by Sten, Viveca
Had he listened at all?
Without blinking, he’d told her the family would come by on Saturday at two in the afternoon, after Adam returned from sailing camp.
She’d felt herself turn to stone in her own kitchen, unable to say a word.
“What’s wrong, Mama?” Simon had asked. He’d looked worried as she walked away, her face white as chalk.
She couldn’t remain in the room with Henrik one minute longer. She didn’t remember finding her way to the boathouse. It simply felt like the most natural place to go, somewhere to be alone.
When had money become so important to him? How had it come to this?
CHAPTER 48
Thomas and Margit sat at the conference table with Juliander’s financial records in front of them. Most everyone else had left for the day. Thomas planned to stop by Carina’s with pizza later that evening.
“This man lived far beyond his means,” Margit stated. “There’s no way he could have bought that Swan on his own.”
“Don’t forget all his mistresses,” Thomas said. He remembered the ring Diana Söder received for her birthday. That hadn’t been cheap. Their interviews with his other mistresses exposed similar extravagances. Oscar Juliander had been a generous man who took his lovers on expensive trips where they stayed in elegant hotels.
“It’s odd that no boat payment shows up here. Unless he had a suitcase full of cash, he must have found a different way,” Margit said. She shoved the papers aside. “Even if he used the Liechtenstein card, why don’t the transactions show up here?”
Thomas took a last sip of tea and thought about the problem. He looked at the statement from the Swedish branch. All the transactions listed had taken place in Sweden.
“He certainly withdrew lots of cash,” he said.
They had a list of dates and withdrawals for ten thousand kronor each. The dead man had secretly increased his cash flow, a simple but smart way to use a hidden bank account. Withdrawing money at ATMs kept things discreet. A bank cashier might have become suspicious.
“This guy was one smart lawyer,” Margit said. “The credit card isn’t even in his name.”
She read aloud: “Springfund S. A. It’s a name that says nothing. Account in Liechtenstein. Can’t see the human being behind it.”
“So the withdrawals are impossible to trace directly back to him.”
Without the murder investigation, they’d never have been able to get these financial records. Nobody would have connected the card to the owner, Thomas thought.
“But the question remains: How did he pay for his boat?”
“Ah, I got it,” Thomas said.
“What?”
“The shipyard is not in Sweden.”
“Explain that.” Margit looked at him.
“Swan boats are made in Finland. That’s why we see no payments here. This list covers only payments and withdrawals in Sweden. The Swedish branch wouldn’t include payments made in Finland.”
“So now we have a chat with the Finnish branch?”
“Probably. Since the Swedish company only deals with Swedish transactions, I assume that the Finnish company does the same in Finland.”
Margit sighed.
“So we contact the Finnish police to help us get the same information from Finland that we got from the Swedish company. We’ll need another court order from Prosecutor Öhman.”
More wasted time, Thomas thought.
“Well, it’s one reasonable explanation for how Juliander bought his Swan. With a foreign credit card that flew under the radar here in Sweden and probably did the same in other countries.”
“Elegant reasoning,” Margit said. “Even if it’s illegal.”
“We still don’t know where his money came from.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Did he have any dealings with this Alsing guy? Something that wasn’t exactly clean?”
“We’ll have to figure that one out.”
FRIDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
CHAPTER 49
Martin Nyrén whistled happily to himself as he thought about Indi’s latest text message.
Coming to town Sunday evening. Longing for you. -Indi
Finally!
Hiding his feelings for Indi at the funeral had tortured him. He’d gotten a seat right behind her, so close he could almost touch his love. He wanted to provide comfort in that heavy place filled with muffled cries.
A couple times, they’d made eye contact, but only for a moment. He kept reminding himself to remain discreet.
As the congregation sang the final hymn, he lost himself in the memory of their last meeting, one of the few times they’d enjoyed an entire night together. Indi’s family had been away. They were able to wake up together without making elaborate plans.
He’d hardly wanted to waste time sleeping. He’d dozed lightly and woke often to reach over and reassure himself that he was not alone. The sound of light breathing filled him with joy. What if they could always be like this? He would sacrifice anything to make that dream come true.
It had been a wonderful evening and night—in contrast to yesterday’s service at Uppenbarelse Church. What a tragic piece of business.
Martin Nyrén hated funerals. An older person’s service, however, seemed natural. Someone who’d lived a long life would eventually die. But sitting in a pew and watching Oscar’s children grieve had hurt his heart. The girl’s sobs had competed with the organ music, while the sons had acted more reserved. But when it came time for them to approach the casket, they’d broken down and wept.
The only person who did not shed a tear was Sylvia. She’d sat still as stone during the service, but then, she’d received one shock after another the past few weeks. Probably she’d taken a tranquilizer. She handled the reception with grace. She conversed politely with the guests and acted like the perfect hostess.
So typical of Sylvia.
