Guiltless

by Sten, Viveca

  “But you’re helping. I have no intention of doing all the work myself, just so you know. Don’t think that you can crash in front of the TV.”

  His smile was now so wide that the image in the glass was totally embarrassing.

  “At least I know where I stand.”

  “Shall we say six o’clock? I assume you still know the code for the main door—it hasn’t changed.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Nora was in the kitchen chopping vegetables when the phone rang.

  “Can someone get that?” she yelled over the TV in the next room. A few seconds later, she heard Adam’s voice.

  “Mom,” he shouted. “Grandma wants to talk to you.”

  “Hang on, just let me wipe my hands.” She grabbed a rag as he appeared with the receiver.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, darling, it’s Mom.”

  The previous evening when they got home from the restaurant, Nora had called her mom to ask if she knew who Thorwald was. She was fascinated by Karolina’s unhappy love story, and curious about what had happened. However, she hadn’t had a chance to go over to the Brand villa to see if there were any more diaries; every time she’d been about to go, something had come up.

  “You asked me about a boy called Thorwald?”

  “Yes.” Nora tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder and kept cooking; Thomas would be here soon.

  “I spoke to Ingalill Andersson—you remember her?”

  “Sure.”

  Ingalill lived near Mangelbacken; she was almost eighty and sharp as a tack. She was born on the island just like Susanne, and had lived here all her life.

  “She told me what happened to both Thorwald and Karolina . . .”

  It was already evening as Thomas walked by the harbor on his way to Nora’s. A woman bundled up in several layers of clothing nodded to him; he nodded back even though he didn’t have a clue who she was. That was the way things were in the archipelago, especially in the winter; it was common practice to greet the few people you encountered.

  His phone rang again: Erik Blom, sounding pretty excited.

  “We’ve got something on Jakob Sandgren.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “He doesn’t have a criminal record; he was perfectly clean when we checked. But then I took a look at the database of suspected crimes.”

  Well done, Eric! Thomas thought. That database contained cases where no charges had been brought. The prosecution included details of their investigation and records of interviews.

  “So—when Sandgren was seventeen, he was reported for assaulting a girl the same age. He beat her up pretty bad when he was drunk. Allegedly.”

  Erik paused for effect.

  “What happened?” Thomas asked obligingly.

  “He denied everything, and his parents gave him an alibi. They swore he’d been at home with them all evening.”

  “And the case was dropped.”

  “Exactly. The girl started to wobble; she’d been drunk, too, and there was no clear forensic evidence. The prosecutor decided they couldn’t prove that a crime had been committed.”

  “And so, young Jakob was able to apply to the illustrious School of Economics without any trouble.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing.” Thomas considered the significance of Erik’s discovery. It seemed likely that Jakob Sandgren had indeed abused Lina, just as Louise had said. Judging by what they knew so far, Jakob was a young man with dangerously violent tendencies.

  He tried to gather his thoughts; he was stuck on Sandhamn tonight, no matter what.

  “We’ll bring him back in tomorrow morning. And his parents.” He was struck by a thought. “And Erik—see if his father has a hunting license.”

  Bowls of finely chopped cucumber and tomatoes, green salad, and grated cheese had been set out on the kitchen table. A big plate of tortillas was next to a pan full of fried ground beef, giving off the aroma of Mexican spices. Each person’s glass sported a red-and-white-checked napkin, giving the whole occasion a festive atmosphere. A bottle of Rioja and one of Coke completed the picture.

  Nora contemplated the fruit of her labors with satisfaction. The meal looked delicious and inviting. For dessert there was chocolate mousse with whipped cream and sliced banana. Not terribly imaginative, but the kids loved it.

  She went into the living room where Thomas was playing cards with the boys. She remembered playing exactly the same game with her friends night after night when they were teenagers.

  The sight of her best friend with her sons, totally absorbed in what they were doing, made her feel like crying again. It should have been Henrik sitting there, enjoying a pleasant evening while the snow began to fall outside and the tiled stove warmed the house.

  She didn’t want to think about what he might be doing right now, but she was so grateful that Thomas had agreed to stay over. If she’d had to spend another evening brooding alone, she would have gone crazy.

  “OK, dinner’s ready!”

  She took off her apron. It was pale blue and covered in tiny sailboats; terribly kitschy but perfect for the archipelago. At least that’s what she had thought when she bought it many years ago in Waxholm.

  “Can’t we finish our game first?” Simon begged.

  She looked at the little group on the sofa, and a wave of tenderness swept over her. At least she had the boys and Thomas, no matter what happened.

  Adam was about to join in, but Thomas put down his cards and got to his feet.

  “We’ll come back after dinner,” he said. “The cards aren’t going anywhere.” He winked at Simon. “And I’m going to win, young man—just so you know.”

  “We get to decide whether or not you get dessert,” Adam warned him with a fierce frown.

  Sandhamn 1928

  They were sitting on the black iron anchor in the middle of the harbor outside the Strindbergsgården café. In the eighteenth century, enormous anchors had been embedded in the ground all around the harbor; they were fifteen feet long and several feet tall—the big sailing ships had used them as moorings.

