‘Do the two of you work well together?’
Again that peculiar laugh. ‘It may not have been one of Father’s best ideas to give us overlapping areas of responsibility. My brother and I have never got on well and there’s no use pretending otherwise. I dare say you’ll hear about it from the rest of the family, especially Vivi. Her tongue was made for spreading gossip …’ He paused for a moment and then continued. ‘Maybe Father was hoping that Gustav and I would grow closer if we were forced to work together on a daily basis. Instead, it made the situation worse.’
‘Was there something in particular Ruben was referring to at dinner when he asked you how the company was going?’
This time Harald didn’t laugh.
‘I have no idea what he was talking about. It’s true that Gustav and I seldom agree about anything, and at the office we occasionally throw a few plates at one another – metaphorically speaking, of course. But I don’t understand what Father could have heard that would prompt him to make such a comment.’
‘You have no idea?’
‘No,’ said Harald in a low voice, clearly indicating that he had no intention of supplying any more information pertaining to that line of enquiry. Not even if there were other things he could have mentioned.
‘Do you have any theories as to who might have wanted to kill your father?’ asked Martin, waiting tensely for the answer as his pen hovered over the notepad.
‘Well, you heard for yourself what went on at the dinner table. Which one of those vultures wouldn’t want to kill him?’ The words spilled out spontaneously, but then Harald seemed to regret what he’d said.
‘It’s not really that bad. I mean, we’ve had our family quarrels and arguments – I won’t deny that. But for someone to make the leap to actually murder him? No, I have no idea.’
Martin asked a few more questions before ending the interview when he realized that he wasn’t going to get any further.
Miranda was the next person to take a seat opposite Martin. He had no particular system regarding the order in which he talked to the family members, his primary concern was simply to interview all of them.
She looked small and fragile as she sat across from him. She had pulled her dark hair back into a tight ponytail, which further enhanced her beautiful face.
‘It’s so awful,’ she said, her lower lip quivering. Martin had to restrain an urge to put his arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. He was annoyed with himself. That sort of reaction was totally unprofessional.
‘Yes, it certainly is,’ he said instead as he lightly tapped his pen on the notepad. ‘What can you tell me about who might be a suspect in your grandfather’s death?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing,’ sobbed Miranda. ‘I don’t understand how this could have happened! How could anyone do something so horrible?’
With some embarrassment Martin handed her a tissue from the box on top of the desk. Weeping women always made him uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.
‘From what I gathered at dinner, your grandfather was not especially pleased with the way all of you have handled your finances.’ He could hear how stilted his words sounded.
‘Grandpa has always been so generous towards his children and grandchildren,’ she said, still crying. ‘He loaned me the funds I needed to start my design company, and if only I’d had a little more time … and maybe a little more money, I know I could have made it a success. But I’ve had such terrible bad luck along the way, and the customers have never really discovered my work, and …’ Her words gave way to sobbing.
‘So your grandfather loaned you some money. And now it’s all gone, and you were thinking of asking him for more? Is that correct?’
Miranda nodded. ‘Yes. I only needed a million. That would have given me the necessary time to make a go of things. The fashion industry is tough, and you have to take big risks if you want to succeed.’ She tossed her head, and her lip stopped quivering.
‘So you were planning to ask your grandfather for a million kronor?’
‘Yes.’ Again that stubborn toss of the head. ‘That’s pocket change for him. Do you have any idea how much the old man had in the bank?’ She rolled her eyes but then realized what she’d just said. Again her lip started quivering.
‘But you hadn’t yet asked him for the loan?’ Martin now felt considerably less sympathy for the woman as he watched the crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘No, no,’ she assured him, leaning forward. ‘I was planning to ask him during the weekend.’
‘What about the other family members?’
‘What do you mean? What about them?’
‘Ruben seemed to have strong opinions about them as well. Do you think any of them might have had a more violent response than—’
Miranda cut him off. Her eyes were flashing with anger.
‘Do you seriously imagine I would sit here and accuse a member of my own family of murder? Is that what you think? Is it?’
‘I merely asked whether anyone might have had a more violent response than the rest of the family.’
‘But isn’t that the same thing as asking me who I think killed Grandpa?’ replied Miranda coldly.
Martin had to admit to himself that she was right. He suddenly felt extremely tired. For weeks he’d been dreading coming out here with Lisette, and he could now say that everything had turned out a hundred times worse than he could possibly have imagined. He glanced at his watch. It was gone eleven p.m.
‘I think we’ll stop here,’ he said. ‘It’s getting late. We’ll continue tomorrow.’
A relieved expression appeared on Miranda’s face. But she merely nodded as she got to her feet. Martin followed her into the library to speak to the others. The mood was so oppressive that he almost felt as if he’d walked into a wall.
‘I’m going to stop the interviews for tonight. I know everyone is tired, and I think it would be more productive to continue in the morning, after we’ve all had some rest.’
No one replied, but everyone looked relieved.
‘Would you like a cognac?’ asked Lisette as she came over to Martin and put her hand on his arm. His first instinct was to decline. In a practical sense, he was officially on duty. But exhaustion and the weight of responsibility had taken their toll, and he found himself nodding as he sank into the nearest armchair. Outside, the snow was still coming down hard. A branch could be heard banging against a windowpane at the other end of the building.
