She pulled open the door and stepped inside. And screamed.
Vivi couldn’t sleep. She’d been lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for almost an hour. Gustav had dozed off in a matter of seconds, as usual. This was how things had always been. He fell asleep at once, while she lay awake for hours, staring into the dark. She hadn’t felt like taking a nap after lunch, but everyone else had disappeared, so she hadn’t had much choice.
Someone was out in the corridor. Vivi propped herself up on her elbows to listen more closely, and after a few seconds she heard a door open. The scream that followed didn’t sound human. It sounded like an animal howling with pain, and the shock made her heart pound in her chest.
‘What? What the hell?’ Gustav jolted awake and sat up to stare wide-eyed around the room. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked, more alert now.
‘I don’t know,’ Vivi told him, jumping out of bed to pull on her dressing gown, which she’d hung on the bedpost. The scream went on and on, rising and falling, broken intermittently by loud sobs.
Vivi opened the door and stepped out into the hall, followed closely by Gustav, clad only in an undershirt and boxer shorts. Doors were opening and everyone else emerged, looking equally dazed.
‘What’s happening?’ said Harald, heading towards them. At that moment he turned to look at Matte’s room and realized where the sound was coming from. He strode over to the door, yanked it open, and then staggered back. On the floor sat his wife with Matte’s head resting on her lap. She was rocking to and fro, screaming non-stop. Her lap was spattered with blood, as were her hands, which were holding Matte’s head. The blood was from a massive hole in his chest. At first Vivi couldn’t take her eyes off that hole and all the blood as she stood in the doorway behind Harald, who began to sway, mute with shock. Then Vivi shifted her gaze to Matte’s face. His eyes were open, and she heard rather than felt herself gasp. Matte was staring straight at her, and for a moment she thought he was alive. But then she realized that there was no sign of life in his eyes. Only emptiness and death.
Harald took a few steps into the room and fell to his knees next to his wife. He too began sobbing as he clumsily stroked Matte’s arm, as if to convince himself that this was really happening. He tried to put his arm around Britten, but she shook it off and continued to rock and utter shrieks that pierced them all to the core. Vivi shuddered, unable to take in what she was seeing.
Someone tried to push past her. It was Martin Molin.
‘What’s going on?’
The same question, asked for a third time, and then he too stopped in mid-stride. But he quickly regained his composure and dropped to his knees beside the dead man. There was no need to feel for a pulse. There could be no doubt that Matte was dead.
‘He’s been shot,’ Martin concluded, and it was only then that everyone understood what had caused the hole in Matte’s chest. Someone gasped for breath. It was Miranda, who had come to stand next to Vivi.
‘Did anyone hear the gunshot?’ asked Martin. No one said a word. But several people shook their head in reply.
‘How is that possible?’ Vivi heard herself say. ‘Why wouldn’t we have heard the shot?’
‘Because of the thunder,’ Miranda told her. ‘The thunder must have drowned out the sound.’
Martin nodded. ‘That sounds plausible. If the shot was fired at the same instant as a loud clap of thunder, it could have masked the noise.’
‘Was it a pistol?’ Miranda asked.
Vivi could feel the young woman shaking as they stood there, shoulder to shoulder. She moved away a few centimetres so they were no longer touching and pulled her robe tighter around her body. Her secret hammered inside of her. She didn’t dare look at Miranda.
Martin got up and began searching the room. He lifted the covers and then bent down to peer under the bed, but found nothing. He straightened up and went over to check inside the fireplace, but there were only charred pieces of wood. Nowhere did he see a gun.
‘The murderer must have taken it,’ he said at last. ‘It’s not here in the room, at any rate.’ Then he turned to the others. ‘I want everybody to keep out of this room.’
Those who were standing in the doorway took a step back. Harald and Britten stayed where they were, sitting on the floor. Britten was now whimpering, and the sound was almost more heart-rending than her screams had been.
Martin squatted down next to Britten and spoke to her in a calm, clear voice, as if talking to a child.
