by Sten, Viveca
He had seen the bruises on Thorwald’s body with his own eyes when they went swimming, as well as the scars from the belt. Thorwald had been in bed for a week around midsummer, and from the fear on Vendela’s face, Arvid had realized it was serious.
There were plenty of rumors in the small community about Brother Gottfrid’s approach to disciplining his family. On more than one occasion Arvid had heard his mother quietly discussing with the other women what went on in Thorwald’s home. They always stopped talking if they caught him listening.
He knew that Gottfrid sometimes locked his son in the boathouse, but when he had checked this time, the place had been empty. He still didn’t want to believe that Thorwald had run away without telling him.
By pure chance a school friend mentioned that he’d seen Gottfrid leading Thorwald toward the churchyard on the evening when Thorwald was supposed to have run off. That’s when Arvid had started searching for his friend.
He fetched a blanket and tucked it around Thorwald, who was fast asleep in spite of the hard wooden floor. His face and clothes were filthy, and one arm was badly scratched.
Arvid trusted Thorwald; they had been best friends ever since they’d started school. No matter how crazy it sounded, he couldn’t believe Thorwald would lie about his own father.
He shook his head. No. If there was anyone in that family who was a stranger to the truth, it was Kristina.
Thorwald let out a whimper and turned over. Arvid adjusted the blanket and sat down beside him.
How long had Gottfrid intended to punish Thorwald by keeping him in that dark hole without food or water?
Arvid wasn’t sure who to turn to. Vendela? No. That was too dangerous. Gottfrid might be able to force her to tell him whatever she knew, and there was a considerable risk that he would track Thorwald down. And do something even worse to him next time.
Gottfrid’s legal power over his son was absolute. Until Thorwald came of age, no one could intervene.
Arvid didn’t dare tell his own parents what had happened; they would simply insist that Thorwald must go home and accept the consequences. Arvid couldn’t begin to imagine what those consequences might be.
As Thorwald slept, Arvid concluded that he had to help his friend to leave the island for good.
There was no other way.
CHAPTER 49
It had taken almost four hours to get a dog team over to Sandhamn.
Nora had run back home and told Thomas about the empty freezer and the padlock. She did her best to convince him that the situation warranted further investigation.
Thomas knew that police dogs could track with eerie precision even things that the most experienced CSI technician couldn’t. They were trained to pick up the scent of dead bodies and the fluids secreted by a corpse, and could sniff out astonishingly small traces. If they found anything in the Östermans’ freezer, it would provide strong evidence. He had watched the dogs at work, and was impressed all over again with each successful discovery.
It was Saturday, so he couldn’t contact the dog-handling unit directly, but after some negotiation he managed to convince the duty officer that he really did need a human-remains-detection canine, or what the tabloids carelessly referred to as a cadaver dog. Then he got a search warrant for the Österman house; that also took some doing, but finally everything was in place.
He couldn’t shake the idea that Bengt and his wife might have lost control one rainy November night.
The interview with Jakob Sandgren would have to wait.
On the helipad outside the Sandhamn Inn, it was almost three in the afternoon. Dusk hadn’t yet begun to fall, but the light was growing weaker, unable to offer any real resistance to the gray sky. It had stopped snowing, and the trees were framed in white by the flakes that had settled on their sprawling branches.
Thomas waited impatiently. The bitter cold crawled under his skin, and he shivered. It was always damp on the islands; it was impossible to keep out the chill, no matter how warmly you dressed.
As he waited for confirmation that the dog team was on the way, he went through Nora’s theory over and over again in his head, and kept coming to the same conclusion.
If the dog signaled a find in the Östermans’ freezer, Nora was on the right track. In which case they would have to call in the CSI team and turn the whole place upside down. Bring Bengt Österman in and push him hard. If not, they had Jakob Sandgren; he was still a prime suspect.
As the helicopter blades stopped spinning, a beautiful Alsatian emerged along with her handler, Sofia Granit. Sofia was around sixty years old, and had helped the Nacka police on a number of occasions. She shook hands with Thomas and introduced Raja, a highly experienced eight-year-old who was trained exclusively to search for dead bodies.
Margit clambered down behind them; Thomas waved and she smiled at him.
When he had called to tell her about Nora’s idea, she had listened attentively. She doubted that Ingrid Österman was capable of murder but agreed it was worth bringing over a dog team.
“For the Roséns’ sake, if nothing else,” she’d said. “We can talk to Jakob Sandgren tomorrow; he’s not going to disappear in the next twenty-four hours.”
As they headed for the Österman house, Thomas brought Sofia Granit up to speed.
The snow was several inches deep in the lanes, but the main road had been plowed, so they didn’t sink up to their ankles in the thick white blanket.
The dog trotted along obediently as they passed Adolf Square where the midsummer pole was erected for the celebrations in June. The Östermans didn’t live far; they were there in less than ten minutes.
“You think he’s home?” Margit said. She walked around the outside of the house while Thomas knocked on the front door. No answer. After a couple of minutes he shrugged.
