Menace In Malmö Page 10

  ‘Concerned that I might not marry into the faith?’ Hakim stared furiously at his father.

  ‘We don’t want you to make the same mistake as your sister,’ Uday replied calmly. Liv didn’t know where to put herself.

  ‘Mistake!’ Hakim exploded. ‘What mistake? She’s living with someone she loves. Someone Swedish like she is. They’ve given you a grandchild and even given her an Iraqi name. Shouldn’t you be grateful?’

  ‘We are, we are,’ Amira said, desperately trying to smooth things over.

  ‘I’m Swedish. I’m Muslim. I’m proud to be both. And thank goodness I live in a country that allows me to make my own choices. And if we decide to get married, then no one, especially you, father, is going to stop us.’ Hakim stood up abruptly. ‘Come on Liv, we’ve been here long enough.’

  Hakim made for the door.

  ‘Please, please don’t go, Hakim,’ Amira pleaded. But Hakim was no longer interested in listening.

  A deeply confused and embarrassed Liv followed him. She turned before she reached the front door, which Hakim had already opened. ‘Thank you for a lovely meal.’

  This was Granny time. Anita was spending the afternoon with Leyla while her parents did some shopping and treated themselves to a film. The latter seemed a waste to Anita in this nice weather. But it was their way of unwinding, she supposed. She’d taken Leyla across to Pildammsparken, and they’d had a little picnic near the lake. They’d started off by feeding the geese that waddled around the water’s edge. Leyla hadn’t been fazed by the size of the birds and had giggled every time Anita had thrown breadcrumbs in their direction causing a cacophony of flapping and squawking. Afterwards, down the bank from the lake, Anita had laid out a blanket, and they’d settled down to their picnic. Leyla had drunk all her milk, and they’d played games. A particular favourite was for Granny to build a tower of plastic cups which Leyla would knock down again.

  The little girl was tottering around quite successfully now and would be walking confidently very soon. Anita remembered that Lasse had been almost eighteen months before he’d eventually learned to walk. She smiled at Leyla’s determination, as each time she stumbled, she’d pick herself up and unsteadily meander off again. In Anita’s somewhat biased opinion, she was so beautiful. She had large, dark eyes that lit up at the slightest thing. Her giggle was infectious, and she rarely cried, though Anita knew that she was still keeping her parents up at night. Granny was enjoying this time of bonding and knew she would miss her granddaughter when she headed off for a week’s holiday with Kevin the following weekend. Not that she wasn’t looking forward to seeing her “Brit boyfriend”, as her ex-husband Björn had sarcastically referred to him; Kevin was an antidote to the Swedish men in her private and professional life. And he’d promised her a nice relaxing break – lots of scenery and tearooms, and not too much history (a passion of his that could become boring after a while; though everything was always leavened with humour, which ensured that he didn’t get too serious for too long on the subject he was enthusing about). And, of course, there would be the sex. She missed that in the months they were apart. What had surprised her was that during her enforced periods of celibacy, she didn’t find herself needing the occasional substitute to tide her over. Was this an age thing? Or maybe she was growing up after too many unsuccessful and unsatisfactory sexual encounters since Björn had left her. Björn! He was back in her life, of course; besotted with his new granddaughter, which had surprised both Anita and Lasse, who’d assumed Björn would be too vain to admit that he was old enough to be a grandfather. Anita was pleased that he cared so much about Leyla, though she was also happy that she would be jumping on a plane at Kastrup next Saturday when Björn was due to come down from Uppsala for the weekend. She was letting him stay at her apartment – Lasse and Jazmin’s was too small – while she was away, with the one proviso that he didn’t bring his latest floozy with him. He’d promised that the only woman he wanted to spend the weekend with was Leyla.

  Anita reflected that this was the perfect time to take a break as there was no big case on, and she could happily leave Moberg to his daft pursuit of Egon Fuentes’ nefarious activities. She was sure that wouldn’t lead to anything anyway, particularly now that Fuentes was dead.

