The Scent of Almonds

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘What sort of book?’ Lisette now asked, turning to look at Martin.

  ‘Sherlock Holmes. An anthology, I think.’

  Lisette giggled. A strangely hollow sound. ‘It probably belongs to Grandpa. He was obsessed with Sherlock Holmes.’

  ‘In his younger days he was the chairman of a Sherlock Holmes club,’ Harald added. ‘And he continued to be a member all these years. I’ve always had a feeling that the club – and the purported interest in those detective stories – was merely an excuse for a bunch of old men to sit around chatting and drinking whisky once a month.’

  ‘No, Ruben was genuinely interested.’ Britten’s voice still sounded very fragile. ‘And he got Matte interested too. They used to discuss the stories whenever they got together on Fridays.’

  ‘But you have no idea who might have put the book there? Or why?’

  No one answered.

  Gustav cleared his throat. ‘No sign of the gun?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid not.’

  Silence again settled over the room. Everyone was gathered in the library, and only now did it fully occur to Martin that one of these individuals was a murderer. There was no getting around that. Two men lay dead inside the cold-storage room. One poisoned, the other fatally shot. Whoever committed the murders was here in this room. Martin felt cold shivers ripple through his body. It was an alarming thought.

  ‘What will happen once we get back to the mainland?’ Miranda asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

  ‘All of you will be interviewed by my colleagues at the police station. The tech team will come over here to examine the crime scene.’ He hesitated for a moment but then went on.

  ‘The bodies of Ruben and Matte will be taken to the pathology lab for a post mortem. I’m hoping that we’ll be able to solve the case relatively quickly.’

  Miranda nodded. She looked from one person to the next, and she seemed to be thinking the same thing as Martin. It was as if she was seeing the other family members for the first time, considering them as suspects. Then her eyes alighted on her mother, and that odd expression returned to her face. For her part, Vivi was looking at Martin, and he noticed a sense of calm in her gaze that he hadn’t seen before. The nervous and fitful energy that had been so prevalent seemed to have vanished. That made Martin even more curious. He decided to get to the bottom of this.

  ‘Vivi … Could I have a word with you? In the office?’

  She nodded and stood up to follow him out of the library.

  When they were both seated in the small office for the second time that dramatic weekend, he saw a different woman from the one he’d seen at the first interview.

  ‘I have a feeling that something has happened. Something you haven’t told me about.’ He paused for a second before going on.

  ‘I can’t point to anything concrete, but it feels as if …’ Martin was searching for the right words when Vivi interrupted.

  ‘You’re more sensitive than I thought.’ Her composure gave her an entirely different personality, and Martin found that he liked this new Vivi. Whatever had caused the change, it was definitely for the better.

  ‘If I tell you that it’s a family matter that has nothing whatsoever to do with the murders, will you drop the subject?’ She tilted her head and gazed at him intently as she waited to hear his reply.

  ‘No,’ Martin told her. ‘Right now I’m the one who decides what’s relevant and what isn’t. So I’d appreciate it if you would tell me everything, even though you’d prefer to keep the matter private.’

  ‘I thought that’s what you would say,’ replied Vivi. ‘Oh well, since Pandora’s box has already been opened, I suppose there’s no harm in informing the authorities too.’ She laughed, and Martin found himself liking this woman more and more. She seemed to have truly come alive. As if a strong and vibrant Vivi had shaken off her fragile shell.

  ‘As you’ve noticed, something has changed between Miranda and me. That’s because a short time ago I told her that she is not Gustav’s daughter. Harald is her father.’

  Martin’s mouth fell open. Whatever he may have been expecting, this was not it. He didn’t say a word as Vivi continued:

  ‘I had a brief affair with Harald and ended up pregnant. And the result was Miranda.’

  ‘What about Bernard?’ Martin was still having trouble collecting his thoughts.

  Vivi snorted. ‘Bernard is definitely Gustav’s son. He’s the spitting image of his father. But I’ve always thought that Miranda looked a little like Matte.’ For the first time since she’d started talking, her voice quavered.

