Murder in Malmö: The second Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries)
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‘After the war my grandmother had nowhere to turn – no Danish family, no German family. Then my mother was taken from her and put in a home. God knows what abuse she suffered there. The Danish authorities wanted these children out of sight – they didn’t want reminders that there had been fraternization with the occupying forces. Literally sleeping with the enemy. They had their hands full. There were well over five thousand “German babies”.’
As he twisted his hands Anita realized that Poulsen was not a man who could forget, or forgive.
‘My grandmother was so distraught that she walked into the sea over there somewhere,’ said Poulsen pointing in the direction of Denmark, ‘and was never seen again. One less national embarrassment.’
‘What happened to your mother?’
‘When she was ten she was taken in by an uncle. He tried to be kind, but word got out, and her school life consisted of other children telling her that her father was a Nazi war criminal and her mother a prostitute. She never got over the shame, even when she found fellow sufferers after Danske Krigsbørns Forening was formed.’
‘I’ve heard of Children of War Denmark. They share their experiences, don’t they, and get counselling?’
‘My mum didn’t join until it was too late. She was very ill by then, but it gave her some comfort knowing that other people had gone through the hell that she had. She didn’t have much time to share her experiences, but one thing she did have in common with the others was guilt.’
‘Why? It wasn’t their fault.’
‘They were atoning for the sins of the parents. It makes no sense, but it’s true nonetheless.
‘What about your father?’
‘I don’t know who he is. I’m the result of a one night stand. She could never trust anybody to form a long-term relationship. She brought me up as best she could and then I took over caring for her when she became ill.’
‘And you escaped to Malmö when she died?’
He nodded. ‘Escape is the right word. I learned at an early age how ugly intolerance is. We’re too quick to judge. Look at all the problems we have now. Anyway, two months after Mum died the E&J job came up.’
The wind was getting stronger. The fleeting clouds were looking more threatening.
‘Of course, I soon began to realize that there are just as many bigoted people over here. The far right seems to be coming out of the woodwork all over Scandinavia. I leave behind the Danish People’s Party and find the Sweden Democrats instead. They’re all scum. Despite that, I’d prefer to live in Malmö than Copenhagen any day. You’re not even legally allowed to live with a non-EU spouse over there these days. No wonder they’re all coming over to Sweden.’
He stood up to stretch his legs. ‘So, who told you about the Lebensborn connection?’
‘Bo Nilsson.’
He raised his almost-bleached eyebrows. ‘That’ll have come from Ekman.’
‘How did Ekman know?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe he did some checking up on me before he gave me the job. It only came up once. He seemed interested. Fascinated, actually. After he saw that it wasn’t a subject I wanted to talk about, he never mentioned it again.’
‘We think that Ekman and Olofsson, and a man called Ingvar Serneholt, who was murdered the other day, might have been part of a far-right group.’ She knew she was fishing. ‘Maybe that’s why Ekman was so interested in your German connection.’
‘Is that why you think I killed him?’
‘Not only him. A jogger, wearing a blue hooded top, was seen in the vicinity of both the Olofsson and Serneholt murders.’
‘Half the joggers in Malmö dress like me.’
‘Where were you on the evenings of Monday, the twenty-third of May and Monday, the thirtieth of May?’
‘I have no idea. I think you’ve wasted enough of my time, Inspector.’ With that Poulsen turned and jogged off.
He watched the man jog away from her as she remained seated on the bench. It appeared that she was working on her own. He wouldn’t bother to follow her any more today. He would wait until Monday, when he could pick her up again at the police headquarters. It was safer following her movements than the Arab’s. Then he could work out his strategy. He would have to think on his feet and grab his opportunity to strike where there was a safe escape route. And they had to be together. The voice was adamant. At least he had now seen both his targets.
He felt the inside of his jacket. The gun reassuringly nuzzled against his chest. It would be strange killing a white Swedish woman. He had never done that before.
CHAPTER 37
Moberg’s wife hadn’t been pleased when he had left for the polishus after breakfast that morning. She had wanted him to go to IKEA with her to choose the new bed that she had been pestering him to buy for the last year. He had lost his temper and shouted that he had three fucking murders to solve and that a new bed wasn’t high up on his list of priorities just now. After slamming the door, he was quite relieved that he wouldn’t have to go back home until tonight. He wondered how long she would put up with his unreasonable behaviour. He must start making an effort – he couldn’t afford a third divorce on his salary.
Nordlund and Westermark were waiting for him.
‘Ander Genmar is on holiday,’ said Nordlund. ‘Interestingly, it was a very sudden decision, according to a couple of people at the group’s head office.’
‘I think this list shit is getting us nowhere.’ Westermark resented having to spend valuable time in Lund looking for Genmar and then wasting more time talking to office employees. ‘People take spur-of-the-moment holidays. Maybe he saw a good deal.’
‘Where is he?’ Moberg asked.
‘Spain,’ answered Nordlund. ‘He has a villa near Marbella. They usually go for the whole of September. He and his wife left two days after Serneholt was killed. It’s suggestive.’
