by Viveca Sten
She emerged on the other side of the forest and set off along the southern shore, where lyme grass swayed in the cool breeze. It was as though the southern and northern parts of the island each had their own microclimate. When the winds were strong and bitterly cold in the north, they were gentle and mild on the other side, and vice versa. There was always somewhere to seek shelter.
“Hey!” she heard someone call out behind her. “Wait for me!”
Nora turned and saw Jonas Sköld in shorts and black sunglasses hurrying toward her. As he came closer, she saw that he was wearing deck shoes, as if it were the middle of summer.
“Hi, out for a walk?” he asked.
She had to smile at the silly question.
“How can you tell?”
“Can I join you?” he said, ignoring the sarcasm.
He fell into step beside her, and they strolled along for a few minutes without saying anything.
“So what’s it like, working as a pilot?” Nora said, to break the silence.
She was a little curious about her new neighbor. There had been no talk of a wife or partner, just a teenage daughter.
“Oh, you know . . . Unsociable hours and new colleagues all the time, but we have long breaks between shifts.”
“Where do you fly to?”
“So far it’s been mostly within Sweden and Europe. I’ve spent years shuttling between Stockholm, Gothenburg, and Malmö. I’ve just started doing some long hauls. My daughter stays with me every other week, so I’ve fitted my schedule around her. But now she’s old enough for me to be away for longer.”
“What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Wilma.” Jonas couldn’t help smiling. “She’s thirteen.” He reached into his pocket and took out his cell; soon the screen was filled with a cheerful face. A suntanned thirteen-year-old with straight blond hair and a little too much mascara.
“She’s really cute.”
“She is.”
There was no mistaking the pride in Jonas’s voice.
“She looks a lot like you,” Nora said.
“The eyes, maybe, but the hair color is from her mom.”
A woman with a big Labrador walked by, and Nora nodded to her. The face was familiar, but Nora couldn’t quite place her. It was a beautiful dog, though.
“I love the house you’ve moved into,” Jonas said. “How old is it?”
“The Brand villa? It dates from the end of the nineteenth century; it’s one of the oldest buildings on the island. Carl Wilhelm Brand, the master pilot, had it built when the old windmill was moved.”
“So that’s why that spot is known as Kvarnberget—because kvarn means windmill?”
“Exactly. Carl Wilhelm seized the opportunity when the mill disappeared.”
“It’s a real landmark—the house is the first thing you see as you approach the inlet to Sandhamn.”
“It was a real talking point back in the day. He really went all out; he even had a bathtub with lion’s feet. You can imagine the gossip in the village.”
Jonas smiled at her.
“It’s a fantastic location.”
“I love it, but it takes a fair amount of maintenance. I don’t understand how Aunt Signe managed it on her own.”
“Aunt Signe?”
“The previous owner—Carl Wilhelm’s granddaughter.”
Nora paused; she could cope with explaining the whole situation, the fact that Signe, who had been a kind of honorary grandmother to her ever since she was a little girl, had taken her own life and left the house to Nora in her will. Henrik had wanted to sell, but Nora had refused. They had quarreled bitterly, and in hindsight, Nora could see that that had been the beginning of the end of their marriage.
“You could say she left the house in my care,” she said after a moment.
“I understand.” Jonas cleared his throat. It seemed as if he had noticed the shift in her mood, because he paused, gazing out over the sparkling sea, and then changed the subject.
“It really is a lovely day.”
A skein of geese formed a sharp contrast against the clear blue sky.
Nora stole a glance at her tenant. How old was he? His daughter was the same age as Adam, so he must have become a father when he was pretty young. He didn’t look much more than thirty-five. He wasn’t very tall, only a few inches taller than her. Henrik was almost the same height as Thomas, who measured six four in his stocking feet. It felt different walking side by side with someone who wasn’t towering over her.
She couldn’t help wondering if he thought she looked older. Did he know she had turned forty just a few months ago?
“And you’re a lawyer?” Jonas interrupted her train of thought. “I think that’s what your parents said.”
“Yes—I’m a legal adviser with a bank.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
She had to think about that; did she?
Two years earlier, she had been offered an exciting job as a regional adviser, based in Malmö. She had turned it down, because Henrik didn’t want to leave Stockholm, so she was still in the same job with the same boss, whom she didn’t particularly like. But this wasn’t the right time to look for a new post, since she was still in the middle of all the chaos that comes with divorce, and she liked her colleagues and the work itself.
“It’s OK. I’ve been there for years; it’s probably time to move on, but I haven’t gotten around to doing anything about it.”
“I’m sure other opportunities will come along.”
Instead of answering, Nora knelt down to tie her shoe, which had come undone. Tears sprang to her eyes. Other opportunities—like what? She worried that the boys would be happier living with Henrik than with her, and she hated the fact that Marie had moved into their old house. The divorce felt like a huge failure. She couldn’t see any opportunities at the moment.
