Meet me in Malmö: The first Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries)

by MacLeod, Torquil

  ‘There wasn’t one.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end. ‘Ooohhh, dear.’

  ‘Extenuating circumstances.’

  ‘They’d better be good or Brian is going to twist your balls off.’

  ‘They are very good but I had better tell him first. Is he in?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll put you through. Good luck.’

  Ewan waited for a moment as Mary put him through. An upbeat sounding Brian came on the phone.

  ‘Was it great? I’ve already got some smashing photos off the Internet of that Malin babe.’

  ‘Well, you can still use them.’

  Brain’s tone changed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She did. I didn’t get the interview.’

  ‘You fucking what!’ exploded Brian at the other end. ‘I send you all the way to fucking Scandinavia and you have the bottle to tell me you didn’t get the fucking interview.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘You told me you fucking could!’

  ‘I couldn’t get the interview because Malin Lovgren is dead.’ There was silence at the other end of the line. ‘She has just been murdered.’

  Brian came back to life. ‘Murdered?’

  ‘Yes. Last night. Erm…I found the body this morning.’

  There was a bark of laughter. ‘You’re making this up.’

  ‘Brian, it’s the truth. I turned up this morning to interview Roslyn and there’s Malin Lovgren lying on the floor, dead as a doornail. I’ve been interviewed by the police. That’s where the problem lies – or one of them.’

  ‘They don’t think you’ve done it?’

  ‘I bloody hope not. No, they’ve said I’ve got to stay on. I don’t know for how long. But I’ll be back as quick as I can. I’ll do that travel piece, though.’

  ‘Did this character Roslyn do it? It’s usually the husband in these things.’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘Who do the police think it is?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  There was a pause. Ewan could hear Brian’s breathing, which was just loud enough to cover the sound of the cogs turning in Brian’s head.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s ok.’

  Ewan was genuinely surprised. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked guardedly.

  ‘No. I want you to follow up this story. The murder of a glamorous film star is always good news.’

  ‘No one in Newcastle will have heard of her.’

  ‘Not the point. Not the point. Famous Geordie director’s beautiful actress wife is murdered.’

  ‘No one has heard of him either.’

  ‘No matter. We’ll big him up…say he’s the Swedish Hitchcock or something. And you are at the heart of it. You found the body. This is fantastic! You can get an interview with your mate, but now the angle is the grieving director. All that shit.’

  ‘Brian, I just want to get out of here as fast as I can. I don’t want to get mixed up in all this beyond giving the police a statement or whatever they want from me. Then I want to piss off home.’

  ‘Forget that, sunshine. We can really make something out of this.’ It was “we” now. ‘This will put those tosspot editors’ noses out of joint and will impress upstairs.’ Ewan didn’t have to see Brian to know that he was already envisaging himself taking up the reins of one the group’s flagship publications.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said doubtfully.

  ‘Look, you’re always moaning on that you wanted to be a crime reporter. Well, here’s a crime so fucking report it! But I want everything to come through me. All the inside info. One or two of the nationals might report it, but I want you to delve deep. Dig up the dirt.’ The excitement was rising in his voice. ‘Glamour, beautiful couple, films, Sweden, sex – if you can find some of that it would be helpful.’

  Ewan couldn’t believe he was having to listen to all this. Brian was talking like some hot-shot newspaperman in the movies, not a half-baked editor of a crappy little provincial magazine.

  ‘Brian, the Novo isn’t that sort of publication.’

  ‘Leave that to me. Might have to push it through one of the other papers, but it’s our scoop.’ After the newly energized Brain had rung off and disappeared into his fantasy world, Ewan was left to reflect on what lay ahead. It made him nervous.

