Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries)

by MacLeod, Torquil

  Anita had also sifted through the other forty-odd statements from the remaining staff. The only one that had caught her eye was from the senior copywriter, Jesper Poulsen. He was Johansson’s creative partner and had worked on the pitch for Geistrand Petfoods. As the other most senior creative, Anita wondered why he hadn’t been at the early-morning meeting. She would definitely have a word with him.

  It was after nine by the time she left the polishus, and she decided to pop into the Pickwick for a drink. There was a strange atmosphere around Malmö at the moment. People were trying to carry on as normal and the pub was full of the regular clientele chatting loudly. Yet the dark shadow of the “Malmö Marksman” seemed to be hanging over the town. Even though it wasn’t an ethnic pub, some of the regulars lived in parts of the city where the attacks had taken place. And ever since the killing in Gustav Adolfs Torg, it was apparent that no area was safe. She knew that the police were doing their utmost to try and catch the man. This was, after all, perhaps the most high-profile investigation in the history of Malmö crime. But it was the lack of progress on the case that was causing public disquiet. She knew Larsson’s team was convinced that the perpetrator was local because he could disappear so easily. Larsson had made an appeal on television for people to come forward with information. Someone must know this man. Someone was shielding him. The biggest problem was that they didn’t have a proper description of him. They had trawled through all the usual suspects, all the anti-Islamist groups, right-wing fanatics and general nutters. Nothing. And nothing meant widespread nervousness and a paranoid police commissioner.

  Anita ended the evening talking briefly with a couple at the same table – a South African and his Swedish girlfriend. Like so many men who frequented the Pickwick, this ex-pat had been lured by a Swedish siren. Anita had nearly done the same to Ewan. He was never far from her thoughts. She desperately wanted to see him again, though she knew it was a hopeless situation. Now visits were out of the question, thanks to Westermark’s interference. She had got away with her excuse of trying to get Ewan to tell her about the death of the Durham student. That would no longer wash. Westermark would be keeping an eye on any future contact.

  By the time Anita got back to the apartment it was after eleven. As she put her mobile on the kitchen table, she realized that she had missed a call from Lasse. She immediately rang him up, but only got his voice mail. He would be out with the awful Rebecka. At first she was cross with herself for missing the call – the noise in the pub had been loud most of the time she had been there. Then she was deflated. She always loved talking to Lasse, and she had wasted an opportunity. By the time she was getting ready for bed, panic had set in. If he had rung, then maybe something was wrong. He needed help? An accident? Worrying about Lasse was almost a default setting in her make-up. In a state of agitation, she rang his mobile again. This time, in an anxious tone of voice, she left a message asking if he was all right. Of course, she now couldn’t sleep properly and only dozed fitfully.

  She was woken by her buzzing mobile beside the bed. It was two o’clock. It was an SMS from Lasse telling her that there was nothing to worry about, and he had only called to ask if he could borrow some money. After the initial relief, Anita started to fret that he was squandering his meagre funds on Rebecka – or, more to the point, she was encouraging him to spend too much. By the time the morning came she was tired, annoyed and confused.

  It had taken a long shower and three strong coffees to get her mind back on the job that Moberg had set her. Anita had already decided that Bo Nilsson would be the first person she would speak to. He was Moberg and Westermark’s chief suspect, so it was important for her to form her own opinion about the financial director before she talked to the other agency staff.

  Nilsson opened the door of his apartment and reluctantly let Anita and Hakim enter.

  ‘Should I have my lawyer here?’ were his first words.

  ‘No. Just a few questions.’

  Nilsson looked like a man whose world had imploded. He had been told to keep away from the agency while the financial irregularities were investigated. He had thrown everything away for a young prostitute who would probably never return to Sweden. And if she did, it was unlikely that she would come and console him. He had the haunted look of the hunted. He was in Moberg’s sights, which was not a comfortable place to be.

