Read Online Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) by Torquil MacLeod - Free Book Online
Authors: Torquil MacLeod
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home. (The stand-alone bath next to the wall doubled as a shower. The only problem was that the water ran down the gaps around the bath, flooded the floor and soaked the bathmat. The only escape for it was a hole in the floor underneath the bath. When he mentioned this to Anita, all he got in return was a dismissive ‘That’s what the mop and wiper are for’.) Even the doors opened outwards, which Kevin kept forgetting.
Lennartsson returned with the same tray, but with a thermos jug of coffee and three cups. He distractedly poured the black coffee out, spilling some onto the tray. He was in such a state that Kevin didn’t have the heart to ask for some milk.
‘Are you OK, Klas?’ asked Anita with genuine concern.
‘Not really. I had a couple of local newspapers calling me last night to do obituaries on Rylander. I knocked something up, but my heart wasn’t in it.’
‘It’s understandable.’
Lennartsson stared out of the window over to the patch of green grass and trees on the other side of the road.
‘I still find it difficult to believe that he would kill himself. I sat with him for hours and, though I knew he was in pain, he seemed real determined to finish telling his story.’
‘Were you any closer to his “secret”?’ Kevin asked.
Lennartsson slowly shook his head. ‘No. All he did say was that he wasn’t ashamed of what he had done, but he still felt guilty about the person it most affected.’
‘Sounds like some romantic interlude. A lover he shunned?’ Kevin suggested.
‘Whatever it was, the answer lies in Berlin.’
CHAPTER 12
It might be a Saturday morning, but Moberg had made sure the whole team was in – Wallen, Hakim, Brodd and himself. He had even avoided his usual Friday night booze-up with Pontus Brodd so that all his faculties were sharp for this meeting. He sensed that there was a chink of light in the case, where twenty-fours ago there had been none.
All the items retrieved from the Kronborgsvägen apartment were laid out on the meeting-room table. The nun’s habit was draped carefully over a chair. Moberg had had to cut Brodd off in mid-sentence when he realized he was going to come up with some inappropriately smutty joke.
Moberg started the meeting with: ‘Before we go through all of these items, we’ve drawn a blank on Julia Anna Akerman so far. We’ve found ten women with that name, and none are the right age. And certainly not one with a Malmö connection. I’ve still got people on it, but it’s not as straightforward as it should be.’
‘She could have changed her name,’ Brodd suggested.
‘But we’ve got a Swedish passport in that name on the table here,’ Moberg said, pointing out the obvious. ‘Right, let’s go through what we know we have. Klara?’
Wallen pointed to the bagged-up objects. ‘According to her passport, she is called Julia Anna Akerman; born May 20th, 1979. Birthplace: Malmö. Passport issued on February 16th, 2008.’
‘It looks like the genuine article,’ said Moberg, ‘but we can find no record of a Julia Anna Akerman being born on that date in Malmö, or any other time. We need it checked out to see if it’s a fake.’
‘The Easyjet boarding pass shows that she was flying back to Geneva the next day. We’ve checked, and she made six trips to Kastrup in the last seven months. Always for no more than a couple of nights here. So, she doesn’t live in the Kronborgsvägen apartment, but uses it for flying visits. Which also explains why she wasn’t seen by regular joggers in the park.’
‘Could she be an air hostess?’ Moberg wondered.
‘We’re checking that out.’
‘We’ve been on to the Swiss authorities to see if they can find a Julia Akerman. We’ve got a credit card from a bank in Switzerland, and she also pays her rent through them, according to Mankad, so there’s a good chance she lives there, or certainly spends a lot of her time there.’
‘Of course, if she
is
in the travel business, she may be
Lennartsson returned with the same tray, but with a thermos jug of coffee and three cups. He distractedly poured the black coffee out, spilling some onto the tray. He was in such a state that Kevin didn’t have the heart to ask for some milk.
‘Are you OK, Klas?’ asked Anita with genuine concern.
‘Not really. I had a couple of local newspapers calling me last night to do obituaries on Rylander. I knocked something up, but my heart wasn’t in it.’
‘It’s understandable.’
Lennartsson stared out of the window over to the patch of green grass and trees on the other side of the road.
‘I still find it difficult to believe that he would kill himself. I sat with him for hours and, though I knew he was in pain, he seemed real determined to finish telling his story.’
‘Were you any closer to his “secret”?’ Kevin asked.
Lennartsson slowly shook his head. ‘No. All he did say was that he wasn’t ashamed of what he had done, but he still felt guilty about the person it most affected.’
‘Sounds like some romantic interlude. A lover he shunned?’ Kevin suggested.
‘Whatever it was, the answer lies in Berlin.’
CHAPTER 12
It might be a Saturday morning, but Moberg had made sure the whole team was in – Wallen, Hakim, Brodd and himself. He had even avoided his usual Friday night booze-up with Pontus Brodd so that all his faculties were sharp for this meeting. He sensed that there was a chink of light in the case, where twenty-fours ago there had been none.
All the items retrieved from the Kronborgsvägen apartment were laid out on the meeting-room table. The nun’s habit was draped carefully over a chair. Moberg had had to cut Brodd off in mid-sentence when he realized he was going to come up with some inappropriately smutty joke.
Moberg started the meeting with: ‘Before we go through all of these items, we’ve drawn a blank on Julia Anna Akerman so far. We’ve found ten women with that name, and none are the right age. And certainly not one with a Malmö connection. I’ve still got people on it, but it’s not as straightforward as it should be.’
‘She could have changed her name,’ Brodd suggested.
‘But we’ve got a Swedish passport in that name on the table here,’ Moberg said, pointing out the obvious. ‘Right, let’s go through what we know we have. Klara?’
Wallen pointed to the bagged-up objects. ‘According to her passport, she is called Julia Anna Akerman; born May 20th, 1979. Birthplace: Malmö. Passport issued on February 16th, 2008.’
‘It looks like the genuine article,’ said Moberg, ‘but we can find no record of a Julia Anna Akerman being born on that date in Malmö, or any other time. We need it checked out to see if it’s a fake.’
‘The Easyjet boarding pass shows that she was flying back to Geneva the next day. We’ve checked, and she made six trips to Kastrup in the last seven months. Always for no more than a couple of nights here. So, she doesn’t live in the Kronborgsvägen apartment, but uses it for flying visits. Which also explains why she wasn’t seen by regular joggers in the park.’
‘Could she be an air hostess?’ Moberg wondered.
‘We’re checking that out.’
‘We’ve been on to the Swiss authorities to see if they can find a Julia Akerman. We’ve got a credit card from a bank in Switzerland, and she also pays her rent through them, according to Mankad, so there’s a good chance she lives there, or certainly spends a lot of her time there.’
‘Of course, if she
is
in the travel business, she may be
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