  Bengt Valquist always wore a worried expression. Mick had always assumed it came with the territory. A film’s producer had a lot on his plate. He was in charge of every practical detail from raising the finance to trying to ensure a film’s shoot passed with as little hassle as possible. He had to think on his feet. React to each new disaster, each unreasonable demand. Organizing the location caterers one minute, soothing a temperamental star’s ego the next. He was good at these things, which was why Mick had taken the bright, enthusiastic, young graduate from Lund University, keen to make his name in the movie business, under his wing. Valquist had quickly proved himself and worked his way up in Roslyn’s production company, R&L Films. He had produced Roslyn’s last three films and was as much part of the team as Mick and Malin. He was good at spotting talent, too. It was he who had unearthed Tilda Tegner at some small theatre group in Stockholm. They were an item now. Valquist’s face was riddled with concern as he watched Mick pace round the bedroom of his apartment.

  ‘Come and stay with me in Lund?’ He spoke in Swedish.

  Mick stopped and gazed out of the window. He had returned to the apartment to await Valquist’s arrival, but he knew he couldn’t remain as this was now an official murder scene.

  ‘Tonight, if that’s ok.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Mick absent-mindedly ran his fingers through his hair.

  ‘Why? What had Malin done to anyone?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing, I’m sure’

  Valquist got out his mobile phone. Mick turned round and saw him.

  ‘Tilda. I’ve been trying to get hold of her. Hasn’t been answering. Probably shopping. You know what she’s like.’

  Mick didn’t answer. He was battling to keep his emotions in check.

  ‘The police? Any ideas?’

  Mick shook his head. Valquist took off his spectacles and twiddled them nervously in his hands.

  ‘As I was driving over here all sorts of thoughts kept turning over in my mind. And there was one that I couldn’t get rid of. The project.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Valquist had caught Mick’s attention.

  ‘You know. We’ve been treading on dangerous ground.’

  ‘No. No, there can’t be a connection.’

  ‘We’re getting in pretty deep. There are people out there who might want to make sure that it never comes out.’

  ‘After all this time?’

  ‘It may have happened over twenty years ago, but the guy who pulled the trigger may still be out there.’ Valquist put his spectacles back on and blinked. ‘Getting to Malin is a good way of…’

  ‘Shutting me up?’

  Anita had taken a moment to call Sandra on her mobile to tell her that she wouldn’t be able to come over the next day either as all leave was cancelled. Sandra had seen Moberg on the TV calling for witnesses. Despite saying how dreadful it all was Anita could tell that Sandra sounded almost excited. Anita was always amazed at the public’s morbid delight in murder – they never had to see the bodies.

  After she’d finished Olander informed her that Rolsyn had arrived with a bloke called Valquist. Anita said she’d be down in a minute, but popped into the ladies toilet to compose herself. As she washed her hands she had a good look in the mirror. She didn’t like these situations; not that they had happened too often. But talking to the husband, wife, son or daughter of someone who had just died wasn’t easy. They were trying to come to terms with their loss and yet questions had to be asked. It seemed like an unwanted intrusion into their grief, making them put their mourning on hold. And sometimes things emerged which only made the situation more awkward. This interview – or chat, really, as it wasn�
��t an interrogation – might throw up some very personal questions for Roslyn to answer. She was going to have to go into Malin Lovgren’s background, ferret around to see if there were any skeletons that could give them a lead. Admirers, rivals, enemies.

  Anita dried her hands. She realized that she didn’t know much about Roslyn. She wasn’t a great one for watching films. She got bored too easily. It drove Lasse mad whenever he persuaded her to try out a new film that he thought she might like. Within minutes she would make her mind up whether she was going to enjoy or hate it. Often she didn’t get much beyond the credits. She had seen Roslyn’s picture in the papers often enough without taking a particular interest. As Anita made for the door, Klara Wallen came in.

  ‘Thanks, Anita. For before.’

  Anita smiled. ‘Moberg speaks before he thinks.’

  ‘He’s a big fat bastard, I hate him…’ Klara said in a rush and promptly burst into tears. Anita didn’t have time for this, but she took a sobbing Klara in her arms and gave her a reassuring hug.

  ‘It’s ok. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.’ But Anita knew that he did.

