Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4)

by Torquil Macleod

  ‘So, what do you think of Asplund?’ Wallen ventured.

  Hakim was staring at the car in front. Two happy girls were waving at them. He waved back self-consciously. ‘He’s lying about not knowing Julia Akerman.’ One of the girls blew him a kiss. ‘I’m sure he knew her; after all, she had all his details. And he probably saw her the day she died.’

  ‘We need to check out his movements that day. What train did he get? He could have caught an earlier one than he said and been back in Malmö to have time to meet up with Akerman for a quick session. His apartment’s between the station and the Södra Förstadsgatan office.’

  ‘I’ll go to his apartment building and see if anyone recognizes her. And check the neighbours at Akerman’s place and see if someone recognizes him. The streets run into each other, so they’re only about five minutes’ walk apart.’

  The student procession turned off, and they made quicker progress.

  ‘He wasn’t keen on us contacting his wife.’

  ‘Not at all,’ agreed Hakim.

  ‘We’ll leave her until later. We need to trace his movements first. What was with that question about America?’

  ‘The butterfly knife.’

  ‘Ah. Yes, he could easily have picked one up. And he jogs; he’s certainly fit enough to run up behind Akerman.’

  ‘But why?’ This was the question that still puzzled Hakim. ‘What’s his motive?’

  ‘A falling out? Could she have been extorting money from him?’

  ‘But she didn’t appear to charge him in the first place. And she could hardly threaten him, as he pointed out. If money didn’t change hands, he’s not committed any crime. Unless, of course, they had some other arrangement which got round the law.’

  ‘She might have threatened to expose him to his wife.’

  ‘That’s possible. But even if that’s the case, why didn’t he kill her earlier when they met for sex?’

  ‘Maybe he couldn’t do it then. If they’d met in his apartment, he could hardly get rid of her body easily. It’s too central. Too many people about. Her apartment’s the same. He must have cold-bloodedly planned it so there would be no connection between the two of them.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Hakim lapsed into thoughtful silence. The fact that Asplund hadn’t appeared to pay for sex gnawed at him. Why the freebees when Akerman was charging the others – except Isaksson – eye-watering amounts of money for her services? Why was he a special case? What was their real connection? Maybe they had to go back further; dig deeper. One thing he was sure of was that, despite his protestations, Markus Asplund knew Julia Akerman. More than that, he probably knew who she really was.

  CHAPTER 22

  Anita had been fretting all morning. Kevin had tried to persuade her to come down to the beach after breakfast. He wanted a swim. She wasn’t in the mood to join him. She had hardly slept during the night. As she made herself yet another coffee, she couldn’t get Klas out of her mind. It had been a real shock when she had spoken to Stefan. Klas had swerved off the road, and his motorbike had crashed straight into a tree by the roadside. What made it worse was that it wasn’t far from her cabin. Klas must have been on his way to see her with his news from Berlin. If only he had waited until the morning!

  He was such a lovely man. She felt guilty that sometimes she had switched off when he started to prattle on about his latest project or obsession. He was harmless. He was intelligent. He could be fun when he hadn’t got his “serious” head on. Suddenly, both he and Albin Rylander had gone. They had been an essential part of her summer – other than Kevin, of course.

  Stefan’s details had been sketchy. There didn’t seem to be another vehicle involved. No other driver had reported anything and, as there were no houses on that stretch of road, no one had heard the accident. Perhaps he was tired and wasn’t concentrating, Stefan suggested. Anita thought it was more likely that his head was full of his Rylander discoveries, and that he had taken his eye off the road. He was often miles away, lost in thought. What a waste of a good human being.

  Ten minutes later, she found herself jumping into her car and driving to the crash site. A ribbon of police tape round the tree marked the spot. In the Simrishamn direction there was a rise in the road; traffic came zooming over the top and into a slight bend. Maybe he came over the brow too quickly, had to adjust to the bend and lost control. But he had travelled this road nearly every day for weeks. As the traffic whipped past on this sunny morning, she could make out the faint impression of the motorbike’s tyre tracks that led straight over the grass verge and into the tree. She found herself placing a few wild flowers that she had picked from the verge, next to the taped perimeter. It was a pathetically inadequate gesture.