  ‘That’s why I … Well, I considered it was only right that Miranda should be told that it was her brother who was dead. Not her cousin.’

  ‘And Gustav? Does he know about this?’ Martin still could hardly believe what she’d told him. It was like something out of a soap opera.

  ‘Gustav? No, he’d never imagine that I would have the courage to go behind his back. He has always underestimated me. In every regard. I think he’d be mostly … surprised. And furious with Harald, naturally.’

  ‘Does Harald know about Miranda?’

  Vivi laughed. ‘Of course. Harald was present when she was conceived, after all. Although I don’t think he has ever been a hundred per cent certain that Miranda is his daughter. But he knows that it’s possible.’

  ‘You must have been scared that the whole story would come out.’

  Vivi’s face softened at Martin’s sympathetic tone.

  ‘Yes. I’ve had my share of sleepless nights. But more than anything …’ She hesitated, but Martin didn’t say a word. ‘More than anything, I’ve been so worried about what would be inherited.’

  ‘Inherited? The money?’ asked Martin, looking puzzled. ‘Do you mean that Ruben would be upset if he—’

  Vivi shook her head. ‘No, not the money to be inherited. I meant genetically speaking. Considering all that Matte has been through over the years … the constant episodes of depression and everything else. So of course I’ve worried that Miranda would suffer the same psychological problems.’

  ‘But she hasn’t?’

  ‘No, and thank God for that. It seems to be something that affected only poor Matte.’

  ‘How serious were these periods of depression? No one wants to talk about it.’

  ‘No, I’m sure they don’t.’ Vivi’s tone turned bitter. ‘That poor boy never had an easy time of it. Britten did her best, but the men in this family tried to ignore what was going on. Even Ruben, who was so fond of Matte, didn’t want to acknowledge how serious the boy’s mental problems were. He should have had professional help much earlier, and more extensive treatment than he ever received. Not even when he—’ The sound of a distant crash stopped her mid-sentence.

  They both looked out of the window.

  ‘The icebreaker seems to have started work,’ said Martin, but then he encouraged Vivi to pick up where she’d left off. ‘You were saying: “not even when he …”’

  ‘Right,’ said Vivi, turning to look at Martin again. ‘Not even when he tried to kill himself. He tried several times, but they refused to acknowledge how dire the situation was. He would be admitted to an institution for “rest and recuperation”, but there was never any question of intensive treatment. I think Harald even said once that he “hoped the boy would grow out of the problem”.’ Now she sounded angry.

  A knock on the door interrupted them. It was Börje.

  ‘The icebreaker is on its way. Everyone should pack their bags and head down to the dock ASAP.’

  Martin looked at Vivi. ‘All right. I think we’re done here.’

  She nodded and stood up. ‘I’ll go upstairs and pack. I have to admit, it’s going to be a relief to leave this place behind.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ Martin followed her out and then went to the room he was sharing with Lisette. She was already there, packing her clothes in a suitcase. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

  ‘How’s
it going?’ he said, putting his arms around her. For a moment she relaxed and pressed closer.

  Then she pulled away and said, ‘I assume this is goodbye. Am I right?’ She looked him calmly in the eye.

  Martin could only reply, ‘Yes, I think so. I suppose it is.’

  She stepped forward, took his face in her hands, and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry for being so stupid,’ she said.

  ‘No, not at all. The whole situation has just been so … stressful. It’s affected everybody, in one way or another.’

  ‘You’re a nice man, Martin.’ She kissed him again on the cheek. Then she picked up her suitcase and left the room without looking back. For several minutes Martin didn’t move. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief, but he also felt a twinge of sorrow. Once again he’d seen a relationship crumble, and it was an experience that was starting to wear him down. Was there really no one out there for him?

  With a sigh he tossed his belongings into his bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. He’d put Bernard’s mobile and the Sherlock Holmes book in two paper bags, which he’d carefully wrapped up in his sweater and placed on top of everything else. The glass from yesterday’s dinner was also securely stowed in his sports bag. He had no intention of leaving it behind.