  Leyla came wobbling back onto the rug and plonked herself down. She began to play with the plastic cups, which were adorned with letters and patterns. Anita’s phone buzzed. She hoped it wasn’t Lasse, as she wanted as much time with Leyla as possible. It was Hakim. He sounded grumpy.

  ‘What’s up?’ Anita was also slightly irritated that her afternoon was being interrupted.

  ‘I’ve just had a disastrous lunch with my parents. Liv was there.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘It was so embarrassing. Liv was being so nice to them, and then my father blurts out whether I was going to marry “this lady”. And then it emerged that he didn’t want me to make the same mistake Jazmin made.’

  ‘Ah, that’s not good.’ Anita was just thankful that Jazmin hadn’t been there or else they would have had to call in UN peacekeepers. ‘I’m sure it’ll blow over. Is Liv OK?’

  ‘She’s a bit shaken. I don’t think she’s ever seen me lose my temper like that. She hated the fact that I was falling out with my parents. She regards parents as special, as she lost hers when she was young.’

  Leyla was still playing contentedly. ‘Buy her a stiff drink.’

  She could hear a resigned sigh at the other end. ‘I’m just so...’

  ‘Well, are you going to marry her?’

  ‘Not you as well!’ He had the grace to laugh. ‘I’m sorry. That’s not why I was ringing. I had a call from my old friend Reza this morning.’

  Anita had never met Reza, but she knew all about him from Hakim and had seen his name crop up in various files.

  ‘Someone approached a “contact” of his – though I suspect it might have been him – looking for a hand gun. Unlicensed. Untraceable.’

  Anita kept an eye on Leyla. It was worrying that her gorgeous granddaughter was being brought up in a country with an increasing gun culture. Maybe she should whisk the little girl and her family away to Britain.

  ‘And has he found one?’

  ‘Reza reckons so.’

  ‘It wasn’t Reza who supplied him?’

  ‘He’s not that stupid. He’s into all sorts of dodgy stuff, but guns aren’t his scene. Or certainly never used to be. I was thinking this one might be for a specific job. A contract killing perhaps?’

  ‘Why a contract killing?’

  ‘Because this guy isn’t local. Reza thinks he’s British.’

  ‘British?’ That did sound odd.

  ‘Could have been sent over to do a number on someone, pick up a local weapon then disappear out of the country without trace.’

  This was ominous. ‘Have you a description?’

  ‘Not really. All Reza would say was that he was “hard”. I read that as meaning intimidating. Oh, he did mention he had a scar on his face.’

  ‘See if you can press Reza for more.’

  As she finished her call, Leyla glanced up and gave Anita a wide-mouthed smile. Anita’s heart jumped with the usual delight, even though her mind was wondering who this British gunman might be. And, more importantly, who was the target?

  Something was wrong. As Danny approached his camp, he had a feeling of uneasiness. All that day he had been tense. He’d helped Leif out in the morning shifting hay bales for the horses, as his daughter was due the next day. As the day had progressed, he had felt increasingly guilty in the knowledge that he was going to nick the Volkswagen. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do for money. He would have to steal some elsewhere; he couldn’t bring himself to pinch cash off the farmer. It was a dilemma that he’d been battling with over the last couple of hours while venturing round the edge of the forest to try and give himself an idea of the lie of the land and where the road might lead to. He’d found the tarmacked road at the end of the
farm track and had walked along it without getting any sense of where he actually was. It would be pot luck – he would have to go one way or the other. He’d decided that he would take the car that night while Leif was asleep.

  As he tentatively approached the camp, his heart missed a beat. His rudimentary dwelling had been smashed up. It would only have taken a couple of well-aimed kicks to do the damage, but who was responsible? That all-enveloping fear that had been steadily building up over recent months suddenly overwhelmed him, and he found himself shaking. He was paralysed; his brain seemed to freeze. His breathing became erratic and he thought for a moment that he was going to black out. The feeling slowly passed.

  There was no sign of anyone around. But they could still be in the vicinity. There was only one thing he could do: go to the farmhouse – Leif was expecting him for an evening meal. Maybe the old man could tell him if he’d seen anyone around. It might be kids larking about in the woods. Then again...

