Menace In Malmö Read online

  She cut through a side alley from Munkbrogatan onto Lilla Nygat. The hotel was near the top end of the street opposite the Post Museum. She marvelled at how Stockholm had the ability to create a museum out of even the most mundane things. She stood on the other side of the street and gazed at the hotel entrance opposite. For some reason she felt nervous. Was it because she was meeting someone famous? Or was it because she was desperate for something to emerge from the conversation that would throw light on a suspect other than Linus Svärd? She glanced at her watch – 9.29. Perfect timing.

  Carina Lindvall was late. Coming out of the glass lift, she breezed into the hotel lobby. Her black, shoulder-length locks partly curtained the dark glasses. If the shades were being worn to make herself inconspicuous, the ruse hadn’t worked, as a couple of the guests checking out immediately recognized her. So did Zetterberg; she’d scrutinized her numerous photographs on the internet before heading north. Carina’s black jacket and short, black skirt made her appear more like a business executive than a writer. The white blouse did little to hide the impressive breasts, and the sleek dark shoes looked stunningly expensive. Zetterberg had already made up her mind that she wasn’t going to like Carina Lindvall, and nothing about her appearance did anything to change that. Carina came over to the standing Zetterberg and offered a perfunctory handshake. Zetterberg could smell cigarette smoke on her.

  ‘Inspector Alice Zetterberg. Thank you for coming,’ Zetterberg began, and then wondered why she was thanking a potential murder suspect for turning up to be interviewed. Is that the effect famous people have?

  ‘I’m here to help,’ muttered Carina as she eased herself into her chair and crossed her legs, showing an ample portion of thigh as she did so. Zetterberg noticed one of the male guests trying to get an eyeful. ‘But I’m amazed that all this has come to the surface again after so long.’ The voice had the throaty timbre of a lifelong smoker.

  ‘I’ve ordered coffee.’

  Carina waved a manicured hand in horror. ‘Oh, no! So bad for you! Green tea. Must have green tea.’ Zetterberg got up and went over to reception to change the order. Ridiculous that someone who smoked as much as Carina obviously did should pretend to be so health-conscious. She disliked the novelist even more.

  They sank into commodious, tan-leather seats. 'I love this place,' explained Carina as she glanced about, taking in the clutter surrounding her. Ships’ figureheads bent imperiously over the sofa backs, marble busts of naval personages gazed sightlessly from their plinths, model sailing ships of all sizes encased in glass adorned the wide window sills, and the walls were crammed with seascapes and marine memorabilia. 'There are ships everywhere throughout the hotel – in cases, in bottles, in paintings. It's fabulous. Even the bedrooms are named after seafarers. Mine's Kapten Lundh. Old photos of him, his ship and his wife in the room. It's my little getaway in town when I can't be bothered to go back home to Norra Lagnö. I was at a little soirée last night, and it was easier to put my head down here.'

  Just then a handsome young man in his mid-twenties with a clipped hipster beard and smart casual jacket and drainpipe trousers emerged from the lift. A broad smile crossed his face as he spotted Carina. He came over and bent down and offered an air kiss to each cheek.

  'Thank you for last night,' he grinned.

  'Thank you, darling.' Then she gave him a dismissive wave. 'Ciao.'

  After he left, Carina sank back into her chair. 'Fun but exhausting. Trouble is I can't remember his name. That's another advantage of coming here – I can spend a bit of quality time with people I don't want anywhere near my home. Don't want the neighbours to get the wrong impression.' I bet she doesn't, thought Zetterberg, who reflected once more on how badly she had done in that direction this weekend with an uncooperative Christer.

  Carina took off her sunglasses, blinking at the light coming through the window from the street outside, and secured them in her hair like a pair of headlamps. She had weathered well, thought Zetterberg. But then again, she could afford to. There had been rumours of Botox and possibly even more drastic action, but despite peering closely at her, Zetterberg couldn’t detect any signs of artificial rejuvenation, more’s the pity. She waited until they were served before starting the interview.

  ‘Let’s go through what you remember about the day Göran Gösta was killed.’

