Menace In Malmö Page 9

  ‘Why did you all go to Malta?’ Szabo queried.

  ‘Winter sun, basically. We’d all met up in Lund for New Year. After plenty of booze and moaning about Swedish winters, Ivar announced that he fancied going to Malta. So everybody else drunkenly agreed. We had a good time.’

  ‘Carina Lindvall has an apartment there,’ Erlandsson said.

  ‘Does she?’ Larissa seemed genuinely surprised.

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  Larissa shook her head.

  ‘Are you still in touch with any of the others?’ Szabo asked.

  She almost winced when replying. ‘No, not really. I did bump into Lars-Gunnar a few years ago in Triangeln. He had a little child in tow.’

  ‘He’s got two now.’

  ‘Lucky him.’

  ‘Got over his drug problems, too.’

  ‘Yes, I could see that. I was pleased for him. We did the usual thing of promising to meet up for a proper chat. But it never happened. You know how things drift.’

  ‘Carina?’

  ‘Carina Lindvall, Queen of Crime,’ she said mockingly. ‘She’s done all right for herself. I’ve not seen her since the Christmas after the murder. She split up with Lars-Gunnar shortly after that and disappeared up her own arse; or to Stockholm anyway. When I was working in public libraries, I used to have all these old dears coming up and asking if Carina’s latest gruesome crime book was out yet.’

  Szabo and Erlandsson exchanged a quick glance. Carina and Larissa must have fallen out.

  ‘And Ivar Hagblom? When did that finish?’ Szabo was intrigued as to how this would come out.

  Larissa smiled sweetly. ‘The following year. After the murder, I mean. I think it affected us all in different ways. Things could never be the same again. In my case with Ivar, it just came to a natural end. We wanted different things out of life. He had his sights set on stardom and has achieved it. He’s the darling of the press at the moment. They hang on his every word about all things Middle Eastern.’

  ‘Did you feel left behind?’

  ‘Why? The rarefied academic world he inhabits is not one I’d be comfortable in.’ Larissa gestured round the huge room. ‘This is more my style. A relatively new university without the pretensions of Lund and Uppsala.’

  ‘But didn’t you move to Uppsala University at the time Ivar was up there?’

  She shrugged. ‘It was just for a job. It didn’t work out, and I came back south. This is my town.’

  ‘And did you come across Ivar when you were up in Uppsala?’

  ‘A couple of times. But, as I’ve said, we’d moved on.’

  ‘Any contact since then?’

  ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘Look, he was married by then and starting a family. That wasn’t anything I was interested in. Still not. His wives would hardly have been ecstatic to have an ex-girlfriend sending Christmas cards or emails or whatever. I had a great time with Ivar, but it was never going to last. And I’m pleased he’s done well because he deserves it. He’s a good guy.’

  ‘And Linus? Did you come across him after the murder?’

  ‘Yeah, we kept in touch. I felt sorry for him. I thought Göran was a shit the way he treated him. If you want me to be blunt, I never really liked Göran, but I put up with him because he was Ivar’s friend. But I found him manipulative. I always felt he was using Ivar. And I only think he hooked up with Linus so he could become part of Ivar’s gang.’

  Szabo scribbled furiously in his notebook. Erlandsson took over. ‘So, you kept in touch with Linus while he was here in Malmö?’

  ‘That’s right.’ She started to toy with the cord that secured her glasses. ‘For a while, anyway. I was probably the only one. Even Ivar dropped him after the press came out with all the stuff from the police investigation.’

  ‘We heard about that,’ Erlandsson confirmed.

  ‘Then a couple of years later, he skipped town when one of the papers revealed where he lived. It was horrid. We lost contact.’

  ‘So, you don’t know where he is now?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  Szabo flicked his notebook shut. ‘Oh, one last thing. Göran’s last intelligible words were “burnt it”. Do they mean anything to you?’

  Larissa was surprised. ‘Who did he speak to? We heard he was dead when he was found by that kid.’

  ‘That kid, Kurt Jeppsson, has now changed his story. Does “burnt it” ring any bells?’ It came out more forcefully than Szabo had intended.

