by Karin Nordin
‘So is my cat, but he’s not quite as adorable. Even with a low-carb diet and a personal trainer he’d still manage to look grumpy in pictures.’
Sven laughed.
‘What’s her name?’ Kjeld nodded to the photograph.
‘Blix.’
‘My cat is Oskar. Named for the Sesame Street character.’
‘Is he a grouch?’
Kjeld grinned. ‘You have no idea.’
There was a lull in the conversation and Kjeld looked down at the key in his hand. He ran his fingers back through his hair, tucking a dishevelled strand behind his ear. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been impolite. It’s been one of those weeks, if that wasn’t already painfully obvious. You don’t look like you’re from around here. Nobody around here knows how to wear a proper suit, for one. For another it’s almost impossible to find someone with a sense of humour. My name is Kjeld Nygaard.’
‘You’re right! No one in this town knows how to take a joke,’ Sven said with a laugh. ‘Sven Larsson. It’s nice to meet you. Are you Danish?’
‘My great-grandfather was. It’s a family name, but I grew up in Varsund. A tragedy, I know. I managed to get out, but just barely. You’ve got a little fluff.’ Kjeld reached forward to remove a small piece of thread from the other man’s shoulder. ‘Where are you from?’
Sven blushed. ‘Västerås.’
Kjeld raised a brow. ‘Wow. Big city.’
‘This is a temporary posting, but it lets me put “manager” on my résumé. After a year I’ll be able to transfer to a larger financial institution.’
Kjeld feigned surprise. ‘Well now that would be something. I’m sure you’ll be a shoo-in for any position you apply for. Actually I just so happen to know someone at Nordea Bank in Västerås. I’ll be driving back that direction on my way home. I could stop by and drop your name. Tell them about the excellent customer service the residents up in Varsund have been getting from their local credit union.’
There it was. That glimmer in the other man’s eyes that told Kjeld he’d hooked him. Everyone wanted out of Varsund. It was the perfect lure.
Still, Sven hesitated.
‘Look, I don’t expect there to be much in there,’ Kjeld continued, ‘but my sister and I are thinking about selling the house and we haven’t found the deed yet. And if it were in this deposit box it would really help us out.’
‘Well.’ Sven bit at his lower lip and canted his hips to one side. ‘If you give me your parents’ surname and if it matches then I suppose it would be okay.’
‘I would be so grateful.’
Sven pulled up the database on his computer. ‘Name?’
‘Nygaard. That’s with two A’s. You know, from the Danish side.’
Sven typed it in and frowned. ‘Nothing.’
Kjeld pursed his lips.
‘Mother’s maiden name, perhaps?’
‘Rosell.’
Sven shook his head. ‘Sorry. There’s no one by either of those names in the system.’
Kjeld twirled the key between his fingers. Neither of his parents had a safety deposit box. Then why have a key? Whose key was it?
‘I wish I could have been more help,’ Sven said. His face was sympathetic, but whether that was because it was the first time anyone in Varsund paid him any heed or because he really was hoping Kjeld would put in a good word for him at Nordea was difficult to say.
‘Could you try one more for me?’
‘All right.’
‘Lindqvist.’
Sven typed in the name. He stared at the screen for a moment and then turned to Kjeld, face brimming. ‘Looks like third time’s the charm.’
* * *
The safety deposit box wasn’t much larger than a shoebox and the stiffness with which the key fit into the lock told Kjeld that it hadn’t been opened very often, if at all. He pulled back the curtain on the corner office, which Sven explained doubled as their private area since so few people used safety deposit boxes these days, blocking the window view of the bank’s lobby, and focused his attention on the box. The Lindqvist box.
