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

by Viveca Sten

  They were all over the place this weekend; he’d never seen so many of them on the island.

  He picked up the revolting towel and left the cottage, locking the door behind him. He put the keys back exactly where he’d found them, hoping that no one would realize he’d been there.

  As he turned around, someone shouted to him from about ten yards away. A blond guy about his age was standing by the rocks, one hand pressed to the side of his head. Mattias climbed over the fence and walked toward him. He didn’t recognize him.

  “What do you want?” he said.

  The blond guy blinked. When he took his hand away from his head, Mattias saw blood trickling from his temple. “Fucking cop,” he yelled all of a sudden, hurling himself at Mattias. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mattias managed to shout before the other guy was upon him. He was at least four inches taller than Mattias, and they both went down, with the stranger pummeling him like a madman. With a roar of rage, he grabbed hold of Mattias’s head and slammed it on the ground. Mattias saw stars.

  Then he felt hands around his throat.

  “I’ll fucking kill you!” his attacker yelled again.

  Pressure on his larynx, he couldn’t breathe. He tried to pry away the fingers, his head spinning. I’m not the cop, he tried to say, you’ve made a mistake. But he couldn’t get any air; it was impossible to make a sound. The grip tightened.

  He’s crazy, Mattias thought before everything started to go black. He managed to free an arm and scrabbled around for something with which to defend himself. I’m going to die, he thought as his fingers touched something hard.

  A stone.

  Somehow he managed to pick it up and bring it down on the blond guy’s head. The grip loosened, but the fingers refused to let go. Mattias hit him over and over again, and at last the hands fell away, and he was able to break free. He rolled over onto his side, gasping for air. His throat rattled when he breathed; it was agony. His tongue was swollen and dry, and he could barely swallow.

  After a long time, he turned his head.

  The blond guy was lying on his back, eyes staring blankly into space. Mattias realized he was still clutching the stone. It was covered in blood.

  Oh God, he’s dead. What have I done?

  His whole body was shaking; he dropped the stone as if it were red-hot.

  Eventually he managed to get to his feet. He felt so dizzy he thought he was going to faint.

  That was when he saw the girl lying on the ground a short distance away. She seemed completely out of it. He also became aware of voices in the distance—his friends, still sitting around the campfire on the shore. The sound of laughter drifted through the air.

  What was he going to do? What if that cop came back? He didn’t want to end up in jail.

  As if in a dream, he grabbed hold of the body. It was much heavier than he’d expected, but somehow he dragged it under the big tree nearby. He tore up some of the surrounding greenery and covered the body as best he could. When it was no longer visible, he crawled out and retrieved the bloody stone. Summoning up all his strength, he hurled it into the water.

  The girl hadn’t moved. No one had seen him.

  Mattias stumbled away and into the forest.

  CHAPTER 96

  The staff on the Vaxholm ferry had found them a quiet corner. Thomas had taken off Mattias’s handcuffs; he didn’t think there was any chance of another escape attempt.

  All the air had gone out of the teenager, so to speak. He was slumped apathetically in the corner of the sofa. The boat was due to dock at Årsta Brygga at one o’clock. From there, they would go straight to Nacka police station, where Mattias’s parents and a representative from social services would meet them.

  “Would you like a drink?” Margit asked.

  She headed off to the cafeteria and came back with two cups of coffee and a can of Coke.

  “In a way, we were right all along,” she said quietly to Thomas so that Mattias wouldn’t hear. “One of Victor’s contemporaries killed him in the heat of the moment. But not his best friend.”

  Thomas took a sip of his coffee. He tasted just a hint of plastic from the disposable cup, but he drank it anyway. He needed the caffeine.

  He wanted to go home to Harö, to Pernilla and Elin.

  “I actually thought forensics would give us enough evidence to arrest Tobbe,” Margit said pensively. Then she shrugged and blew on her coffee to cool it down. “But I’d imagined the course of events more or less as he described it.” She gave a slight nod in Mattias’s direction. He’d opened the Coke but was staring at the table with his head down, taking no notice of their conversation.