‘Is it true that we can’t get over to the mainland?’ Vivi’s voice broke, and her hand shook as she again raised it to her neck where her pearls had been.
‘Didn’t you hear what they said? It’s impossible!’ Gustav’s voice was a bit too shrill, and he went on in a more muted tone: ‘We can’t do it, Vivi. We’ll have to wait until morning. Maybe by then the worst of the storm will be over, and we can make the crossing.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Harald. ‘The weather forecast says that the storm is going to last until Sunday. So I suppose we’ll just have to sit tight and wait.’
‘But I can’t stay here for two days. Not with a … corpse!’ cried Vivi. Everyone was now looking at her.
‘So what do you suggest we do? Skate across the ice to Fjällbacka?’ Harald yelled.
Gustav sprang to his feet and put his arm around his wife.
‘I won’t have you speaking to Vivi in that tone of voice. Can’t you see that she’s in shock? We’re all in shock.’
Harald merely snorted. Instead of replying, he poured himself a generous amount of cognac.
A faint voice now piped in from the chair closest to the window.
‘How can all of you keep on arguing like this? Nobody has said a word about the fact that Grandpa is dead. He’s gone! Don’t you understand that? But none of you care. The only thing that matters to you is to keep on with your damn bickering. About such petty things! And about money! Grandpa was ashamed of all of you, and I can
understand why.’ Matte held back a sob as he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.
‘Listen to that,’ sneered Bernard. He was lounging at one end of the sofa, twirling his cognac glass in his hand. ‘Always Grandpa’s favourite. Always ready to sit like a lapdog and listen to the old man’s endless stories. You even pretended to be interested in that drivel about the Sherlock Holmes club. And yet you never hesitated to take his money.’
‘Bernard …’ pleaded Lisette, but her cousin paid no attention.
‘He gave you that flat in the city when you started at the university. What was it worth? Three million? Four?’
‘I never asked for anything!’ retorted Matte, glaring at Bernard. ‘Unlike the rest of you, I wasn’t constantly begging him for money. The flat belonged to Grandpa, and I was allowed to live there while I studied, but as soon as I graduated, I would have to make it on my own. That was the agreement. And I didn’t want it any other way. Grandpa knew that.’
Again he used his shirtsleeve to dry his tears. Then he turned to look out of the window, clearly embarrassed that they’d seen him crying.
‘Matte, we know how close you were to Grandpa. And all of us are sad. We’re just a little … shocked … as Uncle Gustav said.’ Britten perched on the armrest of Matte’s chair and gently stroked his arm. He didn’t push her away, but he kept his gaze fixed on the winter darkness.
‘Well, maybe we should all turn in for the night,’ said Harald, standing up. ‘Before we say anything that we’ll regret tomorrow.’
The others murmured their agreement, and the library quickly emptied. Only Vivi stayed behind.
‘Our room is upstairs,’ said Lisette as she took Martin’s arm. ‘Why don’t you fetch your bag? I’ve already put mine in the room.’
He did as she said and then followed her up the stairs.
Even though the beds were marvellously comfortable, Martin lay awake for a long time, listening to Lisette breathing next to him. Outside, the blizzard raged, worse than ever. He wondered what the morning would bring.
It was a habit she’d had ever since childhood. Whenever she was nervous, she would play with the pearl necklace that had been a gift from her mother. And she’d certainly resorted to that nervous habit many times over the years. ‘Viveca is very high-strung,’ she’d heard her mother say so often when she was growing up, until in the end it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. At first she’d thought it was merely something the grown-ups said to explain the normal emotional outbursts of a child, and later a teenager. But gradually the statement had settled over her like a dingy veil. People treated her as if she had delicate nerves, and she found it simpler to live up to their expectations. By now she was afraid of everything. In addition to normal fears – spiders and snakes and the greenhouse effect and the proliferation of nuclear weapons – she was frightened by more subtle and ordinary things: the look someone gave her when they met, hidden meanings in what they said to her, unintentional insults and unanticipated attacks. Eventually, the whole world had become a threatening place, and she caught herself constantly playing with her necklace. But now it was gone. Hundreds of tiny pearls had scattered across the floor in the dining room. Kerstin had tried to console her, saying that she would gather up every one of them and have them restrung for a new necklace. And no doubt she would. But it wouldn’t be the same. Something new could not become something old. Something that had been destroyed could never be whole again.
For a moment Vivi pictured in her mind Ruben’s accusatory eyes. That expression she thought she always saw whenever he looked at her. Reproachful and filled with contempt for her weakness.
Oh, how she wished that she’d had just one-hundredth of the strength that seemed to radiate from him. Not to mention that she wished Gustav had inherited at least a small part of his father’s self-confidence. But together she and Gustav seemed even weaker than they did individually. If they hadn’t joined forces against the threat that Ruben represented, which had held them together like glue all these years, Vivi knew they never would have survived. With a vacant expression she stared at the smouldering fire as she sensed disaster approaching like a speeding train. Old secrets had begun to stir, like a monster lurking below the surface.
