Mission in Malmoe

Torquil MacLeod

Description

2006. Anita Sundstroem has only been with Chief Inspector Erik Moberg's Criminal Investigation Squad for a year when they have to tackle the aftermath of an armed robbery at a cash handling facility in Malmoe. The raid has left one security guard dead and there is no sign of the stolen millions. Though the team make early progress, they soon become frustrated as the investigation stalls. Then a murder with a possible connection to the audacious heist only raises more questions than answers.In the present day, Anita is just finding her feet as chief inspector. Her first big case is an old couple's apparent suicide pact, but if it is murder as she suspects, there seems to be no motive or suspects. Complicating her life further is the arrival of an FBI agent whose mission is to track down a Swede accused of a murder in Chicago. As Anita Sundstroem's ninth mystery unfolds, the past comes back to haunt her.

Informations

• Publié par: Distributed by eBookpartnership
• Date de parution: 01 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781916288911
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

MISSION IN
MALM
The ninth Inspector Anita Sundstr m mystery
by TORQUIL MACLEOD
Copyright Torquil MacLeod
2022
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without express written permission of the Publisher.
Published by Torquil MacLeod Books Ltd.
eBook edition: 2022
ISBN 978-1-9162889-1-1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.torquilmacleodbooks.com
eBook conversion by www.eBookpartnership.com
Also by Torquil MacLeod:
The Malm Mysteries
(in order)
Meet me in Malm
Murder in Malm
Missing in Malm
Midnight in Malm
A Malm Midwinter (novella)
Menace in Malm
Malice in Malm
Mourning in Malm
Mammon in Malm
Jack Flyford Misadventures (Historical crime)
Sweet Smell of Murder
Dedication
To the late Bill Foster. Much missed.

