‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ weighed in Moberg. He pushed away an empty pizza box. He had finished Wallen’s leftovers.
‘Do you hope to get anything of any use from the English police?’ he asked Anita with a stifled yawn. She reflected ruefully that he couldn’t possibly be as tired as her – she’d been up since half past one that morning.
‘We can only hope so. I certainly think that the key to the mystery lies in England, even if the murderers are over here.’
Moberg thoughtfully drummed his thick fingers on the table top. ‘Well, I suggest you bugger off over there and see what you can dig up.’
CHAPTER 18
It would be a couple of days before Anita could get clearance to go to England and start prying into Graeme Todd’s life. It had to be sanctioned officially through Commissioner Dahlbeck in Malmö and the Chief Constable in Cumbria. No one wanted to be seen stepping on anybody’s toes. Dahlbeck was already worried that they had a dead British citizen on their hands. The Mayor wanted a quick resolution. That wasn’t going to happen. There was also Jennifer Todd to deal with, as she was flying over to officially identify the body. She was glad that Nordlund would be able to help soon even if it meant the loathsome Westermark would be involved as well. With no leads, they needed the full team on this case.
She had decided to go to Ystad herself. That was where Todd had last been seen. Hakim was going through hours of CCTV footage from various vantage points in Malmö. They had gone for the obvious locations like Triangeln, all the major squares, the Central Station and the busiest shopping streets, plus the two places they knew he had visited before – the main library and Malmöhus. A couple of the polishus IT staff had been commandeered to help, despite the protests of the head of the IT department. After having marched into Moberg’s office to complain, he had left, ashen-faced, five minutes later. Wallen was designated to meet Jennifer Todd at Kastrup Airport and take her directly to the morgue in Lund for her last meeting with her husband.
Anita wasn’t quite sure what her own trip would achieve. She knew Ystad well, having being brought up in Simrishamn half an hour along the coast. When she was a teenager, Ystad had been the biggest place to go and hang out with her friends. She realized that she was unlikely to pick up any fresh clues. Hakim and Wallen would have done a thorough job. Maybe she could discover a bit more about what made Graeme Todd tick. Other than the conclusions she had drawn from his photograph, and the tit-bit about his obsessions, she wanted to hear from Jennifer Todd what he was really like. Build up a picture of the man. What motivated him? Was he headstrong? Or obdurate? Or a dreamer? Or a gambler by nature? Was he aware of the potential danger he was obviously facing, or had he naïvely walked into a situation that he had no idea could be perilous? Whatever his character, the overriding question remained – what was it about the estate of Doris Little that could have led to Todd’s gory ending?
As Anita parked her green Peugeot opposite Ystad station, her mobile sprang into life. The moment she answered it, she wished she’d checked the caller first so she could have ignored it.
‘Björn, what do you want?’
‘Have you heard anything about Greta?’
Anita slammed the car door rather too firmly with her left hand.
‘Nothing. I’ve got my hands full with a murder case. I haven’t the time.’
‘Shouldn’t it be official by now? Greta’s been missing for nearly a fortnight.’
‘Look, Björn, I can’t make it official as her family hasn’t reported her missing. The school hasn’t either. Do you want to, as her boyfriend?’ She couldn’t help the scorn.
All she could hear was breathing at the other end of the phone.
‘I’ve spoken to Ulrika.’
‘Who’s Ulrika?’ She didn’t bother disguising her impatience. She hadn’t time for this.
‘Greta’s best friend at university. Lives in Stockholm. She’s in some sort of business now.’ This rang a bell.
‘And?’
‘She was down in Malmö on September 28th. The Friday that Greta was last at the school. Ulrika had arranged to hook up with Greta for a drink but her meeting overran and she couldn’t make it. But she phoned her while Greta was waiting in the bar. She might have been the last person to speak to her before she went missing.’
‘Which bar?’
‘Ulrika wasn’t sure, but she was pretty sure it was in Lilla Torg. The point is, she hasn’t heard from Greta since.’
Anita sighed. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing much I can do at the moment. As I say, we’ve got this murder case on and I’ve got to go over to England in a couple of days. Don’t know how long I’ll be away.’
‘I’m getting desperate.’ He didn’t have to say it. It came through in his voice. It was so pathetic. But she didn’t feel any pity for him – she despised him for being so weak. She just wanted the call to end.
‘All I can do is mention it to a colleague.’ Nordlund was aware of the situation, and she was sure that he would keep an eye on things as a favour to her. ‘If he hears anything, he can contact me.’
‘Thanks, Anita.’ She was about to end the call. ‘Ask your colleague to try and answer the question that’s been driving me crazy. Who was the man who rang the school to say she wasn’t going back?’
By the time she entered Fridolfs café, the sun had elbowed its way through the bank of cloud cover that had blanketed the sky for the entire morning. It had made for a gloomy wander round the old town. All she had done was visit the sights that any Henning Mankell fan would have on their hit list of places associated with the Kurt Wallander books. She preferred British crime novels herself. The cops, like their real counterparts, weren’t so hidebound by rules. Rules were the plague of Swedish policing – and Swedish life. During her year with the Metropolitan Police, she had become aware of how much Swedes were governed by accepted norms. She had been appalled, yet strangely envious, at the way Met officers blithely bent or ignored the rules to achieve results. Westermark was the nearest thing her department had to a British detective.
