The Scent of Almonds: A Novella

by Camilla Lackberg

  Martin squatted down next to the suitcase and began carefully lifting out the contents. Shirts, lamb’s-wool sweaters, trousers, and underwear. There were enough items for a fortnight, not just a weekend. But if a person doesn’t have to lug the suitcase himself, thought Martin, he can bring as many clothes as he likes. The suitcase held nothing but clothing. Martin ran his hands along the sides and bottom of the now empty suitcase but found no hidden gun. He put all the items back inside as carefully as he’d removed them. He glanced around the room. A briefcase was leaning against the bedside table, and the sight filled him with a glimmer of hope. He sat down on the edge of the bed and placed the briefcase next to him. There was a four-digit code, but it hadn’t been closed properly, so he was able to open it. The first things he saw were several plastic folders and a thick stack of documents. He carefully lifted them out and set everything on the bed. The briefcase was completely empty. No gun. He felt around inside and touched a soft piece of fabric. It was the same colour as the lining of the briefcase, so he hadn’t noticed it before. He unfolded it and realized that he was most likely looking at a piece of material that had been wrapped around the pistol. So the gun had been inside the briefcase, but now it was gone. Martin stared into space as thoughts flew through his head. Ruben’s gun was missing, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that it had probably been used to shoot Matte.

  After returning the piece of fabric to the briefcase, Martin began going through the documents, hoping to find something that would spark his interest. But there was nothing that seemed to have any connection whatever with the two murders. The minutes of a board meeting, a financial report, a risk analysis regarding a proposed investment. Martin sighed and put all the papers back in the briefcase. Then he sat on the bed for a few moments, letting his mind work. Someone had come into Ruben’s room to fetch the gun. Someone who knew that he had the weapon and where he kept it – which included every single member of the Liljecrona family. He sighed again. He dreaded having to go back downstairs to confront the gloom that had now settled over the hotel. He dreaded having to assume the responsibility that rested so heavily on his shoulders. Then he stood up. He might as well get moving. He couldn’t sit here for ever.

  Miranda came out into the hall as the front door opened. Cold air and snow gusted into the hall, and she shivered. Kerstin and Börje were all bundled up, and they stomped their feet before stepping inside to shake the snow from their boots.

  ‘Brrr … It’s freezing out there,’ said Börje as he pulled off his gloves. ‘But the storm’s starting to die down. We went down to the dock to have a look. As soon as it’s calm enough for the icebreaker to come out, we’ll be able to cross to the mainland.’ He moved aside to let Kerstin enter, and they both pulled off the down jackets they’d worn to keep warm in the fierce wind.

  Börje was about to hang his jacket on a hook on the wall when he caught sight of Miranda’s expression.

  ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

  Kerstin turned, aware that all was not as it should be. At first Miranda could only nod. Sobs welled up in her throat, and she couldn’t say a thing. Then she made a great effort, coughing to clear the way for the words that would have to come out.

  ‘There’s been … Something terrible has … Matte … He …’ She heard how the words were spilling out haphazardly, and tried to focus so that she could tell them what they needed to know.

  ‘Matte, he … he’s dead.’ The words echoed coldly off the walls. They sounded so harsh and so final as they issued from her lips, and the lump that had formed in her stomach grew with each syllable. From the library she heard intermittent sobs.

  The hotel owners looked as if they’d been struck by lightning.

  ‘What … what are you saying?’ asked Börje in disbelief. ‘What …? How …?’ He too seemed to be having a hard time formulating complete sentences. Kerstin’s face had gone white as she stood there behind her husband.

  ‘How could that happen?’ Börje shook his head as if trying to erase the words he’d just heard.

  Miranda coughed again. She still felt like something was lodged in her throat.

  ‘He was shot.’

  ‘Shot?’ Kerstin gasped. Her knees buckled, and she had to lean against the wall.

  ‘Shot?’ repeated Börje, with another shake of the head.

  ‘Britten found him in his room,’ said Miranda as she turned to look at the closed door of the library.

  ‘Oh, dear God. That poor woman.’ Kerstin’s voice was filled with sympathy. ‘How … how is she doing?’