  “So we had the right idea, just the wrong person,” Margit reiterated as she put down her cup. “We need to inform Victor’s family that we’ve identified the perpetrator and that he’s confessed.”

  “By the way,” Thomas said. “I forgot to tell you: Torbjörn Landin called yesterday evening. They’ve been keeping a particular network of criminals under surveillance, and Victor’s father was seen with one of the top men, Wolfgang Ivkovac.”

  Margit’s jaw dropped. “What the hell?”

  “Ekengreen went to meet him at a restaurant in Huddinge.”

  “But why?”

  “Landin didn’t know, but he was worried that Ekengreen might be out for revenge. Ivkovac is involved in drug dealing; maybe Ekengreen is trying to put him away because of what happened to Victor. I thought I’d have a word with him after the funeral.”

  Something stirred in the back of Thomas’s mind. What was it Harry Anjou had said? “Everyone knows Hökström did it.”

  The evidence had seemed to point to Tobbe Hökström. Both he and Margit had believed that Victor’s friend was the guilty party. Thomas had indirectly confirmed that to Johan Ekengreen.

  Had they messed up again?

  Margit finished her coffee and glanced at her watch; she had no idea what Thomas was thinking.

  “Good idea. We’ll contact the family after the funeral. It’s due to start shortly, isn’t it?”

  Thomas began to sweat as he realized what might be going on. Ekengreen hadn’t sought out Ivkovac because he held him responsible for Victor’s death. He had ordered a hit. According to Landin, Ivkovac was involved in everything from drug dealing to executions.

  Johan Ekengreen did indeed want vengeance for his son, but his hatred was focused on the person everyone had thought was the murderer.

  “Give me your phone,” he said to Margit. “We have to get ahold of Johan Ekengreen right away. He needs to know who the perpetrator is.”

  Margit stared at him. “The funeral starts in five minutes. You can’t disturb him now.”

  “Give me your phone, this is important.” Thomas got to his feet. “I think there might be a contract out on Tobbe Hökström.”

  CHAPTER 97

  Ebba was a few steps ahead of her mom as they left the parking lot. She was wearing a dark-blue dress and black pumps. The outfit felt odd in the summer heat, yet appropriate at the same time. Her hair was caught up in a knot at the back of her neck, and she was carrying a long-stemmed rose.

  Ebba had never been to a Catholic funeral. Her mom had explained that it would be longer than the Lutheran service, with different ceremonies and rituals.

  When they reached the magnificent cathedral, she looked around for Felicia and Tobbe. Surely they must be here?

  She’d been thinking about Tobbe nonstop ever since she got the message from him on Facebook late the previous night.

  “Sorry,” it had said. Nothing more.

  What did it mean?

  She’d wanted to call him and ask, but she hadn’t dared. Going to see him was out of the question. Maybe he’d been drinking and regretted sending it when he sobered up? If he really wanted to be with her, he ought to contact her again.

  So she did nothing. It was better to keep her hopes alive than to have her suspicions confirmed.
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br />   However, she couldn’t help turning her head this way and that as she stood outside the doors of the cathedral among the other mourners, all making subdued small talk. Almost everyone from Victor’s class was there, along with lots of students from his grade. And the principal. And Victor’s teachers.

  Her mom said hello to a couple of friends, pausing to exchange a few words. Ebba spotted Felicia; she was standing a little apart, beneath an ancient oak tree, together with her parents. Her eyes were already swollen from crying, and she was clutching a white handkerchief. She was wearing a black blouse that was slightly too big and a dark skirt that ended just above the knee.

  Ebba couldn’t stop the tears as she hurried over and threw her arms around her friend. They held on to each other for a long time.

  After a while, her mom approached. “Ebba,” she said, gently touching her arm. “It’s time to go in.” She gave Felicia a hug and nodded to Jochen and Jeanette Grimstad. “OK?” she said to Ebba.