Standing in Mariagatan, the real street where the fictional Kurt Wallander lived, it was its ordinariness that brought back memories of her first home with Björn. A red-brick block stuffed with apartments full of anonymous people living their own lives and rarely acknowledging their neighbours. Yet she had been so happy because she was sharing her life with a charming, charismatic man who worshipped her.
She was annoyed with Björn for hassling her but, more irritatingly, she found herself thinking about Greta Jansson rather than concentrating on Graeme Todd. Despite trying to convince herself that there must be a perfectly logical explanation for her disappearance, too many questions kept surfacing. Greta’s sudden departure from the school, the empty apartment with the well-stocked fridge, the appearance of her “father”, and no contact with her supposed best friend. Another niggle was that for all his protestations and obvious worry, Björn wasn’t telling her the whole truth.
Seated at her table by the window looking out over the square packed with parked cars, a fresh coffee and a large piece of moist carrot cake in front of her, Anita had firmly brought her thoughts back to the matter in hand. She had already asked a member of staff about Graeme Todd and showed them his picture. She had got the same information that Hakim and Wallen had gleaned – Todd had been in the café and had left at about one-thirty.
She tucked into her cake with some glee. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. A crumb landed on the picture of Graeme Todd that was laid in front of her. She brushed it away.
‘I recognize him.’
CHAPTER 19
The man who hovered over Anita’s shoulder was pointing to the photocopied photograph of Graeme Todd. He was a tall man wearing clean, blue overalls, and with a neat ginger beard.
‘Saw him in here about a week ago.’
Anita’s heart began to race. ‘What day, exactly?’
The man stroked his beard thoughtfully.
‘Wednesday. Last Wednesday. I sometimes come in here at lunchtime when I’ve got a job on in Ystad. I’m an electrician,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘I was doing a job over the road. Down on the docks.’
‘And this would have been about half past one?’
‘Yeah. I noticed him because he was talking in English to the girl at the counter.’
‘Did you see him leave?’
‘Yeah. He went over there.’ The man pointed out of the window at the square.
‘What direction did he go in?’
‘No, he was just standing there. On the other side of the road.’
Anita stared out over the cobblestoned road to the cars parked beyond.
‘Looked like he was waiting for someone. I remember he glanced at his watch.’
‘Did someone pick him up?’
‘Presumably. He was there for a few minutes, I think. But I was busy eating and reading my paper. When I glanced up, he was gone.’
‘You didn’t see a car leaving the square?’
‘There are cars coming and going all the time. Sorry.’
Anita’s initial excitement was swiftly dampened.
‘Did he have anything with him? Like a computer?’
‘He had one of those fancy bags slung over his shoulder. Could have had a laptop in it.’
Jennifer Todd was a plump woman. She had short, wiry, grey hair. That surprised Anita. It was usually the woman who hid the grey, not the man. It was the other way round with the Todds. She was sensibly dressed for the weather in black trousers, a thick, brown polo-neck jersey and stout leather shoes. This was a woman who was used to spending a lot of time on her feet. There was a complete absence of jewellery and very little evidence of make-up. She had none of her husband’s vanity. Anita could imagine that the brown eyes behind the spectacles were quick to smile, given the right opportunity. This wasn’t one of those times. Anita had met her at the polishus. Wallen had said that fru Todd had been very quiet while identifying her husband’s body. Though noticeably shocked by the injuries, there had been no histrionics, no crying. They were reserved for Anita, who’d taken her home to give her something to eat. Sitting in the car outside her apartment in Roskildevägen, Jennifer Todd had suddenly let out all her pent-up emotion. Tears streamed down her cheeks like the rivulets of rain running down the windscreen.
A cup of tea helped, though she only picked at the salad that Anita had hurriedly concocted out of leftovers in the fridge. She was being kind out of pity, but also she was being pragmatic; she had reasoned that she would get more information out of Jennifer in a domestic setting rather than in the intimidating and impersonal atmosphere of police headquarters.
‘How could they do such awful things to him?’ As a nurse she was only too aware of the damage that had been done. ‘And his...’ She couldn’t say the word. She had seen many serious injuries over the years. Car accidents, limbs lost in machinery; even once, someone trampled by a herd of cows. But it was the sheer brutality of the missing hand that was beyond her comprehension.
‘I know it’s early, but would you like a glass of wine?’
Jennifer Todd gave Anita a grateful smile and nodded.
Anita got up and went into the kitchen. She came back with a bottle and a couple of glasses. ‘I’m afraid I’ve only got red.’
‘That’s fine, thank you.’ Anita filled the two glasses. ‘You’ve been very kind, Anita. Right from the beginning.’
No, I haven’t, Anita thought ruefully. I thought Graeme had deserted you. The only consolation was that it had probably been too late to help Todd by the time she took the call from his wife. She wouldn’t have been able to prevent his death even if she’d acted straight away.
