Closed Circles (Sandhamn Murders Book 2)

by Sten, Viveca

  “We share everything equally. Once all bills are settled, the profits are split among the partners.”

  “Do the partners bring in the same income?” asked Margit.

  “Not at all,” Hallén said. “There’s a great deal of difference in the amounts each partner makes.”

  “If that’s the case, why do you have an even split?”

  Hallén shrugged.

  “That’s a good question. The point of a true partnership is that lawyers don’t compete for clients so that they can maximize their personal profit. Instead, the client gets the partner best suited for his case.”

  “This wasn’t to Juliander’s advantage?”

  “That’s correct.” Hallén took a sip of coffee from one of the blue-and-white cups before he continued. “Oscar was not pleased with our system. To be honest, he strongly objected—he was the one who brought in the most money, so he wanted the greatest share of the profits.”

  “What did the other partners think?” asked Margit.

  Hallén gazed at a point on the wall above Margit’s head. A few seconds passed before he continued.

  “Conflict was in the air. Oscar threatened to leave our firm if he didn’t get his way.”

  “How much money are we talking about?” asked Thomas.

  “Oscar’s income would have increased by several million kronor.”

  Margit knew it was common for people to want more money. But that was not the most important issue here.

  “Was this a major problem?” she asked. “Important enough for someone to want to kill Oscar Juliander?”

  Hallén twisted in his chair. Experienced lawyer that he was, he appeared to regret sharing this information. All at once, he no longer wanted to talk.

  “I would hardly call it a problem, more like a disagreement among the partners. By no means would it have led to violence. Absolutely not.” He shook his head emphatically.

  Thomas glanced at Margit as if to indicate it was time to finish this conversation.

  “We would like to speak to Oscar Juliander’s secretary, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said.

  “Absolutely. Not a problem. Please stay here, and I’ll bring her to you.”

  Hallén walked to an intercom and spoke a few short sentences, and then he turned to Thomas and Margit.

  “Eva will be right here. Oscar’s secretary’s full name is Eva Timell,” he added. “She’s worked for him for as long as I can remember.”

  He’d barely finished when someone knocked on the door.

  A dark-haired woman in a dark-blue dress and trim pumps entered. She wore a discreet pearl necklace but no wedding ring. Her eyes were red rimmed, and she held a crumpled handkerchief in her hand, as if she’d been crying.

  “I’ll leave you now,” Hallén said. He shook their hands. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything else. The Kalling firm will do its utmost to help your investigation. The person who killed Oscar Juliander must not escape justice.”

  Eva Timell sat silently at the other end of the table and looked at Thomas and Margit.

  “How long did you work for Oscar Juliander?” Margit asked.

  “For more than twenty years,” Eva said. “I started with the firm just as he made partner, near the end of the eighties.”

  She tried to hide a sob but was not successful.

  “Please excuse me,” she said. “I’m all worn out. The phones have been ringing off the hook. Everyone wants to know what happened and how his cases will be handled. And all his colleagues are in shock.”

  “How much did you know about Juliander’s caseload?” asked Thomas.

  Eva Timell straightened up.

  “I was aware of everything Oscar did,” she said.

  “Can you describe this a bit more?” asked Margit.

  “Oscar often said he’d never make it through the day without me. I had access to his e-mail and correspondence. Not to mention his cell phone, which he was always forgetting.”

  “You were his right-hand man, so to speak,” Thomas said.

  “I was the one who kept his life in order, both at work and in private.”

  “In private?” Margit asked.

  “Oscar had too much to do to keep up with his private affairs. He was extremely busy.”

  “So you helped him out?”

  “Yes, of course, whenever necessary. I bought birthday presents, sent flowers, accepted invitations. You know,” she said, with a look at Margit.

  Margit had no idea. I certainly don’t have anyone helping me buy birthday presents or sending flowers, she thought.

  “Did your boss have conflicts with anyone?” asked Thomas.

  Eva Timell considered the question. Then she shook her head.

  “Not that I know of. Oscar was a highly respected lawyer. You probably know he was on the board of the Swedish Bar Association.”

  “If he had any enemies, you would have known,” Thomas stated.

  Eva Timell nodded. “Oscar would have told me.”

  Margit walked over to the window. Norrmalm Square spread out before her, alive with tourists and office workers walking among the flower shops and cafés. In one corner of the square, she saw an ice cream shop with a long line.

  She turned back to the room and looked at Eva Timell.

  “How was his marriage? Did you know his wife?”

  Eva’s eyes wavered.

  “His marriage . . .” She stopped speaking, as if carefully choosing what she wanted to say.

  “Were they happily married?” Margit asked.

  Eva Timell sighed and began to speak again.

  “Not exactly. It had been quite some time since their marriage was a happy one. But it is possible”—she drew out her words—“that they weren’t altogether unhappy either.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Thomas.

  Eva Timell grimaced and then looked at him.

  “He was a successful lawyer, and she was a housewife who took care of the children. They had a huge house in Saltsjöbaden and a summerhouse on Ingarö. As long as he could come and go as he pleased, she enjoyed the social status and a standard of living that many would envy. Sylvia wanted for nothing. They had an agreement, you could say. A personal contract.”