  ‘She’s in shock.’ A loud sobbing could be heard from behind the closed library door, providing an uncanny counterpoint to what she’d just said.

  ‘That poor woman,’ Kerstin said again. She seemed to have regained some of her composure.

  ‘Börje, we need to make sure they have coffee and some sandwiches. They need sustenance. And go check on the fireplace. We don’t want them to freeze in there. The least we can do is provide the basic services.’ Her brisk tone jolted Börje out of his shocked state, and he quickly took off his boots and ski trousers.

  ‘Of course. I’ll see to the fire while you take care of things in the kitchen,’ he said and headed for the library. He was about to open the door when he stopped abruptly.

  ‘Where is … where is his body?’

  ‘In the cold-storage room,’ replied Miranda, her voice quavering. ‘He’s in the cold-storage room.’

  ‘And nobody knows who …?’ Börje didn’t finish his question.

  ‘No. We don’t know who did it,’ said Miranda, turning her back on Börje and Kerstin to climb the stairs to her room. She felt an urgent need to be alone for a while.

  Britten looked up when the door opened. Börje tactfully paused in the doorway as he awkwardly said, ‘I’m so sorry …’ He didn’t know what else to say, but she understood. There were no words that could possibly alleviate her pain.

  Then Börje went over to the fireplace and stirred the ashes with a poker before putting on more wood.

  ‘At least it will be a little warmer in here,’ he said in a low voice before retreating. ‘Kerstin will bring you some coffee and sandwiches,’ he added, then he closed the door behind him.

  Britten watched him with a listless expression. She couldn’t care less about the temperature of the room. She doubted she’d even notice if it dropped below freezing. Her body had shut down, as if it could no longer feel such trivial things as heat, cold, hunger, or thirst. Her brain was processing what she had seen, trying to make sense of the information that was impossible to comprehend. How could she accept that Matte, her boy Matte, was dead?

  Lisette was huddled at her feet, her head resting on Britten’s lap. She could feel her daughter shaking with sobs as she intermittently stroked her hair. She was incapable of offering comfort to anyone else at the moment. She couldn’t even acknowledge their grief. She had enough to do, trying to deal with her own sorrow.

  Britten remembered the day he was born. It was in July, and the birthing room was unbearably hot. She caught sight of a wasp that was stuck between the panes of the window, and all the time she was in labour, she kept her attention focused on the insect’s struggle. But the second she saw Matte, she forgot about the wasp and her own pain. He was so tiny. He was of normal weight, yet in her eyes he seemed incredibly small and fragile. She counted his fingers and toes several times, as if murmuring an incantation to reassure herself that everything was fine. He didn’t cry. She realized in amazement that he’d come silently into this world, with his eyes wide open in surprise, looking a bit cross-eyed as he tried to focus. The instant she saw him, she had loved him so much that she thought her heart would burst. Of course she had loved Lisette too, when she was born a few years later. But Matte was her first-born. And the two of them had shared something special. A unique bond existed from the moment his inquisitive eyes had met hers. Harald was not allowed to be present at the birth – it wasn’t the custom
back then. And that had merely made the bond between Britten and Matte even stronger. It was the two of them against the world. Nothing was ever going to come between them.

  Naturally, things changed as he got older. Those first magical moments could never be recaptured, but remnants of them remained. A feeling that they shared something special. It had pained her to see what a tormented soul he became, and to glimpse the demons that he fought. So many times she had felt nearly suffocated by the constant questions: Was it something she had done? Something they had done? Deep inside she knew that it wasn’t their fault. Even during those first, trembling seconds when his tiny body, so warm and sticky, lay on her breast, she had seen a seriousness in his eyes. He was an old soul who had once again come into this world, even though he might have preferred to be left in peace. This was not something Britten could discuss with Harald. But part of her was not surprised when she found him there, lying on the floor, with those lovely blue eyes staring vacantly. Somehow she had always known that the old soul inside of Matte would not last an entire lifetime. It had already seen too much, experienced too much. The fact that Matte had lived for thirty years was more than she’d dared hope for, but that didn’t make her grief any easier to bear. She sat there and continued to stroke Lisette’s hair.

