She was startled out of her reverie by her mobile phone ringing. She looked at the caller’s name. It was Kevin Ash. She hoped he had some real news, and that it wasn’t just some pretext to ring her.
‘Anita here.’
‘Hi. Can you speak?’
‘Yes.’
‘You might have to sit down, given what I have to tell you.’ She could hear the animation in his voice.
‘Just tell me.’
‘Nicky Pew is alive.’ At first, the words didn’t register. She found herself staring at the half-timbered facade of the Lilla Torg Steakhouse. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘That can’t be.’ Anita was absolutely stunned. Her mind had been so full of finding Greta Jansson’s murderer that she had filed away the Todd case in the “visit later” folder.
‘George Dobson recognized him in the photo you sent over. He’s one of the jazz trio. The drummer.’
Anita’s head was reeling. She couldn’t see how that was possible. Unless? ‘Deputy Chief Constable Weatherley?’
‘Oh, yes. He didn’t kill him at all.’
‘But he was so sure.’
‘I’ve been on to Australia. The body was never actually recovered from the sea. The local police had no reason to doubt Weatherley’s story, especially as he had been shot. He wasn’t wounded seriously, of course, but enough to make it all look and sound believable.’
Anita was frantically processing this astonishing information.
‘It makes total sense of everything.’ In his growing excitement, Ash’s words were running away with themselves. ‘Pew and Weatherley faked the death, Pew re-emerges as Peter Johansson a few years later, with the same wife, and hides away in Sweden. It would’ve stayed that way if it hadn’t been for the death of Doris Little and a tenacious heir hunter. Once Todd had found Carol and made the Nicky Pew connection, he must have checked the jazz photo out with Billy Hump, just as I did with Dobson this morning. Then he realized he’d hit his “jackpot”. With Nicky still alive, it didn’t take a genius to work out that he still had the diamond money – all the proceeds split one way, as he’d shopped his three accomplices to Weatherley, who emerges a hero. I suspect that Graeme Todd thought he could blackmail Nicky. Books into a posh hotel in Malmo because he thinks he’s about to make himself rich. Big mistake.’
‘So, he meets up with Nicky or Carol in Ystad,’ said Anita as she pieced together the story from the Swedish end. ‘They aren’t going to give him anything, let alone leave him alive to give them away. But they have to discover exactly what he knows, hence the torture. God, the severed hand. It’s probably no coincidence that Carol’s a butcher’s daughter.’
‘I bet they’ve got a boat.’
‘Well, yes. Carol said Peter had a boat moored in the harbour nearby. That’ll be how they got the body out to sea. In the meantime, they feed back the information they’ve extracted from Todd to Weatherley, and he tries to tie things up at the British end.’ Anita’s mind was still racing. ‘Kevin, you’ve done a fantastic job.’
‘Thanks.’ He sounded genuinely pleased at her congratulations.
Then she had a sudden thought.
‘Hakim!’
‘What?’
‘Look, I’ll ring you back soon. I’ve got to call a colleague before he does something stupid.’ The moment Ash rang off, she punched in Hakim’s mobile number.
Hakim glanced around him. No one was watching. He leapt over the small gap between the harbour wall and the stern of Diamanten. He had some difficulty regaining his balance as the boat rode on the lapping water. He was out of his comfort zone – dry land was his natural habitat. He ducked through the cabin door and found himself in the saloon area. It was not as luxurious as he had expected. Blue padded benches tightly abutted the legs of the vinyl-topped table. The galley was compact and functional. Beyond it was a high seat in front of the wheel and controls. Four paces took him to a step down, and into the bow area with a bedroom, and small shower room complete with basin and toilet. Somewhere on this boat Peter and Carol Johansson must have hidden Graeme Todd’s body. He was now convinced.
The local storekeepers hadn’t been much help. The New Zealander kept himself to himself, though he was always pleasant. But then, while he was having a coffee sitting on the harbour wall, Hakim had picked up an email on his mobile phone. It was from his police contact in New Zealand, and it brought him some startling news. Peter Johansson had been born in Auckland in 1955. And then he had died there in 1961. The Peter Johansson now living in Skåne was roughly the right age, and had obviously taken over the dead boy’s identity. Hakim had no inkling who he really was, but now he was sure that he was behind Todd’s death. Or certainly a party to it. He just couldn’t fathom a reason. All he knew was that Todd had been taken by boat to near the Öresund Bridge and thrown overboard. He could have been tortured anywhere – the Johanssons owned four houses, after all; they’d bought themselves real privacy, with no prying neighbours to worry about. But the boat was a fact, and Hakim just knew it was this boat.
By this time, he was sitting on the double bed in the bow end. He heard a car draw up. He peered through the thin, horizontal cabin window. Out of a green Saab stepped a figure he recognized from the photo in Ystads Allehanda. The blond quiff of the jazz drummer was unmistakable. He had no time to slip off the boat, as Johansson was a few metres from the stern. He quickly nipped into the shower room and sat on the toilet seat as quietly as he could. The boat lurched as Johansson stepped on board. He was whistling. Hakim held his breath as he heard footsteps approach his hiding place. The whistling continued just outside the door. Hakim thought he was going to be sick. Through the thin wall, he heard Johansson opening a cupboard in the bedroom. Retrieving something from the cupboard was hopefully the reason for his visit to the boat, and he would now leave. Hakim could hear him jump up the step and go back into the saloon. Further creaks confirmed that he was heading back off the boat. Hakim was about to breathe a sigh of relief when his mobile phone went off.
Anita only got Hakim’s answer phone. He would call back when he got the message. She started to worry. Where was he? She should never have let him go on his own. She should never have taken her eye off the Todd case. What a fool she was – and an unprofessional fool at that! By this time, she was moving through the crowds on Skomakaregatan and was soon in the wide thoroughfare of Södergatan. As she entered Gustav Adolfs Torg, she paused briefly to redial. Soon she was running, as fast as her boots would allow, along the canal back to the polishus. Her mind was whizzing ahead. She would have to get hold of a car, as Hakim had taken hers.
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 p
ermission 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.
Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Page 28