Kjeld began to lift the lid when he hesitated. A thought crossed his mind that this was one of those end-of-the-line moments. The point of no return, as it were. Of course there was always the chance that there was nothing in the box, or nothing of relevance. Nothing that might explain to him why the CEO of Norrmalm Industries and his father’s supposed best friend lay buried beneath dirt and bird shit in his family’s barn for so many years. Nothing that might prove his father’s innocence or dispel the anxious fear that his mother wasn’t the woman he’d believed her to be. Kjeld honestly thought that would have been worse than uncovering proof that his father was a killer. Learning that his mother was somehow involved.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, cursing the 2005 smoking ban that prohibited the use of cigarettes in public buildings. Then he opened the box.
Kjeld didn’t know what he’d expected to find so when he opened the box and only found a few slips of paper attached with a paperclip he couldn’t say he was surprised. He removed the documents from the box, unclipped them, and spread them out over the table. Four pages typed on what was probably an old Facit typewriter judging by the distinguishing marks at the sides of the paper where it had caught on the release lever before being pulled through. The date at the top of the first page was 1978.
He read through the document three times before he realised what he had in his possession. It was a contract between his father and Peter Lindqvist, signed by them both and witnessed by Erik Norberg, rectifying a dispute – the nature of which was unexplained within the pages of legalese – by an agreement that Norrmalm Industries would never attempt to purchase or mine on the Nygaard property so long as the Nygaards refrained from sharing information related to the Lindqvists or their public assets. The document was, at least from Kjeld’s perspective, vague. But that might have been a result of the missing pages. Kjeld checked the pagination at the top and saw that at least three pages had been removed from the document.
And whatever information they referenced was removed with them. It was, however, from what Kjeld could determine, essentially a gag order. One family’s silence in exchange for another family’s promise not to profit off their land.
Except they were profiting.
Kjeld pictured himself chasing that figure from the barn through the woods, recalling his shock at slipping over the edge of the unfamiliar ravine and into the mining pit. It was so clear in his mind because he remembered not only being surprised that the pit was there, as it hadn’t been when he was a young man, but also because it was so close to his father’s property. Perhaps even on his property. And yet here he had a notarised contract between his father and the Lindqvists that Norrmalm would never extend to the Nygaards’ land. Not so long as Stenar, and presumably Kjeld’s mother, abided by the dubious terms of the agreement, which essentially boiled down to one thing – don’t talk.
Don’t talk about what? What information could his father have that would affect the marketability of a business worth billions of kronor? And how did that relate to Peter Lindqvist’s death? Or did it?
Kjeld folded the contract and slipped it inside his jacket pocket. Then he closed up the safety deposit box and left it on the table. As he passed through the bank lobby he gave Sven an acknowledging nod, the kind that would have gone hand in hand with a tip of the hat if he had one, and made his way to the exit.
Sven, who looked to be laying out some kind of financial plan for a young woman with a crying baby in a stroller, excused himself from the desk and caught Kjeld at the door. He slipped his business card in the front pocket of Kjeld’s jeans and gave him an eager but authentic smile.
‘I get off at six every day. In case you want to get a drink before you head back home,’ Sven said with a wink before returning to the woman with the stroller.
Kjeld watched the bank manager walk away, not bothering to hide his admiration for how the man’s slacks fit, prof
essionally snug. It really was a well-tailored suit. Then he remembered the picture of the terrier on the desk. It was a pity. Kjeld was definitely more of a cat person.
* * *
‘Hey, Kjeld!’
Kjeld looked up in time to see Tom running across the street. Well, it wasn’t so much running as it was a kind of half-hearted jog. Unlike Kjeld, the man was bundled up in a ski jacket and thick gloves, giving him the impression of being much wider than he actually was. Kjeld immediately thought of those cartoon penguins Tove watched on Saturday mornings.
Tom wobbled to a stop when he reached the sidewalk and nodded to the bank. ‘Setting up an account?’
‘Closing one, you could say.’
‘When one door closes, another one opens?’ Tom grinned and Kjeld noticed that he had a yellowish stain on his front teeth. Probably from too much coffee. Kjeld didn’t think he was a smoker.
‘Something like that.’ Kjeld reached into his pocket and took out a pack of smokes.
‘Those things’ll kill you, you know.’