‘I need to see what happened. Could you leave me here with Matte for a little while? Just a short time?’
He laid his hand on Britten’s shoulder. She didn’t shake it off. Martin waited as she continued to rock with Matte’s head on her lap. Then she abruptly stopped, gently placed her son’s head on the floor, and stood up. She staggered and almost fell, but Harald grabbed her. After a glance from Martin, he put his arm around his wife and slowly led her out of the room.
‘It’s all right, sweetheart. We need to let Martin do his job. It’s all right.’
The family members standing in the corridor moved aside to let them pass. Harald didn’t look at them as he led Britten over to the stairs. For a moment everyone stood as motionless as statues, then they followed them downstairs. The image of Britten’s bloody hands had been etched into everyone’s mind.
As soon as he was alone, Martin searched the room again, this time in a more meticulous manner. He knew that under normal conditions he would have been lynched by his colleagues if they’d caught him tramping about a crime scene the way he was doing now. But extraordinary circumstances required extraordinary measures. He had no choice but to try on his own to find what he could.
He started by crawling about on the floor, slowly, centimetre by centimetre. The whole time he kept his eyes peeled, looking for anything that seemed out of place, but there was nothing. He lifted the covers to peer under the bed. Again, nothing. Two pairs of shoes had been neatly placed next to the door, and all the clothing had been hung up in the wardrobe, which stood against one wall. Matte appeared to have been a very orderly person.
Martin turned one hundred and eighty degrees and then made the same methodical inspection of that part of the room, keeping his face close to the floor to discover even the smallest item. At first he found nothing of interest, but after shifting his gaze slightly to the left, he caught sight of a shiny object under the bedside table. He crawled over and stuck his hand underneath. His fingers touched something hard and cold. It was a mobile phone. One of the fancier models, he noted. He thought he remembered seeing another mobile in the room, and when he glanced at the top of the bedside table, he discovered that he was right. There he saw a cheaper and more worn phone, and Martin guessed that it belonged to Matte. He didn’t yet know who owned the other one.
He put the shiny phone next to Matte’s on the bedside table and continued his search. When nothing more turned up on the floor, Martin directed his attention to the victim’s body. A shiver ran through him when he touched Matte’s skin. The whole weekend was fast becoming a crash course in how to handle a corpse. First he studied the wound in the man’s chest. This wasn’t exactly his area of expertise, but he noticed that the flesh around the wound was black, so he was fairly certain that the gun had been fired at close range. Cautiously he turned Matte onto his side and saw that the bullet had passed right through his body. Then he lay Matte back down and stood up to survey the room. Judging by the position of the body, the bullet had to be somewhere near the door, which was still standing open. He reached out and closed it. And there it was. The bullet had lodged in the wood, but it hadn’t gone in very deep. The force of the bullet must have slowed considerably as it passed through Matte’s body. Martin didn’t touch it. He would let the crime scene techs deal with it when they arrived.
He returned to the centre of the room and frowned. One thing struck him as odd. He’d noticed it earlier, but hadn’t stopped to mull it over. Now Martin squatted down. Tiny piec
es of stone along with a few bigger chunks lay on the fireplace hearth. He stood up. Something had made a big gash in centre of the mantelpiece. If he hadn’t found the bullet in the door, he would have thought the gunshot had caused the damage to the mantel. But that wasn’t possible. Matte had a bullet hole in his chest, and there was no sign that more than one shot had been fired. The damage to the fireplace must have been caused by something else. But there was no indication that the shot had been preceded by any sort of scuffle. The rest of the room was nice and tidy. The only thing out of place was the damaged mantelpiece and the bits of stone on the hearth. How strange. On the other hand, the damage might have occurred before Matte was killed. Martin sighed. What a hopeless situation. If only he’d had a colleague with whom he could have discussed everything. On his own, he felt totally at a loss.
He opened the door again and backed out of the room. There was nothing more he could do for the moment. The priority was to move Matte’s body to the cold-storage room, to be kept there temporarily along with Ruben’s body. Martin was not looking forward to asking the others for help with the task.
