by Viveca Sten
Since it was Saturday, they had a blessed reprieve from swimming lessons. They had even managed to sleep in, as much as possible with a lively six-year-old in the family.
“Come on, boys,” she called to Adam and Simon, who were playing in the garden. “Let’s go down to the jetty to surprise Daddy.”
Henrik had gone down to sort out the fishing nets, a task that could take quite some time, so a cup of coffee would no doubt be appreciated.
She and the boys had spent almost fifteen minutes in line to buy cakes. It seemed as if half the population of Stockholm had decided to head out to the islands to make the most of this beautiful summer’s day.
On the other hand, it was no great sacrifice to stand chatting in line outside the picturesque bakery, where white wrought-iron chairs and tables were set out for those customers who wanted to enjoy their purchases right away.
Henrik was very busy down by the water. Tall poles with hooks at the top lined both sides of the jetty. The nets were hung from these hooks, then poles were used to remove any seaweed—an ancient method that was still in use throughout the archipelago.
Henrik had finished cleaning approximately half of the nets, and the seaweed he had removed lay in small piles at his feet. He had taken off his shirt and was wearing only his shorts, but still the sweat was pouring down his back.
Adam dashed over to help out. Henrik would often take him along to lay the nets and would let him steer the boat a bit. Adam loved going with his dad, and Henrik was happy to spend time with him.
Where the jetty joined the land there was a small area that belonged to Henrik and Nora’s house. It wasn’t very big, but there was just enough room for a bench, two chairs, and a table, so they could sit by the water.
The family’s boat was moored there. It was a small launch with an outboard motor and went by the name Snurran. It was just three yards long and had served them well for many years. It was exactly the right size to go off and find the perfect spot to swim or sunbathe or pick someone up if they were stranded in Stavsnäs after the last ferry had gone.
“Coffee time,” Nora shouted to Henrik.
She sat down at the table and began to set out coffee cups and cakes. For the boys there was juice in colorful plastic mugs. Her thoughts turned to the call she had received the previous day. Her cell phone had rung while she was sitting by the pool, waiting for Simon’s swimming lesson to end. The human resources director from the bank wanted to speak to her. The latest reorganization within the company meant that operations had now been divided into four regions: north, south, central, and west. Each region was now to be allocated its own legal adviser, who would answer to the regional board. Would Nora be interested in the post for the southern region? It would be based in Malmö, so she would have to be prepared to move, but she would receive a significant raise. In addition, it would be a major step up the career ladder within the bank.
Nora had felt both flattered and curious. It sounded like an exciting opportunity. It also meant that she would have a new boss, which would be a welcome change. She enjoyed her work, but she was truly sick of her current boss, who in her opinion was definitely not up to the job. He had been promoted to lead the central legal team at the bank at an unusually young age, when his predecessor had unexpectedly moved to a competitor. Ragnar Wallsten was a nonchalant, supercilious individual who liked to bad-mouth his colleagues within the organization—always behind their backs, of course.
While Nora and her fellow lawyers worked hard, he sat there with his door closed, reading financial journals. Since his office had glass walls, it wasn’t difficult to see what he was up to. Nora had heard that he had married into a very well-known family within the world of finance, which might explain his inferiority complex but was no excuse for his dreadful leadership skills. How someone like Wallsten could have been appointed to such an elevated position within a major bank was a mystery, and it was incomprehensible that no one had realized how incompetent he was.
Therefore, the thought of marching into Ragnar Wallsten’s office and telling him that she had secured a terrific promotion within the bank that meant he no longer had any jurisdiction over her was extremely tempting.
The HR director had told Nora that Sandelin & Partners, an independent recruitment company, would be interviewing all the candidates for the job. If she were interested, they would contact her to make arrangements.
She wondered how she was going to tell Henrik. The idea of relocating to Malmö was not going to be high on his wish list. On the other hand, she had completed her time as a clerk in Visby because that was where his hospital placement happened to be. She had also taken the full allotment of maternity leave when the boys were born, while Henrik completed his specialist training. She felt it was her turn now.
She was woken abruptly from her daydreams by Simon, who was throwing wet seaweed at her legs.
“Stop it,” she said. “It’s freezing!”
Simon’s whole face seemed to be laughing as he bent down to pick up more seaweed. Nora held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I give up—you win,” she said. Simon was poised for the next onslaught.
Suddenly she heard the sound of an engine, rapidly getting louder. She shaded her eyes with her hand; it looked like Thomas’s aluminum boat, a Buster. As it came closer, she could see Thomas standing behind the wheel. He swung the boat around in a wide arc, then slowed down and docked at the end of the jetty.
“Hi,” said Henrik, holding out his hand. “Have you come to say thank you for last night already?”
“You’re just in time for coffee,” Nora said. “Sit down, and I’ll fetch another cup.”
“Sorry, I can’t.” Thomas didn’t look happy. “I just wondered if I could leave the boat here for a few hours. The marina is full, and the police and medical launches are already moored at the emergency landing stage.”
