In the Heat of the Moment (Sandhamn Murders Book 5)

by Viveca Sten

  In a few months, an entirely legitimate invoice would arrive for analysis and consultancy services in connection with a company takeover that never happened.

  Plan, act, analyze—that’s what he’d learned when he was training as a Coastal Ranger, and he had used that mantra ever since. It had carried him through his entire career. Never look back once the decision has been made.

  Even then, he had found peace of mind in the thought of a well-executed operation, but he had never suspected that those skills would come to his rescue in the most challenging situation of his life.

  The funeral was to be held tomorrow in the Catholic cathedral on Folkungagatan. By focusing on the detailed arrangements, Madeleine was able to keep it together. She had insisted on having a formal gathering afterward, though Johan doubted she would be able to cope with the strain of it all. However, he had decided to let Madeleine have complete control of every aspect of the funeral, with one condition: there were to be no white flowers.

  White lilies were for old people who had died at the end of a full life.

  “Johan.”

  He looked up to see Madeleine standing in the doorway. Her hair was lank and greasy, and her short-sleeved white blouse was buttoned incorrectly.

  “Johan,” she said again, holding up a dark-blue suit with a gray silk tie draped over one shoulder. “The funeral home called; I have to take in something for Victor to wear tomorrow.”

  Johan stared at the suit.

  “Maybe a shirt and jeans would be better?” Madeleine went on. “The kind of thing he used to wear? The pink shirt he bought with his own money . . . this doesn’t feel like Victor.”

  Her eyes shone with unshed tears. She swallowed and tried again. “What do you think?”

  Johan shook his head. What the hell did it matter whether Victor was wearing jeans or a suit? In twenty-four hours, his coffin would be lowered into the ground. No one would ever see him again.

  “Then again, a suit is more formal. That’s probably for the best after all . . .” Madeleine’s voice broke. “Help me,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.” She grabbed the doorframe for support. “Please, Johan.”

  He stood up and took the clothes hanger from her. “Don’t you think you should go lie down?” he said gently, even though he just wanted her to go away. “I’ll hang this up. We can decide later.” He patted her clumsily on the shoulder. He could hardly bear to be in the same room as her, but he had to try and be nice.

  He couldn’t cope with his own grief, let alone his wife’s.

  CHAPTER 86

  The door of Staffan Nilsson’s office was closed when Thomas arrived. He knocked, and went in.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, I’d like to show you something,” Nilsson said. “Come with me.” He led the way to the lab, where a large pile of yellow high-visibility vests was on a metal table. Nilsson picked up one of them and held it out. There was a tear at the bottom.

  “So the issue’s resolved?” Thomas said.

  “Not quite.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there’s a scrap of material missing from this one, but when I compared it with the piece we found at the scene of the crime, something’s not right.”

  “Go on.”

  Nilsson picked up the evidence bag containing the fabric from the scene and handed it to Thomas. “See for yourself.”

  “Don’t they match?” Thomas said, not really sure where Nilsson was going with this.

  “Look at the edges on the vest where the piece is missing.”

  Thomas leaned forward and took a closer look. “They’re straight.”

  “Exactly.”

  Nilsson took the bag from Thomas and placed it right next to the hole in Adrian Karlsson’s vest.

  “As you can see, the fabric in the bag has been torn, as if it got stuck on something and was pulled free. At first glance, it might appear to have come from this vest, but that’s not the case. The missing piece here has been partly cut out, then torn away at the end.”

  The forensic technician leaned back against the bench and folded his arms. Thomas looked searchingly at him. “So what are you saying?”

  “Someone wants us to think the fabric found at the scene came from this vest, but it didn’t.”

  Thomas tried to grasp the import of Nilsson’s words. “You mean Adrian Karlsson deliberately used a pair of scissors on his vest to make us think the scrap we found came from him?”

  “Something along those lines.”

  “But why would he do that?”

  “Indeed. Why would he do that?”

  Thomas headed down to the lower level. Something wasn’t right; why would Karlsson cut a piece out of his own vest?

  He went to see Jens Sturup, who had led the team on Sandhamn over the weekend. The door was ajar, and Sturup was sitting at his desk with a substantial file open in front of him, a blue coffee mug with the words Ordnung muss sein in his hand.

  “Hi,” Thomas said. “I’m looking for Adrian Karlsson. Do you know where he might be?”

  Sturup glanced at the clock. “I think he’s on a late shift today, in which case he starts at three. What’s it about?”

  “I’ve got a couple of questions about the murder of Victor Ekengreen on Sandhamn. Could you ask Adrian to come up and see me as soon as he gets in?”

  “No problem,” Sturup said, turning his attention back to his file.

  Thomas lingered in the doorway. “Do you have a minute?” he said.

  Sturup looked up again.

  “All the uniformed officers worked in pairs over Midsummer, didn’t they? It’s only the drug squad who go out on their own, as I understand it.”

  “Technically, yes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s what’s supposed to happen, but there are exceptions. If it’s relatively quiet, or if someone needs the toilet, for example, an officer might do a patrol on his or her own.”

