Guiltless

by Sten, Viveca

  “We need to talk to you, Louise,” Margit said softly, glancing at her colleague as if trying to decide how to proceed, “about something you may already know.”

  Louise looked at them anxiously. When they’d called the previous day to arrange a meeting, her voice had revealed how upset she was.

  “We believe Lina was murdered last fall,” Thomas said tentatively. “You might have heard that on TV?”

  Louise nodded, then her eyes filled with tears and she let out a little whimper.

  “Is it true? You couldn’t possibly be wrong?”

  “Unfortunately, it seems not,” Margit said. “Her parents have identified her watch.”

  “The fancy one?”

  “Exactly. You know it?”

  “She wore it all the time. Her parents gave it to her for her eighteenth birthday. She loved it.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “We’re wondering if there’s anything else you can tell us about Lina?” Margit took out a packet of tissues and passed one to Louise.

  “She was my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were little. We spent every summer together.”

  Margit placed a hand on Louise’s arm and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

  “I know this is difficult for you,” she said.

  “The last time we met, you were very upset about Lina’s disappearance,” Thomas said. “You said she might have killed herself, but you couldn’t really explain why.”

  “If you know something you didn’t tell us back then, it’s very important that you talk to us now,” Margit added.

  Louise blew her nose before she spoke.

  “I’m sorry I made you think she’d take her own life.”

  “Don’t be,” Thomas said. “Just tell us why you suspected that might be the case.”

  It wasn’t Louise’s fault, he thought grimly, that the police had settled for the easy story of the suicidal teenager.

  Louise shifted uncomfortably, as if she were wondering whether to say something or not. Then she looked up.

  “Lina felt incredibly guilty about this boating accident she was involved in.”

  “What happened?” Margit asked.

  “Their boat hit another vessel and a boy drowned. Lina had nightmares about it. She thought it was her fault he died.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this last year?” Margit looked searchingly at her.

  “I promised Lina I wouldn’t say anything.” Louise’s eyes were filled with guilt. “She made me swear I wouldn’t. She didn’t want anyone to know the whole story.”

  “Who drowned?” Margit asked.

  “His name was Sebbe—Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian Österman?” Thomas asked.

  Louise nodded, and a shadow passed across Thomas’s face. He’d been there, in the other boat. He and Henrik Linde had been on their way to Grönskär lighthouse to save Nora, who was locked inside the tower dying from hypoglycemic shock. It was the middle of the night, pitch dark. A rigid inflatable boat—a RIB—had suddenly come hurtling toward them from the Sandhamn sound. It had no lights and must have been doing forty knots when the speed limit was five.

  The crash had been catastrophic. A dozen or so teenagers were thrown into the water, and the driver was trapped beneath the upturned boat. Thomas dived down to try and save his life, but by the time they brought the boy up, it was too late. He was already dead.

  The subsequent investigation showed that Sebastian had been drinking heavily, and Henrik testified that the RIB had been going way above the speed limit. There had also been far too many passengers on board.

  Thomas had been cleared of any blame in the incident, but he’d often wondered whether things would have been different if he had left the jetty just a minute later, or if he had reacted faster to the RIB’s approach.

  Margit’s question brought him back to reality: “But it was hardly Lina’s fault that Sebastian died?”

  “It was her RIB.”

  “She owned it?” Thomas said.

  “Yeah. Her dad gave it to her a year or so before the accident.”

  “I still don’t understand why she thought it was her fault,” Margit persisted.

  “She told me . . .” Louise broke off, voice tight. “She told me she was the one who asked Sebbe to drive that night. She didn’t want to drive, so she asked him.”

  “Even though he was drunk?”

  Louise nodded.

  “Lina had bad night vision—or she just didn’t like driving in the dark. She had probably been drinking, too.”

  “You weren’t there?”

  “No, I was staying at my grandmother’s that weekend.”

  “Do you know where they were going?” Thomas asked.

  “No. We didn’t really talk much about it, except for when she told me everything. We had a sleepover and my parents were in the city.”

  Louise’s eyes filled with tears once more.

  “She was so upset; she just cried and cried for hours. She actually told me she thought about killing herself, so that was the first thing I thought about when you said she was missing.” She dropped her head, and her hair hid her eyes. “I was afraid she’d done something terrible to herself.”

  “It would have been much better if you’d told us this the first time we spoke to you,” Margit said.

  “I couldn’t. I promised Lina I wouldn’t tell anyone!” Louise sounded angry and apologetic at the same time. “She changed so much after that; she didn’t want to hang out with me like before. And she was partying a lot. I went along with her at first, but after a while it wasn’t fun. I wanted to pass my exams, but she didn’t seem to care, and then she dropped out of school—or took a break or whatever.”

  Thomas leaned back and considered what Louise had said; her account didn’t match the picture Marianne and Anders Rosén had painted of their daughter.

  “When we spoke to Lina’s parents in the fall, they said they found it difficult to imagine she had killed herself,” he said. “Didn’t they know she was feeling bad?”

  “I was the only one who knew she asked Sebbe to drive. She was too ashamed to say anything to her mom and dad.”