  Carina took a sip of her green tea and wrinkled up her nose at the same time. ‘Some days it’s a distant memory, and then others it’s like it all happened yesterday. I suppose it was like most days that summer. I did a bit of writing in the morning. I’d got a job in Malmö working for the commune. Secretarial sort of thing. Very dull. But I was writing on the side. That’s what I’d always wanted to do, and I was encouraged by my tutor.’ She suddenly put her tea cup down on her saucer with a flourish. ‘That’s right. There was a young detective on the case who was married to my tutor, Björn Sundström.’ Zetterberg was about to interrupt, as this was drifting away from the point. But she was glad she didn’t as Carina half-smiled to herself. ‘It was a bit awkward actually. I’d bonked her hubby a few times after tutorials.’ Zetterberg suppressed a grin. This was a nugget of gold which she would enjoy using at an opportune moment.

  ‘Can we get back to that day?’

  ‘Of course. In the afternoon, we had a barbecue, which went spectacularly wrong. Linus and Göran had this nasty bust-up. Mind you, it had been coming for some time.’

  ‘Larissa Bjerstedt told my officers that she thought things had begun to go wrong between them when you were all on Malta.’

  ‘Probably right,’ she waved a hand airily. ‘After the fracas on the beach, things were so flat that we just drifted back to the house.’

  ‘And at the time of the murder you were writing again?’

  ‘Yeah. I’d had a bit to drink, but sometimes intoxication produces a creative flow, and I just had to go with it.’

  ‘Which means you didn’t really have an alibi?’

  Carina pulled a face. ‘You sound like my detective, Erik Dahlberg. He’s always saying that.’ She leant across the coffee table and said in a confidential whisper: ‘And he could be saying it on TV soon. That’s why I’m looking all business-like today. I’m meeting a producer and TV executive in a couple of hours. Hush-hush, but I think a deal’s in the bag. It’ll do wonders for sales.’ Zetterberg thought it couldn’t be that hush-hush if Erlandsson had read about it on Lindvall’s website. ‘By the way, have you read any of my books?’

  ‘Yes,’ Zetterberg lied instinctively. ‘Very... erm... very realistic.’ Carina seemed extremely pleased.

  ‘If I’d known, I’d have brought along a signed copy of my latest.’

  ‘Anyhow, your boyfriend at the time, Lars-Gunnar, couldn’t vouch for you; isn’t that right?’

  Carina snorted. ‘You’re kidding. Darling Lars-Gunnar. He was probably out of his head at the time. I saw him through my window at some stage that evening zonked out in the garden.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘Yeah. He was getting worse then. In fact, that’s one of the reasons we split because I couldn’t cope with his habit. I couldn’t afford it!’ Zetterberg looked at her askance. ‘I was working and he wasn’t, so I was footing the bill. It hadn’t been too serious at first. Basically, we were all smoking something or other. Of course, it was Göran’s fault, and that’s why I was never that keen on him.’

  Zetterberg sensed this was an important moment and seized upon it. ‘You’re saying that it was Göran’s fault that Lars-Gunnar was so into drugs?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose it didn’t come out at the time. We were all pretty tight-lipped. Göran was Lars-Gunnar’s supplier.’

  Zetterberg sat upright. ‘So, Lars-Gunnar might have been out of his head that night. He could have done anything without even knowing what he was doing?’

  Carina’s mouth twitched. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Do you think Lars-Gunnar and Göran could have fallen out over the drugs? If he didn’t want to
ask you for more money – maybe he felt guilty about it – then it might have pushed your ex-boyfriend over the edge. Or Göran was asking too much, which Lars-Gunnar couldn’t afford?’ This could certainly put Lars-Gunnar in the frame.

  Carina looked pained. ‘Doubt it. He was too far gone that night.’

  ‘But presumably you didn’t see him all the time you were working?’ Carina’s silence did nothing to quell Zetterberg’s budding suspicions. She would let those thoughts marinate. ‘Why didn’t the drugs link come out in the original investigation?’

  Carina uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. There was still too much thigh on display. ‘I suppose we closed ranks. We were young and didn’t want these things to ruin potential careers. Ivar didn’t want Göran’s name dragged through the mud.’

