arrest her or her husband on suspicion of murder, as she hadn’t consulted with Moberg or Prosecutor Blom. They would want more solid evidence before committing themselves. The least they’d require was an official statement from Ash about his conversation with Dobson. Anita sighed – perhaps rushing out here had been a mistake. What made it worse was that she would look a fool in front of Westermark, who would make a point of capitalizing on her impulsiveness.

‘Drive up to the house,’ she instructed.

They were greeted by the barking dog.

‘I hate fucking dogs,’ Westermark mouthed.

Carol Johansson appeared from the front of the house. Her surprise at seeing an unknown car disappeared when she saw Anita get out.

‘Jingo, heel.’ The dog immediately obeyed and sat upright, though still alert. ‘What brings you back?’ she said in English.

‘This is Inspector Karl Westermark.’ Westermark nodded while not taking his eye off the dog. ‘I wanted to have a word with your husband.’

Carol Johansson seemed completely relaxed. No sign of nerves. Anita had to admire the woman’s coolness and confidence.

‘He’s away on business. Why do you want to see him?’

‘Just routine stuff,’ Anita said off-handedly, not wanting to alert her to the possibility that they were suspicious.

‘We know he’s Nicky Pew.’

Westermark’s blunt statement was like a bolt from the blue. Anita wasn’t sure whether she or Carol Johansson was the most startled.

Carol recovered first. ‘Jingo!’ she shouted, and the animal bounded towards Westermark, leapt up at him and clamped its jaws round his left arm, which he had thrown up to defend himself. He yelled in anguish as he grappled with the dog, while he desperately tried to manoeuvre his pistol out of its holster with his right hand. Carol ran to the open barn door. Anita went after her, leaving Westermark to fend for himself.

It was dark inside. Anita advanced carefully into the barn, her eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the gloom. There was a strong smell of horses and hay. She couldn’t hear anything. Slowly, she pulled out her weapon. Then a shot rang out and all she could hear was the dog whimpering, accompanied by Westermark cursing. Another shot followed and the whimpering stopped.

In front of her, Anita could just make out the bottom rungs of a ladder which disappeared upwards. She assumed it must lead to a hay loft.

‘Carol, come on out.’ Nothing. ‘It’s too late. We know that you and Nicky killed Graeme Todd.’ She still couldn’t detect any movement. ‘Hand yourself in. It’s the only sensible thing to do.’

But she knew that Carol wasn’t going to give up that easily – she and Nicky had gone to great lengths to create this new life. They had even murdered to protect it. Suddenly there was a sound behind her. She swung round.

Westermark was silhouetted in the doorway. ‘Thanks for your fucking help, Anita.’

She ignored him. She was now in the centre of the barn.

‘Karl, go round the back and see if there’s another way out.’

As Westermark turned, Carol appeared out of the darkness. She was brandishing a pitchfork, which was aimed at his back. ‘You bastard!’ she shrieked hysterically. Westermark didn’t have time to react as she lunged forward. A split second later, Anita’s pistol fired. Carol spun away as the pitchfork harmlessly pronged a pile of loose hay. She was clutching her hand, and blood was dribbling thorough her fingers. ‘You killed my beautiful dog, you bastard,’ she howled at an ashen-faced Westermark. Anita was shaking with relief. Had she been a better shot, Carol Pew would be dead, and a lot of difficult questions would have to be answered.

‘Carol Pew, you are under arrest for attacking a police officer.’

Carol glared at her. ‘Shouldn’t you read me my rights?’

‘This isn’t Britain,’ Anita said dismissively.

Carol suddenly spat in Anita’s face. Anita resisted the urge to slap her. She calmly wiped the dribbling saliva from her cheek.

‘Is your arm OK?’ she asked Westermark.

‘I’ll live. Ruined a great jacket, though.’

‘Sod your jacket! We’ve got to find Hakim. There’s no sign of my car round here.’

‘Well, what about the other houses – or Johansson’s boat,’ said Westermark.

A look of alarm crossed Carol’s face. Anita saw it and realized in an instant that the boat was where they would find Pew.