Martin Nyrén shook off the memories of the funeral. He began to page through a cookbook, wondering what he would make on Sunday evening. He wanted something especially fine for his dinner with Indi. Duck breast with orange slices and red wine sauce sounded good. Or perhaps scallops in lobster sauce? He’d find a fine wine at the state liquor store. Or maybe a bottle of champagne. Yes, champagne would be best.
And only the best was good enough for his beloved.
CHAPTER 50
“Will you take the weekend off?” asked Margit. She set her coffee mug on the table. It was nearly four thirty in the afternoon. They spoke in the kitchen of the police station after a long day of follow-up questioning.
“Maybe I’ll swing out to Harö. Then tomorrow I can sort through our material in peace and quiet.”
“I’ll come in then, too.”
Margit sounded tired, and Thomas shook his head.
“No need for that. Spend the weekend with your family.”
Thomas had a great deal to think about.
Last night, he’d gone to Carina’s. They’d enjoyed some pizza and beer. She’d wanted to cuddle, but Thomas hadn’t felt like it. The atmosphere became frosty, and Carina went from unhappy to angry. They had a discussion in which she delivered a long monologue critiquing his behavior.
“You will have to make up your mind, Thomas,” she said. “You know that I love you. I’ve been in love with you for over a year, but I have no idea what you want.”
She was so upset that she got up from the table and stood with her back to the kitchen counter. Her dark hair was held back in a ponytail. It cut Thomas to the core to see her like this, so young and vulnerable, and to know he was the one who’d hurt her.
“One minute you’re kind and sweet,” she said. “We have a great time together. Then at work you hardly even look at me. And I don’t understand why.” She stared at him. “But I won’t go on like this. If we’re staying together, I’m done sneaking around. I want everything out in the open.”
She took a deep breath, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. Her eyes
filled with tears as she spoke. “Are you ashamed of me, Thomas? Do you have any idea how hurtful it is that you won’t reveal our relationship to everyone?”
She wiped away a few tears.
“I think you should go now,” she said. “And think about what you want. But remember, I’m not going to sit here twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you to make up your mind.”
Thomas could tell by her trembling lower lip that it took every ounce of her self-control to keep from bursting into tears in front of him.
He picked up his jacket and left without a word.
He felt totally ashamed because everything she said was true. He enjoyed himself with Carina, and nobody had forced him to be with her, but he did want to keep their relationship a secret.
And why? Why did he feel uneasy about publicly acknowledging Carina as his girlfriend? Because she was just a girl? Only twenty-five years old?
Of course not. She was more than a girl. Even thinking that belittled her. What was wrong with him?
He sighed out loud.
“What?” asked Margit.
“I have some things to figure out,” he said. He knew he sounded unhappy. The room went silent until Margit spoke again.
“Well, if we’ve finished here for now, I think I’ll head on over to my summerhouse. My sister and her husband are coming over for dinner tomorrow evening, and maybe I’ll try to force my daughters to stay home and spend some time with their relatives.”
“So they have other things they want to do?” asked Thomas.
“I never see them anymore, especially on the weekends,” Margit said. “They’re out with friends every evening during summer vacation.”
She smiled in resignation.
“I guess that’s how teenagers are,” Thomas said.
“True, but I get tired of having constant discussions about what they’re wearing, where they’re going, and when they’ll be back.”
“Can’t you sic Bertil on them?” Thomas said. He half joked.
Margit’s husband was a teacher, too friendly to put the fear of God into anyone. Thomas had met him only once but wondered how he controlled his upper-level classroom. That was the age when students tended to be difficult.
Margit’s skeptical expression told Thomas what she thought of his suggestion. It also told him that he had no understanding of teenagers.
“Well, it’s like this, Thomas,” she said in an almost lecturing tone. “There’s a special connection between a mother and her daughters, especially when they’re teenagers. Believe me, there’s no point in getting Bertil involved.” She sighed and put down her mug.
“But everything has its time,” she said. “On the other side of their eighteenth birthdays they’ll become normal people. At least, I hope so.”
CHAPTER 51
Eva Timell lay awake in bed. Her eyes were closed, but sleep refused to come.
She missed him so much. And she was so angry.
At the funeral, she and Sylvia had stood only a few yards apart. She’d almost gone over to say, All day he was mine. And you had no idea where he spent his nights. He was never yours alone. Just so you know.
But funeral guests surrounded Sylvia, offering their condolences. Eva lost her courage. And what purpose would it serve to create a scandal? It wouldn’t bring Oscar back.
So she didn’t make a scene. Instead she went to the reception and acted like everyone else. She conversed politely and tried to say as little as possible. As soon as she could, she went straight home. She poured a glass of wine and curled up on the sofa with her cat, Blofeld.
She spent hours reliving memories of Oscar and their time together. Finally she took a long bath and went to bed. Exhausted, she slept for nine hours.
But tonight sleep refused to come. That’s how it had been ever since Oscar’s death. Almost every evening, it took half a bottle of wine to make her feel sleepy. Then she’d wake up early with the need to cry and a bad headache, unable to go back to sleep, though she knew how tired she’d be the next day.