  As Anita went over old ground, she gradually formed the impression that this was a man who had got out of his depth, but he didn’t strike her as a natural killer. If she forced herself, she could, at a pinch, see him plan Ekman’s death. But, as for Olofsson’s murder; she doubted he had the strength or stealth to administer the blows that had killed the banker.

  ‘Have you heard anything about “The November 6th Group”?’

  He shook his head. ‘Is it something to do with Gustav Adolf Day?’

  ‘Possibly. I have a list here with various initials.’ She handed over the photocopy of Serneholt’s list. ‘We think that they may stand for Dag Wollstad, Martin Olofsson and a man who was murdered the other day called Ingvar Serneholt.’ Nilsson scrutinized the piece of paper. ‘We thought that TE was Tommy Ekman, but he wasn’t in the country on that date.’

  ‘No. He was in Hong Kong. I remember sorting out his expenses when he got back,’ he said with a rueful smile.

  ‘Do LP or AG mean anything? Or an alternative TE?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Then again,’ he glanced quizzically towards the window. ‘I have no idea about the others, but AG could be Ander Genmar.’

  ‘Ander Genmar? Who’s he?’

  ‘Genmar is the CEO of Genmar Financial Services. I worked for him when he had a successful company in Lund. Genmar sold out to Wollstad in 1992. That’s how I first came to work for Wollstad. Since then Genmar has gone on to build a very successful financial organization. Mainly insurance.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘He used to live in Lund. May still be there.’

  Anita nodded to Hakim and they stood up and prepared to leave. At least they had gleaned one useful piece of information.

  ‘By the way, I know you’ve been asked about your political views, and those of Tommy Ekman, but is there anybody at the agency who you would regard as left-wing? Anti-fascist? Or ideologically opposed to Ekman?’

  Nilsson considered this question carefully, as he did all that he was asked. ‘Jesper Poulsen.’ The answer was said with certainty.

  ‘The copywriter?’

  ‘Bit of a leftie. But copywriters tend to be. They all want to write the great social novel. Poulsen is no different.’

  ‘His name suggests he’s Danish.’

  ‘Yes, Daniel Johansson head-hunted him from a big Copenhagen agency. Poulsen often expressed strong opinions on the Danish attitudes to immigrants, which he felt were not a credit to his nation. Not that he expressed it like that. I don’t think he was Tommy’s cup of tea.’

  ‘Because of his attitudes to immigrants?’

  ‘No. He just seemed to get under Tommy’s skin. He wasn’t afraid to argue a point in meetings. Everybody else tended to go along with what Tommy wanted. Tommy did not appreciate being contradicted.’

  ‘Why didn’t he get rid of him?’

  ‘Poulsen is a brilliant copywriter and works well with Johansson. They’re regarded as one of the top creative teams in Sweden. They’ve won many awards both here and internationally. We won a lot of business through Poulsen’s efforts.’ Nilsson was hit by a thought. ‘Strangely enough, Poulsen has a right-wing connection. Nazi, you could say.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘His mother was a Lebensborn child.’

  They were back at the falafel stand on Linnégatan again. It was Hakim’s turn to pay this time. The weather wasn’t as warm as their last visit and there was rain in the air.

  ‘What’s Lebensborn?’ asked Hakim, with his mouth half-full of falafel.

  ‘It was some sort of Nazi breeding programme during the Second World War. I think
it was the brainchild of Heinrich Himmler. It was all about racial purity. Biologically fit, blue-eyed, blond-haired Aryans. It was their ideal.’

  ‘So they wouldn’t have been very happy with the likes of me.’

  ‘Afraid not. They set up these Lebensborn homes in Germany, then across the occupied countries. Like Norway. And obviously Denmark, if Poulsen’s mother is a product of the scheme. They often kidnapped young blond children from other countries, or encouraged their soldiers to mate with women from these places. Many of the women who ended up pregnant after having relationships with German troops had few alternatives other than turning to a Lebensborn home for help.’

  Hakim ruminated over this information as he ate his remaining piece of falafel. After swallowing it, he wiped his mouth. ‘It must have been difficult for these women after the war finished.’

