Tonight You’re Dead (Sandhamn Murders Book 4)

by Viveca Sten

  Is that a coincidence, Thomas thought, or a key piece of information? He made a mental note.

  “When did you last see Martinger?” Margit wanted to know.

  “In the middle of September. I was in Stockholm with my wife, and we had a night out with Anders and Siri.”

  “What was the date?”

  “I guess it was about three weeks ago. Let’s see . . .”

  Kihlberg got out his planner and flicked through it until he found the relevant page.

  “It was the weekend of the fifteenth/sixteenth—we had theater tickets.”

  “Did you stay with the Martingers?”

  “No, we booked a hotel. They live in Sigtuna, so it’s quite a ways from the city center. But the four of us went for a meal after the play.”

  Thomas decided to get straight to the point.

  “Have you any idea why someone would want to kill the members of your group?”

  “I haven’t a clue. It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  The answer was immediate and decisive.

  Margit followed it up with another direct question.

  “You can’t think of anything that you or your colleagues were involved in that might explain this?”

  Kihlberg leaned back and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and finished off his coffee. He seemed more composed now.

  “I can’t imagine what that would be.”

  “Are you absolutely certain? We’ve heard the training for the Coastal Rangers could be brutal. Could someone have been nurturing a grudge all this time?”

  Kihlberg’s response was sharp.

  “It was over thirty years ago. How could something that happened back then have any relevance in this situation?”

  His words provoked a reaction in Thomas. He wasn’t sure why, but for a brief moment, he thought he’d picked up something in his tone that shouldn’t have been there.

  “Do you know of any other connection between these men?” he asked. “For example, did any of them do business together?”

  “Not that I know of, but as I said—we lost touch a long time ago.”

  Margit took over once more. “Has anything unusual or suspicious happened to you lately—anything that made you feel uncomfortable, for example?”

  Leif Kihlberg seemed taken aback rather than afraid.

  “You mean, I could be in danger, too?”

  “We’re seeing a pattern, and you’re a part of that pattern,” Thomas explained. “We believe there’s cause for concern, because right now we don’t know what’s driving the killer.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”

  The firefighter sat up a little straighter and pushed back his shoulders; Thomas had no doubt that he believed what he had just said. However, things would be very different if Kihlberg was naked and drunk, and someone was pointing a gun at him.

  “I’m sure you can,” he said in a placatory tone, “but at this stage, we believe that we’re dealing with a skilled and meticulous perpetrator. It wouldn’t do any harm to be on your guard.”

  “If that bastard tries anything with me, he’ll get a nasty surprise.”

  The authority in Kihlberg’s voice was unmistakable; Thomas could see why he had been nominated group leader at the age of twenty.

  “We would still advise you to be careful for the immediate future, and please contact us if anything occurs to you.”

  Thomas handed over his card. “Call me anytime.”

  Kihlberg slipped the card into his pocket. By the light pouring in through the tall windows, Thomas could see how tired he suddenly looked.

  When they were in the car about to set off back to Nacka, Thomas turned to Margit.

  “So what do you think?”

  She put on her seat belt, then said, “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.”

  “Kihlberg is in good shape. He’s strong enough to attack Kaufman and the other victims.”

  “According to him, he has an alibi for two of the three weekends. We need to check with his wife to see if she or someone else can confirm that he was in Gothenburg when Nielsen, Erneskog, and Fredell died.”

  Thomas turned the key in the ignition and pulled out into the street. There was heavy traffic in the city center, and progress was slow in spite of the fact that the morning rush hour was long past.

  He remembered the moment during the conversation when a faint alarm bell had gone off in his head. It was when they were discussing something that might have happened thirty years ago. Kihlberg had firmly dismissed any suggestion that events in the past could have any relevance for the current investigation.

  Thomas had picked up some kind of deviation from the pattern, and now he realized what it was. Kihlberg’s answer had come too quickly, almost as if he had been expecting the question.

  CHAPTER 58

  The call from the National Forensics Laboratory came after lunch.

  Thomas listened with growing interest, then went straight to Margit’s office. She was on the phone, with three empty plastic coffee cups on the desk in front of her and a fourth, barely half-full, in her hand.

  She ended the conversation and looked up at him.

  “I’ve just spoken to forensics,” he said.

  “And?”

  “They’ve found foreign DNA in Fredell’s home. It doesn’t match the DNA found on the rope at Marcus Nielsen’s.”

  “Are they sure?”

  “Ninety-nine-point-eight-three percent, as they always say.”

  Margit smiled.

  In the world of forensic science, 100 percent simply didn’t exist; they were always a few decimal points away. However, a score above 99 percent went a long way.

  “In that case, it’s probably true,” she said.

  “Unfortunately it doesn’t match anything in our database.”

  “That’s a shame,” Margit said laconically, finishing off her coffee as she considered the information. “They didn’t say anything about DNA from the crime scene at Kaufman’s or Erneskog’s?”

  “It’s too early. The Västerås police didn’t send over anything from Erneskog until we asked them to, and that was less than a week ago. The samples from the pillow at Kaufman’s went on Sunday; they’ve probably only just reached the lab in Linköping.”

