Guiltless

by Sten, Viveca

  “No—nothing useful, anyway. And we’ve spoken to most of the people in the village; we did that back in the fall when Lina first went missing, but we didn’t come up with any leads.”

  “Don’t forget that loyalty runs deep in small communities. They don’t trust outsiders, especially the police. But I believe you know a lot of the islanders personally?”

  “I have a summer cottage on Harö, pretty close by.”

  “Do you spend much time on Sandhamn?”

  Thomas considered the question: yes, he did.

  “My close friend Nora and her family have a house right in the middle of the village; I’m there pretty often.”

  “But no one has reached out to you directly?”

  “No, but Nora did see something the other night.”

  Thomas explained how Nora had seen a mysterious figure watching the Rosén house.

  “Interesting,” Larsson said. “Maybe you should put the place under surveillance? Your friend might well have seen the perpetrator—it’s not impossible.”

  “You really think so?”

  Thomas had been skeptical of Nora’s story, and had chalked up her anxiety to the problems with Henrik. She had looked tired and hollow-eyed, and her account was pretty garbled. Margit agreed that the stress of the separation could have led to nocturnal fantasies.

  “Remember what I said before about the perpetrator’s own moral perception?” Larsson asked. “It’s not unusual for this kind of individual to condemn both his own actions and those of others. Our killer could well have distanced himself from the crime, in spite of the fact that he was responsible. He could have stood outside the house, horrified at Lina’s death, without feeling any guilt whatsoever.”

  “I’ll set up surveillance right away,” Thomas said, suddenly worried. He’d been far too quick to doubt Nora. Her powers of observation were excellent.

  “I read over your interview with Jakob Sandgren,” said Larsson.

  “What do you think?”

  “Hard to say at this point. He comes across as a well-adjusted young man, decent home life, promising career path. But appearances can be deceiving.”

  “We’re still looking into him; Erik Blom is going through his background with a fine-tooth comb. But he doesn’t have a criminal record or a hunting license.” Thomas sat up a little straighter. “Maybe you should meet him?”

  Larsson nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. I’ll bring him in tomorrow for a chat. I need to form my own opinion.”

  “He does have a motive,” Thomas added. “Even though it’s weak.”

  “You mean because the girl dumped him?”

  “Yes, last summer.”

  Larsson raised an eyebrow.

  “Hey, you’re the one who said this kind of person could nurture a grudge for months or even years.”

  “True, but you have to ask yourself whether Jakob Sandgren is capable of murdering someone, much less dismembering the body.” Larsson glanced at his watch. “Almost six thirty—time to get home to the family. Do you have kids?”

  Thomas shook his head. “No.”

  “I have three—a nine-year-old girl and six-year-old twin boys. They definitely keep me busy!”

  “I had a daughter,” Thomas said. “But she died when she was three months old.”

  “SIDS?”

  Thomas glanced at him. Larsson’s tone was warm, without a trace of curiosity—just genuine human interest and kindness. A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard. Shit, he thought. I should be able to handle this by now.

  “Yes.”

  “That must have been awful. I can’t even imagine. Was she your first?”

  Thomas nodded silently, overwhelmed with emotion. He thought he’d learned to deal with the grief, stowed it away so deep he no longer needed to worry about losing control.

  “What happened?”

  “She was dead when we woke up in the morning. She was already cold; it was too late to do anything.” His voice only just held.

  The memory of trying in vain to get Emily breathing was right there, the paramedics pulling him away from her tiny body.

  “I’m so sorry, Thomas. Were you and your partner able to support each other?”

  Far from it.

  Thomas shook his head and stared down at the desk. What the hell was going on here? Had seeing Pernilla reopened all the old wounds?

  And yet he had left the restaurant feeling better than he had for a long time. He had been happy that evening, he was sure of it.

  “It’s not unusual for a marriage to break up after the loss of a child, particularly the firstborn. It’s too heavy a burden to carry.”

  Mats Larsson was acting like he hadn’t noticed that Thomas was on the verge of tears, but his voice was lower, gentler. He leaned back in his chair, as if to give Thomas space to pull himself together.

  Thomas noticed and was grateful.

  “If they can put all the guilt to the side and stop blaming each other, many couples do manage to find a way forward,” Larsson said. “A traumatic event can actually bring people closer together.”

  He avoided Thomas’s gaze, glancing around the room as if talking to himself.

  “Such a cataclysmic experience can become a driving force in itself, a positive impulse. For example, a high percentage of couples have another child as quickly as possible as a way of dealing with their grief. Have you and your wife talked about that?”

  “We split up,” Thomas mumbled. “We couldn’t talk at all.”

  Larsson’s expression was sympathetic.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but sometimes even couples who’ve separated can find a new way forward.”

  He squeezed Thomas’s shoulder as he left the room.

  Sandhamn 1928

  It was Great-Uncle Olle who had taught him to whittle. On Thorwald’s tenth birthday, Olle had rummaged around in an old wooden chest and produced a small knife. It had a red handle and a black sheath. It was the best present Thorwald had ever received, and he always carried it with him.