  “Did he see anyone outside of his marriage?” asked Margit.

  The corners of Eva’s mouth lifted slightly, as if the question was funny.

  “Did he see anyone? Of course he did. Quite a few, in fact.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Margit.

  “I sent flowers to various women on his behalf. You surely can’t believe that a man like him would be satisfied with one woman for thirty years?”

  “But how did he get away with it?” asked Margit. An image of her own spouse went through her mind. Bertil spent most of his evenings in front of the television. They’d been married for twenty years.

  Eva Timell looked at Margit as if she found the question completely naïve.

  “Oscar Juliander was rarely home during the week and sometimes not even on the weekends. How could his wife have known if he were in an important meeting at work, having a board meeting with the RSYC, or meeting up with his mistress? What do you think he was doing whenever he was out of town on business trips—watching CNN?”

  Eva smiled and shook her head.

  “He also raced extensively. Morals go out the window when you make it back to port. Successful men are very attractive, especially if they have gravitas and a fat wallet.”

  She looked at her intertwined fingers.

  “But he was loyal to Sylvia, as far as I know. He never wanted to embarrass her. He was always very discreet.”

  “With your help.”

  Margit regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Eva Timell sank back into her chair. The silence in the room became oppressive. Finally she said, “Oscar was my employer. I made a point of being as effective and loyal as possible.”

  “Wo
uld you please make a list of the women you know your employer had been involved with?” Thomas asked.

  He handed her his card.

  “We will likely be back with more questions. If you think of anything before then, we’d be grateful if you contacted us.”

  Eva Timell nodded and looked at Thomas with sorrow in her eyes.

  “I still can’t believe he’s dead,” she whispered. Then she got up and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER 15

  Henrik came home right after lunch, catching Nora off guard. Before she could mention the phone message, he smiled and told her he’d made an appointment with a real-estate agent for the next day.

  The realization made her cold inside. Did he not know how she felt, or did he not want to understand?

  While she tried to form a response, she realized he was looking for praise besides.

  “It wasn’t that easy, believe me, right in the middle of the summer and all,” he said. He looked pleased. “Especially if you’re looking for a really good guy.”

  “But shouldn’t you have asked me first at least?” Nora said.

  They were standing in the kitchen. The boys had already run into the yard. Nora began wiping down the counters forcefully so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  Henrik seemed surprised. Then anger flooded his face.

  “I thought you’d be happy,” he said. “It’s hard to know what you want these days. I’m trying, I really am.”

  He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but then he shut it again.

  Nora smiled in an attempt to pacify him.

  “I was just a little surprised,” she said. She put down the gray dishrag. It was on its last legs, and she made a mental note to pick up more at Westerberg’s Grocery Store the next time she had to go shopping. “Perhaps it’s not a bad idea to get a professional opinion. As long as he won’t feel we’re wasting his time.”

  Henrik looked at her.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “We haven’t decided whether we’re going to sell—we’ve only made a few offhand remarks about it.”

  “You can’t be serious about us moving in there,” he said. “Do you really want to live in a house that belonged to a murderer?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the countertop.

  Nora felt her body go rigid. Through the window she saw a guide leading a group of tourists through the village. He was likely telling them Sandhamn’s history and how the population used to live long ago.

  She wondered if life was easier then. Probably not. Just different.

  Her instinct was to become defensive.

  “Don’t call her a murderer! Aunt Signe was a fine person.” She spoke more sharply than she’d intended. “She didn’t will the property to me to sell it. She wanted me to take care of it. She loved the Brand house more than anything else.”

  “Get a grip,” Henrik said. “She killed two people, or have you forgotten that? Don’t be so goddamn loyal. Two people are dead because she didn’t want to share her property.”

  Henrik could not hide his frustration. Nora shot him an unhappy look. She felt torn between her loyalty to Aunt Signe and keeping the peace at home. She didn’t want to quarrel with Henrik again.

  “Sweetheart,” she said. “Let’s not argue about this. Let’s meet the agent and see what he has to say.”

  She snuggled close to him and tried to relax. He smelled like coffee and cologne, a familiar scent that made her feel better immediately. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and felt him soften as well.

  “That’s just what I’ve already said. You’ll see this is the right thing, Nora.” He stroked her hair as he spoke. “All I want is what’s best for us and for the children. Can’t you understand that?”

  CHAPTER 16

  Thomas drummed his fingers impatiently on the green fence surrounding the entrance to the Department of Medical Forensics in Solna. They’d driven there right after visiting the Kalling law firm.

  The department was just north of Stockholm, on the campus of Karolinska University Hospital. The redbrick building looked like any other in the area. Students sauntered across the lawns. Presumably taking summer courses.

  “How long can it take to open the door?” asked Thomas. He didn’t expect an answer.

  “About as long as it takes to walk the length of the place,” Margit said. The autopsy rooms were on the other side of the building. “He’ll be here any minute. Just be glad that he took our case first so we don’t have to wait until the end of the week for results.”