  They walked toward the entrance of the imposing building. It was dark inside, and Ebba had to blink several times to get used to the contrast with the bright sunlight. Halfway up the aisle, she saw Tobbe’s red hair.

  He was sitting near the end of a pew on the left, with Christoffer and his mom. As she passed, he turned his head and met her gaze.

  “Ebba.”

  Without thinking, she slid into the space beside him. Her mother was a little taken aback, but she moved to the next pew and sat down in front of them.

  Tobbe was thinner than ever, with sunken, troubled eyes.

  “How are you doing?” Ebba said quietly.

  “Not great.”

  She leaned closer so that her head touched his. “Why did you send me that message on Facebook?”

  Tobbe looked down. “I meant it,” he whispered. “I’ve been so dumb. I’m so sorry, I really am.”

  Ebba’s fingers found his. Tentatively she stroked the freckled skin, then his hand closed around hers. His palm was slightly sweaty; she held on tight.

  “The police think it was me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Hush now.”

  Tobbe’s shoulders slumped, and he rested his head on hers.

  “I love you,” Ebba said. The words just came out.

  He brushed her cheek with his lips. “I love you, too.”

  The organ began to play in the background. Ebba recognized the melancholy melody but couldn’t place it. She brought Tobbe’s hand to her lips and kissed it.

  The priest was giving the final blessing. Madeleine was sobbing helplessly next to Johan. He took her hand and squeezed it; this was the first time he’d touched her since they heard about Victor’s death.

  He was filled with a calm certainty: we can get through this.

  Victor’s coffin stood before the altar, surrounded by floral tributes in warm summer colors. A large photograph of his son had been placed on a table beside it, together with a candle in a silver holder. In the photo, Victor was tan and happy, his blond hair blowing in the wind. It had been taken on a beautiful July day, outside their summer cottage.

  Johan felt himself letting go of something.

  Victor was dead. Nothing in the world could change that.

  When he turned his head, he could see Tobbe’s red hair in his peripheral vision. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother him. They were mourning Victor together, and he understood that now. They were not enemies.

  Avenging his son’s death wouldn’t improve the situation. There must be an explanation for what had happened; Tobbe wasn’t a bad person.

  What have I done? Johan thought. He reached into his pocket and touched his cell phone. As soon as the funeral was over, he would contact Ivkovac and call the whole thing off.

  It was as if he’d woken from a bad dream, as if a stranger had taken over for the past few days, making him do things that weren’t in his nature. Now he was himself again.

  Nothing else must happen; they’d already suffered the worst.

  I wasn’t my normal self, he thought, and whispered, “Forgive me,” without really knowing who he was apologizing to.

  The grief was just as crippling as before, but in a different way.

  Johan’s eyes filled with tears. He buried his face in his hands and wept along with Madeleine.

  CHAPTER 98

  Tobbe was still clutching Ebba’s hand as they emerged into the sunlight. They were both equally upset, and it was a relief to get out into the fresh air.

  “Are you coming to the wake?” Tobbe said quietly.

  “Of course,” Ebba replied with a sad little smile. “Isn’t everyone? You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said tentatively. “I’d like to go with you . . . if that’s OK?”

  Ebba gave his hand another squeeze; she didn’t need to say a word. They wandered over to the oak tree where Ebba had stood with Felicia before the funeral.

  “I’m just going to go and get a drink,” Tobbe said, pointing to a kiosk across the street. “I’m so thirsty. Do you want anything?”

  Ebba shook her head. “I’ll wait here. I need to tell Mom we’re going to the wake together.”

  Tobbe hesitated.

  “Listen, I . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, but he still didn’t move. He reached out shyly and gently caressed her cheek. “You’re lovely, you know that?”