  “Ashamed?” Margit repeated.

  “Because she asked him to drive the RIB,” Louise said, looking impatient. “I already told you. If she hadn’t talked him into it, he would be alive.”

  “You can’t know that for sure,” Margit pointed out. “He might have gotten behind the wheel anyway; maybe he liked driving.”

  “Whatever. Lina was so upset,” Louise insisted. “I’m not making it up. She blamed herself for Sebbe’s death.”

  “We believe you,” Margit reassured her. “We’re just trying to reconcile different versions of Lina.”

  “She didn’t want anyone to find out what she’d done,” Louise whispered.

  Sandhamn 1925

  Vendela stiffened at the sound of footsteps on the porch. Thorwald watched his mother as she sat staring down at the table. Her pinafore barely met in the middle over her black dress.

  The only person not frightened was little Kristina. Her father’s boots weren’t ominous for the six-year-old. On the contrary, as her daddy’s favorite, her face lit up when he came home.

  The door opened and a cold draft sliced through the kitchen.

  Vendela leaped up and started stirring the pan on the stove. She avoided meeting her husband’s eyes as he entered. Gottfrid marched straight to his place at the table and sat down, then clasped his hands together.

  “We thank thee, Almighty Father, for the gifts thou hast given us, and we ask thee to bless our food,” he began.

  Thorwald joined his hands and mumbled along, as did Kristina. Vendela brought over the steaming pot of rye porridge and placed it on the table. She had already set out bowls of sweetened water flavored with vinegar into which they would dip spoonfuls of porridge. Gottfrid didn’t look up; he merely grabbed his spoon and started shoveling down his supper.

  They ate in silence.


  Thorwald finished first; he gazed longingly at the pot but didn’t dare ask for more until his father was done. His mother realized what he wanted and reached for the scoop to give him a second helping.

  “Are you greedy, boy?”

  Gottfrid’s voice cut through the air.

  Thorwald looked down and shook his head.

  “No, Father.”

  “Good.”

  Vendela sat back down, while Thorwald kept his eyes firmly fixed on the table. The icy draft coming under the door meant that his feet were freezing, in spite of the wool socks his mother had knit for him.

  It was bitterly cold outside. Charles Day, or Karldagen, on January 28 had presaged a long, cold winter, and now the so-called ox weeks were here—the period between Twelfth Night and Shrove Tuesday. The bay was frozen solid, and in the mornings, the windows were thick with frost.

  Still hungry, Thorwald risked another glance at the pot of porridge. His father helped himself, then Vendela gave the boy an encouraging little nod, which meant he could have some more.

  He always took as much as he dared.

  One of his father’s favorite punishments was to send Thorwald to the boathouse without any supper. He sometimes sat there all night among the drift nets and hoop nets. The cold wasn’t too bad; he had gotten used to that a long time ago, but the hunger was harder to bear.

  Occasionally his mother would sneak him a sandwich through the window, but she was usually too scared to defy Gottfrid.

  Thorwald knew his father was going to the Mission House after supper. His mother would relax and get out the bag of socks in need of darning. She would sit down by the fire and rest her weary feet as she worked. With two children and a husband, the bag was bottomless.

  Thorwald knew his mother’s life would be much easier if they could just hire a girl to help out a little. But his father didn’t make enough, particularly since he gave so much to the church.

  They gathered to pray on Sundays, and to listen to the preachers who came over from the mainland, or from other islands like Möja and Nämdö. After the collection, everyone would drink coffee and sample the cakes and cookies provided by the wives. The men would sit on one side of the room smoking their pipes, while the women huddled on the other.

  Afterward Thorwald would slip away with the other boys to kick a ball around. He knew the Sabbath was supposed to be a day of rest but defied the commandment. If they got caught, he usually got off with just a reprimand; the fact that it was Sunday affected his father, too.

  That night Thorwald found it difficult to get to sleep, even though it was late and he had to get up for school the next day.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the previous Sunday, when he had messed up his catechism yet again. His father had been furious.

  Thorwald had been confident he had the answers straight when they left home, but his mind went blank as soon as the question was asked. Sometimes he started fretting about Sunday school the night before, and the worry settled on his chest like a heavy weight.

  He could hear the sound of Kristina’s soft, regular breathing from the other bed. His sister was the only member of the family his father cared about. Gottfrid never struck his daughter; on the contrary, he spoke to her in a gentle voice, and occasionally gave her a pat on the cheek. He’d even give her a few coins to buy candy from the store.

  Thorwald had given up being jealous. It was just the way things were. Besides, he couldn’t resist her childish charm either. Kristina was like a doll, with blue eyes and chubby cheeks. Everyone was drawn to her; even the well-to-do summer visitors stopped when they saw her on the promenade. They offered her caramels as they admired her unruly curls.

  Thorwald was aware of Vendela’s displeasure. She didn’t like the fact that her daughter attracted so much attention. She was well aware that Gottfrid favored the girl, but she did nothing about it. She never intervened when he punished Thorwald.