Nora looked at him more closely. His eyes reflected the seriousness of the situation. “What’s happened?”
“Another body has been found. I’m on my way over to see what’s going on.”
Nora went cold all over. “Where?”
“At the Mission House. The maid found it when she went in to clean the room. Apparently the body was a real mess. Is it OK if I leave the boat here for the time being? I don’t really know when I’ll be able to pick it up.”
“Of course. You can always tie up here, you know that.”
Henrik and Nora’s eyes met. Almost as one they turned and looked at the children, who were playing by the shoreline. Nora couldn’t believe it. Two deaths on Sandhamn within a week. On her summer island. It seemed unreal. As a rule she didn’t even bother locking the front door when she left the house.
She was seized by a sudden impulse to put her arms around her boys and never let go.
Where would this all end?
CHAPTER 17
Thomas walked quickly through the alleyways toward the Mission House. It was at the bottom of the hill below the chapel, next to the school. It was about a quarter mile from Nora’s. If there had been no other buildings in the way, you would have been able to see the Mission House from her kitchen window.
When the evangelical movement swept through the archipelago at the end of the nineteenth century, people had gathered in this building, which resembled a church. It had been the first religious edifice on Sandhamn; the islanders’ applications for a church of their own had been turned down time and time again, ever since the eighteenth century. At most the congregation had consisted of fourteen or possibly fifteen enthusiastic members.
For a few years now the Mission House had served as a bed-and-breakfast and conference center as part of the main Sandhamn Hotel. The large chapel had taken on the role of breakfast room and was occasionally used for special functions. It was a beautiful building, simple yet stylish. A building that bore the marks of times long gone
.
And now there was a dead body upstairs.
Thomas nodded briefly to one of the uniformed officers he recognized, then opened the gate in the white-painted fence which enclosed the corner plot. A number of tables and garden chairs sat at the bottom of the steps. Tubs containing blue-and-yellow pansies brought color to the sandy garden, which like the rest of Sandhamn consisted of nothing more than a few feeble tufts of grass.
The main door was open, and Thomas quickly ran up the steps and into the hallway.
From the big room he could hear sobs and agitated voices. He was confronted by the sight of a near-hysterical woman sitting on a chair in one corner. Next to her stood an older woman who was trying to calm her down, in spite of the fact that she, too, was crying. There was another police officer in the room. When Thomas walked in, they all looked up.
“Anna’s the one who found the body.” The older woman pointed dramatically at the sobbing woman on the chair. “When she went in to clean number four.”
Thomas went over to the cleaner, who was rocking back and forth and wringing her hands. It was obvious that she had been crying for some considerable time; her eyes were red and swollen. He wondered how he was going to question her; it would be impossible to get any sense out of her unless she calmed down.
He turned to the other woman, who gave the impression of being more composed.
“Thomas Andreasson, Nacka police. Do you work here?”
The woman nodded as she continued to pat the other woman on the back.
“My name’s Krystyna. I’m the manager.” The strong Eastern European accent came through before her voice broke. Her lower lip trembled, but she took a deep breath and went on in a slightly shrill tone. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Dreadful! How can something like this happen here?” She turned away, her hand covering her mouth.
Thomas took out his notebook and a pen. The cleaner’s sobs subsided a little and became a low mumbling.
“Could you tell me when the body was discovered?” he asked the manager.
She turned back to face him and glanced at the clock on the wall of the bright room. “We called the police immediately,” she said, almost in tears again. “It can’t have been more than thirty or forty minutes ago. Anna had knocked on the door several times so she could go in and clean, but there was no answer, and room four was the only one left to do.”
“Was the door locked?” Thomas asked the woman in the chair.
She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I had to use my own key.”
“Do you have any other guests at the moment?”
The manager nodded. “We’re full, but there’s no one in at the moment. They’re all staying for the weekend. They’ll be back this evening.”
She was wearing a brightly colored striped apron. It looked as if she had been in the middle of making bread, because her arms and apron were covered in flour. Through a half-open door with a heavy, old-fashioned handle at the far end of the room, Thomas could just see the kitchen.
He decided to go upstairs and take a look around before continuing to question either of the women. Might as well get it out of the way. He turned to his colleague, who appeared to be in his thirties. “Could you show me the way to the room?”
The officer led the way up the stairs; the bedrooms were located along a narrow corridor. The door to number four was ajar.
As he walked in he saw the back of a person who was curled up and unnaturally still. There was an unpleasant, sweetish smell in the air—the smell of blood and death that had not yet turned into a stench.
Thomas looked around. The room was decorated in an old-fashioned, romantic style, with pine-clad walls and lace curtains. There was a small vase of flowers on the chest of drawers and a gold-framed painting of a sailboat on the wall.
The sun poured in through the window.
The contrast between the B&B and the dead woman on the bed could not have been starker.
He went over to the body and noticed that there was a large swelling above the right temple; the skin was heavily discolored with blue-and-red lines. There was a small amount of dried blood above the ear and in her hair. He moved around the bed to look closer at the face.