  Before he followed the others downstairs, he went to Matte’s room and paused in the doorway. He stared at the room, as if willing it to tell him what had happened there. When he turned his head slightly to the left, he saw the bullet embedded in the door. The damage to the front of the fireplace was still bothering him. He had the feeling that it was important somehow. But for the life of him he couldn’t work out what it might mean.

  Ten minutes later they were all trudging through the snow towards the dock, but it was difficult because of the luggage they were carrying. Börje had gone on ahead, and judging by the sound, he’d had no trouble starting up the boat’s motor. They would soon be back on the mainland. After a hasty consultation, they’d agreed to take all the luggage down to the dock first. Then the men would return to fetch the bodies from the cold-storage room. No one was looking forward to that task. From a purely professional standpoint, Martin knew that he ought to tell the family that the bodies should remain where they were. But he was haunted by the look in Britten’s eyes when she asked whether Matte would go with them. So he offered no objections to the plan.

  On his way back to the hotel, all sorts of thoughts kept swirling through his mind. The gun, the book, the conversations he’d had with the Liljecrona family, the dinner on that first evening when hidden meanings and taunts had flown like sharp arrows across the table. It all merged into one inside his head. Matte and Ruben. Grandfather and grandson, who had a closer relationship than the rest of the family. Meeting every Friday to talk and share thoughts. Two men, one old, the other young. One physically ill, the other suffering mentally. Their interest in Sherlock Holmes. Martin had only seen films made from some of the stories, and he couldn’t understand how anyone could become so obsessed with … Suddenly he noticed something hovering at the edge of his consciousness. He came to an abrupt halt in the deep snow, causing Bernard to run right into him.

  ‘What the hell?’

  ‘Oh. Sorry,’ said Martin distractedly as he started plodding forward again. They had almost reached the front steps. He shook his head, as if to force the thought to emerge fully, but in vain. It was something connected to the idea of Sherlock Holmes and the films … Wait! There it was! He felt a sense of triumph as the thought finally coalesced, and he raced for the door.

  ‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ shouted Bernard, but Martin paid no attention. He didn’t bother to take off his snow-covered shoes, and he slipped and almost landed on his backside as he stomped indoors. At the last second he managed to grab the handrail and regain his balance. He took the stairs two at a time and ran down the hall towards Matte’s room. He could hear the others yelling after him, but he was so focused on what he was doing that their voices barely registered. He had to be right. He knew he was right. It explained everything!

  When he opened the door to Matte’s room, he stopped. His heart was pounding so fast in his chest, both from his dash up the stairs and from the excitement at what he now knew. Cautiously he entered the room, walking around the pool of blood on the floor and going over to the fireplace He stared at the missing piece and then reached out to touch it. It was freezing cold. He withdrew his hand and impatiently rubbed his palms together to rub some warmth into them. Feeling a little better, he again reached out one hand and stuck it up the chimney to grope around. At first he found nothing and he was filled with doubt. What if he was wrong? But he kept on searching, and when his fingers touched something hard and cold, he was flooded with relief. So he was right, after all. Now he heard voices behind him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Bernard was standing in the doorway with a perplexed look on his face, his hair uncharacteristically in disarray. Behind him were Harald and Gustav, equally flummoxed.

  Without a word, Martin grabbed the object and yanked on it. The men in the doorway gasped when they saw what he was holding.

  ‘The gun?’ exclaimed Harald in disbelief. ‘But how did it end up in there?’

  Still without saying a word, Martin tugged harder to show them that the gun was attached to an elastic band.

  ‘I … I don’t understand.’ Gustav shook his head as he stared at the gun and the elastic band. Martin wasn’t ready to start explaining his theory, so he turned his back to them as he continued to search the chimney. Again he looked pleased as his fingers touched plastic. He poked at it carefully, making the plastic rustle faintly, but it refused to give. Then he tried lifting it up, and what turned out to be a plastic carrier bag finally came loose. A perfectly ordinary bag from the ICA grocery store. The bag was heavy, and he carefully set it down on the floor before looking inside. It contained two things: a video camera and an envelope.

  By now the three Liljecrona men had come into the room and were standing around Martin. All three looked puzzled.