  ‘Ivar? You mean he didn’t want to be associated with that sort of thing?’

  ‘You’re probably right. The Hagblom family were furious that their holiday home was being mentioned in the investigation. Throw in drugs, and the publicity would have damaged their name even more. The murder certainly didn’t get much coverage in the family’s newspapers.’ She paused before putting on a theatrical frown. ‘Of course, it was one of the Hagblom rags that broke the story about Linus being the killer, but I suppose they needed a scapegoat so that dear Ivar wasn’t tainted.’

  Zetterberg changed tack. ‘You know that Göran said something before he died?’

  ‘Did he? First I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘He mumbled something and then was heard saying: “burnt it”.’

  Carina registered puzzlement. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I was hoping you might know.’

  ‘Search me! Maybe Göran was referring to burning the meat on the barbecue,’ she joked. ‘He was crap at that. And he certainly had a weird sense of humour.’

  ‘I’m sure he wasn’t trying to be funny as he was staring death in the face,’ Zetterberg said severely. Carina was unabashed by the barb. ‘Let’s move on to Ivar,’ Zetterberg suggested as Carina took a more thoughtful sip of green tea. ‘He and Larissa Bjerstedt were in their room making love at the time of the murder.’

  ‘Yeah. They were always at it. Larissa was a bit of a screamer. Mind you, Ivar was always a bit of an athlete in that department.’ What made Zetterberg think that Carina had been on the receiving end of that athleticism? ‘He’s had as many marriages as I have, though I think he’s still with his second one. She’s very glam. But he was always tactical in his choices.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Someone this indiscreet was every detective’s dream.

  ‘Well, when he dumped poor old Larissa, he hitched up with the daughter of the head of his faculty at Lund. Did his prospects no end of good. And then, when she’d produced the family heir and spare, and he was on the television every five minutes, he found someone younger and more photogenic. Looks good to have someone like that on your arm at trendy dos: film galas, concerts, big academic shindigs and the like. We run into one another occasionally. We went to each other’s last book launches. Have to admit that I hadn’t read his. Some hefty tome about discontented Arabs. Of course, it’s been lauded to the skies, but his books haven’t been translated into as many languages as mine,’ she chortled throatily.

  Zetterberg drained her coffee. ‘OK. The investigation at the time concluded that it was Linus who was the murderer, which is what the press got hold of. But I hadn’t realized that there was the Hagblom connection. The papers at the time took the lovers’ quarrel angle.’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Carina rearranged her sunglasses ever so slightly as to make no difference. ‘Because Linus isn’t the murdering sort. He’s a nice guy. He couldn’t harm anyone. He might have been promiscuous – and I’m sure he still is – but that doesn’t make you a killer. His misfortune was that the one man he really did fall in love with turned out to be a complete twat. He was better off without him.’

  Zetterberg sighed. ‘We’d love to ask him for his version of events, but we’ve no idea where he is.’

  Carina gave a guttural laugh. ‘I have. He lives in my apartment on Malta.’

  CHAPTER 15

  ‘Anyhow, my mother rang me yesterday and apologized on behalf of my father. I’m sure he wasn’t aware that she was phoning me. She’d probably waited until he’d gone out.’ Hakim had run over the eventful meal with his parents and Liv once again while Anita listened patiently.

  ‘How did Liv take it?’

  Hakim shrugged. ‘Upset, naturally. Thinks my parents – or my father anyway – will never accept her.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘And I think she may be right.’

  ‘She’ll win them over,’ Anita said brightly. ‘She’s a lovely girl.’ Her enthusiasm wasn’t matched by what she really thought. She knew that Uday hadn’t been happy about Jazmin and Lasse. He’d come to terms with it grudgingly when they’d produced a granddaughter. But Hakim was his golden boy, despite a career in the police. Though he’d been westernized long before fleeing from Saddam Hussein’s Iraq to the safety of Sweden, Uday’s faith had remained strong, and some traditions were hard to break. He was also incredibly stubborn. It was a trait that his son had inherited, and Anita was sure there wouldn’t be a happy rapprochement any time soon.

