Read Online Midnight In Malmö: The Fourth Inspector Anita Sundström Mystery (The Malmö Mysteries Book 4) by Torquil MacLeod - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Torquil MacLeod
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based somewhere else, but Switzerland is a useful place to have a bank account.’ This was Wallen again, who was increasing in confidence. Maybe it was Anita who intimidated her more than Moberg, she wondered fleetingly before she moved on to the next object. ‘This key is for a Mercedes car. There was no sign of one near the apartment, so we conclude that she has one at home, wherever that is. It might be at Geneva airport. We don’t know. The others are house or apartment keys. Again, for where, we don’t know yet.’
‘And the mobile?’
‘It’s a basic Nokia pay-as-you-go phone, so we don’t know where it was bought, and it’s difficult to trace calls. I would have expected her to have a fancy phone. Strange thing is: she hadn’t received any calls. Of course, she may have deleted them. We’re going to get that checked out as well. She only had one number in her contacts section. It’s one in Skåne.’
‘And?’
‘We rang it, and it turned out to be a nursing home outside Sjöbo. They have never heard of Julia Akerman. And no one in the home is called Akerman.’
There was quiet as they all pondered this surprising piece of information.
‘I suppose we’d better deal with
this
,’ Moberg sighed incredulously as he waved a large hand at the nun’s habit.
‘As far as we can see, it is a proper habit. The kind an actual nun would wear. It’s not one of those sexy nun outfits that Brodd probably fantasizes about.’
‘What do you mean?’ Brodd reacted angrily.
Moberg was amused. Good for Wallen.
‘So, she’s not necessarily into sex games.’
‘But she had lots of revealing underwear,’ put in Hakim as he wondered how horrified his mother would be if she had seen him rifling through a woman’s knickers drawer.
‘You don’t think she could have been a real nun at some time?’ Moberg threw the thought into the open.
‘Well, she hasn’t half reformed!’ Brodd snorted.
Moberg ignored his comment. ‘The other religious connection is the cross round her neck. We’ve been told it’s Eastern European. Probably Polish. Does that give us any clues?’
‘Maybe that’s why we can’t trace her,’ suggested Hakim. ‘What if she was born in Poland and either changed her name to a Swedish equivalent or simply changed her name to fit in?’ He knew Poles got just as hard a time as Iraqis. Swedes always assumed they were going to pinch their cars and whisk them back over the Baltic.
‘So, we might have a religious Pole who has a Swedish passport and lives in Switzerland. It sounds like the start of one of your fucking awful jokes, Pontus. Right, there’s still a lot of checking to do. Unless we can nail down who she is exactly, we’re never going to come up with any suspects.’
CHAPTER 13
Anita and Kevin spent the rest of the day wandering around Simrishamn. Kevin seemed to enjoy the harbour, with its rows of colourful cottages huddled along cobbled streets. They had spent a couple of hours at the local loppis – ‘A bit like a British car boot sale,’ Kevin remarked – near the Nils Holgersson School. Tables were laid out with everything from second-hand clothes to unwanted bric-a-brac. A large crowd had gathered and business was brisk. Anita bought a couple of thick woollen jumpers – ‘Winter will be here soon enough.’ Kevin guessed it must be an example of Scandinavian pessimism.
Anita acknowledged the few familiar faces who greeted her with smiles of recognition. As Kevin was debating whether to buy a small porcelain shepherdess as a present for one of his daughters, he noticed Anita chatting earnestly to a ruddy-faced man in his mid-sixties with cropped hair like himself but with a far more impressive stomach. They parted with a burst of laughter. By that time, Kevin had abandoned thoughts of a purchase; the figurine was a bit tacky anyway.
‘That was Stefan. He’s a cop based here in Simrishamn. I’ve known him since I was a teenager; he used to come to our
‘And the mobile?’
‘It’s a basic Nokia pay-as-you-go phone, so we don’t know where it was bought, and it’s difficult to trace calls. I would have expected her to have a fancy phone. Strange thing is: she hadn’t received any calls. Of course, she may have deleted them. We’re going to get that checked out as well. She only had one number in her contacts section. It’s one in Skåne.’
‘And?’
‘We rang it, and it turned out to be a nursing home outside Sjöbo. They have never heard of Julia Akerman. And no one in the home is called Akerman.’
There was quiet as they all pondered this surprising piece of information.
‘I suppose we’d better deal with
this
,’ Moberg sighed incredulously as he waved a large hand at the nun’s habit.
‘As far as we can see, it is a proper habit. The kind an actual nun would wear. It’s not one of those sexy nun outfits that Brodd probably fantasizes about.’
‘What do you mean?’ Brodd reacted angrily.
Moberg was amused. Good for Wallen.
‘So, she’s not necessarily into sex games.’
‘But she had lots of revealing underwear,’ put in Hakim as he wondered how horrified his mother would be if she had seen him rifling through a woman’s knickers drawer.
‘You don’t think she could have been a real nun at some time?’ Moberg threw the thought into the open.
‘Well, she hasn’t half reformed!’ Brodd snorted.
Moberg ignored his comment. ‘The other religious connection is the cross round her neck. We’ve been told it’s Eastern European. Probably Polish. Does that give us any clues?’
‘Maybe that’s why we can’t trace her,’ suggested Hakim. ‘What if she was born in Poland and either changed her name to a Swedish equivalent or simply changed her name to fit in?’ He knew Poles got just as hard a time as Iraqis. Swedes always assumed they were going to pinch their cars and whisk them back over the Baltic.
‘So, we might have a religious Pole who has a Swedish passport and lives in Switzerland. It sounds like the start of one of your fucking awful jokes, Pontus. Right, there’s still a lot of checking to do. Unless we can nail down who she is exactly, we’re never going to come up with any suspects.’
CHAPTER 13
Anita and Kevin spent the rest of the day wandering around Simrishamn. Kevin seemed to enjoy the harbour, with its rows of colourful cottages huddled along cobbled streets. They had spent a couple of hours at the local loppis – ‘A bit like a British car boot sale,’ Kevin remarked – near the Nils Holgersson School. Tables were laid out with everything from second-hand clothes to unwanted bric-a-brac. A large crowd had gathered and business was brisk. Anita bought a couple of thick woollen jumpers – ‘Winter will be here soon enough.’ Kevin guessed it must be an example of Scandinavian pessimism.
Anita acknowledged the few familiar faces who greeted her with smiles of recognition. As Kevin was debating whether to buy a small porcelain shepherdess as a present for one of his daughters, he noticed Anita chatting earnestly to a ruddy-faced man in his mid-sixties with cropped hair like himself but with a far more impressive stomach. They parted with a burst of laughter. By that time, Kevin had abandoned thoughts of a purchase; the figurine was a bit tacky anyway.
‘That was Stefan. He’s a cop based here in Simrishamn. I’ve known him since I was a teenager; he used to come to our
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