“Let’s go,” he said. “The freezer’s in the back shed.”
They went over to the red wooden building Nora had snuck into that morning. The door was still unlocked; he opened it and they went inside.
Still wearing his gloves, Thomas slowly opened the lid of the freezer as wide as it would go.
“Find,” Sofia said.
Raja knew exactly what was expected of her. It was clear she had done this many times before, and concentration was evident in every fiber of her muscular body—ears pricked up, tail wagging.
“Find.”
Thomas followed the dog’s movements closely. The black nose was constantly moving as Raja sniffed her way around the little shed. Without hesitation she stopped by the freezer and signaled.
“Bloody hell,” Margit said quietly.
Thomas let out a long breath.
“Happy?” Sofia glanced at Thomas before bending down and patting Raja on the head. “Good girl, you’re such a good girl.” She gave the dog a biscuit, then straightened up, her expression serious.
“I presume you know what this means. There have been human remains here; Raja wouldn’t have signaled otherwise. She’s one of our best.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Thomas replied. He felt no sense of triumph, merely an oppressive realization of the pain this would cause Lina Rosén’s parents.
Margit already had her cell phone out, ready to call the CSI team.
“It’s almost three forty-five,” she said. “How long do you think it will be before they get here?”
“Hard to say—several hours by boat. It’s quicker by helicopter, of course, but it depends where it went after dropping you off. Do your best to speed things up.”
Thomas went outside; it was almost sunset.
“Where’s Bengt Österman, that’s the question,” he said to himself, gazing around. He became aware of the silhouette of a woman, looking curiously at him through the window of the house opposite. She must be the neighbor he had spoken to the previous day.
“Back in a minute,” he called out to Margit, then he went over and knocked on the door.
“Sorry to bother you again,” he said when the wo
man appeared in a floral apron. “I’m looking for Bengt Österman; I don’t suppose you happen to know where he might be?”
She shook her head. “No idea; you never know with Bengt these days.” She pursed her lips, just like the previous day. “He’s got problems with alcohol, as you know.”
“Thanks anyway.” Thomas turned away.
“You could try the bar, of course. Or he might be at his boathouse; he spends a lot of time down there.”
Thomas stopped.
“Where’s the boathouse?”
“By the old marina,” she said, closing the door to keep out the cold air.
Thomas returned to his colleagues.
“I’m going to look for Österman,” he informed Margit.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No—someone needs to stay here in case he comes home. You can wait inside the house if it gets too cold; I doubt it’s locked.”
Margit looked like she was already half frozen. She stamped her feet to keep warm.
“OK. We’ll keep in touch by phone.”
CHAPTER 50
There was a knock on the front door.
“Simon, can you get that?” Nora called from the kitchen. She was baking cinnamon buns, and her hands were covered in flour.
Thomas had gone off to meet the helicopter, and she was full of energy. He took her theory about the feud seriously, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity she felt sharp and clearheaded rather than dumb and easily fooled. Out of sheer relief she had decided to bake something delicious that she and the boys could have as an afternoon treat.
“Some guy wants to talk to you.” Simon had appeared in the doorway.
“OK, I’m coming.”
Nora gave her hands a quick wipe, but there was still a fair amount of flour in evidence as she walked into the hallway to find Pelle Forsberg standing there with a long scarf wound around his neck. He looked delighted to see her, and held out a white paper bag. Judging by the aroma, it contained something edible.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Hi.”
What was he doing here? She felt uncomfortable with the man after her conversation with Johanna Granlund, and she really didn’t want him in her home.
“I thought maybe we could have a cup of coffee, if you have time?”
It was hard to say no in the face of his expectant expression, and Nora capitulated. It seemed like he wasn’t going to give up; he had suggested a coffee more than once, and she didn’t want to be rude.
“Sure, come on in. But I have to warn you, I’m in the middle of baking, so the kitchen is a mess!”
“You should see my place,” he said cheerfully. “It looks like a bomb went off!”
He took off his jacket and hung it up before following her. Nora pointed to a chair and removed a baking tray from the table.
“Sit down and I’ll put the kettle on. I hope you’re OK with instant; I never drink anything else out here.”
“Me neither.”
They chatted while Nora rolled out the dough and shaped the buns before setting them aside to rise. Pelle Forsberg avoided the subject of the police investigation, and Nora decided that having a visitor wasn’t such a bad thing after all. He even made her laugh a few times.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked after a while. “You looked so unhappy when I saw you on the ferry the other day; I was really worried.”
Nora considered the question. Yes, she was feeling better. Last night she had cried it all out on Thomas’s shoulder, and now her heart was lighter.
She got out two cups and poured the coffee. Inside the bag Pelle had brought, she discovered three Danish pastries, which she arranged on a plate. She sat down and took a big bite from the one with the biggest golden yellow center. Definitely sinful, but she promised herself that she would be extra careful with her insulin later.
“Mmm, that’s delicious,” she said with her mouth full of pastry.
Pelle laughed.
“Glad to hear it. Listen, I have a confession.”