  ‘Not only for the women. The kids, too. In Norway, many of the children were put in lunatic asylums because they were regarded as a national embarrassment. Many were abused and mistreated.’

  ‘It wasn’t their fault,’ said Hakim indignantly.

  ‘No. They suffered for the sins of their parents. You know that girl from ABBA - Anni-Frid? She was a Lebensborn child. Saw a documentary on her. Her Norwegian mother fell in love with a German soldier. But Anni-Frid was brought to Sweden after the war, so escaped the ill-treatment.’

  They began to wander back to where Anita had parked her car.

  ‘If Poulsen’s grandmother is one of these women who fraternized with the Germans, wouldn’t that make him more likely to support the right wing? Alternatively, could he have gone the other way, as Nilsson suggests?

  Both thoughts had occurred to Anita. ‘We’d better go and ask him.’

  The gun lay on his bed. He stared at it. To him it was a thing of beauty. It wasn’t an innate object. It was an extension of him. He couldn’t imagine life without firearms. They gave him pleasure. They gave him power. They gave him a purpose. He took out a cigarette and lit it. He expelled the smoke from his mouth and watched it dissipate. It reminded him of the smoke that had coiled from the old hunting rifle the first time his father had let him fire it. He had loved the feel of it in his hands. The excitement it gave him on those early hunting trips. It was the rifle that his father had been using when he had been shot dead. They all said that it had been an accident. Even his mother. But he knew better. It had been the Finn. The outsider. He had waited until he was old enough to avenge his father’s death. He had enjoyed using the old man’s weapon to shoot the Finn. The authorities put that down to a hunting accident too. All those trees. It was bound to happen from time to time. It had been his first killing, and it had never been quite as satisfying since.

  He leant over the bed, picked up the gun, caressed it for a moment and dropped it into the leather bag on the chair next to the door. The smooth hard metal nestled against the soft cotton T-shirt. The voice was insistent. The instruction was clear. He zipped up the bag. He finished his cigarette before flicking it out of the open window. He pulled the window shut and, with the bag in his hand, he left the room. This time it was going to be different. He had a specific target in mind.

  CHAPTER 35

  Anita and Hakim crossed Stortorget. It was busy in the early afternoon. The heavy drizzle wasn’t deterring the shoppers as they streamed in and out of Södergatan. Anita liked the elegant buildings in the square, but it was the wide open space that she enjoyed wandering through. In August, during Malmöfestivalen, a giant stage was erected at one end, as part of the week-long free arts festival. Then the town really came alive with every conceivable type of music and performing arts - from jam sessions to juggling, there was something for everyone in tents, in squares and in parks. At the corner of the square, Ekman & Johansson was located.

  Anita had already popped back to the polishus to tell Moberg and Nordlund about Ander Genmar. Moberg was going to delegate that task to Nordlund and Westermark. She hadn’t mentioned Jesper Poulsen, as he wasn’t on their list of suspects and might turn out to be just another time-wasting diversion. She wanted to speak to Poulsen first, so that she could eliminate him from their enquiries and not give Moberg yet another reason to criticize her. While they were back in headquarters she had phoned Gabrielsson’s gallery. She had caught Inga, who had called in to check the post. The gallery was still officially closed and she hadn’t heard from Stig Gabrielsson since he had rushed off abroad. She was getting worried about him, as he hadn’t gone away for so long before without being in touch.

  Anita’s dad would have called the advertising agency “swish”. The interiors were very modern and weren’t entirely in keeping with an old building. She had already asked to speak to Viktoria Carlsson, Ekman’s PA, Daniel Johansson, Elin Marklund, and the secretary who had covered for Carlsson during her lunch break. She also had Sven Lundin, head of media, down on her list, mainly because he had been at both the morning meetings and the presentation, though he hadn’t been at the celebratory drink for long. As the meeting had only been fixed up the day before, she hadn’t had time to add Jesper Poulsen to the list, but had assumed he would be in the agency on a Friday afternoon anyway. However, on her arrival, Anita was informed that Jesper Poulsen had flown up to Stockholm for the day to record some voice-overs and wasn’t due back in the office until Monday. She got hold of his home address and decided to see him on Saturday morning.

