by Sten, Viveca
When Henrik began med school, he’d planned on becoming an outstanding orthopedic surgeon who repaired broken bones and shattered spines. After his studies were complete, he spent some time in the radiology department while waiting for a residency. Something about the role of a radiologist appealed to him.
Perhaps it was the ability to understand and decipher something other doctors saw only as shadows and light, the thrill of finding the missing piece to a puzzle in a hazy picture. When he stood at the podium and explained the X-rays to the surgeons, his interpretation was the difference between life and death.
Secretly, he was also proud of his reputation as a nice and well-liked specialist doctor. He was especially popular among the nurses, who always seemed to gather around him when he was on a coffee break. And he did nothing to dissuade them.
Still, his profession would never lead to lots of money. Henrik understood the value of economic freedom. It was important to him to live the kind of life he’d enjoyed growing up.
When Nora became pregnant with Adam, they moved from their two-room apartment on the outskirts of the city. Nora fell in love with a yellow wooden house in Enskede, not far from where her parents lived in Älvsjö, but Henrik was determined to live in Saltsjöbaden, where he kept his sailboat. He’d lived there as a child when his father was not stationed abroad, and many of his school friends still lived there. He felt at home in the midst of the greenery surrounding the beautiful old mansions.
It was a more expensive location, however, and they could barely afford the small town house they’d chosen. It was far from the kind of mansion Henrik dreamed of.
Now he could change everything.
With the profits from Signe’s house, they could settle in one of the fin-de-siècle mansions with money to spare. Visions of a new car glimmered in his imagination, but he pushed them away with a smile. One thing at a time.
If only Nora wasn’t so obstinate about that house. Sometimes he had no clue what she was thinking. Like the time she’d gotten this crazy idea about moving to Malmö. That would uproot the family—how insane! Their parents lived in Stockholm. All their friends were there. Henrik had no desire to look for another job. They’d had a few bitter arguments about it.
Nora had mourned Signe as if she were her own grandmother. She’d been nearly inconsolable as they’d put Signe to rest in the small island cemetery, where most of the Sandhamn families buried their dead.
Henrik could not understand why Nora couldn’t put the past behind her and move on. Instead, she let that terrible summer torment her all winter. She fell silent and kept to herself, spending most of her free time with the children. For a long time they hadn’t even had guests over. Whenever Henrik brought up the idea of hosting a dinner, Nora objected. Months went by without them seeing anyone.
Now Henrik could see the light at the end of the tunnel. That insane woman’s will was a silver lining to the cloud that had hung over them. In a new house, each boy would have a room of his own. They could have a real yard, not the lawn the size of a postage stamp that they had now. They’d have a real dining room, so guests wouldn’t have to eat in the kitchen with the dirty dishes.
Again he struggled to follow Nora’s thoughts. At first, she’d seemed happy that he’d taken the initiative and contacted Svante Severin. Then she’d done a one-eighty, becoming almost hostile when the man arrived.
Henrik later called the real-estate agent to make sure she hadn’t insulted him, but Svante Severin remained enthusiastic. He reassured Henrik that he would put all his energy into the deal. He said the family from Switzerland had contacted him several times. They happened to be in the archipelago for the summer in a rented place on Ljusterö, another island not far from Sandhamn.
Henrik had called his mother to tell her about their plans. She’d understood immediately how important it was for him to leave the town house. Henrik knew Nora found Monica trying at times, but his mother was a great support. She’d welcomed Nora into the family and gone out of her way to make her feel at home. Besides, maybe a little tension between a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law was normal.
Henrik shrugged off these thoughts as he transformed another perch into delicious fillets. This evening he planned to fry them in butter and serve them with potatoes and a cold mustard sauce.
He whistled while he daydreamed about the part of Saltsjöbaden where he’d most like to live. Solsidan, perhaps, or why not by the Hotel Bay, on the waterfront?
CHAPTER 28
Thomas opened the meeting with a short summary of his conversation with Gunilla Bäcklund.
“Over one thousand licenses have been issued in Sweden for Marlin rifles,” Kalle added. He’d checked before the meeting. “As soon as there are any suspects we can check them against the national gun registry.”
“Excellent,” said Persson. “How fast can you get us the list? Maybe we will recognize some names.”
“When this meeting is over,” Kalle said.
“How is it going with the mistresses? And the RSYC?” asked Thomas. “Also we discussed the possibility of a jealous husband.”
Kalle nodded.
“We’ve reviewed the names on Eva Timell’s list. We’ve also checked everyone on the RSYC Board, along with committee members. We discovered at least a third of them hunt. We’ve found licenses for all kinds of rifles—Class 1 rifles and Class 2 rifles, Blaser .30-06, .22 WMR . . . it’s a real mix.”
“Remind me of the difference,” Margit said.
“Blaser is used for moose and deer. People use the Winchester for smaller animals, like foxes and badgers.”
“Where does that leave us?” asked Margit.