  He made his way cautiously to the edge of the forest. There was no other car around, so Leif hadn’t got a visitor. He was still on edge when he crossed over the horses’ field to the barn and round to the house. He couldn’t hear Leif, though he was probably in the kitchen making something for their supper. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle the situation, knowing what he’d got planned. Could he even look him in the face? The kitchen was empty.

  ‘Leif?’ Danny called out.

  He made his way along the corridor. All was quiet. Maybe the farmer was still out in a far field, though that was unlikely. As he entered the living room, he came to an abrupt halt. There was Leif sitting on a chair. Then Danny saw, to his horror, that the old man was strapped to it. His eyes were closed and his face was badly bruised. There was blood on his clothes and on the floor. Suddenly, he slumped forward, and Danny gasped. The back of his head had been blown off.

  CHAPTER 14

  Danny had never felt so sick before without being able to vomit. What in God’s name had happened? Though rooted to the spot, his shredded wits began to slowly reform into some coherent thought process. This was the second dead body he had seen in the last few days, and both the deaths seemed terrifyingly similar. It began to dawn on him that whoever had trashed his camp had also done this. An image of McNaught flashed into his mind. The bastard always used his fists before asking questions. But the gun? Danny couldn’t bring himself to look at the back of Leif’s head. He’d never noticed McNaught carrying a gun, though he was sure that this was his work. McNaught, the hunter, had found his hideaway. But Leif? Why kill a nice old farmer who hadn’t done anyone any harm? Then the ghastly thought occurred to him – Leif might have been trying to protect him. Refusing to give him away – and he’d paid for his silence with his life. The poor, tortured body only meant one thing to Danny: McNaught had been interrogating him. There had been whispered talk in the working camp that McNaught had been in Iraq. There, beating up prisoners for information had been common, according to the papers back in Britain.

  What the hell was he to do? He knew he couldn’t hang around here. McNaught must be somewhere close. Did he drive here? Or was he on foot? There was no sign of a car. He might still be roaming around the forest searching for him. He had to think quickly. There was no way he could report the death. As soon as the police found out who he was and why he’d gone to prison, they would think it was him. He glanced around anxiously. The daughter was due tomorrow to exercise the horses. That meant the body wouldn’t be discovered for nearly twenty-four hours. He had to put his original plan into operation earlier. He knew the farmer kept his keys, including the car keys, on a hook near the back door. But he’d need money.

  In a totally panic-stricken, random way, Danny ransacked the living room without success. Then, in a chest of drawers in Leif’s bedroom, he found a wad of notes. He didn’t stop to count how much he’d stolen; there wasn’t time. He hurried back through the farmhouse and into the kitchen; he’d need food. He stuffed a few things into a plastic Lidl bag and headed out of the house. Everything he did was swept along on a sea of adrenaline and instinct. He was still in a state of shock at the brutality he’d seen, and the realization that he was almost definitely the cause of a good man’s murder.

  Danny crossed the deserted farmyard at a quick trot and made for the safety of the barn. There, he managed to coax the Volkswagen into life and he eased it through the barn doors. It was difficult grappling with the controls, as he’d never driven a left hand drive car before. The Volkswagen bounced down the rutted track away from the farmhouse and its gruesome contents. Danny knew it was only a matter of time before the police would begin to work out that someone else had been there other than Leif’s daughter over the past few days. His fingerprints would be everywhere. He hoped that he had enough time to get out of the country before they got round to liaising with the British police and discover who he was. That’s if McNaught didn’t get to him first.

  At the end of the track, the road stretched out in both directions. Which way? After a moment’s indecision, he turned right.