  ‘No. Sorry. I can’t think what it refers to.’

  Szabo didn’t bother hiding his disappointment. ‘Do you think Linus killed Göran?’

  ‘Ah.’ Larissa paused for quite some moments before speaking. ‘Time gives you a different perspective on the past. When it all happened, and during the aftermath, I couldn’t believe that one of the group could have done it. But now? Well... because I’m sure it wasn’t any of us other four, I think it must have been Linus.’

  Larissa watched the two detectives leave. After they’d gone, she wandered over to the window and gazed across the still water towards the imposing Post Office building and the Central Station tucked in behind. The road was busy; the noise and frenzy in stark contrast to the quiet inside. She surveyed the room briefly before slipping her glasses back on and taking out her mobile phone. She flicked through the numbers in her phonebook and selected one.

  For a while her thumb was poised above the keypad, and then she pressed decisively and put the mobile to her ear. It rang a few times before it was answered.

  ‘Larissa here. We’ve got to talk.’

  CHAPTER 12

  Zetterberg snapped off a row of Marabou fruit and nut chocolate. She had bought a big bar at the Co-op store at the Central Station before boarding the train. She knew she shouldn't because she was always conscious of her weight, but this was a treat. It went nicely with the coffee she'd bought from the refreshment car in the next wagon. As she savoured the indulgence, trying not to get slivers of chocolate on her immaculately pressed trouser suit, she noticed the royal crest and the words “Purveyor to the Royal Court of Sweden” on the wrapper. They had good taste. Unlike a number of her contemporaries, she was a royalist. That had been the source of a number of early arguments at the Police Academy with Anita Sundström, the lefty republican. Ignorant slut! As far as Zetterberg was concerned, there was no place for officers with Sundström's views in the force. She'd even heard that Sundström's son was living with an immigrant. That just shows what could happen when subversive views were given free rein. This was a Sweden that had to be protected from unacceptable outside influences. That's why she had been quite happy to help in the cover up of Albin Rylander's death. She felt a wave of anger well up inside her as she thought about Sundström. Only another two rows of chocolate managed to restore her equilibrium.

  Zetterberg became aware that her phone was ringing. She’d dozed off somewhere after Nässjo. The call was from Szabo. He was reporting in after his interview with Larissa Bjerstedt. She knew that he and Erlandsson weren't happy that she had used the other suspects as an excuse for a weekend away in the capital. Well, they would have to live with that because, quite frankly, she didn't care one jot what they thought. The sooner they realized that, the sooner they'd do things her way.

  The call itself wasn't promising. Larissa Bjerstedt had stuck to the story she'd told twenty-one years ago. She had appeared to be on reasonable terms with Ivar Hagblom despite their split, which had been entirely amicable. She could check that out when she talked to Ivar on Monday. Larissa hadn’t been in touch with any of the others for a number of years, though she had once bumped into Lars-Gunnar Lerstorp. And she seemed to have been the only one to remain friendly with Linus Svärd after the murder, but hadn’t seen or heard from him after he’d left Malmö for good a couple of years later. She certainly didn’t know where he was now. The only remark of any real interest was that she indicated that she now believes that Li
nus was Göran’s killer.

  Zetterberg wasn't sure what she had hoped for, but it wasn't this. She so needed Sundström to be wrong! The train glided into Norrköping, and her bitterness almost overwhelmed her. The surroundings were all too familiar. This was where she had wasted herself on her brief marriage to Arne, and then been stuck in a city that had seen her career and love life stall simultaneously. And she had spent all those useless, fruitless, listless years building up the case in her mind against Anita Sundström, whose selfish action had been the cause of her misfortune. But they say revenge is best served cold, and she was not going to miss this chance of dishing hers out.

