‘She’ll be useful on this case.’
The chief inspector shook his head. ‘I’ve got something else in mind for Inspector Sundström.’
CHAPTER 6
This was the sort of place where Inspector Karl Westermark felt at home. The building in Stortorget might be old but the interior was anything but. The room was almost entirely white, except for the light grey-flecked carpet. It had a large, round, white table in the centre. The table had no legs, but was supported by a circular tube in the middle. Round it were six dark blue, ergonomically-designed swivel office chairs. To one side, there was a tripod floor lamp with a big shade. The walls were artfully adorned with “creative” work; posters, advertisements and a flat screen TV, which was silently spooling the agency’s commercials. Westermark noticed that not all the well-known ads came out of Stockholm. He was a man of modern tastes. And he liked to be around money. The Ekman & Johansson Advertising Agency reeked of it. In an understated way, of course.
It was full of attractive women, too. Westermark already had it in his mind to ask the receptionist out on a date. He had chatted to her while waiting to interview Ekman’s business partner. She was posh but thick - a great combination as far as he was concerned. They always liked a bit of rough. Then there had been the secretary who had brought him a cup of coffee. Long dark hair, short skirt and nice tits. She hadn’t liked it when he had eyed her up and she had scuttled out of the conference room. Silly bitch. Didn’t know what she was missing.
Now, sitting opposite him was the twitchy figure of Daniel Johansson, who was distractedly fiddling with his iPhone. In his late thirties, Johansson was going prematurely bald. He wore red-rimmed spectacles, which looked as though they would slide off the end of his nose as he peered at his phone. His dress was extra-casual. It cost money to dress down as easily as this. Westermark had already established from the chattily indiscreet receptionist that Johnasson was the creative director of the agency – the ideas person. Tommy Ekman was the business brains – the smooth front man, the persuasive presenter of Johansson’s creative work and the amusing friend of clients at meetings and numerous out-of-office social occasions.
Johansson explained that he had only just got back into the office from doing a recce for a TV commercial they were shooting next week. He wondered why Tommy hadn’t been around to answer any questions.
‘Tommy’s usually in first thing, but maybe it’s because last night was a fairly late one.’
‘Working late?’
‘No. We’d just heard that we had picked up a new account. Big one. Geistrand Petfoods. Had a bit of a celebration with the winning team.’
‘Ekman... any enemies?’
That stopped Johansson fiddling with his iPhone. Westermark concluded he was one of those annoying people who couldn’t leave the damn thing alone. A social prop. Johansson gave the policeman a startled look.
‘That’s an odd question.’
‘Just answer it.’
Johansson’s attention strayed back to his toy. ‘We have business rivals. But that’s normal. Advertising is a very competitive industry. Anyway, shouldn’t you ask Tommy that?’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘Right. Look, you haven’t really explained what you’re doing here. Has one of the staff got into trouble?’
‘You could say that. Were you the last person to see Ekman in this building last night?’
Johansson shook his head. ‘He was still here when I left at about nine. There were at least a couple of other people in his office. Elin Marklund was certainly still here. Look, what’s this all about?’
Westermark wrote down Marklund’s name. ‘I’ll have to speak to everyone who was at your “celebration” last night.’
‘Why?’ Westermark was amused to see that he had actually put his phone down. ‘Has something happened to Tommy?’
‘Put it this way, you might think about taking his name off your company letterhead.’
Kristina Ekman fitted Chief Inspector Moberg’s image of what he expected of the spouse of a high-flying businessman with the obvious trappings of wealth. She may have just become a widow, but she was still immaculately turned out. The long blonde hair cascaded down to her shoulders and framed a very pretty face. Her creamy complexion was complemented by only a small amount of artfully applied make-up. She had the air of someone who knew she didn’t have to exaggerate her beauty with cosmetics. Whether by design or accident she wore black. Her clothes were from the sort of stores where it was considered vulgar to put prices in the window. The places that Moberg’s previous wives had always wanted to frequent, though he had made sure that they never had quite enough to buy anything too budget busting. She sat opposite Moberg and Nordlund in the opulent open-plan living room of the apartment in Drottningtorget that she had shared with her husband. Her perfectly formed lips held a cigarette momentarily in place. Was the cigarette being used to keep seething emotions in check or as a smokescreen? What Moberg couldn’t decide, as he watched her, was whether he was talking to a woman who had lost her life’s soul mate or a calculating husband-killer. Or, if she was the intended victim, would the murderer come back? He found her calmness unnerving.