‘So people keep telling me.’ Kjeld turned his head to the side and lit a cigarette.
‘I convinced Sara to quit five years ago. It’s done wonders for her stamina. She doesn’t get out of breath as much as she used to.’
Kjeld quirked a brow, uncertain of whether his brother-in-law was making a reference to their bedroom activities or was simply unconscious of the double meaning of his words.
Tom rubbed his gloves together. ‘Aren’t you freezing?’
Kjeld held up the cigarette. ‘Portable heating device.’
Tom laughed. It was a high-pitched and grating sound.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be in Östersund?’ Kjeld asked. ‘I thought Sara said you were doing part-time work there nowadays.’
‘I’ve got the day off. I’m just in town running errands.’
Or trying to run, Kjeld thought to himself. He took a drag on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke away from Tom’s face.
‘What account were you closing? Stenar’s?’
Kjeld licked his lips and looked at Tom carefully. The man had always struck him as weird, even before he’d married Sara, but for some reason he seemed even stranger now. Then again, it could have just been Kjeld’s prejudice towards Varsund and everyone in it. Lately he’d been wondering if his bias towards his old hometown wasn’t a little unfounded.
‘A safety deposit box of my mother’s,’ Kjeld finally relented to say.
‘Really?’ Tom raised both brows high into his forehead, completing the cartoon penguin look.
‘Yeah, I found a key in some of Dad’s old things.’
‘Anything interesting inside?’
Kjeld shrugged. ‘Just an old document.’
‘Of what?’
‘A contract between Dad and the mining company. I don’t know what it is exactly. It was missing some pages.’
‘Norrmalm? Huh. That’s odd. I thought he hated that place,’ Tom said, but the tone in his voice suggested that he didn’t think it was odd at all. ‘Well, hey, it was nice seeing you again, but I gotta dash. Gotta get these errands done before Sara calls.’
Tom reached out and gave Kjeld a friendly slap on the shoulder. It made Kjeld feel uncomfortable.
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘You should come by for dinner again soon. I could let you borrow one of my self-empowerment books. Gotta make peace with your inner self, you know. That’s important. Could help you quit smoking, too.’
‘Wouldn’t want to interrupt your own progress by taking your source material off your hands.’
Tom laughed again, his pitch higher the second time around. Maybe it was an effect of the cold air. ‘You’re a funny guy, Kjeld. You should lend Sara some of that humour of yours. She’s so serious all of the time.’
Kjeld flicked the cigarette ash on the ground. He thought he’d been obvious in his intonation, but Tom had somehow mistaken his sarcasm for wit. Peculiar man.
Tom didn’t seem to notice Kjeld’s lack of response, however. He was already crossing the street again, his soft figure waddling beneath his thick ski jacket.
Kjeld took out his phone. He had a text from Esme. She’d replied to his flirty cat emoji with an angry cat one and an anagram that indicated she was on her way to pick him up. Kjeld breathed a sigh of relief, glad to know that she wasn’t angry with him. He would make it up to her somehow but, knowing Esme as he did, she’d probably draw it out for weeks just to teach him a lesson.
He finished his cigarette and tossed it on the ground. Then he lit another and dialled his sister.
Chapter 40
‘Is Norrmalm Industries mining on Dad’s property?’
There was a pause on the other end of the line and Kjeld thought that he heard the sound of a car engine shutting off. He turned up the collar on his thin jacket to block some of the wind from chilling the back of his neck and took another drag on his cigarette. Then Sara’s voice interrupted the silence.
‘What did you say?’
‘That day I was chasing the stranger from the barn – the day that Dad and I found the body – I fell into an excavation pit. At the time I thought it was really close to Dad’s property, but now that I think about it I’m fairly certain that it was actually on his property. Did you know anything about this?’
‘What? No,’ Sara replied, more miffed than Kjeld expected. There was a short delay before she continued and the initial annoyance in her voice was gone, replaced with worry. ‘I mean, I know that they’ve been mining closer to town and I know it was close to Dad’s place, but I didn’t realise they were digging on it. Are you sure?’