Now she tried to relax. She tensed her leg and arm muscles for ten seconds, holding her breath. Then she breathed out and let them relax. She did this exercise three times. She inhaled deeply to calm her body and trick it into sleeping.
Sometimes the exercise worked but not now. She found herself full of anger, unhappiness, and disappointment at how her life had turned out. She feared she might never feel sleepy again. She’d sacrificed so much over the years for his sake! All that time she’d waited and hoped! And here she was, with no family of her own and only a white cat for company.
What’s left for me? she thought with a bitter taste in her mouth. Who is going to take care of me now, Oscar? Who will look after me?
SATURDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
CHAPTER 52
Why did she agree to this? Would she do anything to keep the family peace?
How else could she explain why she stood here waiting to show the Brand house to Mr. and Mrs. Swiss Cheese? Their real names were Ivar and Ella Borman, but in her imagination she’d already renamed them. She disliked them as much as she disliked that overambitious real-estate agent Severin.
Mrs. Swiss Cheese was now strolling through the ground floor inspecting all the rooms. She’d already seen the kitchen and declared her intentions. “It’s pleasingly old-fashioned,” she said. “But just think how much more pleasant it would be if that wall were knocked out to allow a view of the Baltic.”
Be my guest, Nora thought as she leaned against the dining room wall, arms crossed over her chest. Go buy yourself a unique old mansion and wrench it into a modern house with an open floor plan. Why keep a classic dining room when you can make it look like a page from a magazine? You can’t think for yourself.
She glared at the woman, who was now evaluating Signe’s beautiful antique furniture. A snort came out before she could stop it.
“Excuse me,” Ella Borman said. “Did you say something?”
“Sorry,” Nora said. “Something must be stuck in my throat.”
She pretended to pick up a scrap of paper she found near a windowsill.
“Is the furniture included in the sale?” asked Ella Borman. She pinched the lace curtains, and then she plopped down on one of the dining room chairs and surveyed the table as if she already owned it.
“We hadn’t discussed it,” Nora said.
“Most of this stuff is trash,” the woman said. “But a piece or two can be salvaged. For instance, that cupboard in the corner. It can be made into something fun with a dash of color.”
Nora gave a pained smile.
How dare this woman refer to Signe’s belongings as garbage. Signe had loved her furniture. Her father and her grandfather had furnished this house, and each piece had stood in its place for as long as Nora could remember.
Now, in the eyes of this woman, it became trash.
Henrik escorted the real-estate agent and the slightly overweight Swiss Swede down the stairs. Severin shone like the sun. He kept pointing out the many advantages of the house. The enormous sums being mentioned were not lost on Nora.
“What day can we take possession?” Severin asked.
“We haven’t decided about selling yet,” Nora said.
Henrik shot her a look, then smiled at the potential buyers.
“We can certainly talk about it,” he said. “We’ll come to an agreement that suits everyone.”
“Look at this spectacular view!” Severin said. He clearly wanted to change the subject. “You can see all the way to Runmarö in good weather. And the Waxholmsbolaget ferries pass by every day. What a colorful contribution to the scenery! And sometimes the old ship Norrskär passes by. It’s one of the very last steamships that traverses the archipelago. If you want a really good beef dinner, take a trip on her!”
He patted his stomach to emphasize his words.
“Why don’t we look at the dock? Very few properties in Sandhamn can boast such a large anchorage. You can tie up any kind of vessel you pl
ease.”
“That sounds great,” said Ivar Borman. “We have a Fairline at forty feet that we’ll need to dock here.”
“And think of all the guests we could have!” his wife said. “We have many acquaintances in the archipelago, and there’ll be room for them all to come by boat. We’re counting on having a lot of visitors!”
She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head to hold back her hair.
Nora felt something shrivel inside her. How could Henrik not notice how soulless these people were?
Signe would roll over in her grave if she knew this horrible couple intended to buy her beloved home. But Henrik simply stood back and smiled as if everything were right with the world.
Had she any right to fight him on this? Even her own parents had bowed out of the discussion.
“You will have to make up your own mind, Nora,” her mother had told her when she’d tried to talk about her conflicting feelings. “You’ll have to decide what’s best.”
Her father had agreed. Nora would have to decide, but, no matter what, they would support her. They felt they were not in the position to give her advice.
Even Thomas had not taken her side. He’d only reminded her how much it would take to care for the Brand house.
Nora felt deflated as a punctured balloon. Her legs started to tremble. She wanted to get away, go home, pull the covers over her head, and pretend this house viewing had never happened.
“Here are the keys to the boathouse,” she said. “You might as well take a look as long as you’re here.”
CHAPTER 53
“How nice of you to come! Please make yourselves at home!” Isabelle von Hahne said. “Ingmar’s preparing the drinks. He’ll be right here.” She smiled at the Rosensjöös and took their summer jackets. The bouquet Hans Rosensjöö had brought along pleased her.