Hakim had never felt such pain before. His left eye was already so swollen that he couldn’t see out of it. Blood was trickling down his chin from a cut lip. His ribs ached from the kicks and punches that Johansson had rained on him.

After his phone had gone off, he knew he would be discovered. He swallowed hard, opened the shower room door and found himself on the wrong end of a small handgun. Johansson, or whoever he really was, had frisked him and found his warrant card. Then Hakim’s heart had stopped as Johansson had taken his phone and started to flick through it.

‘I won’t ask again.’ The man spoke in Swedish with a pronounced foreign accent. He shoved his face menacingly right up to Hakim’s. ‘Who else knows about me?’

Hakim looked at him defiantly; he was playing for time. It resulted in another sideswipe, making him lurch back across the bed. With his hands tightly tied behind his back, he had no way of defending himself. The man grabbed his shirt collar and jerked him back into a sitting position.

‘Well, if you’re not going to talk, you’re of no use to me. I think we’ll go for a little boat ride.’

Anita was furious. ‘You’ve forced our hand, you imbecile.’

Westermark had just shoved Carol Pew into the back seat of his Porsche. ‘If she bleeds on my leather interior, she won’t make it back alive,’ he’d muttered darkly. They had bandaged her hand and slapped handcuffs on her wrists. She was still full of wrath and bile, primarily directed at Westermark.

Despite his obviously painful arm, he looked smug. ‘Well, we’ve got the bitch. All we have to do now is arrest the husband. Case closed.’

‘Christ, Karl. It’s not that simple.’ Anita was still seething at her gung-ho colleague. She knew there would be hell to pay. If they messed up Nicky Pew’s arrest, they’d spend the rest of their careers in traffic. And where the hell was Hakim?

Despite wanting to wait for the backup from Ystad, she realized that they would have to move quickly. The only thing they had on their side was the element of surprise. She just hoped Pew hadn’t gone out to sea.

Anita drove the Porsche. They raced along the country roads and down through the village of Kåseberga to the harbour. Anita spotted her own car straight away. Then she saw a new Saab was parked in front of a smart cabin cruiser. Anita noticed the name immediately –
Diamanten
.
The Diamond
must be an in-joke. This had to be Nicky Pew’s boat. She was thankful that it was still moored. She parked the Porsche on the opposite side of the car park.

‘He’s probably on board,’ said Westermark as he took out his pistol.

Anita glanced down at the weapon. ‘We want him alive. We’ve got to go easy.’

Westermark stepped out of the car. Anita could see his blood was up, the adrenaline flowing. He would be difficult to control. She had to take charge before he got out of hand.

‘I’ll check the boat out. You stay with Carol.’

Westermark grunted. ‘OK, I’ll cover you.’

Anita looked around. She was grateful to see that there weren’t many visitors about at what was now the fag end of the season. The afternoon murkiness would soon merge with the evening shadows. As casually as she could, she sauntered over to the boat and peered through the front cabin window. No one to be seen. Maybe Pew was below. She had no option but to go on board. She took out her own pistol. Her throat was dry. This was a man who knew how to use guns. Ruthless. She glanced back at Westermark, who was leaning against his car. He nodded as though giving her his permission to step aboard. With a gulp, she took the stride that got her onto the rear sundeck. The boat swayed under her feet as she readjusted her footing. She grasped her pistol in both hands and held it out in front of her in the firing position. She stepped through the door of the saloon. Her footstep made a loud, thudding noise. Her wretched boots! She immediately stood still. All she could hear was the lapping of the water from outside. But now there was another sound. Her body was taut. Her finger nervously fretted over the trigger of her pistol. This wasn’t the instinctive reaction of the barn. This was the interminable waiting for the right moment. In front of her was a closed door. It must be the bedroom. For a moment she thought of calling out Pew’s name. Then she changed her mind. If he was armed inside the bedroom, he might fire through the flimsy wall. Now she was sure she could hear low breathing. Was Nicky Pew on the other side, waiting with gun in hand? She felt herself sweating in the cramped conditions of the saloon. Then there was a muffled moan. That didn’t sound like someone waiting to pounce. Anita stood back, tensed herself, and with a sudden lunge, kicked the door open and dived into the room, pistol at the ready. Nothing happened. No shot, no attack. Pew wasn’t there. But Hakim was. His hands and feet were bound, and he had gaffer tape over his mouth. Anita was shocked at the state he was in and she swiftly set about freeing him. She had to find a carving knife in the galley to cut the knots of the rope, which had been tied with the expertise of a sailor.