  “So one of your team could have spent some time without a partner?”

  “Yes.”

  Wilma had said she’d seen one officer on his own. In a high-visibility vest.

  If Adrian Karlsson had accidentally torn his vest at the scene of the crime, he could simply have reported it, and that would have been the end of the matter. Therefore, the fact that he’d chosen a different option was significant.

  In a homicide investigation, it was the deviations that were important, things that broke the pattern. Was the pattern broken now?

  “How well do you know Karlsson?” Thomas said pensively. “I only met him briefly on Sandhamn on Sunday.”

  “Reasonably well. We’ve worked together for the past few years. He was on my team for the Midsummer weekend last year, too.”

  “What’s he like as a person?”

  Sturup closed the file. “Meticulous, honest, calm. He’s a decent guy and a good cop.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Thirty-four, I think—maybe thirty-five.”

  “Family?”

  “Partner, one child, another one on the way in the fall.”

  “Tell me one thing.” Thomas spoke slowly, not wanting to overdramatize. “Do you know if there’s anything negative on his record? Has he ever taken a wrong turn, so to speak?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just wondering.”

  Sturup pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head. “OK, you need to tell me what’s going on. It’s obvious there’s a specific reason for all this.”

  Thomas hesitated, then decided to play it down. “It’s nothing, just a small point that seems a little strange. I’m sure it’ll get cleared up when I speak to him.” He turned to leave. “But don’t forget to ask him to contact me.”

  “The person you’re calling is not available at the moment,” the robotic voice informed him once again. Thomas sat there, contemplating his phone. Mattias Wassberg must still be at sea.

  A tap on the door made hi
m turn around, and Adrian Karlsson walked in.

  “You wanted to see me?” he said.

  “Take a seat.”

  Thomas put down the phone; he would chase Wassberg later.

  “My shift starts in a few minutes,” Karlsson said. “Will this take long?” He glanced at his watch.

  “I don’t think so; there’s just something I need to check.” Thomas decided to get straight to the point. “I have a question about the high-visibility vest you handed in yesterday. It’s torn. In fact it looks as if you’ve cut away a section of the fabric. Why did you do that?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Karlsson sounded genuinely surprised, and Thomas looked searchingly at his colleague.

  “Your vest has been damaged, and it looks as if it was done deliberately. I’m wondering how that happened.”

  “It was fine when I handed it in, I swear.”

  Thomas managed to catch Margit’s eye; she was in the staff room with a dozen or so colleagues. It was Karin Ek’s birthday, and she’d brought a cake in to celebrate at lunchtime.

  Margit put down her plate and excused herself. Thomas moved into the corridor so no one would overhear their conversation.

  “Adrian Karlsson?” Margit said immediately.

  “I’ve just spoken to him.”

  “And?”

  “He swears there was nothing wrong with his vest when he handed it in.”

  “What?”

  “I asked him a straight question and got a straight answer.” Thomas leaned back against the wall. “Karlsson denies that he damaged it in any way. I tried to push him, and he got upset, almost hostile. He wondered if someone was trying to frame him.”

  “This is all very weird,” Margit said. “There’s a piece of fabric missing from the vest, and Nilsson is sure it was done deliberately.”

  “Only two people had access to that vest before it reached Nilsson.”

  “If Karlsson says it wasn’t him, then that leaves Harry Anjou.”

  “Which is what worries me.”

  A burst of laughter came from the table; no doubt Erik was entertaining everyone as usual.

  “I don’t like it when things get complicated,” Margit said quietly. “Especially when it involves one of our own. Could it be the wrong vest? Is it possible to change the names without anyone being able to tell?”

  “Nilsson would have noticed that right away.”

  “We don’t have time to mess around with internal squabbles.”

  Another wave of laughter.

  “We need to find out what happened to that vest,” Margit said.

  “I’ll speak to Anjou.”

  “He’s not in the staff room. In fact, I haven’t seen him for quite some time.”

  CHAPTER 87

  Johan Ekengreen was sitting alone on the patio with a glass of red wine.

  Dinner had been cleared away; they’d eaten Thai food, which he’d brought home from a restaurant in the city. Madeleine had spent a lot of time pushing her food around on her plate, but at least she’d managed to eat something, as had Nicole and Ellinor.

  Nicole had arrived that afternoon, and she’d tried to help as best she could. Above all she focused on taking care of Ellinor, for which Johan was very grateful. Pontus had had some difficulty getting a ticket, but he, too, was on his way and should be there around midnight, if his flight was on time.

  When this was all over, Johan intended to go out to their island. Alone. Then he could allow his grief to catch up with him.

  Over and over again, he went through the previous evening’s meeting. For some reason, he found it calming. He always reached the same conclusion: the setup was perfect; there were no loose ends. All he was waiting for now was confirmation that the payment had been received.

  His new burner phone buzzed in his pocket; he got up and moved farther away from the house, down onto the beautifully manicured lawn.

  The international code on the display indicated that the call was from Turkey.

  “My friend,” said the familiar voice, in heavily accented English. “The payment has gone through exactly as you wished. The bank has faxed its confirmation. Everything has been taken care of.”