  After the last few months Danny wasn’t afraid of hard graft. Bending down wasn’t difficult, especially as he knew he wouldn’t be beaten up afterwards if he hadn’t put in enough effort or had upset McNaught and his nutcase pals. And by picking the small field of potatoes, he was doing something to repay Leif’s kindness. With the sun on his back, he felt good, even if his body still ached from its recent ravages. The bruises still hadn’t faded, and at some angles he still had the occasional twinge that caught his breath, especially the ache in his chest. But physically he felt better than he had for a long time. Yet he couldn’t help stopping regularly and glancing around to see if anybody was about. He couldn’t strip the fear away and think clearly about what he should do. He mentally measured how far the edge of the wood was from his position in the field just in case he had to make a dash for cover.

  He tossed the plant heads to one side after scraping off as much earth from the potatoes as possible before lobbing them into a large box. He wiped the sweat off his brow. Leif had been touched that he’d wanted to give a hand. He indicated that his grandson used to come and help, but he’d turned into a lazy so-and-so. In their fleeting time together, Danny had grown fond of the old man. They had sat outside the previous evening watching the sun going down and had gone through the whisky that Danny had left after his kitchen raid. Leif had produced some old photographs of his family when he was younger. His wife had been sturdy rather than pretty, but he could see the old man’s eyes moisten when he looked at the pictures of her round the farm and with his daughter in her arms. He kept lapsing into Swedish and then would suddenly apologize, though it wasn’t needed. Danny felt a connection he had never had with his own father. And he knew it was going to be hard to leave because this was the sort of place he could rebuild his life, albeit temporarily. But he also knew he had to make his move before Sunday and the arrival of Leif’s daughter. The problem was that he wasn’t sure where in Sweden he actually was. He couldn’t find any maps or an atlas in the house. He had asked Leif in a vague kind of way so as not to alert him, and the farmer had mentioned some names of places close by. They meant nothing to Danny. He hadn’t strayed too far from the farm or the protective covering of the forest, so he wasn’t sure where the nearest main road was, or whether there were any buses. And, of course, he had no money. Jack had had the little they’d gathered together for their escape, and McNaught had found that. He could try and hitch a lift, but that might be dangerous. And where would he ask to go? He guiltily thought about Leif’s battered Volkswagen in the barn. He knew where the keys were kept. That would get him out of here. Then he could just dump it for someone to pick up and return. Leave a note in it with Leif’s name on. But after all that the old man had done for him, it would be such a betrayal. Was there any other way? As he bent down to continue the row, he realized that it was his only option. But when?

  CHAPTER 13

  Hakim was nervous. Today was the first time that his parents had invited Liv to come and have a meal with them at their home in Sofielund. They’d met Liv before for a tense fika in Möllevångstorget but since then, he’d kept her away from them and their disapproval. And then a sudden invitation. He wondered if his sister Jazmin was behind the offer; Lasse had now been grudgingly accepted after they had produced a beautiful granddaughter. Though Hakim’s natural inclination had been to refuse, Liv’s enthusiasm won over his scepticism. She said she was up to meeting his parents again, and he prayed that her natural ebullience would sway them. He really wanted them to see what he loved about her.

  But he had somewhere to go first. Earlier that morning over a late breakfast, he’d had a call from Reza. Reza was an old school friend from his Rosengård days who had ended up on the other side of the tracks. Officially, he ran a second-hand store beyond Värnhem, but Hakim knew that it was really a front for all sorts of other activities, mainly illegal. In short, Reza was a cheery, low-level fence. His brushes with the law were minor, and Hakim had occasionally turned a blind eye in return for information. Reza kept his ear to the ground and had been useful in the past. And Hakim liked him. And Reza liked Jazmin and had been very disappointed when she had ended up with Lasse.

  Reza’s shop was packed: dilapidated furniture, electricals that had seen better days, mismatched crockery, a couple of racks of motley clothing, tasteless knick-knacks, stacks of moth-eaten books and magazines, and rows of DVDs and CDs. There was no way he could make an honest living out of all this junk. But he had a sleek car sitting out on the road, and he was well dressed in expensive jeans and an open-necked, short-sleeved white shirt. His dark hair was slicked back and his demeanour relaxed when Hakim found him sitting in an armchair with a smartphone clamped to his ear. A huge grin crossed his face as he saw his friend walk through the door. There were no other customers. Reza jumped out of his seat and waved Hakim in as he finished his conversation.