  Thomas didn’t reply, but he stopped drumming his fingers.

  Behind the glass door’s white ruffled curtain, a shadow appeared shortly before Dr. Oscar-Henrik Sachsen emerged.

  “Sorry it took me so long,” he said. “There’s no one around to open the door in July.”

  Margit and Thomas followed him through the long hallway, down a spiral staircase, and into another long hallway. Finally they arrived at a collection of silent, neutral spaces, where the pale linoleum matched the gray walls: the autopsy rooms. Various instruments and stainless-steel bowls were arranged on a counter.

  They greeted Dr. Sachsen’s assistant with a nod. The assistant wore a long white coat and was busy entering something into a computer.

  A body rested under a white sheet on an examination table nearby.

  “Would you like to take a look?” Dr. Sachsen asked.

  Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the sheet off of Oscar Juliander.

  The bullet hole looked remarkably neat, like a small incision below his left nipple.

  “He’s a good-looking guy,” Margit said. “He must have gone to the gym quite a bit to stay in shape like that.”

  They recognized his face from television and newspaper photos. Juliander had frequently appeared in the media during the real-estate crash in the nineties, when many businesses went bankrupt. Since then, whenever a similar case had come up, he had been called in to give his opinion.

  “I assume there’s no doubt about the cause of death,” Thomas said.

  “No, no need to put much time into figuring that out,” Dr. Sachsen said. “His death must have been instantaneous.”

  He leaned forward and pointed.

  “The bullet went straight through the heart’s right ventricle, although the shot was not direct. The bullet’s trajectory indicates it entered the victim’s body from the front right.”

  Thomas remembered Fredrik Winbergh’s statement.

  With a pair of tweezers Dr. Sachsen picked up an object less than a centimeter long and five millimeters in diameter.

  “Here’s the bullet. It appears to be from a rifle, half-jacketed, and it matches the wound.”

  “So, not a handgun,” Margit said.

  Dr. Sachsen shook his head. “I don’t believe so. A handgun would have left more residue by the entrance wound. Still, we’ll have to wait for the ballistic analysis to say for sure. Did you find any cartridges at the scene?”

  “No, nothing,” Thomas said. “Is there any other evidence it was a rifle?”

  “The shot was fired from a distance,” Dr. Sachsen said. “Otherwise, the area around the wound would have been more torn.”

  Margit studied the object after Dr. Sachsen set it down in a bowl.

  “It’s a small-caliber bullet,” Dr. Sachsen said. “Most likely a .22.”

  “What does that tell us?” Margit asked.

  “Well, I’m not a ballistics expert, but I’ve brought down a deer or two. These bullets are often used in hunting.”

  “Why is that?”

  “These bullets expand when they enter the body. That’s why it has this mushroom appearance at the top.”

  “To cause more damage,” Margit muttered to herself.

  “It’s also unusual to use lead-tipped ammunition in a handgun,” Dr. Sachsen continued. “Which would further indicate a rifle.”

  Dr. Sachsen picked up the bullet again so they c
ould study it more carefully.

  “Look here. Here’s the lead tip. Only the casing is copper. Typical hunting ammunition. The bullet stays in the body and causes the maximum injury possible, just as you said, Margit.”

  He slowly set the bullet down.

  “If I were you, I would look for a rifle designed to hunt small animals.”

  “If a rifle was used, the shooter could not have been aboard the Emerald Gin.”

  Thomas found himself coming to the conclusion as he uttered the words.

  Since the bullet had entered Juliander’s chest from the right, the killer must have been on a boat to his windward side. In other words, from the spectator boats.

  It fit their theory.

  He closed his eyes to better visualize the start of the race. The police boat was behind the starting line, with the big starting vessel right in front of them. There were hundreds of spectators.

  “At least two people must have been involved,” Thomas started to think out loud. “One steering the boat and the other taking the shot. It would be too difficult to do both at once, especially since the shot was so precise.”

  “Is it even possible to shoot accurately from a moving boat?” asked Margit.

  “You’d have to be very good to hit such a target,” Dr. Sachsen said. “But in the right position, with the right weapon, it could be done. What was the weather like that day?”

  “Very calm,” Thomas said. “A light breeze. An ideal summer day.”

  “Perfect circumstances for aiming a rifle accurately,” Dr. Sachsen said. “You could do it from any deck.”

  “Someone should have heard the shot.” Margit looked skeptical.

  “Not if the sound of the starting gun masked it,” Thomas said. “That’s a loud bang, believe me.”

  “But how could someone time it so well? It’s less than a second.”

  “A real ace could manage it,” Dr. Sachsen said.

  “Perhaps he used a silencer,” Margit said. “That sound wouldn’t have carried far.”

  Thomas nodded. “Especially if he synchronized it with the starting gun. Even if someone else heard, they might have thought it was just an echo.”

  “A silencer works well with small-caliber ammunition,” Dr. Sachsen said. “But it’s harder with larger calibers. You can’t dampen the sound so well. With a .22, there’s nothing but a dull thud.”