  Alice Zetterberg flashed her Stockholm Access travel card at the barrier and made her way through to the Monday morning commuter train that would take her to Gamla Stan, where she was meeting Carina Lindvall. The weekend had not been all that she had hoped for. Her sister was as annoying and as arrogant as usual. Her brother-in-law, Christer – and the real reason for the visit – had been there on the Friday night. When he suggested that they take the two girls into the city centre the next day to visit the History Museum – Linda was doing a school project on the Vikings – Linnea had excused herself on the grounds she had a number of important domestic chores to do. Zetterberg had jumped at the chance of spending the day with Christer without her sister around and had volunteered to go. When Christer was unexpectedly called into work the next morning, Zetterberg found herself having to accompany her two nieces, neither of whom she was particularly fond of, round a museum she found utterly tedious. The Sunday barbecue in Linnea and Christer’s garden had plenty of drink flowing, but the presence of some of their dreadful friends had afforded her no opportunity for any sly flirtations with the man she had set her sights on. He and Linnea had then disappeared to bed early that night with work beckoning the next day. Zetterberg had been left feeling frustrated and bitter. Linnea had it all, including the right man. She didn’t deserve it.

  Zetterberg stepped onto the train and sat down. She began to flick through a copy of the free Metro newspaper. It was full of the usual rubbish, though there was an article on oral sex, which seemed an odd feature to have in at that time in the morning. It only made her more annoyed at her lack of weekend activity. Then one small column caught her eye: a farmer had been found murdered near Höör in Skåne yesterday. Zetterberg sighed. It only went to show what a load of hicks they were down south. The sooner she earned promotion to Stockholm, the better.

  Danny sat in the car and looked out to sea. This was the second night he’d spent in the vehicle. The first had been on an overgrown, seemingly disused track off a side road somewhere. He hadn’t driven too far, as he’d had difficulty adjusting to driving on the right. On one deserted road, he’d instinctively strayed onto the wrong side until a large tractor had come barrelling along in the other direction and he’d had to swerve to avoid it. It had given him a fright, and he hadn’t driven too much further – he feared his lack of confidence might become noticeable. The strange names on the road signs hadn’t helped either, with all their weird double dots and circles – like the sign for Sjöbo. The next day – he knew it must be Sunday as that was the day Leif’s daughter was due to go to the farm and would discover the body – he’d decided to go as far away as possible. He’d avoided Sjöbo, which he assumed might have a police station, and ended up, after an hour’s slightly more confident driving, at the coast. It was near a place called Skillinge. He had gone through it and had nearly had a heart attack when a police car passed him going in the opposite direction. Skillinge appeared
to be a fishing village. There were boats bobbing about in the harbour. His knowledge of the sea was virtually non-existent, having spent most of his life in rural Herefordshire. He’d braved a shop to buy some cold pop, making sure he didn’t speak and just shoving a note over the till and holding his hand out for the change.

  After leaving the village, he’d found the spot he spent the night in. It was while musing over what he should do next that he happened to open up the glove compartment and discovered an old road map of southern Sweden. Though it looked very out of date, the places couldn’t have changed that much. He found Skillinge and realized he had gone in the wrong direction. He could see that he must make for Malmö. Though the old map didn’t show it, he remembered that the van they’d been transported from England in had crossed over a long bridge in the middle of the night. Though half asleep, he’d noticed a lot of lights in the distance. They’d skirted any big town that might have been there, and then he’d fallen asleep again before waking from his slumbers at the camp – and the nightmare had begun.

  Now it was morning, he finished the last of the food he’d taken from Leif’s kitchen. He knew what he was going to do. He would make for Malmö and then dump the car, which, he guessed, the police would soon be looking for. Once in Malmö, he could plan an escape from this dreadful country that had become his prison. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he had to do it before McNaught or the police caught up with him.

  Zetterberg made her way through the crowd of people who had poured off the train at Gamla Stan Tunnelbana station. She jostled through the commuters and the tourists and day-trippers who were drawn to Stockholm’s atmospheric old town on the island of Stadsholmen with its narrow, cobbled medieval streets and colourfully rendered merchants’ houses. Attractions like the Royal Palace, the cathedral and the Nobel Museum are a must-see, and an expensive meal in one of the many trendy or traditional eateries that are tucked in alongside the craft shops and the tourist tat emporiums is all part of the experience. But this was not the Stockholm that Zetterberg longed for, though she recognized that her capital city had something for everyone. It was the cool, powerful, modern Stockholm that was calling someone with her ambitions.