  Martin went into the kitchen just in time to see Kerstin pour the freshly made coffee into a thermos.

  ‘Oh, could I have a cup?’ he asked, in search of any sort of stimulant he could find to combat the fatigue and discouragement that he was feeling.

  ‘Of course,’ said Kerstin, filling a mug with black coffee. She handed it to Martin and then hesitated a moment before saying, ‘We heard about Matte. How did it happen?’

  Börje had come into the kitchen and wanted to hear what he had to say too. Martin took a big gulp of the coffee.

  ‘Matte was shot. His mother found him in his room. And as yet we don’t know who did it.’

  ‘It must be the same person who murdered Ruben,’ said Börje with a frown. He cast a glance at the door to the cold-storage room.

  Martin shrugged. ‘To be honest, I really have no idea. But I agree that it does seem likely that the same person committed both murders.’

  ‘Have you found the weapon?’ asked Börje, studying Martin closely.

  ‘No. There was no gun in Matte’s room. And I searched it thoroughly.’

  ‘Is he in there?’ asked Kerstin, a tremor in her voice as she nodded towards the cold-storage room.

  ‘Yes, he is. We put him next to Ruben. But we need to get both of them to the mainland soon. And we need to have the crime scene techs out here so they can start doing their job before the evidence disappears.’ Martin could hear how frustrated he sounded.

  Börje repeated what he’d said to Miranda. ‘We’ve just come back from the dock. It’s a hell of a job getting down there because of the snow. Some of the drifts reach up to my waist. But it can be done, and if the weather lets up a little so that the icebreaker can make it through, we can get to the mainland.’

  ‘What about getting the phone line fixed?’ Martin didn’t hold out much hope, but he still asked the question.

  Börje shook his head regretfully. ‘We checked the line. It was blown down, and we won’t be able to do anything about it until the repair guys come.’

  ‘Okay, then I suppose we’ll just have to put all our hopes on the icebreaker,’ said Martin. ‘How will we know when it gets here?’

  ‘Trust me, we’ll hear it,’ said Kerstin, who had started making sandwiches. ‘It makes an incredible racket when it goes out, and the sound carries up here. So we don’t have to worry about missing it.’

  ‘And you’re sure that they’ll break the ice all the way over here?’

  Börje nodded. ‘They know that we have guests at the hotel. I talked to them last week. As soon as they can go out, they’ll break a path right to the dock.’

  ‘Good,’ said Martin, reaching for a ham-and-cheese sandwich. ‘Until then, we’ll have to manage the best we can. But I hope the storm lets up soon, for everyone’s sake.’

  All three turned to look at the closed door to the cold-storage room.

  After exchanging a knowing look, Gustav and Bernard discreetly left the library, which was where they had gone after helping Martin move Matte’s body. Feeling at a loss, both of them had stood in a corner of the room, whispering to each other and uncertain how to behave towards Matte’s family. Vivi and Miranda had already gone upstairs to their room, but Bernard and Gustav put on their jackets and went out in the cold. After the claustrophobic atmosphere inside the house, it felt liberating to breathe in fresh air, no matter how cold it was.

  ‘Cigar?’ Gustav held out a case of hand-rolled cigars.

  ‘Sure. I suppose they’re just as appropriate now as at a festive occasion,’ said Bernard, taking a cigar. With a practised hand he cut the end and then lit it, inhaling with pleasure. The cigar tasted heavenly. And it probably wasn’t cheap, knowing his father. At home Gustav had a small fortune in cigars stored in a humidor.

  Gustav also enjoyed the first puff, closing his eyes as he slowly blew out the smoke.

  ‘So what do you think?’ Gustav stared into the darkness, pulling his jacket tighter.

  ‘Hmm … What the hell are we supposed to think?’ said Bernard, puffing on his cigar. ‘The whole thing is like a bad farce.’

  ‘I’m not sure “farce” is the proper word,’ said Gustav, giving Bernard a sharp look.

  ‘That’s not how I meant it. I just think the whole situation is a bit … absurd. Maybe that’s a better word.’

  ‘I agree.’ Gustav puffed on his cigar. ‘Absurd about sums it up. A damned hard blow for Britten and Harald.’