‘I know it’s a difficult time, fru Ekman, but we needed to talk to you as soon as possible. The more we learn now, the quicker we can find your husband’s murderer.’
Kristina Ekman held the cigarette elegantly at an angle, the wrist cocked so that the smoke wafted away from her. ‘You are sure that he was murdered?’.
‘Yes. Our forensics people say that it couldn’t have been an accident.’
‘I can’t believe...’ Her voice trailed off. Were her feelings beginning to show? She concentrated on her cigarette again, which seemed to have the effect of snuffing out any signs of emotion.
‘All I have been told was that he died in the shower. If it’s murder, did someone attack him?’
‘No.’
‘So how was he killed?’
‘I’m sorry, fru Ekman, but I can’t reveal anything until we know more.’
She turned her head away and stared out of the window. The brightness outside mocked the gloom that immersed the room.
‘What we need to know,’ continued Moberg, ‘is who knew that he would be alone in the apartment last night?’
She took another delicate puff on her cigarette as she contemplated the question. ‘Myself. The kids. Monica, the cleaner. My father. We were staying the night with him. That’s about it. Unless he mentioned something to people at the agency.’
‘Why were you away last night?’
A mirthless smile played on her lips. ‘He had a new business pitch on yesterday. I always keep out of the way at times like that. If he wins, he usually stays out late celebrating and comes back smelling of drink. If they lose, he gets really down and he’s hell to live with for a day or two.’ She realized that she had been talking in the present tense. ‘He did get down.’ she corrected herself before violently stubbing out her cigarette in an expensive cut-glass ashtray.
‘Who else has a key to the apartment? There were no signs of forced entry.’
‘Only the people I have already mentioned.’
Moberg shifted his bulk in the massive sofa, which he managed to make appear small. ‘I’m afraid I have to ask the obvious question, but are there any people who would have a motive to harm your husband? Business rivals?’
‘Tommy was successful, so I’m sure there would be a lot of professional jealousy. There was no-one whom he ever mentioned being a bitter rival. He thought he was above that sort of thing. He thought he was better than everybody else in the ad world.’
‘What about his personal life?’ This was Nordlund’s first contribution.
‘What are you implying by that?’ she snapped.
‘Fru Ekman, all I’m saying is that there may be a more personal angle to this crime.’
‘You mean a love rival!’ she sneered. ‘I can tell you that Tommy was a faithful husband.�
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‘I was thinking more about your husband’s social circle. We need to build up a picture of his life, both at work and away from the office.’
She quickly re-gained her composure. ‘He didn’t have much spare time away from work. But he liked to relax with the family when he could. We have a weekend place in Österlen. He liked to sail. Bit of golf. We didn’t socialise much because he spent so much time entertaining clients that he wanted a break from that when he was with us.’
Moberg nodded to Nordlund and they both stood. ‘That’s all for the moment. We’ll have to speak again at some stage. I’m afraid you can’t stay here while your apartment remains a crime scene.’
Kristina Ekman remain seated. ‘I’ll go back to my father’s home at Illstorp to take care of the children. I haven’t told them yet.’
‘Before you return there, you’ll need to officially identify your husband’s body.’
She gave him a startled glance. Moberg didn’t know where to look when Kristina Ekman suddenly burst into tears.