  ‘Maybe you’re right. Anyhow, it’s not your worry. You’ve got your holiday to look forward to. Packed yet?’

  Anita grunted, ‘You’re kidding. Always last minute.’

  ‘What time’s the flight?’

  ‘Early. Can’t remember the time.’

  Hakim grinned. ‘So you’ll be gone before Björn turns up?’

  Anita grimaced. ‘Ah, you’ve heard about that.’

  ‘Jazmin.’

  ‘Moment of weakness. I’m letting him have the apartment while he’s visiting Leyla. And if he leaves it in more of a mess than I leave it in, then he’s in big trouble.’

  Just then Klara Wallen popped her head round the door.

  ‘Moberg wants us.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Anita.

  ‘Don’t know, but he’s got Eva Thulin with him so there’s likely to be a dead body involved.’

  Anita, Hakim, Klara Wallen and Pontus Brodd were all sitting in the meeting room when Moberg entered, with Eva Thulin trailing in his wake. Brief speculation beforehand was that it was something to do with the murder of a farmer near Höör that had been on the television that morning. Wallen had assured them that Kristianstad were handling that since the reorganization.

  ‘Morning,’ Moberg said curtly as Thulin and Anita exchanged smiles. Anita regarded Eva Thulin as the best forensic technician she’d worked with. She also liked her and often wished that they had mixed socially. It had never happened, and Anita knew that Thulin was happily married and probably didn’t want to spend her spare time with people connected with her often-gruesome job.

  Moberg stood at the end of the table. ‘I knew that Egon Fuentes was up to no good. Now we have confirmation. Eva has some interesting information for us.’

  The blonde Thulin was about to produce some photos from a bag and then thought better of it. ‘The Svarte crash a week ago resulted in four deaths: the driver of the train, and three people in the van that had stalled on the track. As you can imagine, the three inside were smashed up pretty badly. You can see the pictures after if you’re interested. The first one we were able to name was Egon Fuentes because he had identification on him. He was sitting in the passenger seat. We still don’t know who the other two are.’

  ‘So why are we here?’ This came from a lounging Brodd.

  ‘Just listen, will you,’ Moberg roared impatiently. Brodd appeared chastened. He sat up straight.

  ‘However,’ Thulin carried on, ‘we do know that the man in the driver’s seat was around his mid-thirties. He had nothing on him other than the clothes he was wearing, which were from a British store called BHS. The label on his shirt gave it away,’ she added with a self-deprecating
smirk. ‘The third body is the interesting one, because he was already a body before the crash.’

  ‘Already dead?’ asked Wallen.

  ‘Yes. He was the youngest of the three, in his early twenties possibly, and must have been lying in the back of the van. He had been badly beaten. Marks of trauma all over the head and upper torso. Obviously, it was difficult to find these initially given the state all the bodies were in after the accident. This young man had been beaten to death. Whether the other two were the perpetrators is up to you to decide. What does appear to have happened is that the two in the front of the van were driving the dead victim from one location to another, presumably away from where the murder took place.’

  ‘Do you know how long he’d been dead before the crash?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s difficult, Anita. But my guess it was some hours.’

  ‘Right,’ said Moberg, rubbing his gargantuan paws together gleefully, ‘we’ve got a murder on our hands. And it’s all tied up with my old pal Egon Fuentes.’

  Szabo and Erlandsson waited outside the Ystad post office building at the Lagmansgatan entrance. Vans came in and out of the low-slung, red-brick depot to collect fresh batches of mail. The supervisor had told them that Lars-Gunnar Lerstorp was due back just after twelve from his morning run. The officious little man had been worried when approached by the police, but Szabo had explained that it was merely a routine enquiry. As soon as the supervisor realized that the matter had nothing to do with the postal service, he was fine and left. The sun was out and the day was pleasant, so it was no hardship hanging around. Across the Kyrkogårdsgatan thoroughfare they could hear children playing in the pretty Norra Promenaden park. Szabo lit a cigarette and blew out the first satisfying lungful of smoke.