  The boy closed his eyes. He promised himself he would try even harder to learn his catechism; if he answered really well next time, maybe his father would be proud of him, too.

  CHAPTER 25

  Thomas studied Louise and pondered what she’d told them. Lina’s misplaced guilt and her friend’s protectiveness had misled them last fall; were they missing anything like that this time? He thought about the police briefing the day before.

  “Do you happen to know whether Lina had any unusual interests—Nordic mythology, things like that?”

  Louise looked bewildered. She shook her head slowly.

  “You might have heard about pagan rituals where animals were slaughtered? Apparently there are still groups who carry out rituals like that. Do you know if Lina was maybe involved in anything like that?”

  Louise’s expression went from confusion to horror.

  “No! Are you saying someone . . . sacrificed Lina? Like an animal?”

  Margit tried to reassure her.

  “Not at all, we were just wondering. We have to ask a lot of questions before we find the answers.”

  Louise was pale, and she suddenly looked much younger than her twenty years. Her eyes shone with tears, and Thomas decided to drop the subject. He didn’t want to frighten the girl even more, and he definitely didn’t want rumors that the cops were looking for a killer with a taste for human sacrifice.

  Margit seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

  “Can I get you a glass of water?” she said.

  Louise nodded gratefully, and Margit got up and went over to the kitchen at the far end of the room. She brought back a large glass, and Louise drank half, then put it down on the table. A little color returned to her cheeks.

  Margit leaned forward with an encouraging smile.

  “We’re almost done, Louise, but I have to ask you if there’s anything else you can tell us, anything that might help us? Whatever you can think of—everything is important.”

  Louise didn’t say a word. Snow had begun to fall gently outside the window, a fine layer of flakes melting against the glass. The sky was slightly lighter, though the sun hadn’t quite managed to penetrate the cloud cover.

  “There’s something I maybe should have told you before . . .” Louise said eventually.

  “Go ahead,” Margit said pleasantly.

  Louise’s expression was anxious, but she went on.

  “Last summer Lina got together with a guy on Sandhamn.”

  “Not her boyfriend?” Margit said.

  “No. Lina was sick of Victor; she said she wanted a break over the summer.”

  “I see.”

  “This guy wasn’t very nice to her; in fact, he was a total jerk sometimes.”

  “In what way?”

  “He was awful to her. He’d say terrible things to her in front of other people, especially when he was drunk. One minute he was really sweet, then he’d just turn nasty.”

  “Did this happen often?”

  “Pretty often. Lina and I worked at the bakery, and he worked in the harbor. At night most kids with summer jobs here meet up; there’s usually a whole gang of us.”

  “So what did you do?”

  Louise shrugged.

  “We partied. Drank beer and stuff.”

  “Where?”

  “Different places—Utsiktsberget, Kvarnberget. Sometimes we’d go to someone’s house if their parents weren’t around. Lots of people have parties when their parents are away.” She shrugged again. “A lot of the summer people have homes in other places, too, like France, for example.”

  The other side of prosperity.

  Thomas knew from experience that she was right. During his years with the maritime police he had often been called out to houses on the island by irate neighbors when a party got out of control. He would be confronted by drunken minors shouting in the garden while huge speakers blasted music.

  Sometimes the parents actually were around; they would stagger to the door to speak to the authorities, often just as trashed as their kids, and not p
articularly civil. Worse, the parents knew exactly what the police could do—and what they couldn’t. All Thomas and his colleagues could do was politely ask them to turn down the music and show a little consideration for others.

  Why grown adults thought it was a good idea to get drunk with their kids and their kids’ friends was a mystery to Thomas, but he’d seen it plenty of times.

  “What’s this guy’s name?” he asked.

  “Jakob.”

  “Do you remember his last name?”

  “Sandgren, I think. I can ask Mom—she’ll know.”

  “Did anything in particular happen between Lina and Jakob?” Margit asked.

  “Yeah. This one night Lina saw him making out with another girl. She was so mad. She yelled at him, told him she didn’t want to see him anymore; to be honest I think she was glad for an excuse to break up. I’d told her a bunch of times she should.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Jakob got so angry; it was horrible. He almost sounded like he was threatening her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said nobody dumped him and that he’d decide when it was over. He said she’d regret it.”

  “Did he do anything to her? Anything physical?”

  Louise picked at a fingernail, then she picked up her glass and drained it.

  “Louise, was Jakob violent?” Margit said.

  She’s avoiding the question, Thomas thought. Is she protecting him for some reason, or is she too scared to answer?

  Margit tried a different tack.

  “Did Lina ever tell her parents about this?”

  A wry smile.

  “No way. She didn’t tell them much. Marianne is always worrying about everything, and besides, they really liked Victor. I don’t think they even knew about Jakob.”

  “Does he live on the island, or does he just come over in the summer?”

  “He lives in Stockholm, in the city. I’m not sure where.”

  “But Lina was definitely scared of this guy?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was weak. She began winding a strand of hair around her index finger. “She was really scared; she went out of her way to avoid bumping into him after that night.”

  The winding grew more frantic.