The next day the storm was still raging. Börje and Kerstin had made a valiant attempt to clear a path at the front entrance, but the snowfall was so heavy that by now the drifts reached almost to the window ledges on the ground floor. If the storm continued like this for another twenty-four hours, they would soon be completely snowed in.
It was a subdued group that appeared for breakfast. Everyone found it unnerving to sit down at the same table where they’d all gathered the night before. Yet no one had offered any protests when their hosts asked if it would be all right to serve breakfast in the dining room. Once again there was an abundance of food. Boiled eggs, three kinds of cheese, ham, salami, bacon and bread fresh from the oven. But most of the family members hardly touched their food. Only Harald and Bernard ate heartily. Apparently they weren’t going to let a murder ruin their appetite.
‘Did you sleep well?’ Britten asked everyone in an attempt to start a conversation, but aside from a few murmurs no one replied.
‘Such comfortable beds,’ she told Kerstin, who was walking around the table to serve the coffee.
Kerstin nodded and smiled. ‘I hope you weren’t cold. Let me know if you are, and I’ll bring you some extra blankets.’
‘No, it was fine. Perfect.’ Britten looked around to see if anyone else would care to comment, but they were all staring down at their plates.
Martin couldn’t bear the oppressive mood a second longer. He said brusquely, ‘I’d like to continue with the interviews as soon as you’ve finished breakfast. Gustav, could you join me in the office in …’ Martin glanced at his watch. ‘Let’s say ten minutes?’
‘Certainly,’ said Gustav. He and Vivi exchanged a glance that was difficult to interpret. ‘Of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes. So I’m next in line, is that right?’ He uttered a brief laugh that bordered on falsetto. No one else laughed.
‘Thanks. That would be great,’ Martin said as he stood up. In truth there was nothing he had to prepare that required an extra ten minutes, but he wanted to retreat to the peace and quiet of the office to gather his thoughts.
Precisely ten minutes later Gustav Liljecrona entered the room. Once again Martin was struck by how different the two brothers were. Harald was a tall, broad-shouldered, and loud man with a bushy mane of hair. His younger brother was short and wiry with sloping shoulders. And whatever hair he’d once had was now a distant memory.
‘So, here I am,’ Gustav said as he sat down. Martin’s response was to launch into his first question.
‘How would you describe your relationship with your father?’
Gustav flinched and seemed to have a hard time deciding where to look. Finally he fixed his eyes on the desk as he stammered: ‘Well, er, um. What should I say? It was like most father–son relationships. In other words, occasionally it could get a bit complicated.’ He laughed nervously.
‘A bit complicated?’ Martin paged through his notes to find what he’d written about his interview with Harald. Then he went on. ‘From what I understand, both you and your brother had a very complicated relationship with Ruben. But the same might be said of the interaction between you and Harald. It seems to be rather problematic.’
Gustav gave another nervous laugh. He still hadn’t looked Martin in the eye. He kept his gaze steadfastly fixed on the desk.
‘It’s not always easy being a member of this family. To say that Father had high expectations would be an understatement.’
‘I’ve heard that his intention in putting you and your brother in management positions at the family business was to bring you closer together. Is that right?’
Gustav’s only reply was a disdainful snort.
‘From what I can gather, things didn’t work out too well,’ Martin persisted.
‘No, they didn’t.’ Gustav didn’t seem particularly keen on discussing the topic, but that didn’t stop Martin.
‘I’m thinking about what your father said at the dinner table. About the company. What was he referring to?’
Now Gustav seemed genuinely uncomfortable as he shifted position on his chair. ‘I have no idea,’ he said after a moment. It was the same answer that his brother had given. Martin didn’t believe either of them.
‘But he must have had something specific in mind. Besides, the last thing he did was more or less vow to disinherit all of you. That’s a pretty drastic step to take.’
‘It was nothing but hot air,’ said Gustav, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. ‘He’s issued that same threat before. It was a way for him to show who was in charge, and it made him feel that he still had some power. But he didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘That wasn’t my impression,’ said Martin.
‘But you don’t know the family very well,’ snapped Gustav, tugging even harder at his jacket. He looked uneasy.
Martin continued to question Gustav for another half hour, but got nothing useful out of him. He continued to maintain that no one in the family would dream of killing Ruben. And no, he hadn’t noticed anything suspicious during the course of the day or evening. No, he didn’t understand what his father was referring to in the statements he’d made at dinner.
Eventually a cautious knock on the door interrupted the interview. It was Kerstin.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to say that we’re serving coffee in the library, so when you’re done here …’
Martin sighed. ‘We may as well stop now. But we’ll continue our talk later.’ He hadn’t intended it to sound like a threat, but Gustav gave a start. Then he stood up and hurried out of the office.
Martin was feeling more and more frustrated. He began to wonder if he was up to the job. Once again he wished that Patrik Hedström were here to advise him. But he wasn’t. So there was nothing for it but to take charge and do the best he could. As soon as they were able to make contact with civilization again, he’d summon the backup that he needed. If he could only stand his ground until then, everything would be fine.
The Scent of Almonds: A Novella Page 3