  She wiped away a tear that had sprung from nowhere. As she did so, she focused again on the tyre track. That was quite a sharp turn. If he had dozed off or had lost concentration, she would have expected more of an arc. This looked like a quick readjustment. More of a swerve. Had something been coming in the other direction on his side of the road? The thought made Anita uneasy. She got back into her car and drove home.

  Hakim stood next to the small sculpture of a naked woman on bended knee holding a sheaf of corn above her head. What it stood for, he had no idea. Possibly something to do with fertility. Behind him was a grassy area where a number of young people were lolling about in the sunshine. To his left, Malmö’s main theatre. Beyond that, Pildammsparken. A very central position to have a crash pad. As he sipped his takeaway coffee, it was the building opposite that most interested him. It was Markus Asplund’s city centre apartment on Östra Rönneholmsvägen. Obviously, the travel industry was booming. Asplund lived in an elegant building with a Dutch-style façade. His apartment was set back off the street, secluded by the curvature of the design. The principal windows were tall and graceful and, at the top of the building, under the eaves, oval apertures were wreathed by sculptured laurel leaves. The balconies looked large and substantial and were supported by voluted corbels. Not like ours, Hakim thought ruefully as his mind strayed to the flimsy metal protuberance on his parents’ home. He had already been to Julia Akerman’s apartment and asked the few neighbours who were in if they recognized Asplund from a photo taken from his advertising campaign, but he had drawn a blank. If Asplund had had a sexual assignation with Akerman, it was unlikely to have been at her place. Now they knew about Asplund and Isaksson, Moberg wanted forensics to go back into Akerman’s apartment and search for any evidence that they had been there, but Hakim doubted that they would find any connection to the travel agent; he was too careful. But the close proximity of the two apartments was suggestive. They were also both close to Pildammsparken. Asplund might have known Akerman’s Malmö routine – they had already met that day if her diary entry was correct. He could have caught up with her, killed her, and been back home within minutes.

  There was a lot of circumstantial evidence building up against Markus Asplund. What Hakim needed now was to find someone who had seen Julia Akerman entering his apartment. Or, at the very least, seen her in the building. He finished his coffee, chucked the container into a bin and headed across the road.

  ‘But I was having a great time on the beach,’ Kevin protested as Anita dragged him up the bank towards the house.

  ‘There’s something I want you to see,’ said Anita firmly, quashing any further dissent.

  ‘Can I at least have a shower first? Get the sand out of my… crevices.’ It didn’t sound right, but it was the only word that immediately came to mind.

  ‘Just change out of your swimming trunks. We won’t be long.’

  ‘Is it that important?’

  Anita didn’t answer as she strode on ahead. He hadn’t seen her like this before. He decided it was best not to argue.

  A quarter of an hour later, they were at the crash site. The route was particularly busy at that time in the morning. Though it was a single-lane road, it was fairly straight as it ran in line with the coast, and
vehicles were hurtling along it. Once they had managed to park on the grass verge near the accident spot, Anita pointed out the swerve the bike had taken.

  ‘Is there much traffic in the evening?’

  ‘Not much. It was after ten.’

  ‘I can see what you mean, but it doesn’t necessarily indicate it’s suspicious.’ Kevin wanted to say enough to keep his new girlfriend happy, but not be too encouraging in case it developed into an annoying distraction from the holiday which he was really enjoying. ‘He could have swerved for all sorts of reasons.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, an animal for instance. There are lots round here, I assume. A deer? We get a lot of them in Cumbria around dusk, and they sometimes run into vehicles. Can cause quite nasty accidents.’

  ‘True,’ Anita had to reluctantly agree.

  He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  ‘I know it’s sad. You were fond of him. But there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. I’m sure your police will have done everything thoroughly. Checked the scene. All the usual stuff.’