Anita sat opposite the shaken woman. ‘I’m afraid we’re no further forward in our investigation. Though I did learn today that it appears that Graeme was waiting for someone in Ystad. But who he met or where he was taken, we have no idea. We need your help.’
‘I’ll do anything. You know that.’
‘Maybe now is not the right time.’
Jennifer Todd fixed Anita with a steely gaze. ‘No. Nothing can be any worse than in that morgue today. Anita, you must catch whoever did those dreadful things to Graeme. Now is the right time.’ She stifled a sob.
Anita cleared away the meal before they sat down together on the day bed in the living room.
‘I want to get an idea of what Graeme was like. As we have so little to go on, maybe there’s something about his character – or something from his past – that might shed light on what went on here. You said yourself that you can’t explain how he ended up staying at the Hilton. That seems to have been out of character.’
Jennifer Todd stared at the half-empty wine glass on the wooden coffee table in front of her.
‘It wasn’t really out of character as such,’ she said slowly. ‘It was more down to economics. It’s not what we could afford. My salary at the Cumberland Infirmary isn’t bad. But since Graeme gave up teaching, he hasn’t made that much as an heir hunter. We’re comfortable. We were comfortable,’ she said suddenly realizing that she was talking as though her husband were still alive. Then, for a moment, a hint of a smile flickered across her face. ‘Graeme’s mum always said he should have been born a duke. He had expensive tastes, but we never had the money to indulge them.’
‘So, the fact that he thought that this trip to Sweden was the “jackpot”, in his words, would particularly appeal to him.’
‘I suppose so. He gave up teaching history because he thought there was more to life than dealing with kids who had no interest in the past. History was a passion of his and that’s why he first went into genealogy. Tracing family trees and that sort of thing. He loved it, but there wasn’t much money in it. Then he moved on to probate research. It was a natural progression, as you use many of the same research techniques and sources to trace the families of those who’ve died intestate. The heir hunting produced a better financial return on his time, though it was a bit hit-and-miss. He was always delighted when he managed to make a successful claim to the Treasury on behalf of the relatives he’d found. But often he might put in weeks of work for nothing. Either he couldn’t find anybody, or another company had beaten him to it. It can be a very competitive business. He was a one-man band up against quite large firms with massive research resources. Or, sometimes the people he’d found decided to put in a claim on their own, cutting out the heir hunter and his percentage. That would really anger him, as often they hadn’t even been aware of their connection to the dead person in the first place. Just greed on their part.’
‘Was he a driven person?’
Jennifer Todd took a sip of wine before answering.
‘Yes. He was very dedicated to his work. Once he got his teeth into a project, he wouldn’t let go.’
‘And as a husband?’
She didn’t answer immediately. ‘We rubbed along together. It wasn’t the most romantic of marriages. We married quite late. We met when he was still teaching in Wigton. I was thirty-eight by then, Graeme forty. Not love’s young dream.’ She touched her wedding ring thoughtfully. ‘Twenty-one years. I was going to retire next year so I could help him with the business.’
‘Have you any family?’
‘You mean kids?’ She sighed. ‘I would have liked to be a mum. But by the time I married, it was too late really. As a nurse, I’ve seen the problems some older mothers have had. And their newborns. Not that we ever discussed it. I don’t think Graeme would have been interested anyway.’
For a moment, Anita wondered where the hell her own “kid” was. She hadn’t seen him all day. He was still in bed when she left for Ystad that morning and he wasn’t around when she had returned with Mrs Todd.
‘And how would you describe Graeme to someone who didn’t know him?’
‘His character? I haven’t really thought about that for a long time. You just get so used to each other that...’ She started to fiddle with her wedding ring
again. ‘He was considerate. At times. Didn’t have much of a sense of humour. You know at work we’re always having a laugh. Nurses together tend to be silly. Laugh at suggestive things. Probably a coping mechanism. Graeme didn’t like that sort of thing. Bit of a prude, actually. Stubborn, too. Once he got a bee in his bonnet. Never liked to admit he was wrong.’
‘I know a few people like that.’
‘A little conceited, perhaps. Pedantic. Oh, dear! I don’t seem to be painting a very good picture. But Graeme was loyal... very loyal. And I know he loved me. Not in a demonstrative way. He wasn’t tactile. But we were right for each other. That’s all I can say.’
‘Thank you, Jennifer. I know it’s difficult, but everything you tell me is useful.’ Anita glanced at her guest’s nearly empty glass. ‘Some more?’
‘No, thank you. I’m not really a drinker. Graeme liked the odd pint at the Queen’s Head. That’s the village pub.’
‘You say Graeme was stubborn. I know this isn’t easy, but do you think he was the type of person to be strong, even if he was being threatened?’
Her head jerked up. ‘You mean the horrible things they did to him?’
Anita nodded.
‘He was certainly pig-headed. He wouldn’t be bullied. And he wasn’t afraid to upset people. Some of the decisions he made as chairman of the Parish Council didn’t go down too well in the village. Whatever these people wanted, Graeme wouldn’t... you know...’
‘I understand.’ Anita looked around for her snus tin. She must have left it in her bag. It would have to wait. ‘You mentioned about probate companies in competition for business.’
Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Page 9
