Unspoken ak-2

by Mari Jungstedt

  When she saw Sara and Filip she was filled with tenderness. They had no inkling of the chaos that was raging inside their mother.

  The doorbell rang. With a sigh she got out of bed and fumbled for her bathrobe. It wasn’t even ten o’clock.

  When she opened the door she found herself looking at the faces of her husband and children.

  “Good morning!” they cried in unison.

  “You have to get dressed,” Sara told her eagerly. “Hurry up!”

  “What’s going on?”

  Emma cast an inquiring glance at Olle, who was looking sly.

  “You’ll see. Go and get ready. We’ll wait.”

  Viveka was now up, and she came out to the entryway.

  “Hi. Has something happened?”

  “No. We’re just here to pick up Emma,” said Olle cheerfully.

  “Come into the kitchen and wait.” She turned to the children. “Would you like some juice?”

  “Yes!”

  Fifteen minutes later Emma was ready, and they set off. Olle drove south, heading away from Visby. In Vibble he turned onto a road leading through the woods.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  They parked outside a solitary house and rang the bell. Dogs could be heard barking inside. The children were jumping up and down with excitement.

  “That’s Lovis,” shouted Filip. “She’s so cute!”

  A young woman of about twenty-five opened the door, holding a baby in her arms, and with a golden retriever circling her legs. The dog was overjoyed to see the visitors.

  Emma had to wait in the hall while the others hurried out to the kitchen. She could hear them whispering. Then they came out to join her, first Olle with an adorable golden puppy in his arms, followed closely by the children.

  “Merry Christmas!” said Olle, handing her the puppy, who wagged her tail and stretched out her snout to lick Emma’s hands. “You’ve always wanted to have a dog. She’s yours, if you want her.”

  Emma felt herself beaming as she took the puppy in her arms. The dog was small, soft, and plump, and she eagerly licked Emma’s face. The children were looking up at her happily. A ribbon was tied around the puppy’s neck with a card attached: “To Emma with all my love-your Olle.”

  She sank down onto the bench in the hall, with the puppy climbing all over her.

  “See how much she likes you?” Sara chattered.

  “She just wants to keep licking and licking,” said Filip with delight as he tried to pet the puppy.

  “Do you want to keep her?” asked Olle. “You don’t have to. We can leave her here.”

  Emma looked up at him without saying a word. Everything that had happened flashed through her mind. His coldness had scared her, but it probably was because he felt hurt. And with good reason. Of course she understood. She saw hope in the faces of her children. For their sake she would have to try.

  “Yes,” she said. “I want to keep her.”

  The call came into police headquarters as Jacobsson and Kihlgard were sitting in the pizzeria on the corner. The Stockholm police reported that Tom Kingsley had booked his return flight for the following day. He was due to land at Arlanda Airport at 2:45 p.m. They assumed that he planned to continue on to Visby the same day. The next flight for Visby was scheduled to depart at 5:10 p.m. The police at Arlanda would apprehend him at the airport and then escort him to Visby. Wittberg called to convey the information, and Jacobsson sent a text message to Knutas to update him.

  “That’s great,” said Jacobsson, breathing a sigh of relief. “Maybe we can finally put an end to this whole story so we can have some time off during Christmas.”

  “I certainly hope so. If he really is the killer.”

  “And why wouldn’t he be?”

  “You just never know. Surely he should realize that he’s going to come under suspicion sooner or later. There’s nothing keeping him here. If Kingsley really is the perpetrator, we have to ask ourselves why he doesn’t stay in the States. Why would he come back here and risk getting caught?”

  “Maybe he’s convinced that he’s not a suspect.”

  “Sure. But it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the guy turns out to be innocent and we have to start from scratch.”

  Kihlgard stuffed the last bite of the aromatic calzone into his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  Jacobsson gave him a dubious look. “Optimist,” she muttered.

  “I think it’s strange that Knutas seems so certain that Kingsley is the perp. Just because the investigation has come to a dead end, that doesn’t mean he has to grasp at straws.”

  “Then how do you explain the morning-after pill?” Jacobsson objected.

  Kihlgard leaned back and lowered his voice. “It could be that Fanny trusted Kingsley enough that she asked his advice about those blasted pills, and then she left the instructions at his place. That’s not inconceivable, is it?”

  Jacobsson looked at him skeptically. “Is that what you really believe?”

  “Why not? We shouldn’t lock ourselves into Kingsley. That’s crazy.” Kihlgard ran his hand through his thick mane, which was sprinkled with gray.

  “So what should we do?” asked Jacobsson.

  “How about having some dessert?”

  Anders steered the little fishing boat out to sea. It was always so peaceful standing at the helm. Leif was preparing the nets on deck. He came from a family of fishermen and was quite experienced. When he was ready, he came to stand next to Anders in the wheelhouse.

  “There’s not much salmon on this side of the island, so we’ll have to fish for cod instead.”

  “That’s too bad. It would have been great to have fresh salmon for dinner.”

  “We can always try, by trolling. I’ll toss out the lines behind the boat and let them trail in our wake. Now that it’s so cold, the fish are right below the surface. If we’re in luck, we’ll catch a salmon or a steelhead.”