  Thorwald soon discovered that he had considerable skill when it came to handling the knife. He might not be so good at reading and writing, but he could transform a piece of wood into the most amazing creations. He would sit on the bench outside Olle’s cottage for hours on end, whittling away while his great-uncle told fishing stories. He made bowls and butter knives, ladles and table mats, to Vendela’s great joy.

  Thorwald never tired of seeing his mother’s eyes light up when he came home with something new for her. He loved to make her smile; it was such a rare occurrence. For a fleeting moment they could simply be happy, unafraid.

  Gottfrid was increasingly worried about his job. The final decision had yet to be made, but it was clear that the Customs Service on the island would be significantly reduced. The office might even be shut down altogether.

  Vendela had raised the issue only once. They were sitting at the kitchen table, and Vendela had just made Thorwald a sandwich. Kristina had gone on an errand, and Gottfrid was at work.

  “You need to be careful around your father at the moment, things are difficult for him.”

  “Is he going to lose his job?”

  Vendela gave him a glass of milk. “He doesn’t know.”

  “Is that why he’s so horrible to us?”

  Thorwald’s eyes were fixed on a bruise on his mother’s cheek, the result of not fetching Gottfrid’s plate quickly enough. His body also bore signs of his father’s recent moods.

  “Hush now.”

  “He’s getting worse.” Thorwald’s voice was quiet, but he knew he was right.

  “He’s worried how we’ll manage if he loses his income.”

  “But that’s not our fault. Why does he have to punish us?”

  Vendela smiled sadly at her son.

  “Who else would he punish?”

  Thorwald had decided to give Karolina a present on Midsummer’s Eve.

  She adored her cat, Missan, and often pl
ayed with her in the garden, so he had decided to make her a wooden cat that looked like Missan. He’d give it to her at the dance; it was the first time she had been allowed to go, and he knew how much she was looking forward to it.

  For several days he searched for the perfect piece of wood. One after another was rejected: too curved, too many knotholes. Eventually he found a piece of pine that was just the right size. He set to work.

  With practiced movements he whittled the outstretched body. When he finished, it looked like the cat had just settled down in the sun for a rest. The legs were relaxed, the head drooping.

  He sanded the surface until it was perfectly smooth, then he polished it with a cloth until it shone. It had taken many hours, but now the cat was finished, and tomorrow Karolina would receive her gift.

  He got up from the bench outside the boathouse and took a step back to admire his work. The cat really did look like it was about to start purring at any minute. Thorwald stretched, smiling contentedly. Karolina would love it. He could picture the delight on her face.

  “What are you doing?”

  He gave a start. Kristina was standing beside him; she had crept up without him noticing. The nets hanging out to dry were fluttering gently in the breeze; otherwise all was peaceful around the boathouse.

  Instinctively Thorwald tried to hide the figurine. “Nothing.”

  “You were making something. Can I see?”

  “No.”

  His sister looked mutinous. She yanked a few blades of grass from a tuft at her feet and rolled them around in her fingers. Then she sweetened her voice and her expression and tried again.

  “Please can I see, Thorwald, please?”

  “I told you, it’s nothing.”

  But Kristina’s curiosity had been aroused, and she had no intention of giving up. Without hesitation she went for her most effective weapon.

  “If you don’t let me see, I’ll tell Daddy you’re neglecting your chores. You’ve been gone for ages.”

  Thorwald gave in.

  “It’s nothing really, just a wooden toy.” He held out his hand with the little cat resting on his palm.

  Kristina’s face lit up. She picked up the cat and ran her fingers gently over its silky-smooth back. After an anxious minute, Thorwald took it back.

  “It’s beautiful. Can I have it?” Kristina begged.

  “No, it’s not for you.”

  Thorwald turned away and started gathering his tools. It was getting late and he needed to be home in time for supper; he didn’t want to risk his father’s rage.

  “Please can I have it, Thorwald, please?”

  “I told you, it’s not for you.”

  Thorwald started sweating, wishing with every fiber of his being that Kristina had stayed away. If she blabbed and told Gottfrid that he had spent hours whittling a toy instead of helping out around the house, he would pay dearly for it.

  Kristina stamped her foot.

  “You’re stupid! I want it!”

  She reached out like lightning and grabbed the cat, then pressed it to her chest with both hands, triumph written all over her face.

  “It’s mine!”

  Thorwald didn’t move a muscle. Then he let out a long sigh.

  “Give that to me,” he said quietly.

  “No, it’s mine!” Kristina stuck out her tongue. “You can’t have it!”

  Thorwald took a step toward her. She backed away, still clutching the cat. Thorwald moved a step closer, and for the first time there was a glimmer of fear in Kristina’s eyes. She was only nine, but she had grown accustomed to getting her own way as far as her brother was concerned; she could always threaten to tell Daddy.

  Thorwald kept his eyes fixed on her face. The cat was for Karolina, and he wasn’t about to give in.

  Not this time.

  Kristina seemed to hesitate.

  “I’ll tell Daddy,” she ventured again, still edging backward.

  The bright sunlight emphasized the shadows between them, and Kristina’s fair hair stood out like a halo around her head.

  “Thorwald?” Her voice quavered.