‘I know Henrik is still backing Sundström up on this right-wing conspiracy thing, but we only have evidence to connect two of these people; through the Bishop Green film. The Wollstad association is pure fantasy. And we know Ekman couldn’t have been at this supposed meeting.’
‘Henrik?’
‘Karl may well be right. The trouble is we can’t ask anybody about the meeting, as we either don’t know who they are, or the ones that we do know are dead. Except for Genmar.’
‘Have we contact details for Genmar in Spain?’
‘Yes,’ said Nordlund. ‘I rang last night. However, there was no answer. Nor this morning when I tried.’
Westermark was restless. ‘Look, Chief, I think we should be concentrating on Nilsson. The big question we’ve got to ask ourselves is how he got the poison. Crack that and we’ve got him - and solved two murders. The Serneholt slaying has something to do with the art world, and nothing to do with the advertising agency. End of story.’
‘Coffee?’
‘Thank you.’
Elin Marklund went through to the kitchen. Marklund had seemed totally unfazed when Anita had turned up on her doorstep a few minutes earlier. The rain had come during the drive down the E6. She had branched off to Höllviken, the community that straddled the route to the peninsula. She drove on to Skanör and parked near a small, whitewashed church with crow-stepped gables at each end, which commanded a view of the distant Öresund Bridge. Skanör was a beautiful spot with protected wildlife wetlands spreading to the south. Anita could see a couple of avocets using their long curved beaks to plunder the muddy marsh. Beyond was the beach and a colourful line of beach huts. It was a place in which she would like to linger, but a combination of the rain and the need to talk to Elin Marklund overrode any such thoughts.
Anita had walked to Marklund’s house. It was situated not far from the church along an unmetalled road. The residents parked their cars on the grass verges around their homes. A smart red Saab sat next to Marklund’s quaint, white-fronted cottage. By the standards of this prosperous area, it was a modest home. Somehow it didn’t fit with Anita’s im
age of an advertising executive with a husband in the oil industry. As Anita waited after ringing the doorbell, she glanced at the yellow blanket of cowslips on the rough grass that surrounded the building. It was a wild flower that she loved. The lilac trees beyond were now in full bloom and their scent wafted on the breeze. Marklund had answered the door in old slacks, sloppy T-shirt and espadrilles, very much the off-duty look. Anita thought she was prettier out of her business uniform. There certainly wasn’t an ounce of fat on her. No kids, Anita thought with a tinge of envy.
The room was more traditional than expected. Anita had assumed a high-flyer to surround herself with trendy furnishings and arty knick-knacks from trips to exotic locations. This was more like a traditional Swedish house. An older person’s home. There was a model of a small sailing boat in the window. There were even a couple of brightly-painted Dala horses. Among the photos there were a couple of a girlish Elin with a grey-haired couple. Grandparents probably. On the mantelpiece was an old black and white photograph of a handsome young woman. Her thick, dark hair waved to just above her shoulders – a typical late 1940s style. She had a pretty smile.
‘That’s my grandmother,’ said Marklund as she came in with a tray bearing two mugs of coffee and two cinnamon buns.
‘Very striking.’
Marklund laid the tray down on the old wooden coffee table.
‘Granny was from Denmark.’
Anita took hold of her mug. ‘Thanks.’ She took a sip. It wasn’t as strong as she liked but it was much needed. ‘I’ve just spoken to Jesper Poulsen. I had an interesting chat. He was talking about his grandmother too.’
Marklund took a bite out of her bun.
‘I can’t imagine that had anything to do with the case.’
‘It might do.
Marklund didn’t disguise her surprise.
‘What do you make of Poulsen? I sense a lot of anger there.’
‘I like Jesper. A lot people don’t know what to make of him. He’s not the most diplomatic person, which doesn’t make him very popular in the office. Rubbed a few of his colleagues up the wrong way.’
‘Tommy Ekman?’
‘Particularly Tommy. He wasn’t used to staff standing up to him.’
Anita nibbled at her cinnamon bun. It tasted delicious. She hadn’t had one since Lasse was last at home. She decided to buy some on the way back.
‘The real reason for my call is that you weren’t entirely truthful about the day of the presentation.’
‘Wasn’t I?’
‘You left the office early - in your car. There were two cars – Ekman, Johansson and Lundin went to the presentation in the other. Where did you go?’
Markland appeared amazed. ‘I thought I’d covered everything. Yes, I did take my car because I needed to go to the pharmacist.’
‘The pharmacist?’
‘Tampax. My period came early. Caught me unawares. Would have been embarrassing at the presentation...’
‘Where was the pharmacy?’
‘The one outside Entré.’
‘Bit out of the way if you were going to Fosieby.’
‘My car was parked near the central station, so it was easier to go that way. And I know where the toilets are in Entré.’
Anita was thankful that Hakim wasn’t with her. Too much information.
‘What time would that be?’