  The sobs started to recede and Anita was able to let Klara go. She fished out a paper tissue. ‘Come on, Klara, get yourself cleaned up.’

  Klara took the tissue and wiped her eyes. ‘Did you see him on the TV? He’s so full of himself.’

  ‘Yes, but he usually knows what he’s doing. He gets results, whatever it costs the rest of us.’

  Klara sniffled into the tissue. ‘How do you put up with that slob?’

  ‘Just try to ignore him.’

  If only Anita found it as easy to take her own advice as to give it.

  CHAPTER 9

  Mick Roslyn seemed calm, but Anita had no idea what awful thoughts were ricocheting around in his mind. He was handsome in a flashy sort of way that would have impressed and attracted her a few years ago. Experience had taught her that those who spent so long cultivating their looks had little time for cultivating meaningful relationships, except with themselves. She had explained in English that she understood that this conversation might be difficult, but they couldn’t afford to put it off as they had to act as quickly as possible to catch the killer. This was part of the information-gathering process and he was vital to that. He might be able to point them in the right direction. As she spoke, Mick Roslyn stared at his manicured hands, which were placed palm down on the table, as they sat in the middle of a soulless interrogation room. Sitting opposite him next to Anita was Olander, who appeared to be in awe of the director. He was an avid movie buff and was well acquainted with Roslyn’s work.

  ‘What I need to ask you first is to confirm your movements prior to going to the apartment at Östra Förstadsgatan.’

  He started to drum his fingers. ‘I spent last night in Stockholm. I had a meeting; then I wanted to go through some follow-up research material for my next project.’ Anita could see out of the corner of her eye that Olander was champing at the bit to ask what it was, but he had the sense not to interrupt. ‘I didn’t go to bed late because I had to be up for a very early start. I got the flight down to Sturup, then came into town by taxi.’

  ‘You were meant to meet Mr Strachan at eleven, but you didn’t reach the apartment until half past. Why were you late?’

  ‘Plane was delayed.’ He shrugged.

  ‘So you arrived at half past.’

  For the first time he looked up and stared at Anita. ‘The photographer was just arriving downstairs so I let him in. We entered the flat together and when we went into the lounge there was Strachan bending over my wife, who was on the floor.’ A tremor came into his voice and his splayed hands curled into fists, ‘I just flipped.’

  Anita gave him a second to compose himself.

  ‘Your wife. Had she been worried lately? Anything unsettling her? Had anybody being pestering her? You know, ardent fans.’

  Mick Roslyn paused, as though weighing up the question in his mind.

  ‘She had a stalker. It’ll be in police records somewhere.’

  ‘In Malmö?’

  ‘No, in Stockholm. Couple of years ago. We had to take it to court. He was called Jörgen Crabo.’

  ‘And has he been a nuisance since?’

  ‘I saw him in the crowd at a premiere of En Gäss last year in Stockholm. Fortunately, Malin didn’t spot him. Or she certainly didn’t let on if she had. But after what we had been though you are always on the lookout. Apart from that, he’s kept to the court order as far as I’m aware.’

  ‘We’ll check his whereabouts. He didn’t threaten her life at any stage?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has anybody? Or is there anybody you would have regarded as a threat to her safety?’

  Mick took a sip from his coffee, which by now was probably cold but he didn’t make any comment.

  ‘Have you any snus?

  Anita took out her tin and pushed it over the table. He thoughtfully unscrewed the top and slowly reached in for a sachet. ‘She had these letters.’

  Anita and Olander sat up a little straighter.

  ‘What sort of letters?’ Anita asked.

  He put the snus in his mouth.

  ‘It was some fan. Said he was in love with Malin.’

  ‘I would have thought she would get many such letters,’ put in Olander.

  ‘Of course. But these were different. When she didn’t reply, they became more explicit, more threatening. Not that she could reply because he didn’t include an address after the first one.’

  ‘So there was an address on the original letter?’