  Nowadays, small children scrambled all over them, but it was also possible to sit down and rest for a while, as Thorwald and Arvid had done.

  He saw her right away, coming down the lane past the inn. She was wearing a pale-blue dress with a white border. She had a basket over her arm, and she was walking quickly and purposefully, her brown braids swinging.

  It was only a few seconds before she spotted him. Her body jerked slightly, as if she wanted to turn and run, but she pulled herself together, straightened her back, and kept on walking.

  She was the most beautiful sight Thorwald had ever seen.

  “Good morning, Karolina,” Arvid said politely. “Going shopping?”

  Thorwald didn’t say a word. He looked down and poked at the sand with a stick. Karolina stiffened but replied to Arvid.

  “Mom sent me to buy flour. And thread.”

  Arvid continued chatting, while Thorwald miserably poked around with his stick, stubbornly refusing to look at Karolina.

  “I have to go,” she said. “Mom will be wondering where I am.”

  She lingered a second or two, trying to catch Thorwald’s eye. Then she turned away with an almost inaudible sigh and headed for the store, which was in the same building as the inn.

  Thorwald didn’t say a word. He watched her go as the pain of loss tore at his heart. It was so agonizing that surely everyone could see how much he wanted to be with her.

  “Why do you act so weird when she’s around?” Arvid demanded. “Can’t you see she likes you? I thought Karolina was the love of your life?”

  An inarticulate grunt was the best Thorwald could manage. Tears weren’t far away, and he didn’t want to risk his friend hearing how thick his voice was.

  Arvid shrugged.

  “Karolina Brand won’t wait for you forever, you know,” he said. “There are plenty of boys who’d lik
e to be with her.”

  “Leave me alone!” Thorwald yelled as he leaped to his feet and ran away.

  He made his way to the Mermaid’s Grotto, to the west of the school. It was a huge hollow dating from the Ice Age, and in the old days there were rumors of a sea spirit who had sought refuge there. Moss grew on the edge of the rocks, and water trickled down the crevices.

  Thorwald crept inside and wrapped his arms around his legs. His throat was aching so much he could barely swallow. Karolina had looked so sad when she walked away, like an abandoned puppy dumped by the roadside. He’d had to grip the anchor as tightly as he could to prevent himself from jumping up and grabbing her hand to keep her there.

  All he wanted to do was comfort her, make everything OK again. Go back to the way things had been before midsummer, when she had looked at him with love rather than sorrow and disappointment.

  But then he wouldn’t be able to leave the island.

  In his mind’s eye he saw Gottfrid’s silent fury as he methodically beat his son with his belt, religious fervor burning in his eyes.

  He had to get away, and soon. There was no other way.

  CHAPTER 45

  The candles had almost burned down in the brass holders on the coffee table. Brass didn’t fare too well in the island cold; there were patches here and there that wouldn’t come off, but these candlesticks had been in the house as long as Nora could remember, and she wouldn’t dream of replacing them with shiny new ones.

  “How are you holding up?” Thomas asked. He was half lying on the sofa; it was too short for his long legs, but he had managed to get reasonably comfortable. The boys were in bed, and Thomas and Nora had retired to the living room with the last of the Rioja. The fire in the stove was dying slowly, crackling faintly from time to time.

  “So-so.” Nora was curled up at the other end of the sofa with a blanket over her legs. The wine had made her pleasantly drowsy, and she was grateful Thomas was there.

  “Monica called.” She couldn’t suppress a weary sigh. “She said Henrik would get both the house and the children if I insisted on a divorce. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen in the Linde family. She threatened to tell the court I’m mentally unstable.”

  The final sentence came out as a whisper. She’d intended to keep her tone light, but the impact of Monica’s words suddenly crashed over her.

  “What a bitch,” Thomas snapped. “Don’t pay any attention to what she says. You’ll split the house and have joint custody of the boys, just like everyone else who gets divorced.”

  Nora pulled the blanket a little higher. Thomas was right, of course, at least as far as Simon and Adam were concerned. However, she couldn’t shake off the feeling of impotence, and she hated it.

  “The house in Saltsjöbaden belongs to him, so she’s right about that, but he’s not taking my sons. I will never let that happen.”

  Her voice was shaking. Even though she knew the courts almost always ruled in favor of joint custody, she was terrified. What if Monica used all her powerful contacts and convinced the authorities that Nora was an unfit mother? How could she fight back? Her parents didn’t have a ton of money, and Nora had no high-flying acquaintances who could help her.

  “Henrik might be a total jerk sometimes, but I can’t imagine he’d really take the kids away from you,” Thomas said. “Ignore Monica—she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “I couldn’t survive if I lost them.”

  The tears began to flow; she couldn’t help it.

  “Calm down, Nora. Everything will be fine.”

  “But how?”

  Thomas moved over and put his arms around her, and Nora sobbed like a child, letting out all the fury and disappointment that had built up over the past week.

  “I hate him,” she mumbled into Thomas’s sweater. “I wish he was dead. It would be easier if he was dead, because then I’d never have to see him again.”

  “It’s OK,” Thomas murmured in an attempt to console her.

  “How am I going to manage?” she whispered. “What’s going to happen to me and the boys?”