‘I was at Geistrand Petfoods at twenty past eleven, so I must have left the office about half an hour earlier.’
‘If you went to Entré, then you must have passed Tommy Ekman’s apartment.’
‘I suppose I must have.’
‘Anyway, that explains it. We have to follow up everything. You understand.’
‘That’s your job.’
After Anita had finished her bun she got to her feet. ‘One last thing. Who does Pontus work for?’
‘Fraser Oil International.’
‘Thanks for the bun.’
The rain had eased a little as Anita headed down a tree-lined path that ran along the back of Marklund’s house and retraced her steps to the church, Marklund said it was a short cut. She reached her car and got in. For a few minutes she sat and watched trickles of rain run down the outside of the windscreen. She was concentrating hard. What had been wrong about the house? There was something.
Anita caught Moberg in mid-sandwich. In fact, it was more mid-meal, judging by the amount of empty plastic wrapping strewn around his desk.
‘Wasn’t sure if you’d be in today.’
Moberg grunted, as he was still demolishing his last mouthful.
‘I’ve been to see Jesper Poulsen, the copywriter; and Elin Marklund.’
‘Anything interesting?’
‘Yes.’ Anita sat down. ‘Marklund hadn’t told us that she set off early to the presentation in her own car. She says she went to Entré shopping centre to get some Tampax. That time of the month.’
Moberg put down the rest of his sandwich. ‘Please. Not while I’m eating.’
‘She would have passed Ekman’s apartment, so she would have had opportunity. She’s no motive though.’
‘And this Poulsen guy?’
‘He’s more interesting. He was the first in the office on the day of the presentation. Finishing off some radio scripts. That gave him about an hour alone in the building. Plenty of time to get the keys.’
‘How come this wasn’t clocked before?’ Moberg was annoyed. He hated sloppiness in his subordinates. ‘Anything else?’
‘Poulsen and Ekman didn’t get on. Fights over work. And Poulsen has strong political opinions. His mother was a Lebensborn child. I think it’s an obsession with him. Chip on his shoulder. Obviously loathes right-wingers. If Ekman and the rest were politically involved, then that would give him a good motive. He also happens to be a fanatical jogger with the same colour top and black backpack as reported in the sightings. I saw the backpack in his office.’
‘Pick it up. The backpack. Send it to forensics and see if Thulin can match it to anything in Olofsson’s car or Serneholt’s house. It’s a long shot, but we might as well clutch at a few straws. That’s all we’ve got.’
‘I’ll go first thing Monday.’
Moberg had returned to the remnants of his sandwich. ‘You know Westermark thinks that the political route is a waste of time.’
‘But what do you think?’
‘I think we need more suspects. The less we find on Nilsson, the more worried I am that he’s the wrong person.’
Anita wasn’t used to such admissions from the chief inspector. She could see that the lack of progress on the cases was getting to him.
‘At least Poulsen gives us another.’
‘This Ander Genmar has rushed off on an unexpected holiday. It might be a coincidence. Then again...’ Moberg leaned back in his chair. ‘Gut feeling about Poulsen?’
Anita tapped the desk top with her fingers. ‘Yes. It could be him.’
‘Do you want to bring him in?’
‘I’ll speak to him again on Monday.’
‘Is he methodical enough to plan Ekman’s murder?’ That was a good question which Anita wasn’t sure she could answer. ‘And we still have no idea how the murderer got hold of the means to gas Ekman.’
Anita shrugged. That was baffling. She made a move to go.
‘The Mirza kid. How’s he shaping up?’
‘He’s keen. A good eye. Methodical. I think he’ll make an excellent cop one day - if the system doesn’t wear him down.’
‘We need people like him.’ Anita was surprised at this admission. ‘Might shut the Sweden Democrats up. They were moaning on the other day that Sweden has taken in more Iraqis since the 2003 invasion than all the other major European countries combined.’
‘Hakim’s family came over here when he was young. He thinks of himself as Swedish.’
‘Maybe the people we’re dealing with disagree with that. And that definitely includes the “Malmö Marksman”.’
CHAPTER 38
She had walked across the bridge by the library, and stopped for a few moments. The sun glinted off the canal. She had better enjoy the sight now because she was unlikely to see the day out. He wanted to make sure the killings were done today, and then he could disappear quickly. He didn’t want to stay in Malmö a minute longer than he had to. The murder of two cops would result in the whole country on the lookout for him.
In the corner of the square she hung around, checking her watch. He hovered, pretending to admire the varied architecture, while he took in ways of making a quick exit. When he glanced back, the young Arab was with her. He immediately felt for his gun. There wasn’t an obvious escape route, so he let them go into the building. He would bide his time.
Jesper Poulsen wasn’t pleased to see Anita again. Johansson had vacated the office to let them speak to him. This move had set off whispered chatter in the rest of the creative department on the other side of the glass.
Anita got straight down to business. ‘We need to know where you were on the evenings of Monday, the twenty-third of May and Monday, the thirtieth of May.’