by Karin Nordin
‘About this person you say you chased?’
‘There was someone. They were trying to cover their tracks.’
‘And how would they know to do that?’ Sara asked. ‘Why now?’
Sara silently chastised herself for leaving their father in her brother’s care. She couldn’t imagine how horrifying and confusing the situation must have been for their father. Dealing with Kjeld. Finding a body. Talking to the police. She wished she’d picked up her phone earlier. If she had she could have been sitting in the interrogation room with him, making sure he was safe and calm. How could Kjeld allow him to be in there alone with strangers? How could he be so negligent?
‘They must have thought there was a chance someone else would find it first,’ he said. ‘They must have believed it was going to be found.’
‘But how could they know that?’ Sara asked.
Kjeld didn’t respond. He looked like he was in a daze and Sara touched his shoulder to get his attention. ‘How could they know someone else might find the body first?’
But Sara thought she already knew the answer to her question. It was because the person knew a detective had come to investigate their deranged father’s allegation. A person who was afraid that detective wouldn’t give up until he’d exhausted his resources. But the list of potential suspects could have been endless. Varsund was a small town. Sara was certain that everyone knew Kjeld was back. But who knew that their father witnessed something in the barn? And who would they go after next to keep their secret?
Chapter 16
‘Interview commenced at 10.47. Chief Inspector Gunnar Ek of the Varsund Police Department is present with Kjeld Nygaard. Please state your name for the record.’
Kjeld cleared his throat and leaned forward.
‘Detective Inspector Kjeld Nygaard,’ he said, purposefully enunciating the first two words, which Gunnar had no doubt intentionally left out.
Gunnar pretended not to notice. ‘Did you want an attorney present?’
‘Do I need an attorney?’ Kjeld asked.
‘It’s your right.’
‘Am I under suspicion for something?’ Kjeld leaned back in his chair.
‘No,’ Gunnar said. ‘This is just to get a statement of your side of the events.’
‘The events?’
‘The events preceding the discovery of the cadaver in your father’s barn.’
‘Oh, those events,’ Kjeld mocked. ‘No, I don’t require an attorney for that.’
Gunnar looked up from the file in front of him and sent Kjeld a cold glare. Then he went back to scribbling in the margins of a piece of loose-leaf paper that sat beside the file.
Kjeld grinned.
‘In your own words then, tell us what happened.’
‘My dad broke two eggs on the floor,’ Kjeld said, matter-of-fact.
‘Your dad – what?’ Gunnar ceased writing.
‘My dad broke two eggs on the floor. I started to clean it up. Hanna. That’s Hanna Eklund, who you saw at the house the other day, offered to make my father some eggs. Over easy is what we agreed to, I think. Then my dad said that he needed to feed the birds. I insisted it could wait until after breakfast. That’s when my father noticed that someone had been in the barn.’
Gunnar pursed his lips. It was clear to Kjeld that he was refraining from saying what he was really thinking: that Kjeld was jerking him around with inane facts. That was partly true, but Kjeld didn’t like the way Gunnar had spoken to him from the get-go. From the minute he’d walked into his office a few days ago and presented him with the human tooth he’d found in the barn. Gunnar deserved as many derivative details as Kjeld could come up with.
‘And how did he know that someone had been in the barn?’ Gunnar asked.
‘The barn door was open.’
‘You can see that from the kitchen?’
‘Clear as day.’
‘And what time was this?’
‘Morning. Maybe around seven. It wasn’t completely light out, but it was light enough. Also, the birds had been making a lot of noise.’
‘Noise?’ Gunnar quirked a brow.
Kjeld crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Are you asking me to imitate them?’
‘No. Just to elaborate.’
‘They were cawing and crowing like someone had disturbed them. They were agitated.’ Kjeld didn’t add that they always seemed agitated.
‘And then what happened?’
‘I went out to the barn to see what was going on. Someone shoved the door in my face before I could look inside and then ran off into the forest. I pursued.’
‘On foot?’
‘No, with a helicopter,’ Kjeld said, sounding more irritated than he intended. ‘Of course, on foot. You’ve seen those woods. It’s one bramble bush after another. There’s no other way to get through the trees.’
‘And you got a good look at this person?’ Gunnar asked.
Kjeld thought back to the chase. He remembered a dark-coloured jacket. Black. Possibly dark blue. He thought there may have been a stripe on the sleeve. Purple? The hood was up hiding their head. The snow blurred almost everything else. The flakes had hit his eyes like sharp clouds, obstructing his vision like an icy spider’s web.
‘Not really,’ Kjeld admitted.
‘Did you notice anything significant about them?’
‘I think they were shorter than me.’
‘You think?’
‘They knew the terrain well. Knew where to step and where not to. They weren’t fast, but they were agile. They’d been there before.’
Gunnar continued to write in the notepad. Kjeld tried to get a look at what he was writing, but the man’s scrawl was indecipherable from across the table.
‘Man or woman?’
Kjeld shook his head. ‘Couldn’t say with any certainty.’
‘At what point did you lose track of the person you were pursuing?’
‘The suspect, you mean?’
‘Let’s just say person of interest.’