‘Well I can’t be certain until I find the property survey for Dad’s place, but I remember running all over those woods when we were kids. I’d be willing to bet almost anything that they’re digging on his side of the boundary.’
‘Maybe he sold it?’ Sara asked.
‘Dad would never sell. That land has been in the family for generations. There’s nothing on this earth that would convince him to sell, least of all to a company that was planning to dig it up. No, he wouldn’t do that.’
‘You don’t know that, Kjeld. You haven’t been around for a long time. Dad isn’t the same man he was. Hell, he wasn’t the same man ten years ago. He’s been through a lot. You know how it was for everyone after Mum died. It’s possible he would have sold off a parcel or two.’
Kjeld tugged the sleeve of his jacket down to cover the fingers holding his phone. The wind changed direction and he turned, inadvertently exhaling a cloud of smoke into the face of an old woman tugging a shopping trolley. She swore at him with a mouth only a miner could love, sent him a sneer, and rolled her large-wheeled grocery trolley over his foot.
‘Same to you, lady,’ Kjeld muttered.
‘What was that?’ Sara asked.
‘Not you,’ Kjeld said, grateful that he’d had the foresight to wear boots. His city shoes weren’t meant to withstand Varsund’s early winters. Or its shoppers. ‘Some lady just—Forget about it. I think you’re wrong. I don’t think Dad sold anything to anyone. I think they might be digging on his property illegally.’
Sara paused again and this time Kjeld thought he heard the sound of a voice on a speaker.
‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m at the hospital pharmacy picking up Dad’s medications. They’re letting him go home today. I left you a message on your voicemail. Didn’t you get it?’
Kjeld couldn’t recall receiving any calls from his sister or the hospital.
‘My phone might have been out of range when you called. Are you bringing him back to the house?’
‘No, I’m bringing him to my house. I think you’ve proven well enough that you can’t be trusted to keep Dad safe.’
‘What are you talking about? It’s not like I gave him a heart attack. I mean, come on, sis. He’s old. That wasn’t my fault.’
‘You stress him out, Kjeld. Increasing his anxiety is not
helping him get better.’
‘He has Alzheimer’s. He’s not going to get better. He’s only going to get worse. I’m trying to help.’
‘How? By riling him up and making him remember things? That’s not helpful. If anything that’s just speeding up his confusion.’
Kjeld dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out on the ground with his toe.
‘Listen to me. I’m doing the best I can. Dad wanted me to help so I’m here helping. Sure, we’ve had a few arguments along the way, but I’m on to something here. And that something has to do with Norrmalm Industries. I know it.’
Sara sighed. On the other side of the line it sounded like a wind tunnel blowing directly into Kjeld’s ear and he pulled the phone away from his face until he heard her begin to speak again.
‘I don’t know where the property survey is. It might be with my stuff or it might be in the cellar. Hell, I don’t know if we even have one. I’ve never looked for it. But you can’t just go around accusing Norrmalm of illegally mining on Dad’s land.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Do I have to remind you that Varsund is a mining town? Practically every family here depends on Norrmalm to put food on the table. It’s not a joke to say that they’re the pillar of this community. They are. Quite literally, in fact.’
A bell dinged in the background. Kjeld assumed it was the pharmacy calling up a new number.
‘I’m not going to say anything without proof, Sara. I’m not an idiot. I just thought I should let you know that there’s more going on here than just Dad claiming to have witnessed a murder.’
‘Supposedly witnessed a murder. Just because they found a body doesn’t mean he was actually there.’
‘He was there,’ Kjeld insisted. ‘And I think that mining quarry I fell into is the link connecting all of this.’
‘Like I said, if they’re on his property then he probably sold it. It’s possible. There was a period of a few years where Dad was doing all sorts of crazy things. Would it surprise me? Sure. But I wouldn’t put it past him.’
‘I found something that may prove otherwise.’