A shiver ran down Nora’s spine. What was he going to say? There was something shady about him, she had known it all along. Her smile froze on her lips, and she looked at him warily.
“I came and knocked on your door the other night. I saw the light was on, and I wanted to offer you a glass of Scotch.”
Nora sat up straight.
“I was terrified!” she exclaimed. “I thought someone was trying to break in!”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t realize how late it was until after I knocked. When no one answered I assumed you’d gone to bed.” He shook his head. “It was such a dumb thing to do, but I swear I had the best intentions.”
He looked so upset that Nora couldn’t help smiling.
“It’s OK, but don’t do anything like that again.” She hesitated, then made up her mind. “I need to ask you about something else. Why did you say you’d had dinner at the Granlunds’ the other day?”
Pelle looked surprised.
“Because I did.”
Nora frowned.
“I bumped into Johanna in the grocery store, and she told me they only arrived yesterday.”
She stared at him, daring him to lie again.
Pelle smiled.
“That’s right—Johanna and the kids came over yesterday, but Hasse’s been here all week, working on their bathroom. Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Nora blushed. Good God, I’ll be seeing things before you know it, she thought. To hide her embarrassment she bent over her coffee cup, then took another big bite of her pastry.
She had imagined all kinds of nonsense. There were perfectly simple explanations for all of it. The man on the shore had probably been an islander out for a walk. She was an idiot for getting so scared.
Pelle’s expression was sympathetic.
“It’s fine, Nora. And really, feel free to talk to Hasse if you like.”
Nora shook her head. “There’s no need.” She mustered the courage for one final question. She had already made a fool of herself; it could hardly get any worse.
“So it’s not you who’s been standing staring at the Rosén house late at night?”
A confused look gave her the answer.
“No—why the hell would I do that?”
He smiled disarmingly and took a sip of his coffee. Nora was still embarrassed, but the smile made her feel better.
The timer rang, and she got up to brush the buns with egg wash before putting them in the oven. If it wasn’t Pelle Forsberg she’d seen, then who was it? She tried to picture the figure more clearly.
Could it have been poor Ingrid Österman, standing there like an apparition and wishing she could turn back time and prevent what had happened?
Nora opened the oven and slid the baking tray inside.
It might have been Ingrid, but it no longer mattered. She was dead now, and soon a cadaver dog would tell them whether Lina Rosén’s dismembered body had been stored in her home or not.
Pelle cleared his throat. “This is really nice. Maybe you’d like to come over to my place for coffee sometime?”
Nora turned to him; his openness was touching.
“Why not?”
CHAPTER 51
The gray twilight had enveloped the countryside. The snow muffled every sound, and the landscape lost its definition as the sharp corners of the buildings blurred into their surroundings.
Thomas was on his way to Bengt Österman’s boathouse. He had stopped by the bar; the place was packed, but no one had seen Bengt.
The old marina was right next to Kvarnberget, to the east of the steep rock face in a sheltered location. This was where the residents used to moor their skiffs and rowboats. But thanks to postglacial rebound, which caused the land to rise, the water was now shallow enough to wade in. The huge iron rings that had been fixed to the rock for the ropes were now far too high up to fulfill their purpose.
As he walked along
, Thomas considered the man who had probably taken Lina Rosén’s life and then brutally dismembered her body. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Ingrid hadn’t been involved. Sachsen, the forensic pathologist, had said it was unlikely a woman would be capable of carrying and chopping up the body, but Bengt could have done it. He might be a drunk, but he was still a strong guy.
Mats Larsson’s words still echoed in his mind: There is a logic, however twisted, in the perpetrator’s actions.
Had Bengt been struck by a sudden impulse he was unable to resist? Or was his father’s bitterness so deeply embedded within him that he had simply been biding his time? He might even believe that what he had done was justified.
It started snowing again, and visibility worsened. Thomas sped up.
When he reached the marina, there was no one in sight. The place seemed totally deserted, but then he noticed footprints leading to the jetties and then veering off toward the boathouses down by the water.
He looked all around and listened for the sound of human activity, but all he could hear was his own breathing and the whistling of the wind. The rocks were slippery, and he edged forward with care. If the snow gave way, it’d be a nasty fall.
Suddenly he smelled smoke; he squinted through the falling snow and saw the glow of a cigarette.
Bengt Österman was standing on the thick ice next to one of the jetties. He looked at Thomas as if he had been expecting him. As if he had decided to weather the bitter cold until someone came to find him.
“I have some questions about Lina Rosén, your cousin’s daughter,” Thomas began.
Bengt took a drag on his cigarette, and for a moment the glow illuminated his harrowed features. A muscle was twitching at one corner of his mouth.
Thomas moved a little closer.
“Where were you on the night she disappeared?”
The man on the ice still hadn’t said a word.
“I think you met Lina on her way home from Trouville, Bengt. I think you lost control.”
Bengt Österman opened his mouth.
“I strangled her,” he said. The knowledge that he had reached the end of the road was clearly visible in his eyes.