  Margit drummed her fingers on the desk, which was cluttered with piles of papers.

  “The problem is still that we don’t know who the various DNA samples belong to,” she said. “If it’s the person who sold the rope to Marcus, or someone who’d just stopped in to see the Fredells, they’re useless.”

  Thomas knew she was right, but it was still a step forward.

  What had Karin said about Martinger’s schedule? He had been free during the first two weekends when Nielsen, Erneskog, and Fredell were murdered. He hadn’t been on duty until Sunday evening. In other words, it was theoretically possible that he could have killed the three men before starting his shift.

  If he was the perpetrator.

  Kihlberg claimed to have been in Gothenburg during the relevant period, but he didn’t have an alibi for the time of Kaufman’s death.

  Kihlberg and Martinger were the only remaining members of a tight, close-knit group. But how close were they?

  “What if they’ve identified DNA from two different killers?” he blurted out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Could Kihlberg and Martinger be working together?”

  He adjusted his position on the chair and felt a stab of pain in his rib cage, which was still sore from the accident. He suspected that he had cracked one of his ribs when his body was thrown forward into the seat belt; he found it difficult to lie comfortably on his right side. He also had a huge bruise, which he couldn’t hide from Pernilla.

  He had played the incident down as much as possible, but she had still been upset because he hadn’t told her about it at the time.

  “Working together?”

  “What if they’re colluding? Kihlberg h
as an alibi for the first three murders, Martinger for the fourth. By taking turns, they can reinforce each other’s alibis. Genius.”

  Margit raised her coffee cup to her lips and seemed surprised when she found that it was empty.

  “Two killers?” she said.

  “It’s a long shot, but it’s not impossible. Don’t forget they met up during the weekend when the first body was discovered; Kihlberg told us that himself just a few hours ago. They went to the theater. What did they do then? Maybe they went their separate ways, one to Västerås and one to Marcus Nielsen’s apartment in Jarlaberg.”

  Thomas opened his notebook to check that he had remembered the details correctly.

  “Martinger’s the only member of the old gang that Kihlberg has kept in touch with. They’ve been friends for over thirty years, and their families hang out together.”

  “But we still don’t know why the murders were committed,” Margit pointed out. “There must be an incredibly strong motive, if that’s the case.”

  “If only we could track down those diaries . . . I’m sure we’d find the answer there.”

  Margit twirled her empty cup around several times, then balled it up and threw it away. The other three could stay where they were.

  “They’re taking a hell of a risk,” she said. “If two people are involved, it takes a whole different level of planning—and a huge amount of trust.”

  “That’s what their time in the Rangers was all about. Those two are trained to kill, remember.”

  “We need to check their phones,” Margit decided. “See if they’ve been in touch recently. Get a detailed picture of their lives.”

  “I’ll ask Karin and Kalle to take a look, if you’ll speak to the prosecutor,” Thomas said. “We have to assume that Martinger knows we’ll be waiting for him at the airport in the morning; Kihlberg is bound to have warned him.”

  He left Margit and headed back to his office, passing the meeting room where the biographies supplied by the military were still on the whiteboard.

  The old pictures of Kihlberg and Martinger showed two comrades whose appearance was almost identical. They had once been willing to die for one another. Were they also prepared to kill for one another?

  CHAPTER 59

  Nora took a step back and admired her handiwork. In the middle of the kitchen table was a splendid princess cake with eight candles. She had gotten up extra early to bake and make all the preparations for Simon’s birthday celebration.

  She really wanted his first birthday since the separation to be perfect. The divorce mustn’t be allowed to spoil his big day.

  It was almost seven o’clock, and the guests would soon be arriving. She looked around the spacious kitchen, which had been the main reason she had fallen for the apartment. Everything was ready.

  Her stomach flipped when she thought about the fact that both Henrik and his parents would be here. She had never gotten along too well with Monica and Harald Linde, but for Simon’s sake, they’d been invited.

  To tell the truth, it was mainly her mother-in-law who was the problem; Harald was a kind and considerate man. He had just retired after a long career as a diplomat, and now he had to put up with Monica all day, unable to seek refuge in the Foreign Office. Nora almost felt sorry for him.

  The doorbell rang, and Nora took off her apron and ran a hand through her hair. She had changed out of her sober work clothes into black pants and a pretty top. Her hair was freshly washed, and she had even managed to redo her makeup. She had no intention of letting either Henrik or his mother know how much the divorce had affected her—not under any circumstances.

  “Simon!” she shouted. “Go and answer the door—they’re your guests.”

  He came racing in from the living room.

  “Is it Daddy?”

  Nora’s heart sank. It was still painful, even though they hadn’t lived together for six months. When would it stop? When would Henrik become a person who could be mentioned in conversation without her feeling so uncomfortable?

  “Go and see,” she said, trying to smile. “I’ll just finish up in here.”

  Simon ran to the front door, and she heard him turn the latch. He was so proud of his Spiderman T-shirt; if he had his way, he would never take it off.