CONTENTS
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part Two
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Notes
About the author
Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
Six months ago.
I want the Swede found!
Salvatore Baresi gave the Boss a warning look.
Some solemn heads had turned to look at the imposing, silver-haired man in the expensive dark coat and the gleaming handmade shoes. He was standing, straight and taut, next to Baresi, who thought that the dark glasses were an affectation too far; the Boss was scary enough without them. There were nervous glances from the other mourners. The beefy, unsmiling pallbearers slowly lowered the coffin into the ground as the priest muttered the expected religious platitudes on death.
The weak, wintry sun bathed the scene in a ghostly pale light as a woman began to moan loudly. Baresi knew it was the Boss s daughter, Antonella. It was her fool of a husband who was heading towards the Pearly Gates. If St. Peter had any sense, he wouldn t open them. Matteo was no great loss, but the Boss had taken his death personally. He was kin; for Italians like him, that counted for a lot. But the strong bond of the familial unit had been stretched to the limit in Matteo s case; the guy was a handicap.
The widow slumped against a supportive shoulder as her ten-year-old son threw some dirt into the hole. It rattled as it dispersed over the top of the wooden coffin. Then she was steered through the same manoeuvre. This only produced more wailing. Baresi could sense the Boss s teeth gnashing, and his eyes were glinting. The man might be nearly eighty, but you could see he looked after himself, unlike many of his contemporaries who hadn t made old bones. He was lean - just like his operation. After cutting his teeth on the blood and brutality of the archetypal Chicago gangland scene, he had adapted to the modern realities of their business. He didn t suffer fools gladly - unless they married into the family, and even then, they had to work hard to gain his trust. Yet the Swede had won him over. Even Baresi, by his own highly sceptical standards, had been taken in.
And then it had all gone wrong. The Swede had fooled them all. But how had the FBI found out? And why the fuck had he wasted cocky, dumbass Matteo?
The gathering parted as the Boss went to the graveside and added his earthy contribution. He gave his daughter a valedictory nod and returned to Baresi.
Enough.
He began to walk briskly along the wide path through the Mount Carmel Catholic Cemetery, and Baresi followed.
Any word?
We ve had the boys out in Andersonville. Plenty of fucking Swedes, but no sign of ours.
They were surrounded by two hundred acres of aging tombstones and gaudy family mausolea. Beneath all this petrified ostentation lay generations of holy men and hoodlums - cardinals and archbishops rubbing skeletal shoulders with the likes of Al Capone, the Genna brothers and Sam Giancana. The place was deserted: the only disturbance coming from the traffic sliding down Roosevelt Road. Many of the gravestones sported photographs of the dead. Baresi had always found the practice creepy. When he was a kid, his mother used to take him to his grandfather s grave every Saturday. He d always been rather frightened of his grandfather. He d had a lazy eye that the tombstone photograph only emphasized.
I ve got to get the money back. And my credibility.
We ll get it back.
It was Matteo that brought him in?
Yeah.
Baresi knew that the Boss was conflicted about Matteo - furious that one of his own had been gunned down, yet annoyed that he d had to waste space in the family plot for such a stronzo .
They stopped by a mawkish marble Madonna, and the Boss fixed Baresi with an icy stare.
When you find him, get him to talk. Then stop him talking ever again.
PART ONE
2006
CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION SQUAD - 2006
Erik Moberg, Chief Inspector
Henrik Nordlund, Inspector
Karl Westermark, Inspector
Anita Sundstr m, Inspector
Klara Wallen, Inspector
CHAPTER 1
Did you see Liverpool on the TV last night? Willi Hirdwall groaned as he threw his peaked cap down on the table and took his seat opposite Kasper Jensen. God, I wish The Blues played football like that.
M ns Wallstr m laughed as Hirdwall slipped off his jacket and rubbed his hands together. It was bitterly cold outside and it was only the first of his rounds of this nightshift.
Kasper doesn t give a stuff about Malm . He s Danish.
Jensen silently pushed a mug of steaming coffee across the table. Hirdwall nodded and cupped the mug, which sported the logo of Malm FF, to thaw out his fingers. That s better, he said as he sipped the strong black liquid.
M ns Wallstr m, a man with the leathery features of someone in his early sixties, glanced at the notice board in the guards office and pointed towards the colourful holiday planner. I m off next week, by the way. But the shipment goes out first thing Monday, so there ll be extra security lads in. Then you can all relax.
Going anywhere nice? asked Hirdwall, swinging his legs onto the table and leaning back in his chair. He was over twenty-five years younger than Wallstr m. His nut-brown hair was slicked back in the style of an early Elvis Presley quiff. He was the joker in the group of security personnel at the Q Guard cash-handling facility on the edge of a dull, functional industrial estate on the outskirts of Malm . Unlike Wallstr m and Jensen, Hirdwall was lean and wiry, but Wallstr m was sure that if push came to shove, Hirdwall could handle himself. However, that assumption hadn t yet been tested.
Tenerife. The wife has set her sights on retiring there.
Oh, I heard you were taking early retirement.
Yeah. Offer too good to refuse, and what with all these cut-backs, I thought I might as well just go.
How will you cope with all that sunshine? Hirdwall laughed. You ll miss all the wind and the rain and the snow.
I will, but Alice won t. And I ve learned that for an easy life, it s best just to agree. Wallstr m s attention reverted to the bank of monitors that, via a number of strategically situated cameras, kept a digital eye on various parts of the depot. Nearly every shadowy corner, alcove and doorway of the squat, drab, brick building was covered, as well as the spiked, metal perimeter fence and entrance gates.
Jensen pushed his chair back.
I m off to do my rounds, he muttered as he got up to leave the comfortingly stuffy office.
Hirdwall watched his colleague plonk his cap on his head, do up his jacket and pick up his torch which, like everything else in the depot, was emblazoned with the company logo. When he was gone, Hirdwall pursed his lips.
What s up with Kasper?
On one of the screens, Wallstr m could see Jensen heading towards the main building from their office by the gate.
Been like that for a few days.
He seems quite jumpy, Hirdwall observed, his chair dangerously close to tipping over.
Maybe something s up at home.
He s never been a bundle of laughs, but I ve always put that down to his being Danish.
I m sure it ll pass.
I ve heard a rumour he s got money worries, said Hirdwall as he languidly raised his legs off the table and righted his chair.
Haven t we all?
Right enough, Hirdwall agreed. But he won t solve them working for this lot. All that money in there, he said, tilting his head towards the screens, and how much of it do we see? Bugger all.
Pension s good, though. I ll be picking mine up next year.
Hirdwall raised his mug in a mock toast.
Here s to Tenerife, then.
The empty wine glass sat disconsolately on the table, asking to be refilled. Anita Sundstr m thought she d better oblige.
Same again?
Yes please, replied a weary Klara Wallen.
Anita took their glasses to the bar and waited to be served. The Lilla Torg hostelry was already full of people kicking off their weekend straight after work. This evening, the place was particularly noisy, possibly because Christmas was only three weeks away. Festive decorations twirled and twinkled around the walls, and a large spruce, dripping w