“Did I upset you? I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to.” Jonas sounded genuine.
Nora quickly straightened up. Jonas looked so distraught that she had to smile as she blinked back the tears.
“It’s fine, I’m just a little tired. Things have been difficult lately.”
She dug around in her jacket pocket for something to blow her nose with; she found a crumpled napkin that would have to do.
Jonas turned away and picked up a flat stone. He raised his arm and sent it skimming across the smooth surface of the water. It bounced three times before sinking. Another stone, and this time he managed a better throw—five bounces.
“Here.” He handed her a dark-gray pebble; she felt its sun-warmed surface on the palm of her hand.
Nora hesitated, then sent if flying with a flick of her wrist. Four.
“Bravo!” Jonas exclaimed. “Try again!”
He gave her another pebble, which sank right away, but the third bounced five times, and Nora started laughing.
“Wow—it’s been a long time since I reached that number!”
Jonas’s warm eyes met hers.
“Feeling better?”
He put his arm around her shoulders for a brief moment, and Nora nodded. She did feel better, actually.
They chatted about all kinds of things as they made their way back through the pine forest and past the Mission House. She could see her house now—no, her old house, she corrected herself.
“Would you like to go out for dinner tonight, if you’re not doing anything else?” Jonas said without slowing down. “It is Saturday, after all.”
Nora stopped. “Sorry?”
“I wondered if we could have dinner together? To say thank-you for renting me the house.”
“I don’t know . . .” Nora hesitated. “I’ve got the boys with me, plus a friend of Adam’s.”
Jonas wasn’t fazed.
“I thought we could go to the Divers Bar. You look as if you could use a treat.”
Nora thought about it. She hadn’t eaten in a restaurant for ages; she hadn’t had either the time or the energy. The boys could eat in the grill ba
r; they would be ecstatic at the prospect of burgers and fries.
Why not?
CHAPTER 14
The sound of the doorbell took Jan-Erik by surprise. He wasn’t expecting a visitor, and Lena had gone shopping, as she usually did on Saturday mornings.
They didn’t have a car, so it would be a couple of hours before she was home. She usually went to Nacka Forum and picked up whatever they needed in one of the big grocery stores. She liked the lively mall, and he thought she deserved to get out of the house for a while. Looking after him all the time was hard work, and spending time among other people now and again did her good.
The doorbell rang again, and he tried to hurry, but even with the wheeled walker, progress was slow. His coordination was poor, and he knew he was steadily getting worse. It had taken him years to accept that he had been struck down by such a serious condition. Primary progressive MS, it was called. It was the most severe form of the disease; the body was continually being broken down, with no periods of remission. By this stage, his central nervous system was irrevocably affected, and there was nothing that could be done. With each passing month, his muscles grew weaker, his balance was further compromised, and he could no longer control the shaking.
Depression and apathy had come with the disease, plus a debilitating exhaustion. He had lost weight, and he knew deep down that he looked ten years older than he was. He had once been a fit and healthy PE teacher; now he was a shadow of his former self. Everything was a painful ordeal, and sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t be easier just to fall asleep and never wake up.
According to the doctors, it was unusual to be in such a poor state at his age, but it did happen. That was no consolation, especially for Lena, who had to bear an increasingly heavy load. She had halved her working hours in order to look after him. There was no cure, just drugs to slow the progression of the disease. In his case, they were less and less effective.
A slow, painful transition from the living to the dead was a high price to pay.
But he deserved it.
When he finally managed to open the door, he stood there leaning heavily on his wheeled walker. There was something familiar about the visitor. He studied the face before him; he recognized the features, and yet he didn’t. An echo of a long-buried friendship.
Instinctively he backed away, using the walker as a kind of shield.
“Is it really you?”
CHAPTER 15
The call came at 3:28. Afterward Thomas was able to give the exact time, because he was just about to switch on the TV to watch a soccer game.
He had been looking forward to a lazy afternoon on the sofa. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he hadn’t woken at six; instead he had slept past ten, much to his surprise. He was still overwhelmed by Pernilla’s news, but a warm sense of expectation had taken root within him.
Pernilla had gone over to her sister’s to help out with something or other, so he had the apartment to himself. He had told her to take it easy, even though he knew he sounded like an anxious mother hen who didn’t want to let her chick go. However, this time there was no room for risks. They had agreed not to tell anyone until the twelfth week; it felt better that way.
When he answered the phone, he realized within seconds that there would be no soccer today.
An old familiar feeling stirred in his chest. It took a little while for him to work out what it was; it hadn’t happened for a long time.
A cop’s instinct.
Jan-Erik was lying on his side, fully dressed, in the bathtub, which was filled to the brim with water. His eyes were wide open, and a small amount of froth was visible at the corners of his mouth. One hand was clenched, as if he had tried to grab ahold of something but failed to hang on to it. His face was as white as the tiles on the wall.