  ‘You’re right about that. Tragic.’ Bernard tapped some ash from his cigar.

  ‘But what do you reckon? Who killed Ruben and Matte? I have to admit, I wouldn’t have thought anyone in this family had the guts to do anything like that.’

  Bernard laughed.

  ‘I’m inclined to agree, Pappa. Do you know, for a while I suspected it might be you. But that was before Matte died.’

  ‘Me?’ Gustav gave his son an insulted look.

  ‘Yes. I realize how hard Grandpa had been leaning on you lately, and I thought that … that maybe you’d decided to take matters into your own hands.’ Bernard laughed again as he extinguished his cigar in the snow.

  ‘Now, listen here,’ said Gustav indignantly. ‘Would I kill my own father? Sometimes I wonder what makes you tick.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Consider it a compliment. Everybody else seems to consider you a weakling. The fact that I suspected you means that I at least think there’s a man of action hidden in my old dad.’

  In spite of himself Gustav was rather pleased by the remark.

  ‘Hmm … well, you may be right about that.’ He too put out his cigar in the snow. Then he stuck his hands into the pockets of his black duffel coat.

  ‘Do you think Harald might have …?’ Bernard let the question hover in the air.

  Gustav seemed about to protest, but then he paused to give the question serious consideration.

  ‘If it was just Ruben, maybe. But Matte? I can’t believe he would shoot his own son in cold blood.’

  ‘But we don’t know what happened,’ said Bernard. ‘Maybe they started to fight, and then the gun went off … I’m not saying he did do it, but I wouldn’t rule it out.’

  ‘You could be right,’ said Gustav reluctantly. ‘It’s not completely out of the question. Harald also inherited his share of Pappa’s … hot temper, and he’s always been so emotional.’ He paused as if to consider what he’d just said.

  ‘Hopefully the police from the mainland will arrive soon. Lisette’s boyfriend seems a bit wet behind the ears, so I wouldn’t put much faith in him solving the case.’ Bernard laughed crudely.

  ‘No, that milquetoast is not up to much.’ Gustav also laughed.

  ‘Milquetoast! You sound like you’re in on
e of those old slapstick comedies,’ said Bernard as he opened the front door.

  ‘Hey, watch yourself. Don’t go insulting your father!’ Gustav led the way into the house, and they swiftly dropped all signs of humour as they put on sombre expressions that were more appropriate to the situation.

  ‘Could I have a word with you? Do you mind?’ Martin had stuck his head in the library to speak to Harald.

  Harald cast an enquiring glance at Britten, who nodded. With one last look at his wife and daughter, he left the room to join Martin.

  ‘I thought we’d sit in the dining room,’ said Martin. Harald didn’t reply but simply followed. They sat down at one of the tables, and Kerstin discreetly brought each of them a cup of coffee and some sandwiches before she took the rest of the food to the library.

  ‘Have something to eat,’ said Martin, moving the platter of sandwiches closer to Harald. He merely grimaced and pushed the plate away.

  ‘I need to ask you a few questions,’ said Martin. He felt terrible about having to intrude on the man’s grief, but Harald didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Go ahead and ask,’ he said wearily, rubbing his hand over his face.

  ‘It has to do with your father’s gun,’ said Martin, noticing that Harald flinched.

  ‘My father’s gun? What does that have to do with—’ And then it seemed to dawn on him. ‘Is that what …?’ His face took on an ashen pallor.

  ‘We won’t know for certain until the techs have done their job. But the gun is missing, so there’s reason to assume that …’ He didn’t finish the sentence. ‘Who knew about it?’ he went on, wanting Harald to confirm what he’d already been told.

  Harald’s hand shook as he lifted the coffee cup. ‘Everyone in the family. They all knew about it. My father was the subject of an attempted kidnapping fifteen years ago. They were only two days from putting their plan into motion, but then one of the kidnappers got drunk in a pub and said too much to the wrong person. But I know that Pappa was very, very frightened. Maybe for the first time in his life. They had put together a box that they were going to keep him in. Pappa saw a picture of it in the newspapers, and the next day he made arrangements to obtain a gun. He always carried it with him. The whole family knew about it.’