  “So are you.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  In spite of her sorrow, Ebba felt a surge of happiness. She leaned against the tree trunk and watched him go. A few yards away, the mourners were still pouring out of the cathedral. Victor’s parents were standing on the steps, Johan slightly in front of Madeleine. Christoffer and Arthur and his partner, Eva, had already come down onto the gravel path, with Ebba’s mother, Lena, behind them.

  Ebba couldn’t help noticing that Johan was on his cell phone. It must be something important if he had to deal with it right after his son’s funeral. He seemed to be listening to a message; suddenly he looked up and stared at Tobbe, who was about to cross over. The “Don’t Walk” sign was showing, but Tobbe ignored it. Typical.

  Out of nowhere came the roar of an engine.

  One minute, the street was deserted, then a black car suddenly appeared, traveling at speed.

  Tobbe stopped dead, a few steps from the sidewalk.

  Ebba saw Johan drop his cell phone and begin to run. There was too much noise for her to hear what he was shouting, but he was gesticulating wildly with both arms.

  “Get out of the way, get out of the way!” he seemed to be yelling.

  Tobbe was still standing in the middle of the crosswalk, as if he couldn’t understand what was going on.

  But Ebba understood.

  She wanted to shout “Run, Tobbe!” but her throat had closed up, and she couldn’t make a sound. Instead she stood there as if paralyzed while the car accelerated, heading straight for Tobbe.

  At first, he simply stared at the vehicle, then he held out both hands in a defensive gesture. All at once, Johan was there. With a violent shove, he pushed Tobbe out of the way.

  There was a loud bang. Johan was thrown up in the air, and the car shot away. He landed on the tarmac with a sickening thud. Tobbe was lying motionless on his side.

  An eerie silence.

  Ebba stared in horror at the two bodies. Blood was trickling from Johan’s mouth.

  The paralysis left her, and she began to run across the grass. “Tobbe!” She pushed her way through the shocked mourners; people were hurrying over from all directions.

  “Let me through!”

  At last she reached Tobbe. His nose was bleeding, and he had a scrape on his cheek. Ebba dropped to her knees beside him.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.” He shook his head in confusion and raised one hand as if to check if it was still working.

  Ebba threw her arms around him. “I thought you were dead!”
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  In the distance, she could hear an ambulance siren, and a few yards away, a police squad car screeched to a halt. A tall man got out and knelt down next to Johan.

  Ebba recognized the detective she’d spoken to on Sandhamn—Thomas Something-or-other.

  Then everything seemed to stop.

  “Is he alive?” she heard Thomas say. She couldn’t work out who answered.

  “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 99

  Friday, September 19, 2008

  When Sune Svensson opened the gate of the Catholic graveyard in Solna, the man in the wheelchair was already there. As usual.

  Sune had tended these graves for a long time and had seen many heartbroken relatives over the years. But the sight of those hunched shoulders had a profound effect on him. The grief surrounding that lonely figure was so intense that it seemed to have a life of its own.

  The man’s eyes were fixed on a simple gray granite headstone. Sune knew the inscription by heart:

  VICTOR EKENGREEN

  1992–2008

  BELOVED SON AND BROTHER

  Victor Ekengreen’s father would sit there for hours, regardless of the weather. Eventually a car from the mobility travel service would pick him up; occasionally his daughter came to collect him.

  Today’s interment was at eleven o’clock; most of the preparations were already made. Sune checked his watch; there was no rush. The new grave lay only a hundred yards from Victor’s.

  Suddenly the sun broke through the cloud cover. It had rained earlier, and dampness lingered in the air, but it wasn’t particularly cold. As so often in September, they had had several days of warmth, an Indian summer, as if the summer itself wanted to take a few final breaths before darkness and winter took over.

  Sune glanced over at Johan Ekengreen once more. His paralyzed legs were covered with a tartan blanket. His gray hair needed cutting, and he didn’t look as if he’d shaved today. Sune gave him a friendly nod, even though he knew there would be no response.

  There never was.

  He set off for the toolshed to collect what he needed.