  ‘Why was a video camera hidden inside the fireplace?’ Gustav asked Martin.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ he replied, pressing a button on the camera. When it turned on, he pressed Rewind and then Play. At first the display was black, but after a few seconds they heard the familiar voices of Matte and Ruben. Grandpa Ruben was sitting in his wheelchair, speaking directly to the camera. Matte was apparently the one filming the video. Ruben cleared his voice.

  ‘When you see this, I will be dead.’

  Harald gasped. Gustav’s face had turned white, but Bernard almost seemed amused. As if he already knew what was coming.

  Ruben went on.

  ‘I have six months to live, according to my doctors. I’m not in the habit of giving up, so I’ve consulted every possible specialist, but they all say the same thing. There’s no hope. And it’s going to be painful. And undignified. As you all know, pain is something I could endure. But an undignified end … Never. So I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. And I can’t resist the chance to tell all of you off. You have betrayed me in the worst possible ways, and you have never lived up to my expectations. Don’t worry – you’ll get the money. However, knowing you as I do, I doubt the money will make you happy. More likely, it will ruin you. So be it. But I’m not planning to give away the money without making you suffer a little.’

  Ruben smiled and reached for something outside the frame of the video. Martin recognized the canopy bed in the background. The film had been made in Ruben’s room, here on Valö. Ruben was now holding up a small plastic bag of powder in one hand, level with his face.

  ‘This is potassium cyanide. Not too difficult to obtain, if you have money and the right contacts. I’m going to pour this into my glass tonight at dinner, and hopefully create with a dramatic scene. Let me emphasize that I’m going to put it in the glass myself. Matte will not play any role in my death, other than as a suppo
rter and observer. I also want to make it perfectly clear that he has done his utmost to persuade me not to do this. Eventually, realizing how determined I am, he accepted the fact that this is my final wish. He has agreed to help me teach the rest of you a lesson. My hope is that, at least for a short while, you will all suspect and fear that I have disinherited the lot of you. When my will is read, and you discover that your fears are unfounded, Matte is going to make sure that this video is shown. The detective mystery in which you were all involuntary – and innocent – players will at last be solved. “Elementary”, as dear Doctor Watson would have said.’ Ruben laughed at his own joke, clearly pleased with the plan that he’d cooked up for his own dramatic passage to the other side. Matte was silent as he held the camera, but an occasional shuddering breath revealed how upset he was.

  Ruben began shifting about in his wheelchair, apparently getting ready for the finale.

  ‘I wish all of you a hell of a Christmas and a truly miserable New Year. May you have no joy from my money.’ He chuckled. Then the screen went black.

  ‘That … bastard,’ snarled Gustav. Harald was staring vacantly at the display on the video camera, as if he still hadn’t fully taken it all in. Bernard started laughing. He laughed harder and harder, until he had to hold his stomach as tears ran down his face. He howled with laughter until his father jabbed an elbow in his side.

  ‘Stop that, Bernard. You’re making a fool of yourself.’

  ‘What a bastard,’ said Bernard, seemingly unable to stop laughing. ‘He fooled us all.’ Tears of merriment kept rolling down his face, and he wiped them off on the sleeve of his sweater.

  Harald sank down onto the bed. He wasn’t smiling.

  ‘But Matte … Why?’

  Martin handed him the white envelope. ‘Maybe this will explain things.’

  Harald took the envelope, tore it open with trembling hands, and pulled out a letter. He read it in silence while the others watched.

  After a moment he put the letter on his lap and said in a low voice, ‘He couldn’t live with the fact that he’d helped Grandpa take his own life. Ruben convinced him to do it, begged him to help set up this farce. But he couldn’t handle it afterwards. He writes that he couldn’t bear knowing what he’d done. And he asks you to forgive him, Bernard. He writes that he took your mobile and put it here in his room so that suspicion would fall on you. But he also knew that as soon as it was discovered that his death was a suicide, you’d no longer be a suspect. He writes that, in that sense, he was truly Ruben’s grandson. He couldn’t resist a chance for revenge. He wanted to make you suffer.’