“About thirty people in the RSYC leadership have access to guns with small-caliber bullets.”
“Anyone own a Marlin?”
“We’ll check on that as soon as we’re done here.” Kalle nodded.
“And the mistresses?” Thomas said.
“Nothing.”
Margit held up an e-mail printout.
“This is a message sent to Juliander. His secretary contacted us.” Margit passed the piece of paper around the table. “Perhaps an extortion attempt. No identifiable sender, of course.”
“You can take this on, Carina,” Persson said. He looked at his daughter, who sat the farthest from him. “See how far you get. We can always bring in the computer squad from Kronoberg to help.”
The computer squad from Kronoberg belonged to a special unit of the National Bureau who knew how to access someone’s computer or reconstruct a hard drive in the blink of an eye. They were often ridiculously young men with long, stringy hair and pale skin who spent their free time playing computer games. But if they secluded themselves with a trashed or locked computer for a day or two, they could work miracles. But Carina was also pretty skilled at uncovering such information.
“OK,” she said. She tried in vain to catch Thomas’s eye.
Yesterday evening, she’d texted him about plans for the upcoming weekend, but he hadn’t replied.
He’s probably too busy with this case, Carina thought. The start of an investigation was always the most critical. Every day that passed lessened their chances of catching the culprit. Thomas was so focused on the search, most likely he’d forgotten about his private life.
She sighed to herself.
“What are we doing about Juliander’s drug habit?” asked Persson.
“I have more on that,” Thomas said. He filled them in on what he’d gotten from Diana Söder. “He’s used cocaine regularly for the past year.”
“Do you think a dealer is involved?” asked Kalle. “Someone he owed money to?”
Thomas looked skeptical.
“Cocaine is not that expensive these days. For a wealthy lawyer like him, the cost would be negligible.”
“How likely is it that a dealer would get a rifle and a boat to carry out a murder?” asked Margit.
“Not very.”
“Erik will ask around and see what
turns up,” Persson said.
“By the way,” Thomas said, “do we have that clip from the TV station yet? It should be here by now.”
Kalle shook his head.
“I’ve called them twice. I’ll call again after the meeting.”
“Any tips from the general public?” asked Persson. “Anything useful at all?”
Erik shrugged.
“Same old story. People call in with all kinds of crazy stuff. Conspiracy theories. Suicide theories. Quite a few tips about Juliander’s romantic affairs, but we know that already. We’ll follow up on anything reasonable.”
Persson nodded and stood up.
“That’s it, then. Keep up the good work.”
CHAPTER 29
As usual, the Friday-afternoon traffic on Värmdö highway was heavy as people were en route to their summerhouses. The July lull hadn’t hit this crowded highway. The stop-and-go traffic began at the expressway exit and snaked along to Mölnvik shopping center. Hopefully, past there, things would start moving again.
Martin Nyrén glanced at his watch. It was just past four, but he was in no hurry. He had no schedule to worry about. His Omega 36 would wait for him at the Bullandö Marina until he cast off for his weekend excursion.
He didn’t mind sailing alone. In fact, he preferred the silence. No voices breaking the quiet, nobody jockeying for his attention. His boat was set up for single-handed sailing. Indi was the only person he’d miss, but that was out of the question.
July was devoted to family life, and that was that.
He turned up the car’s air-conditioning, trying to keep cool amid the glaring sun and exhaust fumes. This week felt more like April—sun shining one minute, rain the next. What was wrong with a stable high-pressure system for a change?
He settled back in his seat.
He’d had an unpleasant feeling the past few days—as if he were being followed.
Yesterday, while heading back to the office after lunch, he’d had the sensation that someone in the crowd was watching him. But when he’d looked around, he hadn’t recognized anyone.
The same thing had happened on his way to work that morning. The feeling that someone was trailing him settled in. Then he sensed a movement behind his back. But when he stopped to look, no one was there—at least not anyone he knew.
He’d even paused in front of a display window to see if he could spot someone behind him in the reflection. Nobody was there, and he’d felt like an idiot.
Why would anybody be following him?
Oscar’s murder was making him imagine ghosts in broad daylight.
He turned on the radio and forced the dark thoughts from his mind. It was Friday, and he would soon be on his way, setting course for the outer skerries. He had no reason to worry.
Still, his uneasiness did not lift, not even when traffic started moving again.
CHAPTER 30
“What’s wrong, Mom? Are you sad? You look like you’re crying.” Fabian stared at Diana with concern and tried to pat her cheek with his soft hand.
He held his teddy bear under one arm.
Diana Söder hadn’t heard her son come into the bedroom. She’d been so busy on the computer that she’d forgotten about his bedtime. Feeling guilty, she looked up from the screen and turned to him.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said. She brushed away her tears as best she could. “I must have something in my eye.”
She forced a smile and pulled him onto her lap. He smelled of soap from his bath, and she took comfort in the warmth from his little body. He was already outgrowing his light-blue pajamas with elephants—the legs ended above his ankles. She’d have to buy him some new ones.