  “Everything will be fine,” he said again, stroking her hair. “Try not to worry.”

  Nora wished she could stay in Thomas’s arms and never have to think about anything ever again. She had thought she was unhappy the previous summer when she and Henrik had fought about the sale of the Brand villa, but this was much, much worse. She felt like she was falling apart.

  By the time she ran out of tears, the candles were flickering out. Nora took a deep breath, sat up straight, and looked at Thomas, her eyes swollen. She felt completely drained.

  “You need to sleep,” she said, managing a shaky smile. “You must be worn out.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ve already made up your bed in the guest room. I’m just going to sit here for a little while longer.”

  He got to his feet.

  “Thomas?” Nora said. “You’re one of the good guys, you know? You’re my best friend.”

  “You’re pretty great yourself,” he said, stroking her hair. “You and your fantastic sons.”

  Nora started to fold up the blanket. “Good night,” she said in a subdued voice.

  Nora sat up in bed. She had been on the point of dropping off; talking to Thomas had done her good. Somehow she would create a new life for herself and the boys. But just as she was about to fall asleep, something had occurred to her. Something unthinkable.

  Now she was wide awake.

  The conversation with her mother had been buzzing away in the background of her thoughts. Susanne had told her about Thorwald and his family, and about what had happened between him and Karolina. Apparently his fate had been discussed at length in the village—Ingalill Andersson still remembered the gossip.

  Could there possibly be a link between Thorwald and Lina Rosén? It was crazy, but Nora couldn’t shake off the idea.

  She lay back and stared at the ceiling. Could a grudge harbored for so many years really have caused Lina’s death? Did the answer to the mystery lie in the past, overlooked by everyone?

  She had to tell Thomas. Or was her imagination running wild? Surely no one would kill a young girl just because his parents had been wronged so long ago? That kind of thing only happened on TV.

  Wearily she plumped up her pillow and turned over. She shouldn’t say anything to Thomas. He’d think she was crazy. She had to get some sleep; it was almost one thirty.

  Sandhamn 1928

  Thorwald had been saving money for weeks. He used any spare time he could find to run errands for the summer visitors and earn a few öre. He had fetched water, carried luggage—whatever was needed.

  He had done his best to avoid both Gottfrid and Karolina.

  Every time he was given a coin he put it in a little leather pouch that he kept hidden away in the boathouse, tucked into a corner so no one would find it. Before he fell asleep each night, he worked out how much he had made that day, how much longer it would take.

  It had been a warm, sunny summer, and the steamboat had brought many tourists. They were happy to accept the help of a young boy who politely took off his cap and offered his services. As the weeks went by, the pouch grew heavier, but fall was coming, and the last of the visitors were starting to pack their bags. Soon he wouldn’t be able to earn any more money.

  As often as he could, he went down to the steamboat jetty, where the Sandhamn Express was moored between trips. He carefully observed how the crew passed their time, when the gangway was manned, and how often there was someone on deck.

  After many visits he concluded that the best time to sneak on board was late afternoon, an hour or so before departure. The crew was usually dozing in the sun after their lunch; there was no one watching the gangway, which was simply cordoned off with a rope.

  His plan was to travel across to Stockholm, then enlist on a seagoing vessel. Through Karolina’s brother he knew that he would need a medical certificate in order to
obtain a seaman’s discharge book. André had told him that there was a doctor at a place called Kornhamnstorg in the middle of the city who issued the relevant documents, and Thorwald thought he must have enough money by now to pay the doctor.

  A fine rain fell as he closed the front door behind him. It was Sunday afternoon, and just over an hour before the ferry was due to leave. Thorwald lingered for a moment on the step. He was leaving his childhood home without a qualm, but he was worried about Vendela.

  What would Gottfrid do when he realized that his son had run away? Thorwald was afraid he would blame Vendela, and punish her accordingly. That was why he hadn’t said a word to her. It was better if she knew nothing about his plan—then Gottfrid couldn’t force any secrets out of her with slaps and punches.

  Thorwald had watched her closely the previous evening when they were sitting at the table. He wanted to imprint everything about her in his mind: her face, the way she moved, her gestures and expressions.

  It was important to squirrel away as many memories as possible, because he didn’t know if he would ever see her again. His mother had never been much for talking, but she had a special way of looking at him that expressed her love, a way that united the two of them and separated him from his sister.

  He knew he was more like his mother than his father. The blond hair and the slender nose came from her, along with the freckles that appeared in the summer sun. They were cut from the same cloth.

  With one last look at the house, he set off for the harbor. He had packed a few slices of bread and a small piece of meat in his knapsack; he hadn’t dared take any more.

  Keeping his eyes on the ground and his cap pulled down low, he headed for the jetty. The drizzle meant there was hardly anyone around, which suited him perfectly.

  As he approached the jetty he glanced around furtively. No sign of any summer visitors, and no crew on deck.

  He slipped under the rope and boarded the ferry. As he crept along the outer deck he heard voices coming closer; he pressed himself against the bulkhead with his heart pounding. There was nowhere to hide, and he was seized by despair; he was going to be discovered before the ship had even set sail.