  They had already spoken to the two secretaries before they were shown into Johansson’s large, glass-fronted office. There were two rectangular, veneered desks with shiny tubular metal supports. Both had computers. Johansson’s had two large Apple macs on his desk, with piles of papers, a large sketch pad, two thick advertising annuals, a coffee cup and a half-drunk bottle of water. Hanging on the two end walls were mounted advertisements, stills from TV commercials and various framed awards. Through the glass partition, there was an open-plan room where a motley group of art directors and copywriters were working at their computers. It wasn’t how Anita had imagined an advertising creative department. She had expected it to be noisier and more chaotic. Everyone was working quietly at their screens.

  ‘Do you mind if I carry on while we talk? I’ve got this urgent job that needs to be out by tonight,’ said Johansson, peering through his designer glasses as he manoeuvred some unseen element of a layout around his screen. Anita thought her spectacles had been a rip-off, so heaven knows what Johansson had paid for his.

  ‘Fine,’ said Anita. ‘I presume this is where you work with Jesper Poulsen?’

  ‘Yeah, Jesper’s up in Stockholm today. Voice-over session.’

  ‘So, we know your movements on the day of the Geistrand Petfoods presentation,’ said Anita as she scanned the notes that had already been taken in previous discussions, ‘...including the time after the presentation when you borrowed Elin Marklund’s car and briefly disappeared.’

  ‘As I’ve said before, it was to collect some work that I’d done at home.’

  ‘So you say.’ Anita wanted to make Johansson uneasy. The accusation was left unspoken. It certainly had the effect of making him shuffle about in his chair. Johansson was still on their list of potential suspects. He had the opportunity and some sort of motive. It was his company now, even if Dag Wollstad – or possibly Kristina Ekman – was calling the financial shots.

  ‘So, did you and Jesper Poulsen work together on the Geistrand Petfoods pitch? You do call it a “pitch”?’

  ‘Yes, we worked on the pitch.’ Johansson pointed a finger at the staff through the glass. ‘We had other creative teams involved because it was potentially a big piece of business. But Jesper and I came up with the main campaign that we presented to the client.’

  ‘I was wondering why Poulsen wasn’t involved in the actual pitch?’

  Johansson smiled. ‘We didn’t want to go in mob-handed like other agencies. Tommy always believed that too many people just intimidate the client. We just went in with the core people that the client would be dealing with mo
st often if we won the business.’

  Anita scribbled a note on her pad. ‘Why wasn’t Poulsen at the meeting when you ran through the presentation before you left the office?’

  Again a smile swept across Johansson’s face. ‘Despite the unruffled image we like to portray to the clients, ask any ad agency about a pitch and they’ll tell you that it’s often a frenzied process. People working late, the creatives desperately trying to get everything together at the last minute. There are always changes right up to the moment we rush out of the door with the work under our arms. Seat of the pants stuff. Normally, Jesper would have been at that meeting, but he was rewriting some radio commercials. The night before the pitch we were working until after midnight. And then Tommy was unhappy with some of the radio scripts and Jesper came in early the next morning to rewrite them.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘I think he said around six.’

  ‘So he was the first in that morning?’

  ‘I was in just after seven and he was the only one about. Tommy arrived about the same time as me.’

  Anita could sense Hakim sitting alertly at her side. He was thinking the same as she was - Jesper Poulsen had been all alone in the building. He was also at the celebratory drink in the evening. How had that escaped notice?

  ‘I hear that Poulsen and Ekman didn’t see eye to eye.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Office gossip.’

  ‘Well, there was some truth in it. Jesper believes in the work we do, and isn’t afraid to fight for it. To me, that’s healthy. Sometimes Tommy found that difficult because Jesper can be very opinionated about creative work. Occasionally, Tommy could be quite savage in his criticism of our ideas. That would wind Jesper up. It’s only because both of them wanted the agency to be the best. They set high standards.’