Lisette was having a hard time sleeping. The sofa was comfortable enough, but bad dreams kept disturbing her. She’d put in earplugs so as not to hear the roar of the storm outdoors, but the subsequent silence allowed space for too many thoughts, too many worries.
Nightmarish images tormented her. Faces melting together. Ruben turning into Bernard who then turned into Matte. Accusatory eyes. Mournful eyes. Despairing eyes. Eyes directed towards her with anger and hatred. Behind her closed lids, her own eyes shifted about nervously. Something was trying to penetrate the earplugs, a sound. Screams of pain and desperation. But the borderland between dream and reality was blurred, and the screams became part of her dreams. They seemed well suited to the eyes that were haunting her sleep.
In spite of the awful dreams, she fought to stay asleep. Reality was little better, and there was not much she wanted to see when she awoke. Yet sleep had already begun to desert her when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Dazed, she opened her eyes to see her father’s face. But his features were so contorted that she hardly recognized him. She sat up with a jolt.
‘What’s the matter, Pappa?’ She instinctively knew that something was terribly wrong. She thought of the screaming in her dream that had seemed so real. ‘Tell me. What is it?’ She grabbed Harald’s arm. Only now did she notice that the library was full of people. Everyone was there. She saw her mother huddled on a big easy chair, and panic seized hold of her. She clung to her father’s arm as he sank onto the sofa beside her. ‘What’s happened?’ She looked at the others, and slowly it dawned on her. Everyone was there … Everyone except for …
‘Matte!’ she shouted. ‘Where is Matte?’ She made a move to get up, but her father held her back by putting his arms around her. The gesture was intended both to comfort and to restrain her.
‘Something has happened. Something horrible, Lisette.’ His voice broke, and Lisette realized this was the first time she’d ever seen her father cry. That alone was enough to set off alarm bells.
‘Where’s Matte?’ she asked again, but her voice sounded feeble and lifeless. She already knew. It was written on their faces.
‘Matte is dead,’ said Harald, confirming what her mind was struggling to comprehend.
She began sobbing, though with a strange feeling that she was in the grip of a dream. This couldn’t be happening. Not Matte. All the bitterness that she’d felt towards him ebbed out of her and disappeared, as if it had never existed.
‘How did he die?’ She could feel her hands shaking uncontrollably.
‘He was shot,’ Harald told her, placing his big, warm hand over hers.
‘Who did it?’ she asked as she attempted to formulate all the questions that were swirling through her head.
‘We don’t know.’ Harald rubbed his other hand over his eyes. It suddenly occurred to Lisette how her mother must be feeling, and she got up to kneel at Britten’s feet. She laid her head on her mother’s lap and wept as she patted her hands. Britten had stopped screaming and crying; she seemed to be in a state of shock. She stared straight ahead as she absently stroked Lisette’s hair.
‘I’m going to need some help,’ Martin said, appearing in the doorway. His face was ashen, and he avoided looked at Britten, as if her pain was too much for him to handle at the moment. It took a few seconds before the others realized what he meant. Harald was the first to stand up. Gustav went over and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. He did it clumsily, as though unaccustomed to such a display of emotion, yet the gesture was clearly intended to offer sympathy.
‘We’ll take care of this, Harald. Stay here with your family.’ Gustav nodded to Bernard, who silently returned the nod, and then both of them followed Martin out of the room. Gustav closed the door behind them. The others didn’t need to see what they were about to do.
‘What’s happening?’ Britten asked in a preoccupied voice.
Lisette took her mother’s hands in her own.
‘You mustn’t worry about it, Mamma.’
‘Are they moving Matte? Where are they going to put him? I need to find him a blanket so he doesn’t get cold.’ Britten made a move as if to get up. Gently Lisette pressed her back onto the armchair.
‘They’ll take good care of him, Mamma. I promise. There’s nothing more you can do.’