  “Adam,” she called out. “Turn off the TV, please—our guests are arriving.”

  No reaction.

  “Adam! We have visitors.”

  “Hi, Daddy!” she heard Simon say in the hallway. Henrik had arrived; time to take the bull by the horns. Nora took a deep breath and adopted a suitable expression before leaving the kitchen.

  Her smile froze in a second. Henrik was standing in the doorway holding Simon, and behind him Nora could see an all-too-familiar face.

  Marie.

  At least she had the decency to look nervous.

  Henrik came in and put Simon down.

  “Marie came along, too, I hope that’s OK,” he said. “She really wanted to wish Simon a happy birthday.”

  Nora closed her eyes.

  She couldn’t explode in front of her son, however much she wanted to. Running into Marie occasionally in her old home was bad enough; the last thing she needed was to socialize with the woman in her new home.

  She didn’t want to see her at all, in fact.

  Breathe, she thought. Just breathe. You can do this.

  Fortunately, she heard footsteps on the stairs at that moment, followed by Thomas’s familiar voice. Nora felt the tension ease slightly.

  “Anybody in here celebrating a birthday?”

  Thomas walked in; as usual, he was taller than everyone else. He held out his arms, and Simon hurled himself at his godfather.

  “And how’s my godson today? All grown up?”

  Simon looked thrilled, and Nora was grateful for the breathing room Thomas’s arrival had given her.

  Pernilla was right behind Thomas, and Nora could see that she immediately understood the situation. She rolled her eyes and tilted her head in the direction of Henrik and Marie, who were busy taking off their coats.

  And the icing on the cake was the sound of Monica Linde’s strident tones in the elevator.

  Nora had to smile in spite of herself. She was so sick of Henrik and his parents. She realized this was a new sensation, the feeling that it was good to be rid of him. She remembered the previous day, when she had stood her ground over Simon’s English book, and the memory warmed her heart.

  She greeted her ex-in-laws with the obligatory kiss on the cheek and took their coats.

  “Dear Nora,” Monica said. She was wearing an elegant skirt suit with bound edges, and a double row of pearls around her neck; she smelled of French perfume. Monica examined Nora with a critical eye.

  “How are you?” She took a step back and frowned. “You’ve lost weight. You need to take better care of yourself. You know Harald and I are happy to look after the boys at any time. Just because you and Henrik have split up, that doesn’t mean we have to lose touch. You know how much we love Simon and Adam.”

  The look on her face was challenging, and Nora shuddered. She hadn’t forgotten how Monica had treated her six months ago, threatening that Henrik would seek sole custody of the children unless Nora came to her senses and gave up any idea of leaving him. That was Monica’s way of handling the bad news; divorce was unthinkable in the Linde family.

  Nora had been at her wit’s end, but for once, Henrik hadn’t given in to his mother. He had never mentioned it, and they had applied for joint custody with very little bad feeling.

  “Where are your mom and dad?” Pernilla asked when she had taken off her coat and stuck her head around the living room door, where Adam was still sitting on the sofa. He got up and gave her a hug.

  “I should think they’ll be here soon,” Nora said. “Dad likes to be punctual.”

  Sure enough, the doorbell rang a couple of minutes later. Simon did his duty once again, and found Lasse and Susanne Hallén standing outside. Lasse was clutching
a large, beautifully wrapped present.

  “Is that for me?” Simon said reverently. “It’s huge!”

  “A big present for a little man,” his grandfather said, shaking his hand. “Shall we go inside and open it?”

  Nora gave her father a look of warm appreciation. Her parents had given her invaluable support over the past few months, once they had come to terms with her decision. As usual, her mother had focused on all the problems that might arise; Susanne liked to deal with trials and tribulations in advance and was always convinced that the worst would happen.

  However, for once, Nora’s father had spoken up and told Susanne to cut it out. The situation was what it was; Nora had chosen not to live with Henrik any longer, and they must respect that choice.

  From then on, Susanne had stopped moaning, and Nora’s parents had taken care of a lot of the practicalities. They had driven the boys to various activities and picked up Simon in the afternoons when Nora couldn’t. They had helped her find a new apartment and dealt with every aspect of the move. Their unfailing support had made her feel a little better during that long, difficult spring as she gradually dismantled her married life.

  Lasse Hallén caught sight of Henrik and Marie, and his lips narrowed to a thin line. Nora was surprised that her parents would show their disapproval so openly; though, like her, they couldn’t forgive Henrik for what he had done. They had always liked their son-in-law—Susanne had been particularly fond of him—and that made his betrayal of their daughter so much harder to bear.

  Now they simply held out their hands politely as if Henrik were a distant acquaintance, not someone they had known for sixteen years and regarded as a member of the family.

  Fortunately, both boys had gone off with Thomas. Nora didn’t want them to pick up on the frosty atmosphere between their father and their beloved maternal grandparents.

  Pernilla, quick thinking as always, rescued the situation.

  “Come on, let’s go and watch Simon unwrapping his presents.”

  She drew Nora’s parents into the kitchen, where Monica and Harald were already ensconced.