  They passed Tofta Beach, and Anders was amazed at how deserted it looked. The emptiness of the rippling sand dunes was a huge change from the hordes of swimmers in the summertime. Tofta was by far the most popular beach on the island, especially among young people. In the summer the beach towels were spread out so close together that you could hardly see the sand.

  Leif gazed across the sea.

  “Can you see the two Karlso islands over there? It’s incredible how clear they are.”

  Both islands stuck up from the water, the big one behind the little one. Anders had been out there so many times. His whole family went out to Big Karlso every May to see the colonies of guillemets. That’s when the unusual auks hatched their young.

  Glints of sunlight kept coming through the clouds, and even though the wind was picking up, they decided to stay out at sea while the nets were in the water. Leif unpacked some sandwiches and a thermos of hot chocolate, which they enjoyed on deck. It was hard to believe that Christmas Eve was just a couple of days away.

  Anders was tired, so he went into the cabin to lie down for a while. He fell asleep to the sound of the waves lapping against the hull. After an hour he woke up to find Leif nudging him.

  “We have to pull up the nets. It’s getting windy.”

  Anders was surprised to see how quickly the weather had changed. Gusts of wind met them as they came up on deck, and the sky was now dark. The boat was pitching back and forth as they pulled up the nets. It was a nice haul-they counted nine cod. The trolling lines brought in two salmon. Not exactly spectacular specimens, but still not bad.

  “Now we’d better see about getting back home as fast as possible,” said Leif. “I was listening to the marine report while you slept. There’s a storm on the way.”

  It would take them an hour to get back to Gnisvard. Darkness fell, and as they passed Tofta, the first squall set in. The boat listed abruptly. Anders, who was on his way up the companionway to the wheelhouse, fell headlong through the door.
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br />   “Damn it!” he shouted as he hit his head on the table.

  It wasn’t far now to land, but the boat was being tossed right and left. The fish were in buckets on deck, and when the first wave struck, Leif yelled, “We need to bring in the fish or they’ll all end up back in the sea. Be careful when you open the door.”

  Leif kept his eyes fixed on the black water, battling the swells as best he could. Anders reached for the door handle and pushed open the door. One bucket had turned over, and the fish lay scattered on deck. The next wave crashed over the gunwale and washed some of the catch overboard.

  Anders gathered up the remaining fish and threw them back into the bucket. God, this is nuts, he thought. Here I am practically risking my life just to save a few lousy fish. He could see Leif’s tense face through the window.

  Anders stumbled his way into the wheelhouse. His clothes were soaked through.

  “Fucking hell. How’s it going?” he asked Leif.

  “Okay. We’re close to shore, so it’s going to be all right. But this weather is damn awful.”

  Suddenly the lights of the Gnisvard dock appeared in the dark. Anders breathed a sigh of relief. They were only a hundred yards away.

  When they once again had solid ground under their feet, Knutas realized how scared he had actually been. His legs could barely hold him up. They secured the boat and hurried back to the house.

  “What an ordeal,” Anders gasped. “Right now all I want is to get out of these clothes and take a hot shower.”

  “You do that,” said Leif. “I’ll make a fire in the meantime.”

  Up in his room, Anders discovered that his cell phone was gone. Damn, it must have been washed overboard when he was out on deck. Now Jacobsson wouldn’t be able to reach him. He would have to ask Leif if he could borrow his cell. He also wanted to call Lina and tell her about their dramatic adventure. There was no phone in the house, in spite of all the other modern conveniences.

  They warmed themselves up with some Irish coffee as they made dinner.

  Leif prepared the salmon with an expert hand. He started by slitting open the fish with a sharp knife. Then he removed the guts and pulled the backbone away from the filets. Anders felt his mouth watering as he watched Leif brush the filets with oil, sprinkle them with herbs, and place them on a bed of coarse salt. Then he put the fish in the oven to bake.

  When it was ready they hungrily launched into the salmon, washing it down with strongbeer. They talked about the day’s drama. What an adventure. It could just as easily have ended in disaster. Outside the window the wind was blowing harder, and more snow was on the way.

  After a number of shots of whiskey with their coffee, they were both feeling fairly intoxicated. They listened to some music and talked about trivial things, and by the time Anders went upstairs to bed, it was two in the morning. Leif had passed out on the sofa.

  Anders fell into bed and should have fallen asleep instantly. Instead he was wide awake, thinking about the investigation, about Kingsley. According to Jacobsson’s text message, the suspect was supposed to return home later today. The case that had consumed all his thoughts, day and night, for the past month would most likely be solved just in time for Christmas Eve. He was looking forward to enjoying Christmas dinner with his family and relatives without having to think about the murder. He suddenly felt a great longing for Lina and the kids. He had an urge to get in the car and drive straight home.

  He realized that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. It was fruitless to try, so he got dressed and tiptoed down the stairs. The sofa in the living room was empty, so Leif must have gone to bed even though he hadn’t heard him.

  Anders sat down on one of the leather armchairs and started to fill his pipe. He lit it and inhaled deeply. He liked smoking when he was alone. He seemed to enjoy it more.