‘When I fell into the quarry.’
Gunnar sent Kjeld a genuine look of surprise. Didn’t he know?
‘The one at the top of the hill,’ Kjeld clarified. ‘Well, the embankment. The ground heaves upward about a kilometre from the house. Maybe more. Maybe less. It was hard to judge the distance with the snow. But it felt like it was really close to my dad’s property. They aren’t digging on his property, are they?’
Gunnar averted his attention from Kjeld, refusing to make eye contact. He glanced over at the clock on the wall, but Kjeld had the impression he wasn’t actually checking the time.
‘Gunnar?’
‘Most of the land north of Varsund is owned by the mining companies. Has been for decades. You know that. I’m sure they’re well within the appropriate property lines,’ Gunnar said.
Kjeld wasn’t convinced.
‘When did you find the body?’
‘I didn’t. My dad did.’
‘About what time was this?’
‘When I got back to the barn. Must have been about thirty minutes, maybe forty-five, after I lost track of the person of interest.’ Kjeld took an audible breath. ‘No later than eight.’
‘Did you touch it?’
‘No.’
‘Did anyone touch the body?’
‘Not that I saw,’ Kjeld said drily.
‘And you didn’t find anything else of note? Nothing suspicious?’
Kjeld thought about the silver Mercedes under the tarp at his great-grandfather’s hunting cabin. He didn’t know if he’d call it suspicious, but it was peculiar. There was no doubt in his mind that the vehicle didn’t belong to his father and while it was on Stenar’s property, he couldn’t discount the small access road in the forest. Anyone could have left it there without his father knowing. He decided to keep that to himself for now. At least until he had time to investigate it personally.
‘Nothing.’
‘And for the record it was just you, Stenar Nyga
ard, and Hanna Eklund in the barn?’
‘No.’
Gunnar blinked.
‘There were about a dozen corvids, too.’
‘Cor-what?’
‘Ravens,’ Kjeld said. ‘The ravens were there, too.’
Chapter 17
The large hand of the neoclassical Viennese mantel clock tugged itself into the new hour and released a pleasant chime.
Roland snipped off the end of a Fuente Don Arturo cigar and tossed it into the fireplace. Then he reached his hand into the hearth and lit the cigar against the flickering flames. Once lit he took a puff, exhaled, and took another. Start quick, savour slow. At almost 760 kronor a roll he wanted to be sure it lasted more than an hour.
‘You’re sweating,’ he said. The cigar began producing a thick white smoke and Roland eased off the puffs.
David wiped his palm across his brow, smearing the sweat back into his hair. It was a light shade of blond, almost white, like his mother’s. He was an attractive man with a smile not unlike Peter’s had been, bright and absorbing. Although on David it was less sincere. He was thinner than Roland, a consequence of his health problems. Having a pacemaker at thirty-six didn’t exactly make him a likely candidate for muscle-building sports, but David kept himself in good shape. Mostly by having vigorous sex with Roland’s mistress. He didn’t think Roland knew, but he did. Roland was aware of everything that went on in the Lindqvist family. It was his business to know. When he looked at David now, he imagined his heart was racing. And he wondered if that’s why David looked so nervous.
‘It’s hotter than hell in here,’ David said. He walked over to the cabinet where his father kept the whisky and poured himself a glass of the first bottle he found.
Which was exactly why Roland kept the good whisky in the bottom drawer of his desk. It was wasted on his son.
‘Is this about the email?’
David took a swig and then poured himself another half a glass. ‘So you did get it?’
Roland pursed his lips and tried to remember at what point in his life he’d allowed his son to become so wasteful.
‘I did,’ Roland said, sitting down in one of the wingback chairs positioned in front of the fireplace. His body sank into the well-worn leather. He was in good shape for a man his age, no one could argue that, but the familiar imprint of his body in that chair felt good on his lower back.
‘It’s a scam.’ David crossed the room and stood beside the hearth. Another swig and his glass was set down on the mantel beside the Austrian clock.
A premonition of David knocking over the timepiece and causing it to shatter on the floor made Roland wince.
‘A scam?’
David took out his mobile phone and read the email verbatim. ‘“Dear Lindqvist family. Hope all is well with you. My apologies for falling off the grid the last few years. I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching in this time and feel like I’ve finally found some answers. Best wishes to you all. Hope to see you soon. Peter.”’
David shoved the phone back into his pocket.
‘It’s obviously not Uncle Peter. Someone probably hacked into his account. They’re probably looking to make some easy cash or stir things up. Maybe even someone from the company. Someone who isn’t happy with the merger.’ David looked down into the yellow flames. A line of sweat was beginning to form on his forehead again.
Roland took another puff on his cigar. ‘Who’s to say it isn’t Peter?’
David scoffed. ‘After all this time? Right at the moment when MineCorp is about to buy out Norrmalm for 250 million euros?’
‘I didn’t realise you were so interested in the company.’
‘I work there,’ David insisted.
‘Hardly.’
‘Well, I’m interested in the investment.’
‘In your future inheritance, you mean.’
‘Same thing.’ David took another swig of whisky.