  “I understand.”

  Johan sat down on one of the wrought iron benches. A few rust patches were visible on the black surface; the benches needed repainting every three years and were due for a facelift this summer. “I am in your debt,” he said quietly.

  “This is what old friends do for each other. I am happy to help you. You know that.”

  “Thank you.”

  Johan ended the call. In front of him, the evening sun sparkled on the water. The Delta 42 was moored at the jetty. They used the boat to get to the summer cottage, and it was his pride and joy. He remembered how happy he had been when he bought it almost exactly a year ago. Victor had come with him to pick it up. They had taken turns at the helm on the way back to Lidingö and had pushed it to its maximum speed. His son had stood at the wheel, his blond hair blowing in the wind.

  Johan stared at the cell phone. Then after a few minutes, he punched in a number, ten digits he had been given on a piece of paper the previous evening and had learned by heart before he left the restaurant.

  The signal rang out three times; he recognized the curt voice that answered.

  “The money is in your account,” Johan said without introducing himself. “As agreed yesterday evening.”

  And that was that. Slowly he walked down the gravel path and out onto the jetty. The wooden planks gave slightly beneath his feet. By a small buoy, between the Delta and the shoreline, lay Victor’s Jet Ski, carelessly tied up as usual, the ends of the rope trailing in the water. Johan felt a heavy weight pressing on his chest as he looked at it. It was so typical of Victor to tie a slapdash knot that would come undone if the wind picked up. He bent down and secured the rope properly; then he straightened up and walked to the very end of the jetty. He took aim and threw the cell phone as far out across the water as he could. It was at least sixty feet deep here; no one would ever find it. The phone disappeared with a little splash just as two swans drifted by, heads held high. Their white feathers stood out against the shining surface of the water, and a downy cygnet with a slender neck came paddling along behind them.

  Johan’s eyes burned as he gazed at the beautiful birds. Rage and sorrow sat in his chest like an immovable lump. No tears could ease his pain.

  Not yet.

  CHAPTER 88

  Thomas rubbed his eyes. He’d been sitting in his office for hours, going through various documents. He hoped Nilsson would be in touch soon; with a bit of luck, the preliminary examination of Tobbe’s clothing would give them something to work with.

  It was way too hot; the air-conditioning was useless in the summer. Feeling frustrated, he stood up and stretched his arms; his back was stiff, and he rotated his head to relax his shoulders. When he turned around, Margit was there.

  “How’s it going?” Thomas asked.

  “I managed to speak to Mattias Wassberg’s mother,” she said. “Apparently he’s with a friend who has a summer cottage on the island of Utö.”

  “Utö? That’s north of Nynäshamn. He was supposed to be off Gotland not long ago.”

  It was getting late—almost seven thirty in the evening. “How about we go over there first thing tomorrow?” he suggested. “I’d like to talk to him as soon as possible.”

  He remembered the look on Adrian Karlsson’s face when Thomas had asked him about the torn vest; he had denied all knowledge.

  “I want to know more about the police officer Wilma Sköld mentioned,” he added. “Mattias might be able to provide a better description.” He sat down again. “Did you manage to speak to Mattias’s sister?”

  “She’s at an equestrian camp on the west coast, but her mother’s trying to contact her for me.”

  “What about the other kids Wilma mentioned? There were at least four more in the group.”

 
“Kalle and Erik are still working on them, but the summer vacation has started, so it takes a while to get ahold of people.”

  “One of them should have noticed Victor and Felicia,” Thomas said. “They can’t have been more than four hundred yards away.”

  Margit shrugged and turned to leave but stopped in the doorway. “Have you spoken to Harry Anjou?”

  “No. He’s not answering his cell phone.”

  “He didn’t look too good this morning. Do you think he might be out sick?”

  “If he is, he should have let us know.”

  Thomas picked up his phone and tried Anjou’s number, but once again it went straight to voice mail.

  “Strange—that’s the fourth time I’ve called.” Thomas made a sudden decision and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to go and see him.”

  Margit nodded. “Want some company?”

  “There’s no need.”

  Harry Anjou lived in an apartment not far from the Älta Centrum mall to the south of Nacka police station; it should take no more than fifteen minutes to get there. Thomas’s phone rang just as he reached the roundabout before the ramp onto the freeway. The display showed that it was Staffan Nilsson.

  At last.

  Nilsson got straight to the point; he seemed agitated. “I’ve found something.”

  Tobbe’s clothes, Thomas thought immediately.

  “Go on,” he said, pulling onto the freeway after a quick glance in his side mirror.

  “We were told there were twenty-eight officers working on Sandhamn over the weekend. That’s what the list says.”

  Nilsson’s words took Thomas by surprise. What was this about?

  “You could be right. I haven’t checked.”

  “When I went through the vests, it turns out I was given only twenty-seven. There’s one missing. Bearing in mind what you and I discussed, I don’t like this at all.”

  Thomas suddenly realized where Nilsson was going. “Do you know who hasn’t handed their vest in?” he asked.

  “Yes. Harry Anjou.”