Missing in Malmö: The third Inspector Anita Sundström mystery (Inspector Anita Sundström mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

He had put a bit of weight on since she had last seen him three years previously when she had gone to his mother’s funeral in Örebro. She had always got on with her mother-in-law, even after the divorce, and had kept in touch for Lasse’s sake. Björn’s handsome face, that had so captivated her when young, had become jowly. The blond mane that used to be just long enough for him to casually flick over his ears for effect was now cut shorter. It didn’t suit him, as it accentuated how thin his hair was becoming. There was a pin-cushion of fair stubble, like a newly harvested corn field, around his chin. Again, this wasn’t like the old Björn, who had always been clean-shaven. He still wore his regulation black attire – trousers, t-shirt and jacket – though it seemed he hadn’t changed them recently, judging by their crumpled state. An impish Irish acquaintance had once described Björn, with his mop of blond hair and all-black clothing, as looking like a pint of Guinness. It had amused Anita – Björn had taken offence. He hadn’t taken himself so seriously when they were first married, but as he climbed academe’s greasy pole he had become more vainglorious and egocentric. Björn had been able to make her laugh in the early years of their marriage. Later, he had been better at making her cry.
    ‘I know I should have waited for you,’ Björn said with a wave of his hand in the direction of the bottle.
    She walked over to a cupboard, took out a glass and put it on the table. She poured herself some wine. She didn’t offer to top up his.
    ‘I don’t usually have a drink at four in the afternoon,’ she said, ‘but this is Friday.’
    He took the bottle and poured himself a glass before thumping it back down on the table. It was empty.
    ‘Have you come to spend some quality time with your son?’
    For a moment, Björn gazed at her blankly before he took in what she had said.
    ‘Ah, sarcasm. I blame the years you spent in England for that. They love their fucking sarcasm and irony.’
    ‘You should know. You’ve taught their literature for long enough.’
    ‘So I have. And brilliantly, I may say.’
    He took a slurp of wine before running his jacket cuff across his mouth.
    ‘So, if you’re not here to see your son, why have I the dubious pleasure of your company?’
    Björn straightened up. He held out his hands in an expansive gesture.
    ‘To see my beautiful ex-wife.’
    ‘Very ex-wife.’
    ‘But you are beautiful. Still,’ he added as an unnecessary caveat.
    ‘Crap. What do you want?’
    Björn picked up his glass and clutched it in both hands, as if it may try to escape him. Then he spoke in English.
    ‘
All love at first, like generous wine,
    Ferments and frets until ’tis fine;
    But when ’tis settled on the lee,
    And from th’ impurer matter free,
    Becomes the richer still the older,
    And proves the pleasanter the colder
.’
    ‘I’ve no idea what you’re on about,’ Anita said in exasperation.
    He cocked his head and looked at her with a squint. ‘I think Samuel Butler got that wrong. When love goes cold, there’s nothing more unpleasant. But he got one thing right...
The souls of women are so small, that some believe they’ve none at all
.’
    Anita couldn’t suppress the annoyed sigh. ‘A bloody woman. It’s always a bloody woman!’
    ‘But she’s special.’
    ‘Aren’t they always until you betray them? Remember, I’ve been there.’
    He put his glass down on the table, spilling some wine in the process. ‘She’s disappeared.’
    Anita suddenly burst out laughing.
    ‘She’s dumped you! At last, a sensible woman!’
    ‘You don’t understand. Greta’s vanished.’
    ‘So, what’s that to do with me?’
    He slid his right hand across the table and earnestly grabbed Anita’s wrist.
    ‘I want you to find her.’ She pulled her hand free. ‘Anita, I’m begging you.’ And then he began to weep.
    He had parked his car near the bridge at the bottom of the hill. The