Sometimes she wished he would never grow up.
Her son studied her and then looked at the screen in front of him.
“Did you get a mean e-mail? My teacher says we should tell a grown-up right away if somebody sends us mean e-mails.”
His little-boy voice was so innocent. Diana Söder smiled through her tears. He had no idea how true his comment was.
She turned off the computer to keep him from seeing anything. At eight years old, he was already a good reader.
She did not want him to see the nasty words calling her a murderer or “a damned whore.”
SATURDAY, THE FIRST WEEK
CHAPTER 31
“Did you all see the headlines?” Persson threw the evening paper onto the table.
Silence settled over the room.
“How the hell did the press find out that Diana Söder had been involved with Oscar Juliander?”
Diana Söder’s passport photo was on the front page under the headline “Jealousy the Motive for Murder?” Pages six and seven offered a comprehensive summary of Juliander’s relationships with women.
Beneath the black letters “Juliander’s lover’s hideaway!” was a blurry picture of Diana Söder. She stood in front of some building with her hand held over her face as if trying to shield herself.
“I don’t even need to tell you that this is totally unacceptable.”
But you can’t do a thing about it, Thomas thought. Anyone can report anything to a newspaper. You can’t even find out who it was without breaking the law.
Thomas pictured again the unhappy woman twisting her ring around and around—the ring she’d received on her birthday.
“If I find out the leak came from this office . . .” Persson didn’t have to finish.
“Don’t bother,” Margit was equally sharp. “There have been hundreds of people coming through this building. Some of them probably knew we were going to interview Diana Söder.”
Persson stared hard at her.
“We’ve had extra personnel here to answer the phones and go through the gun registry,” Margit continued. “Anyone could have overheard something by the coffee machine.”
“We’re going to get shit about this from both the police chief and the press secretary.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can’t do anything about it right now.”
The red color in Persson’s face went down a bit. He reached for a cardamom twist and bit into it fiercely. He was still angry, but dropped the subject.
“Let’s get on with it so we don’t have to stay here all weekend.” Margit took command. “Where are we now? Thomas?”
Thomas made his report short and sweet.
“We met all the women Juliander had affairs with. Most of them speak well of him, even though he dumped them.”
“He must have been charming,” Margit said with a wry smile.
“What about their alibis?” asked Persson.
“Every single one has a rock-solid alibi for the time of the murder. Many of them were actually abroad or at least not in Stockholm that day,” Thomas explained.
“So we can eliminate jealousy as a motive?”
“We have alibis for everyone we spoke to,” Thomas said. He turned to Kalle. “How’s it going with the rifle search?”
“Here’s a list of everyone with a license for a Marlin.”
“Any names we recognize?”
Kalle nodded. “One.”
“A lover?”
“One of the husbands.”
“Then we’ll pay him a visit today and search his house.”
Thomas glanced over at Margit, who looked a little glum. This was part of the job, but it was clearly not how Margit wanted to spend the rest of her Saturday.
“Here’s the address.” Kalle slid it over.
Thomas read Saltsjö-Duvnäs. It was a suburb not far from Saltsjöbaden, where the Julianders lived.
“What are the chances that they’re home on a Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer?” Margit said.
“It’s one thirty now.” Thomas glanced at his watch.
“So, doubtful. Perhaps we should call first?”
“Don’t worry,” Thomas said. “I can head there right after the meeting, and I don’t mind going alone.”
Thomas realized he’d just found
a reason not to meet Carina later.
Persson turned his stare toward Erik, who shuffled through a stack of papers. Sugar from his pastry had fallen on the documents, and he tried to brush it off.
“What do you have for us?” Persson asked.
“We’ve gone through Juliander’s bankruptcy caseload. There was one case where Juliander had reported tax evasion to the authorities. The company president was banned from engaging in business.”
“Have you interviewed this guy?”
Erik fumbled with the papers and more sugar fell on the table.
Thomas wondered if Erik was qualified enough to look into such complicated proceedings, but there wasn’t much of an alternative. The Financial Crimes unit was seriously understaffed at this time of the year.
Persson scanned the room.
“Nothing else? OK, we’re done for the weekend. See you on Monday.”
The woman who opened the door to the suburban house in Saltsjö-Duvnäs paled when Thomas held up his police ID. The house sat on a hill. Thomas could see the glittering water below.
“I just need to ask a few questions concerning the murder of Oscar Juliander,” he said.
She looked like she might start weeping any minute.
“I already talked to the police last Wednesday,” she said in a low voice. “My husband is home now . . . do you have to . . .” Her voice died out.
“Actually, he’s the one I need to speak with,” Thomas said.
“Who is it?”
A voice came from inside the house, and a well-built man of about fifty walked up to the door. He wore only swimming trunks. Thomas could see a turquoise swimming pool through the living room’s sliding glass doors.
“May I come in?” Thomas asked. “I have a few questions about your gun license.”
SUNDAY, THE FIRST WEEK