  A painting caught his attention. It was of a woman with a dog resting on her lap. The woman was young and slender and wore a sleeveless red dress. Her eyes were closed, and her head was tilted toward one shoulder, as if she were asleep. Her lips were the same color red as her dress. The dog was looking out at the viewer. It was a beautiful painting.

  Knutas leaned forward to see who the artist was. He got up from the armchair and ran his finger along the gilded frame. Moved his eyes to the wallpaper, which was a pale yellow with a slightly brighter border. Next to the painting stood a chair with a high back, richly decorated, and two turned posts with knobs. The details were merging into a puzzle, and slowly he realized where he had seen this chair before. It was without a doubt the distinctive chair back that was visible in Dahlstrom’s photographs. Norrby, who was interested in antiques, had explained that it was an English Baroque chair.

  At first he was overcome with utter confusion. How could Dahlstrom have taken pictures of Fanny in Leif’s house? Had he and some companion exploited her in the summer house without Leif’s knowledge? Did it happen while Dahlstrom was building the sauna?

  His thoughts moved on and in his mind everything began coalescing to create an appalling pattern. Leif owned a horse at the stable and he had hired Dahlstrom. His appearance matched the description. It could just as well have been Leif in the photos. His friend of twenty years. An electric shock wave of ice-cold instinct shot through his body, making its way into every nook and cranny. He lost his grip on his pipe, which fell to the floor, scattering bits of tobacco over the rug.

  He took another look at the painting to make sure that he was right. No, no. He couldn’t believe it, refused to believe it. The thought passed through his mind that he should just go to bed and pretend that he hadn’t noticed anything. He should bury his head in the sand and go on as usual. Part of him wished that he’d never seen that painting.

  He tried to convince himself that there must be some other answer. Suddenly it occurred to him that Leif had been out in the boathouse the night before. What was he doing out there?

  He had to go and take a look. Quickly he put on his shoes and jacket and then opened the front door as quietly as he could. He crossed the dark yard as his thoughts whirled. A jumble of irreconcilable images appeared in his mind: Leif in the sauna, on the ski slope, as Santa Claus at their house, playing soccer on the beach, standing in Dahlstrom’s darkroom with a hammer in his hand and acting with cold-blooded brutality, bending over Fanny Jansson’s young body in the photographs. He went around the corner of the house, and it took a few seconds before he noticed the figure in front of him. Suddenly he was standing face-to-face with Leif, who was holding his hands at a strange angle behind his back, as if he were hiding something. But Knutas never managed to see what it was.

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 23

  Lina sounded worried when she called Karin Jacobsson early in the morning.

  “I haven’t heard from Anders since yesterday morning. Have you?”

  “No, his cell is turned off. I’ve tried to call him several times.”

  “Leif doesn’t answer, either. I just talked to Ingrid. I’m starting to worry. They were going out in the boat yesterday, and since then a real storm has blown in. I hope nothing has happened.”

  “I’m sure they’re fine,” Karin reassured her. “Anders said that he’d be here this afternoon. His cell battery probably ran out. Don’t they have a phone at the summer house?”

  “No. I’m thinking of driving out there to see if everything’s all right. This is making me nervous. It’s so unlike Anders not to call.”

  Jacobsson checked her watch. Ten fifteen. Kingsley wasn’t supposed to land until that afternoon.

  “Listen, I’ll go out there myself. I can get away at the moment.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’ll be there in half an hour. We’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jacobsson had tried to call Knutas on his cell many times without getting through, and she had started feeling uneasy herself. On her way out to Gnisvard, she called the Marine Rescue Service. No, nothing had happened, as
far as they knew. She got the same answer from the Coast Guard.

  The road was slick. The temperature had dropped overnight and the slush had frozen, transforming the road into a sheet of ice. Jacobsson kept a safe distance from the other cars and was grateful that there was very little traffic.

  When she came to the sign for Gnisvard, she turned off and continued along a smaller road toward the old fishing village. The Almlov summer house was half a mile away, in a secluded spot near the water. She had been there once before, for a crayfish party. The house had a marvelous location with its own dock.

  The car was parked in the yard, and the boat was tied up at the dock. So they had to be close by.

  It was almost eleven thirty. The house seemed deserted. No smoke from the chimney, and the lights were turned off. Of course it was daylight, but the clouds made it seem quite dark outside.

  She knocked on the door. No answer. Pounded harder. Still no reaction.

  She saw no sign of human activity anywhere, except for the footprints in the snow leading back and forth between the house and the dock. Maybe they were out taking a walk.

  Imagine having a place like this, she thought enviously. Such peace. She looked out at the sea and the boathouse made of limestone. Farther down toward the water, right next to the dock, stood the sauna. That was the one that Dahlstrom had built. He had been paid under the table for it. She started walking across the yard. She didn’t notice the person who appeared right behind her.

  She heard only a brief rushing sound before she fell to the ground.

  On the day before Christmas Eve the call that he had been dreading came through. Her words were like a battle tank that mowed him down. Powerful and inexorable.

  “It’s not going to work anymore. I can’t keep doing this. I have to make up my mind, once and for all. I really care a lot for you, Johan, but I’m not ready to split up my family.”