  He could see that Anita wasn’t totally convinced, but he managed to shepherd her back into the car.

  ‘Normally, I wouldn’t even question this. But Klas was so sure that there was something wrong with Rylander’s suicide. And then this.’

  ‘Horrid coincidence.’

  ‘It was you who raised doubts in my mind about Rylander’s death in the first place. You seeing someone watching his house before he died.’

  ‘Don’t blame this on me.’

  Anita turned on the ignition. The car sparked wearily into life. ‘I think I’ll have another word with Stefan. And the nurse. Klas said he’d talked to her.’

  ‘I hope to God you’re not turning this into a bloody case, Anita. I’d like to remind you, this is my holiday!’

  ‘Well, this will make it a more interesting one.’

  ‘I don’t want an “interesting” one. I want boring. I’ll take uneventful any day.’

  All he got in return was a withering look.

  ‘I always thought the English had plenty of get up and go.’

  ‘I have, but it gets up and goes for a fortnight every summer.’

  She relented. He was right. This was unfair on him.

  ‘OK. I’ll have a little chat with Stefan. He’ll probably clear things up. And maybe a word with Moa, the nurse. And if there’s nothing, we just get on with the holiday.’

  Kevin sighed. He had a nasty feeling it wasn’t going to end there.

  Hakim glanced back at the elegant apartment block. He had knocked on fifteen doors. Seven had produced an answer. Some of the inhabitants had seemed wary of a detective with an olive skin. Apart from the suspicious looks and the shaking of heads, there had been absolutely no reaction. No one had seen a woman of Julia Akerman’s description in or around the building, let alone slipping in and out through Markus Asplund’s door; and there was no CCTV. Hakim sighed. He couldn’t give up yet. He would have to return this evening and try and rustle up the absent neighbours. His feelings about Asplund were hardening. He had the means – the possible access to a butterfly knife. He had opportunity – he hadn’t an alibi for the time and he lived in the vicinity of the murder. And motive? That wasn’t entirely clear as yet. But as a prostitute, Akerman might well have known his guilty secrets. Or was she the secret?

  CHAPTER 23

  Lasse was supposed to be doing his course work when Jazmin was out. His attention had wandered, and he was playing Football Manager on the computer when she came back. Barcelona was his team and they never lost, certainly not while he was their manager. But he had made sure that Malmö had reached the Champions League semi-finals before succumbing to Lionel Messi’s magic. Jazmin’s return gave him a fright, and he quickly managed to replace the page on the screen with some notes he had been typing before he’d been lured away by his managerial duties.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,’ he lied as he turned round to see his girlfriend, who was clutching a bag of shopping from the ethnic Allfrukt supermarket. It was where her parents shopped, and it was cheaper than the nearest ICA. Once they’d paid the rent, there wasn’t a lot of money to go round. She hoped that she was teaching Lasse to be more frugal than he was used to. Living at home with his mother had meant that he had got out of touch with prices of basic things like food.

  Lasse followed her into the tiny kitchen of their one-bedroomed apartment in Rosengård. It was only twenty minutes’ walk from her parents’ home, but it felt like a million miles away. She was enjoying that freedom. Her movements weren’t constantly being monitored – or commented on – by her strict father. Lasse put his arms round her as she unpacked the shopping. He kissed her tenderly on the back of her neck. She liked that. Then he slyly reached round her, and he tried to open a packet of biscuits. She slapped his hand in admonishment. ‘They’re a treat for later.’

  Jazmin came back into the living room while Lasse made her a cup of coffee. She heard the rustle of the biscuits being surreptitiously opened. She smiled to herself, too tired to reprimand him again. She didn’t mind spoiling him occasionally. Their one, real indulgence rubbed his neck round her lower shin. Messi the cat. The name wasn’t her idea, but Lasse had called him after some boring footballer. And the cat was messy. He caused chaos in their small living space, and his ginger and white fur was everywhere. But he was an integral part of their little family. He jumped onto her lap and curled up for a snooze.