  ‘Just business,’ he explained with a smile as he flipped the phone into his shirt pocket. He was shorter than the tall Hakim and he looked up to him as they shook hands.

  ‘And how is business?’ Hakim said with a smirk as he glanced round the shop.

  ‘Busy.’ The surroundings suggested anything but. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No thanks. Going to my parents. Taking Liv round.’

  Reza’s mouth twisted in a grimace. ‘Is this the white girl I heard you were knocking around with?’

  ‘Yes. Liv’s a colleague.’

  ‘Muslim?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Again Reza’s face contorted. ‘Tricky. Mind you, that lovely sister of yours has pulled it off with that lanky fellow. Kid as well. Oh, of course, it’s Uncle Hakim now! Suits you,’ he said, giving Hakim a playful slap on his shoulder.

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got long, Reza.’

  ‘Right.’ Despite the fact that the shop was empty, he lowered his voice. ‘I’ve heard that there’s a guy trying to get hold of a shooter.’

  ‘And that’s news?’ There were so many illegal guns floating around Malmö that someone trying to get hold of one more wouldn’t make much difference.

  ‘This guy’s not the usual sort.’

  ‘Reza, you’re not selling are you?’

  Reza held up his hands in shock. ‘How could you think such a thing? Not everything I do is legit, I admit, but nothing that heavy.’

  ‘OK.’ Hakim wasn’t totally convinced that Reza’s protestations were genuine. ‘So, what’s different about this man?’

  ‘As I said, he’s not the usual sort. Gang stuff and all that. It sounds like... from what I heard on the grapevine…’ he added quickly, ‘he’s from the UK. Really hard-looking fella. Scar on his cheek. Not someone to be messed with. Again, that’s what I’ve been told.’

  This was intriguing. ‘And what sort of gun did he want? Sawn-off shot gun? Automatic weapon?’

  ‘Hand gun. Untraceable. Money no problem.’

  ‘And did whoever passed on the news to you know whether he’s succeeded in buying one?’

  ‘I swear he didn’t get it from here, but I heard he got what he wanted.’

  Liv had made a real effort. She’d eschewed her usual plait and let her blonde hair cascade naturally. She’d put on a pink, summery dress, making sure it wasn’t too short. She knew she hadn’t really got the legs for it, but it made a change from the trousers she usually hid
them in. Her service uniform was a great cover for her fuller figure. After the awkward fika, she was hoping for an easier ride this time. Maybe the Mirzas had come round to the idea that Hakim was dating someone from outside their community. However, from the moment she entered the apartment, the conversation had been stilted. Liv had tried her best to be her natural vivacious self, but it had been hard work with the three of them – Uday, Amira, and a surprisingly uncommunicative Hakim. She had complimented Amira on the wonderful meal and the Middle Eastern décor of the apartment; she had told Uday how much his son was respected in the force, all of which seemed to briefly please the parents. Though not asked, she had resorted to telling them about her family, and her brother who lived in Helsingborg with her two nephews; about her upbringing and schooling in Halmstad, and her joining the police after her father, a serving officer, had died of cancer at a relatively young age. Her mother had died when she was ten. This had brought sympathetic sighs from Amira. Though Hakim’s parents seemed like nice people, Liv was struggling and was hoping the lunch would end soon.

  Out of the blue, Uday turned to his son. ‘And are you intending to marry this young lady?’

  Hakim was as stunned as Liv. For a few moments he was speechless.

  ‘Father, that’s not something you should be asking.’

  ‘And why not?’

  Liv could see that Hakim was now seething. However, she felt it wasn’t her place to intervene.

  ‘What we decide will be up to us, and no one else.’ Hakim was trying to control his temper. ‘Is it because Liv is white? Or not a Muslim? It’s all right for Jazmin but not for me; is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘No, no,’ Amira interceded. Whether or not she had been aware that Uday was going to spring such a question on Hakim, she could see that it had gone horribly wrong. ‘Your father is concerned, that’s all.’