CHAPTER 7
Anita was grateful to seek the sanctuary of her office and shut the door. It had been a nerve-racking walk from the polishus car park up to her room. She had deliberately got in early so that she wouldn’t bump into too many people. Coming through the main door she had passed Carl Svanberg. He had greeted her with a half-smile and told her that the pedestrian knocked over that day was going to be all right. He was just off to interview the driver of the car. Fortunately, the only other person she had come across was Klara Wallen; another inspector in the Criminal Investigation Squad, who had given her a reassuring smile and a hasty ‘I’ll catch you later’ as she rushed off on some unknown errand. Wallen was the nearest thing Anita had to a female friend at headquarters, though their only real areas of common ground were red wine and a dislike of Inspector Karl Westermark. From the few others that she had scurried past she had got some strange looks, which she hadn’t been able to interpret. Scorn or disinterest?
After a sleepless night she was tired, and her nervousness only made her feel more lethargic. She leant with her back against the closed door and sighed. The office hadn’t changed; just a hell of a lot neater than she had kept it. There were still two desks squeezed into the small room. Apart from the chairs, the only other piece of furniture there was space for was a wooden bookcase, which was more a general dumping ground for files, notebooks, unread memos and mugs than it was for holding anything more intellectually stimulating. What prevented the office from being totally claustrophobic was the window, which overlooked the green swathe of Rörsjöparken. Her desk was bare except for her computer and the small photo of her teenage son, Lasse, in a wooden frame. He had bought it for her as a birthday present some years before. The other desk meant that Mats Olander must still be here. She liked Mats, who was a police assistant; she was meant to be showing him the ropes. Fine example she had set. Yet she was a bit sad that he hadn’t tried to contact her when she had been off “sick”. Maybe he was embarrassed by the whole escapade and it wouldn’t do his career any good to be associated with the detective who had killed one of Sweden’s most famous film directors, and become the authorities’ official scapegoat.
As she put her bag down and sat at her desk, she idly pulled open the top drawer. She started. Her throat went dry. She felt a pang of panic. She hadn’t expected Moberg to be so efficient. Next to her warrant card was her Sig Sauer in its holster. The P225. The pistol she had used at the top of the Turning Torso. She began to tremble as she slumped in her seat. Images of that awful day replayed themselves in her mind for the umpteenth time. The sight of Mick Roslyn about to tip a struggling Ewan Strachan over the edge of the skyscraper. Her shouting at Roslyn to stop and the split-second realization that he wasn’t going to. And then the explosion in her hand as the weapon went off and then... Anita stared at the pistol and swore to herself that she would never use it again, whatever the circumstances.
She heard the door opening and guiltily shoved the drawer shut. The young man who entered was unfamiliar. He was tall and thin with short-cropped, jet-black hair, swarthy complexion, and a face that was too youthful to be anywhere near a police station, unless on a school trip. At first glance he looked distinctly Middle Eastern. A broad smile spread across his face and she noticed that he was holding a coffee mug in each hand. One was being offered to her.
‘It’s strong. Inspector Nordlund told me that Inspector Sundström likes her coffee strong.’
‘And who are you?’ asked Anita ungraciously.
The young man put the mug down in front of her. The pleasant smile was still in place. ‘Khalid Hakim Mirza. I’m your new trainee assistant.’
‘Where’s Mats Olander?’
‘He was sent back to Stockholm just after...’
Just after she had fucked up. She couldn’t suppress her growing annoyance. She was being palmed off with another trainee. She had got used to Olander, and didn’t want to have to start with another one. Why couldn’t someone else have this bloody kid? Why was it always her? Because she was a woman? She wasn’t going to be a bloody nursemaid again!
‘I’m sure there’s been a mistake, em... Sorry, what was your name again?’
‘Khalid Hakim Mirza. But people call me Hakim.’
‘Well, Hakim, I wouldn’t get too used to that desk.’ Hakim was now sitting behind it, opposite her.
The smile had been replaced by a perplexed expression. ‘I was put here on the express orders of Chief Inspector Moberg.’
The bastard! He had done this deliberately. It was Westermark’s turn. They had probably laughed about it as they assigned Hakim to her. She took her coffee grudgingly. ‘Thanks,’ was all she could muster.