Suddenly he realized who it was.
Kicki Berggren, Krister Berggren’s cousin, was lying dead in front of him.
He bent down. Her unseeing eyes stared up at him. She wore only a pair of red panties. Her slack breasts rested on the mattress. The covers had been pushed aside, and her clothes were strewn around the room. There was no sign that anyone else had stayed or even been in the room.
In a denim purse on the floor he found a wallet containing a driver’s license, which confirmed the woman’s identity as Kicki Berggren. He quickly took out his cell phone and called the station.
“It’s Thomas. I’ve looked at the body, and forensics has to give this top priority. We also need to reconsider Krister Berggren’s death. The victim is his cousin, and she was badly beaten.”
It was midday by the time the investigative team arrived at the Mission House. In the meantime, the area had been cordoned off. Thomas had obtained a list of all the other guests from Krystyna and had even managed to conduct brief interviews with some of them. None had had anything significant to tell him.
The manager had been less than happy when she was informed that the whole building was now regarded as a crime scene and would be subject to a thorough examination. She was not allowed to touch anything, and the room where Kicki Berggren had been found was definitely not to be cleaned.
Since then, the day had passed at breakneck speed. The investigative team had done their best to secure as much biological evidence as possible. Since the door had been locked with the body inside and there were no signs of a struggle inside the room, there were many questions. Among other things, this could mean that Kicki Berggren had been murdered elsewhere, but Thomas always tried not to draw hasty conclusions.
He had spoken to the officer in charge of the local station and arranged to set up a temporary office there. It was obvious they needed a base on Sandhamn at this point. The investigation had moved into a completely different phase.
CHAPTER 18
Fuck, fuck, fuck, thought Jonny Almhult. The persistent knocking on his front door just wouldn’t stop. His head felt like a brick, and he could have used his tongue to sand down his mother’s skiff.
He was lying on his bed wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Lifting his head from the pillow was agony. He had no idea what time it was. He barely even knew where he was.
As he reached out and fumbled for the alarm clock, he knocked over a half-full bottle of beer. The yellowish-brown liquid poured out onto the floor and was quickly absorbed by the rug. He swore again and flopped back on the pillow.
The knocking continued.
“OK, OK. I’m coming.” The words came out as a croak.
“Jonny, Jonny.” His mother’s voice penetrated as far as the bedroom. “Are you there, Jonny?”
“Calm down, Mom. I’m coming.”
With a groan he sat up, got to his feet unsteadily, and staggered to the door. When he opened it, he was met by his mother’s searching gaze. Unable to stop himself, he ran a hand over his stubble, feeling embarrassed.
“Why didn’t you open the door? I’ve been knocking forever!”
Before Jonny had time to respond, she went on. “Do you have any idea what time it is? It’s past two! I don’t know how you can sleep at a time like this. The whole island is in an uproar!”
Jonny stared at her. He didn’t know what she was talking about. He just wanted to go back to bed.
Ellen Almhult went on, extremely agitated. “Haven’t you heard? They found another body. A woman, in the Mission House.”
Jonny swallowed. If only his head hadn’t been pounding like this. He leaned on the doorf
rame to stop himself from swaying and felt the sweat trickling down the back of his neck.
“What did she look like?” His voice was rough and hoarse.
“I had a word with Krystyna, that new woman who took over last spring. She didn’t know what to do with herself.”
Jonny grabbed his mother’s arm with unexpected strength. “I asked you what she looked like.”
“Calm down. There’s no need to behave like that. She was nearly fifty; she turned up yesterday afternoon, according to Krystyna. Long blond hair. I suppose she looked like most people.”
Jonny groaned inwardly. Oh God.
“Listen, Mom, I’m not feeling too good. I need to go back to bed.”
“You’re just like your father.” Ellen’s disapproval was clear as she compressed her lips into a thin line.
Jonny knew that expression well. He had seen it ever since he was a little boy, every time he or his father did something she didn’t like. His father had spent his entire life living in the shadow of her disappointment. A disappointment Jonny couldn’t handle right now.
“I’ll speak to you later,” he said.
“I just don’t understand you,” Ellen said. “Not at all.”
“Please, Mom. I just need to be left in peace for a while.”
“Alcohol will be the death of you, you know.” She pointed a finger at him. He saw her lips begin to move and braced himself for the stream of words that he knew was bound to come.
Suddenly he couldn’t bear it any longer. “I asked you to leave. I’ll talk to you later.”
He practically pushed her out and closed the door.
Jonny slumped to the floor. He could smell and taste his own breath. Rancid, stale beer. Too many cigarettes. The clump of fear stuck in his throat. His tongue felt like a swollen mass in his mouth. He needed a drink to calm him down and help him gather his thoughts.
He went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a beer. Standing by the sink, he knocked back the whole can and then grimaced as he dropped it in the trash. He tried hard to remember last night. The images were vague and unclear.