Thomas stood in the doorway. Staffan Nilsson, the forensic technician, was kneeling by the tub; he had already started examining the scene. Thomas heard the front door to the apartment open, and Margit joined him in the bathroom doorway. They stayed put; there was no room for three adults in the bathroom.
“What can you tell us?” Thomas asked Nilsson.
“Drowned. Hard to estimate the time of death; the water affects the body temperature.”
“Any sign of force?” Margit asked, stretching her neck to get a better view.
Nilsson shook his head.
“Nothing I can make out at the moment, but we’ll see what the pathologist has to say. Maybe he was taking a bath and slipped; we can’t exclude that possibility.”
He gestured toward the living room.
“The widow is in there.”
Thomas backed out and went past Margit into the living room. Lena Fredell was sitting in the same chair he had sat in less than twenty-four hours before. She was unnaturally pale. Thomas sat down beside her.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’d been shopping,” she began, her voice far from steady. “I always go shopping on Saturday. Janne didn’t answer when I called out to tell him I was home. I was worried; I looked in here, but there was no sign of him, even though he usually watches TV when I’m out. And the TV wasn’t on.”
“What did you do then?” Margit asked; she had come in without Thomas noticing.
“I called out again, then I tried the bedroom; I thought he might have gone to lie down, but he wasn’t there either.” She gripped the armrest tightly. “Then I looked in the bathroom and saw him lying in the bathtub.”
“Can you think of any reason why he would have run a bath while you were out?”
The expression on Lena Fredell’s face answered the question before she spoke.
“How could he possibly do that?” She turned to Thomas. “You saw him yesterday; he could barely walk without help.”
Thomas had to agree. It was hard to imagine the man he had met yesterday making his way to the bathroom, filling the tub, and attempting to take a bath alone. With his clothes on.
“Was there any indication that he might have had a visitor? Do you know if someone was here while you were gone?”
“No.” Her expression was desolate. “We don’t get many visitors. As Janne deteriorated, we lost contact with many of our friends. It was too difficult; either they gradually withdrew, or we turned down invitations when he wasn’t strong enough to cope.” She shook her head. “We used to have such a wide circle of friends and acquaintances.”
“Was the door locked when you got home?” Thomas asked.
Lena frowned, thinking.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I’m almost sure I let myself in using my key.”
“Is it a Yale lock?”
“Yes.”
“So someone could simply close the door from the outside, and it would lock.”
“Yes.” The confusion on Lena’s face was apparent. “You mean someone came here and killed him?”
“We can’t exclude that possibility,” Thomas said.
“But why?” Her eyes filled with tears. “You saw him; there was next to nothing left. Why would someone want to kill my husband?”
“Do you think this was a suicide, too?” Thomas said to Margit as they drove back to the station. It was almost seven o’clock.
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
He gave a wry smile, and for the first time since he returned to work, Margit saw the old Thomas.
“First Marcus Nielsen, now Jan-Erik Fredell,” he said. “Both within a week. A bit too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“But not impossible. An unhappy student who doesn’t want to go on, a sick man who gets a stupid idea into his head. Fredell could easily have decided to take his own life. You said he was in a bad state; maybe he didn’t want to sit around and wait for death.”
Thomas increased his speed and changed lanes.
“There was no sign of forced entry,” Margit pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean no one was there. He might have let the perpetrator in.” Thomas
glanced over his shoulder and switched lanes again. “We still haven’t found Marcus Nielsen’s laptop.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He could have left it at a friend’s place on Saturday night. If he was intending to kill himself, he might even have given it away.”
“He had it when he was at his parents’ place.”
Margit sighed audibly but was careful not to show how pleased she was at his stubbornness.
Thomas hadn’t been himself since coming back to work. He had seemed apathetic and had barely opened his mouth during their morning briefings. As recently as Sunday, when he turned up almost an hour late, she had seriously doubted whether he would ever fully recover.
But now her colleague was most definitely back.
“The autopsy will tell us whether he slipped or was held down under the water,” she said.
“But that will take a couple of days. We ought to speak to the other people who were listed on Marcus’s phone as soon as possible. Preferably tomorrow.” Thomas looked pensive. “And we need to get a clearer picture of his life.”
CHAPTER 16
What to wear?
Nora blushed; she was already thinking about her outfit, even though the evening was still several hours away.
It could hardly be called a proper date; Jonas was probably just trying to be polite to his landlady, but it had been so long since she had been out for dinner that she couldn’t help but feel a shiver of anticipation.
There wasn’t much to choose from in the spacious closet. It was almost like a room, complete with its own little window for airing out the clothes—a relic from the days when they were worn and used in a completely different way.
She opened the bottom drawer of the bureau by the window and picked out a pretty white top from last summer; that would have to do, paired with white pants.