Roland could tell he wasn’t even trying to enjoy it. Such a waste. Certain luxuries were meant to be savoured. Food, drink, cigars, women. These weren’t things you chugged or inhaled or devoured. Like a full-bodied single-malt scotch they were meant to be sipped. To allow the aroma to sweep over one’s senses. They were things to indulge in, but to indulge steadily over a period of time so that all aspects of their essence could be appreciated.
Roland didn’t think David appreciated anything. Least of all the life of leisure that the Lindqvist men before him worked tirelessly hard to achieve so that their descendants could waste it on foolishly lustful extravagances.
‘If it is Peter then I will welcome his return. It hasn’t been easy running Norrmalm without him.’
‘It was my understanding that the board of directors ran Norrmalm,’ David said flippantly.
‘And as Peter’s proxy I run the board of directors.’
‘Correction. You did run the board of directors. Once MineCorp signs the contract then everything belongs to them. Then we’ll be rid of it.’
‘You mean you’ll be rid of any responsibility to ensure its success for future generations,’ Roland snapped. He set his cigar down on a tray on the side table and stood up. This conversation was ruining his smoke. He’d already wasted enough time and money on the other man in the room. He didn’t see any point in wasting a good cigar on top of that.
‘Oh, come on, Dad. You know you’ll be glad to be rid of it. Besides it’s not like the business is performing like it used to. The competition is too stiff in this market. And Jämtland is dried up anyway. At least where mining is concerned. Everyone knows the only real industry left up here is lumber.’
Roland could feel the anger building up inside of him. As a father he’d always tried to be a patient man. When David and Inger were young he almost always made it to dinner, unless business ran over. He had an agreeable relationship with his wife that both he and she had managed to negotiate over the years, particularly when it came to keeping their family together. He gave his children everything they ever wanted and more. He wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t the sort of father who attended his children’s football matches, but he always donated to the teams. His children had attended the best universities overseas. Vacations to the most exotic places. He ensured that his family was never in want of anything. And that was why he boiled on the inside whenever he looked at his ungrateful son. Because David needn’t want for anything and yet nothing was ever enough.
‘You should show more respect for this country. For the land that has given you everything and then some. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for dried-up Jämtland.’
‘Well, I’m sick of Jämtland. I’m sick of its dirt and its rocks. I’m sick of the trees and the elk and the toothless backwoods bondlurkar. The hell with all of them. As soon as this merger is done I’m out of this hellhole.’
Roland slapped David across the face.
The reaction was so quick even Roland didn’t see it coming. Afterwards it left a sting on his palm. David flinched, but didn’t look surprised, and for a brief second Roland felt a pang of guilt. Then David finished off the rest of his whisky in a gluttonous gulp and any shame Roland might have had for hitting a man with a heart condition disappeared like black smoke in a night sky.
‘It’s not Uncle Peter,’ David said, wiping the sweat from his forehead again.
‘I never said it was,’ Roland said, his tone soft but stern.
‘Five years, Dad. It’s been five years.’
‘I know how long it’s been since I’ve seen my brother.’
‘Then you can agree it’s not him. Uncle Peter is dead. He has to be. No one just drops off the grid completely.’
Roland wasn’t surprised that David would think this, but he didn’t agree. He remembered how burned out and depressed Peter had been when he left. He could understand the need to walk away from everything. Had circumstances been different, he might have done so himself.
‘If you do anything to delay this merger then MineCorp is going to back out. The
y’ll back out and find some other piece-of-shit mining company to invest in. Don’t ruin this, Dad. You said it yourself that you never wanted to run this company. That you’d be glad to be rid of it when the right opportunity came along. This is that opportunity.’
Roland turned away from his son and stared into the hearth. The flames flickered between vibrant orange and yellow, casting dancing shadows on the wall. Occasionally the wood popped and crackled. He was trying to imagine what Peter would have done in his situation. How would he have dealt with this predicament? Except the thought was a hollow one. Peter never had a good-for-nothing son to badger him for his wealth and his influence. He didn’t have a daughter who wasted her allowance and her degree by lying on expensive beaches hoping to be noticed by someone just as materialistic and insipid as herself. Peter, for better or for worse, had been saved that kind of dogged torment. And even if Peter’s wife and unborn child had survived that tragic birth, Roland suspected he still wouldn’t have had the same problems. His children wouldn’t have been wasteful.
And they wouldn’t have been so quick to destroy everything their father had built for them.
Chapter 18
Sara was helping their father into his winter coat when Kjeld stepped out of the interview room.
Gunnar made it clear that he didn’t want to stick around for chit-chat and made a beeline for his office the moment he clicked off the tape recorder. Kjeld was glad for that. He didn’t think he could handle any more false pleasantries. Not that he’d ever really been all that pleasant to begin with. Kjeld had a knack for getting on people’s nerves. Particularly people he knew well. And whether Gunnar liked to admit it or not, probably not, Kjeld knew more about his past than anyone else in that small mining town. Knew enough to make things difficult for him.
Kjeld walked past the reception desk and into the main entranceway.
Erik Norberg stood off to the side, deep in conversation on his mobile phone while he shoved documents into his briefcase.