  He wasn’t listening anymore. In a second he had reached her and forced her little fingers apart. He snatched the cat from her; he was so angry that he gave her a hard shove. She staggered and tumbled off the jetty. The water wasn’t very deep, but she was soaked to the waist.

  She started sobbing.

  “Stupid Thorwald, stupid, stupid Thorwald! I’m going to tell Daddy everything!”

  “Leave me alone,” he said in a monotone. Then he turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER 39

  “So what’s actually going on between you and Henrik?”

  Nora had just gone into the kitchen to start dinner when the phone rang. She immediately recognized her mother-in-law’s voice.

  Monica Linde.

  This was the last thing she needed right now. Of course Henrik had gone running to Mommy. Why was she surprised? He’d always involved his mother in their relationship. Monica, who boasted about the distinguished company they kept, and who had never considered Nora good enough for her son.

  Nora’s relationship with Monica was civil, but the truth was that she thoroughly disliked the woman—a feeling that had grown steadily over the years.

  Obligatory visits to the in-laws made Nora clench her teeth until her jaw ached. Henrik immediately turned into a spoiled teenager, and she ran around after Adam and Simon while being treated to lectures on how badly she was bringing them up.

  Monica made a point of constantly correcting the boys and comparing them with the grandchildren of her marvelous friends, which drove Nora crazy. Henrik, however, refused to see his mother’s shortcomings and was furious when Nora broached the subject. In the end, Nora had abandoned any attempt to open his eyes to the way his mother treated both her and the children. Instead she kept quiet and suffered, counting the hours until the visit was over.

  That was one of the few advantages of the separation; once they were divorced, she would no longer have to spend any time with her loathsome mother-in-law.

  “Did you hear what I said, Nora?”

  Nora had no idea what Monica had said, and she didn’t really care either.

  “No, I didn’t quite—”

  “I’ve told Henrik that a divorce is out of the question. No one in the Linde family has ever done such a thing. What on earth would people say?”

  Nora didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How was it possible to have as high opinion of yourself as Monica Linde? How could she even imagine it was OK to pick up the phone and dictate to her daughter-in-law what she could and couldn’t do? Monica had no respect for boundaries. She somehow assumed she had the right to rule the lives of everyone around her.

  “It’s not actually your decision,” Nora said as politely as she could manage.

  “You and Henrik will simply have to sort out your problems. You have two wonderful children—how can you even think of getting a divorce and exposing them to the shame that would bring?”

  Grit your teeth, Nora thought. Don’t lose your temper, she’s not worth it.

  “I wouldn’t use the word shame,” she said. “There are many children who cope perfectly well with divorced parents. We’ll figure out an arrangement, just like everyone else does.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Children need both parents, especially young boys. How will you manage without a man around the house—have you thought about that? Do you know how difficult it is for single mothers to raise their sons?”

  Monica knew exactly which buttons to press. Nora was already worrying about how she would deal with the boys on her own—especially Adam, who was definitely Daddy’s boy, and heading straight for puberty.

  “Henrik should have thought of that before he screwed around with Marie,” she snapped.

  She hadn’t meant to reveal Henrik’s infidelity, but anger got the better of her. He could answer to his mother; why should Nora protect him?

  Monica�
��s supercilious laugh caught her off guard.

  “My dear girl, men have been behaving that way for centuries. They try to forget their faults through temporary liaisons, a young girl or two who looks up to them and massages their ego. We just have to put up with it. What do you think I’ve done all these years?”

  The cynicism in her mother-in-law’s words left Nora stunned, even though she’d always understood that, as far as Monica was concerned, outward appearances were all that mattered. As long as her social status was unaffected, everything else was irrelevant.

  Nora spared a thought for her poor father-in-law, who was a pretty nice guy. He would often give her a conspiratorial wink when Monica was droning on about something at the dinner table. If he had cheated on the old bully once or twice, no wonder!

  “Nothing you say or do will influence my decision, Monica. I think it’s time we ended this conversation.”

  “In that case, let me say this again: a divorce is out of the question. You need to get a grip, Nora. No matter how you or I feel about it, you’re a member of the Linde family.”

  Nora swallowed. She had no intention of humiliating herself by crying in front of Monica. How was this her fault? She wasn’t the one who had broken her marital vows.

  “I can’t live with Henrik any longer. It’s over.”

  “Listen very carefully, Nora. I don’t think you understand what you’re getting into here. If you insist on a divorce, we will support Henrik in every way.”

  Nora closed her eyes and leaned against the worktop. She could hear Simon giving orders to his toy soldiers in the next room.

  “Henrik will keep the house in Saltsjöbaden; it’s in his name. We made sure of that when he used his inheritance from his grandfather to buy it.”

  “I know the house is his.”

  She knew, but she had chosen not to think about it. When her in-laws insisted that the property should be in Henrik’s name only, she hadn’t been particularly bothered. They were going to be together for the rest of their lives, after all, so what did it matter whose name was on the deeds?

  “And it’s in the best interests of the boys if they remain there, in their normal environment. Believe me, there will be no room for maneuver as far as Henrik is concerned.”