‘But …’
‘Shh …’ Lisette squeezed in next to her mother in the big chair. She put her arms around Britten and rocked her like a child. She felt as if someone had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart. But she couldn’t allow herself to think about that now. Her mother needed her.
On the other side of the closed door heavy footsteps could be heard on the stairs, making their way down to the ground floor. Lisette and her parents listened to the sound of three pairs of feet move past and then fade away.
When they reached the kitchen, Martin realized that the hotel owners might not know what had happened. The room was empty and there was no sign of either Börje or Kerstin, so they may have missed all the commotion. They’d find out soon enough what was going on. In the meantime, Matte’s body had to be put inside the cold-storage room. Martin led the way, managing to free one hand so he could undo the padlock and then pull open the door. He shivered at the abrupt drop in temperature as he backed in. He looked around for somewhere to lay Matte. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave the body on the floor, but there was only one other option.
‘Let’s put him on top of the freezer for the time being. Then we can fetch a table from the dining room.’
Bernard and Gustav merely nodded. All three men moved past Ruben, careful to avoid looking at him. They set down Matte’s body and then hurried out of the cold-storage room to find a table. None of them wanted to linger inside any longer than necessary.
Several minutes later they placed Matte on a table next to his grandfather. Two men from the Liljecrona family. Both had met a violent death – and someone in this house was the killer, but right now Martin had no clue who it could be. And he found that a shocking thought.
The three men made their way back to the kitchen, reluctant to return to the library to confront the family’s grief. Instead they poured themselves some coffee and stood there, silently sipping at the hot brew.
‘Do you know whether anyone in the family owns a gun? Do either of you have one?’ asked Martin, sounding more brusque than he’d intended. But there was no other way to ask the question.
A few seconds of strained silence ensued as Bernard and Gustav exchanged a glance. Finally Gustav said, ‘My father has always had a gun in his possession. He started keeping one close at hand after the kidnapping attempt fifteen years ago.’
Ah, now he remembered. A little piece of long-forgotten information rolled to the fore of Martin’s mind. The Eastern European mafia had tried but failed to kidnap Ruben Liljecrona. The police got wind of their plans and were on t
he scene when the kidnapping was supposed to take place. The story had made headlines in all the tabloids for weeks.
‘He never felt truly safe after that,’ Gustav went on. ‘So he got himself a gun, and he always kept it nearby.’
‘How was he able to obtain a gun licence?’ asked Martin, instantly realizing the naivety of the question.
Bernard snorted. ‘He never bothered with a damn licence. And it was easy to acquire a pistol.’
‘Did many people know that Ruben had a gun and where he kept it?’
‘Everyone here knew about it,’ said Bernard in the same scornful tone that had irked Martin from the first moment they’d met. ‘The whole family knew that Ruben was armed, and that he kept the gun in his briefcase, in a special pocket.’
‘And why didn’t anyone tell me about this before?’ said Martin indignantly. ‘A murder occurs here at the hotel – there’s a killer among us who has yet to be identified – and it doesn’t occur to any of you to tell me that there’s a gun in the house?’ He was so angry that he was shaking.
‘We … We probably didn’t think …’ Gustav stammered nervously. ‘We’ve all known about the gun for so long that we didn’t …’ His gaze shifted to the door of the cold-storage room. Martin hoped he was thinking the same thing that he was. If the family had bothered to tell him about the gun, maybe Matte wouldn’t be lying in there, dead.
‘I’m going upstairs to have a look,’ said Martin, slamming his coffee cup down on the worktop. On his way upstairs, he cursed himself for not having searched Ruben’s room sooner, but at the time it had seemed more important to interview all the witnesses.
The old man’s room was the first one on the right. Martin opened the door and stepped inside. It was the biggest and finest room in the hotel, but that seemed only fitting, since Ruben was the one footing the bill. A canopy bed was the centrepiece of the room. It had not been slept in. Ruben had never had the chance to use it. A large suitcase lay open, revealing two stacks of neatly folded clothing.
The Scent of Almonds: A Novella Page 7