  ‘I believe so, but it didn’t get past Agnes at our production office. Her job is to sift out that sort of thing so that Malin isn’t…wasn’t bothered with all the correspondence. When the other letters came to light we looked into it. Agnes thought the first one might have come from abroad.’

  ‘Where abroad?’

  ‘India, Pakistan, somewhere out there. But as the others came from Sweden, we thought that Agnes must have been mistaken. Mixed it up with another fan letter.’

  ‘So how did your wife react?’

  ‘At first Malin laughed them off. But then they started to unnerve her.’

  ‘Have you still got them?’

  ‘No. Malin wouldn’t have them in the house. She burnt them. She wouldn’t even show me the last couple.’

  ‘Were they signed?’

  ‘He only put H.’

  ‘Where were they posted from?’

  ‘Here in Malmö. Initially they were sent to our production company address in Stockholm. But the last few were delivered by hand. Shoved through the letterbox.’

  ‘So he had discovered where she lived.’

  ‘Yes. Made it seem even creepier.’

  Anita made a note on the pad in front of her.

  ‘Is this H another Crabo situation?’

  Mick shook his head. ‘No. Crabo kept turning up wherever Malin went. H is very different. We’ve never seen him.’

  Anita scribbled something else.

  ‘Did your wife spend much time down here? In Malmö?

  ‘When she could. She comes from here. This is where her family are. Her mother Britta still lives in Rostorp opposite the park. Where Anita Eckberg came from,’ he added unnecessarily. 'Malin never did like Stockholm much. And the Crabo situation didn’t help.’

  ‘Were you apart a lot?’

  ‘What are you implying?’ he said with a hint of anger.

  ‘I’m not implying anything. All I’m trying to establish is whether your wife spent time by herself in Malmö. That would give your H, or anybody else, a chance to find her alone. Someone knew you weren’t there. Presumably, that’s why they turned up last night.’

  The anger disappeared and his eyes began to water, though she could see he was fighting back the tears. ‘I should have been there,’ he gulped. ‘Yes, we were apart quite a lot. She wasn’t into the business side of film-making. I had all that. And the Stockholm creative scene – she
loathed it.’

  Anita continued to make notes as Mick wiped an eye with his index finger as though he had some grit in it.

  ‘Any other people who might be a potential danger?’

  Mick looked up, almost startled. Anita thought he was about to say something, but he merely shook his head.

  ‘Any personal relationships that could have tipped over into violence? I hate to ask this but did she have any other…’ she couldn’t phrase it any other way...‘men?’

  ‘Of course not!’ That smouldering anger resurfaced with a vengeance. ‘Just because she was an actress it doesn’t mean she fucked around!’

  Anita held up her hands in gesture of placation. ‘I’m not saying she did but we have to explore every avenue.’

  ‘We were happily married. End of story.’ It turned out to be the end of the interview. Mick Roslyn got up and walked out.

  ‘He what?’ Moberg couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  ‘He just got up and walked out. We weren’t holding him so there was nothing I could do,’ Anita explained.

  ‘And why?’

  Anita shifted uneasily in front of Moberg. She knew she was giving him more ammunition. ‘I asked, in as polite a way as possible, if she had anybody on the side.’

  ‘Brilliant! We’re going to get fuck all co-operation from him from now on.’ She let him rant on until he ran out of steam. Maybe it was time for the transfer she had promised herself. Ystad would be ok – Simrishamn better.

  ‘What I did get out of him were a couple of potential suspects.’ This changed Moberg’s mood when she told him about Jörgen Crabo and the anonymous H.

  Moberg turned to Westermark. ‘Give Stockholm a ring.’

  ‘Won’t get much out of them at this time of night.’

  Moberg’s finger started to wag in Westermark’s direction. ‘I don’t care what bloody time it is. Get them off their arses and get someone to track this Crabo down and find out if he was in Stockholm last night and not peeping through windows on our patch.’

  A chastened Westermark slunk off to make his call.

  ‘Henrik, any luck with the neighbours?’