  Lasse came in, bearing two mugs of coffee. There were still telltale biscuit crumbs at the side of his mouth, which he hadn’t wiped away. Jazmin took her coffee.

  ‘What time are you working till tonight?’

  ‘Half eleven.’

  Lasse worked in a cafe-cum-restaurant off Kungsgatan three nights a week. This was to supplement their student grants. She did a few hours in a corner shop run by a friend of her mother’s. Between them, they managed to make ends meet.

  ‘I saw someone last night. I thought whoever it was must have gone away, but they’re back.’

  Lasse sighed. Not this again. He had got in late last night after his shift, and she had been out early to get to her gender studies class, so she hadn’t had a chance to mention it.

  ‘I definitely saw a figure this time. About eleven.’

  ‘What did this “figure” look like?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell; it was dark by then. He had a hoodie on.’

  ‘Honestly, Jazmin, there could be a thousand reasons why someone was out at that time of night. Granted, he might have been up to no good. This isn’t exactly a crime-free neighbourhood. You’re getting upset over nothing.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t think so,’ she said vehemently.

  ‘Bloody hell! I can’t believe you mentioned it to her. She’s turned worrying into an art form. We’ll never hear the end of it now.’ He couldn’t take the incredulity out of his voice.

  ‘Forget it!’ She was annoyed that he kept sweeping away her concerns.

  They drank their coffees in moody silence. Messi sensed the unease and jumped off Jazmin’s lap and wandered into the bedroom.

  ‘Look,’ Lasse relented. ‘If you think you see anything when I’m out tonight, give me a call.’ Then he smirked. ‘You have got a mobile, haven’t you?’ he teased.

  She managed to turn her sulky pout into a suppressed grin. A month ago Lasse had bought her a brand new mobile phone with all the bells and whistles. She suspected that he had borrowed some money from Anita to cover the cost.

  ‘I’ll call.’

  ‘Let’s review the evidence.’ Moberg sounded more upbeat than usual. Wallen’s visit to Markus Asplund was the most positive development they had so far encountered. ‘Two suspects. Marcus Asplund?’

  Wallen, Hakim and Brodd all sat round the table in the meeting room. It was late. Brodd was the least happy to be there and had muttered that it was time for a drink. Moberg hadn’t taken the hint.

  ‘What we seem to
have is a successful travel agent who has his family conveniently tucked away up near Växjö in Småland while he spends a lot of time down here in an apartment in the centre of town. And that apartment is an easy walk from the victim’s. And he keeps fit, though he doesn’t jog much – allegedly. We know that his initials are in the Akerman diary.’ They had decided that they would refer to the murdered woman as Julia Akerman until they were a hundred per cent sure of her real name; “Ebba” would just confuse things at this point. ‘We’ve got his name on her spreadsheet, even though he doesn’t appear to pay for her services. Yet intercourse must have taken place at some stage, as she had noted his… em… sexual idiosyncrasy.’

  Brodd’s smirk elicited an angry glare from Wallen.

  ‘And we know that that was the method of sex she had with her last client on the day she died. So, the probability is that she was with Markus Asplund on the day of her murder.’

  Moberg turned to the whiteboard and tapped the photo of Asplund.

  ‘We also know that he’s a frequent visitor to America, so could easily have picked up the butterfly knife. He has opportunity and the possible means, which is all well and good – but where’s the motive? Any thoughts?’

  ‘It must be sexual.’ Brodd could always be relied upon to come up with the obvious. ‘She’s a whore. So it’s bound to be.’

  ‘I think there’s more to it,’ suggested Hakim.

  ‘You would,’ Brodd muttered.

  ‘If he saw her that day, why wait until later to kill her? I mean, the murder was very premeditated. I know Klara said that he couldn’t do it at the apartment because it would be very difficult to dispose of the body in such a central location, and she’s right. But what had got so bad between them both in a matter of hours that he turned to murder later in the day?’