Hakim tried to speak, but found it impossible to get the words out through his swollen lips. Anita found herself cradling him like a child. Pew would pay for this. He must be somewhere near. His car was here and he wouldn’t want to leave Hakim for long. She phoned for an ambulance and then instructed Hakim to lie on the bed and wait.

She stepped off the boat and saw Westermark wandering over towards her.

‘What have you done with Carol Pew?’

‘It’s OK; she’s safely locked in the car.’

‘Hakim’s in there,’ Anita said, indicating the boat with her thumb. ‘Badly beaten up.’

‘No sign of Pew?’

‘No. But he must be around here somewhere.’

Just then they heard a scream. It came from the Porsche. They could see Carol Pew’s face pressed against the window. She was shouting. Though muffled by the glass, they could hear, ‘Nicky! Run! Run, Nicky!’

Glancing over towards the shops, they saw the tall figure of a man with blond hair standing uncertainly at the edge of the car park, a large jerry can in each hand. His gaze quickly travelled from the car to Anita and Westermark. In a flash, he had dropped the cans and whipped out a gun. There was a single shot in their direction, the bullet loudly splintering off the concrete harbour wall behind them. Nicky Pew turned on his heels and made for the gap between the shops. He pushed past an elderly woman who momentarily blocked Westermark’s line of fire. For a man in his mid-fifties, Pew was surprisingly fit and agile. He was mounting the steps that led to Ales Stenar, two at a time. Westermark made after him. Just then the squad car from Ystad came down the road. Anita rushed over to it and quickly gave instructions to the two patrolmen to keep an eye on both Carol and the injured Hakim on the boat.

She was soon running up the steps. Her feet were seriously throbbing, As she neared the top of the hill, she heard a couple of shots. On reaching the brow, she found a middle-aged couple cowering in the grass. She shouted ‘Police!’ at them and, without saying a word, they pointed along the path. Anita rushed on. There was no sign of either Westermark or Pew. A frightened young man was hiding behind the large site information board.

‘Stay there and get down!’ she shouted at him.

Two more shots were exchanged as she reached a cattle-grid. She gingerly stepped over it, balancing on the metal rungs. The gunfire had come from straight ahead. In the dim light she could just discern the ancient stones of the ship, still impressive after centuries of wind and weather. The prow and stern were large, upright boulders, twice the size of the other stones forming the body of the vessel. She had often visited this megalithic monument of worship and burial and felt anger at its imminent desecration.

She scoped the site for any sign of Pew and Westermark. They must be hidden behind the stones. Out on the Baltic, the light of a tanker glinted in the dusk. A shot rang out, betraying the location of one of the men. It came from the side of the ship on Anita’s right. Crouching, she ran across the wide expanse of grass separating her from the prow. On reaching the high end stone, she threw herself to the ground. A bullet zinged off the side of one of the smaller stones, only metres away. This was immediately followed by a volley of shots.

And then nothing. All Anita could hear was her heart thumping and her uneven breathing.

She eased herself up to a squatting position, her back pressed against the cold rock. Very slowly, she manoeuvred her way round the side of the stone. Still no sound. She wanted to call out Westermark’s name, but that would draw attention to her location. But she couldn’t stay here forever. If the light went, Pew would be able to make a dash for the fields beyond. She had to do something now. She steeled herself, counted to three, and swung out of her hiding place, pistol in firing position. Half way down the ship she could see the silhouette of a man standing, weapon in hand, over a lifeless shape on the ground.