Hakim sipped at his coffee. He looked disappointed. Hurt.
‘Oh, I was to tell you that Chief Inspector Moberg wants to see you in his office at nine.’
Moberg had been in since 6.30. He wanted time to reflect before catching up with Nordlund and Westermark. He was stumped. A neat murder carried out while the murderer could be on the other side of the world. As yet they had no suspects, unless you counted the possibility it was Ekman’s wife. But even if they found a motive they would have a real problem proving it. The murderer would have a watertight alibi. Literally!
He opened the discussion by asking Norlund, ‘What did you make of Kristina Ekman now that you’ve had time to think about what she said yesterday? I suppose I’m asking if she could have done it.’
Nordlund stroked his chin. ‘It’s possible, but we’d have to find a motive. Would she have more to lose than gain from her husband’s death?’
‘Yes, Tommy Ekman was obviously successful. She was too damn calm for my liking, until the waterworks at the end. Maybe they were for our benefit.’
‘People react to tragedy in different ways.’
‘We need to look thoroughly into her background. She might have skeletons which would point to her being the potential victim.’ Turning to Westermark. ‘What about the advertising company?’
‘I spoke to Daniel Johansson. He’s the co-owner. Strange bugger. Creative type. From what I gathered it was Ekman who was the silver-tongued front man, with Johansson doing all the arty-farty stuff in the background. Obviously a combination that worked. They were growing fast and had been planning to open an office in Stockholm before Christmas. Johansson couldn’t think of anyone who would want to kill his partner. Really shaken up when I broke the news.’ Westermark smirked at the memory. ‘I think he could see his rising business career crashing to the ground. But Ekman seems to have been popular among the staff. Well, certainly among the women. They seemed devastated to hear the news. A whole lotta crying going on.’
‘What about Tommy Ekman’s movements the night before?’
‘They’d just won an important piece of business and there were a few celebratory drinks in Ekman’s office for those involved. We don’t know what time he was there till because Johansson says that Ekman was still there
with an Elin Marklund when he left. I haven’t been able to ask her, as she called in “sick” yesterday. But I’ll get to talk to her today whether she’s sick or not.’
‘Good. And keep digging at the agency end. There’ll be something there that’ll provide a motive.’
There was a knock at the door. ‘Come!’ bellowed Moberg.
Eva Thulin popped her head in. ‘I don’t know if this will be of any relevance, but our man had sex a few hours before he died.’
‘How long before?’
‘The night before. There was a pair of his pants on the floor of the bedroom. Traces of his sperm on them. So he probably had sex somewhere else and pulled his pants back on after. Left a tell-tale dribble.’
Moberg looked at the other two officers. ‘Well, well. That can’t have been the delectable Kristina. She was at her father’s. We need to find out who the lucky lady was. And if Kristina knew he was carrying on, that would give her a bloody good motive.’ He slapped an ample thigh. ‘I’m feeling happier already.’
Anita’s heart was racing. She hesitated outside Moberg’s door. She had been dreading this moment. How would her boss react? He was difficult at the best of times. Would he start shouting at her or would there be outright resentment? Sarcasm was his weapon of choice. She had no idea how he had felt about the final outcome of the Malin Lovgren case as it was Commissioner Dahlbeck who had sent her packing after the arrest of Ewan Strachan. She hadn’t seen Moberg, as they were so keen to get her out of the building and on sick leave that her feet had hardly touched the ground. And then nothing. No call to offer her support, as Henrik Nordlund had done. The trouble was she didn’t much like the chief inspector. He was a perfectly good policeman. Better than most. He was just a rather unpleasant person. She took a deep breath and knocked.
‘Take a seat.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘Anita.’
She sat down opposite his intimidating bulk.
‘It’s good to be able to call on a full team again.’ He watched her closely. She tried not to squirm. ‘For the record, I don’t blame you for what you did up on the top of the Torso. You had no choice.’
Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Page 3
