by Karin Nordin
Esme nodded to the cigarette. ‘Well that explains why you couldn’t catch him. Or her. Whoever it was.’
‘Hm?’
‘In the woods,’ Esme clarified. She took the cigarette out of Kjeld’s mouth and dropped it in the snow. ‘If you’re going to be chasing people in the woods then you should stop smoking.’
Kjeld laughed. ‘Just one of the many bad habits I ought to change.’
Esme nodded. Kjeld expected her to say something, but she didn’t. After a pause he broke the silence. ‘When are you heading back to Gothenburg?’
‘Tomorrow morning. I’ve been ignoring the chief’s calls for days. I can’t put him off any longer. Besides, one of us has to do their jobs.’ She tucked her hands into her armpits for warmth. ‘When will you come back?’
‘As soon as I get things settled here with my father. I just have to make sure he’s in a safe place.’
‘Are you going to be okay on your own?’
‘I’m not on my own. Not really.’
‘No, I guess you’re not.’ Esme brought her hands to her face and breathed hot air against them. ‘God, it’s fuckin’ freezing out here.’
Kjeld laughed. ‘And it’s not even winter yet.’
‘I’m going inside.’ Esme turned and headed up the steps to the front of the house. When she realised Kjeld wasn’t following her, she glanced back. ‘You coming?’
Kjeld stared off down the empty road. A light flurry of snow fell between the trees, sticking to the barren branches until the darker shades of bark were camouflaged in white. Kjeld looked back at Esme with a tired smile.
‘Soon,’ he said. ‘After I check on the ravens.’
Chapter 61
Lördag | Saturday
After waving Esme off the next morning, Kjeld called Hanna and asked if he could come around and see her. She agreed and Kjeld stopped by the local supermarket to pick up some fika pastries on his way over.
He’d barely finished recounting the events leading up to the confrontation in the barn when Hanna lit up one of the thinly rolled smokes from a pack of Marlboro Golds.
‘Sara?’ Hanna turned on the exhaust above the stove to dispel the smoke from her cigarette. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘It was a shock,’ Kjeld admitted. ‘I know it’s not my fault, but I can’t help but feel responsible in a way.’
‘There’s nothing you could have done.’ Hanna flicked the ash from the cigarette into a small tapas bowl on the stove.
‘No, but I could have been more involved in her life. And in my dad’s life. I didn’t have to be so estranged from them.’
‘But that wouldn’t have changed the fact that Peter was your father. It was your parents’ decision to keep that a secret from the both of you. You weren’t the cause of your sister’s jealousy. The lies were.’
In his heart Kjeld knew that. The rational portion of his mind understood that he couldn’t have done anything to change what had happened. It had been an accident, after all.
‘Is she going to be all right?’ Hanna asked.
Kjeld nodded. The ravens had clawed up Sara’s face pretty badly, but they hadn’t done any serious damage. The paramedics cleaned her up before Gunnar took her into custody and while she looked visibly shaken, Kjeld thought it was more from the fear of telling the truth than of what the birds had done. ‘Physically, at least.’
‘Will she go to prison?’
Kjeld shrugged. ‘Depends on what she says and what kind of evidence they’re able to find. But I doubt it. She might be fined for the deal she made with David over Dad’s land, but I don’t think Norrmalm would risk a lawsuit right now. Not when they’re finalising their merger. That wouldn’t be good for the company’s image. It’s already going to be a field day for them now that news is out that Peter was killed.’
‘You did the right thing.’
Kjeld wasn’t so sure. He’d done the right thing legally and morally, but emotionally? Kjeld knew his sister would never forgive him. Not even if the court threw her case out on lack of evidence, which it probably would. He thought his father might forgive him though, and for some reason that seemed to carry more weight with him now. Assuming he remembered any of it.
‘What about you? Looking forward to Varsund returning to its sleepy ways?’
‘I’m thinking about making some changes actually.’
‘Leaving Varsund?’
‘Norberg said he’s looking for a new personal assistant at his office in Stockholm.’
‘I thought he was creepy.’
Hanna laughed. ‘I can handle creepy.’
Kjeld smiled. ‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘So, what’s next?’
‘Once I get things arranged here with my father I’ll be heading back to Gothenburg. I’ve got some things at work that need settling. And some apologies to make.’
‘Don’t forget to take care of yourself, too.’
‘I’ll try.’
Hanna held the cigarette out to him. ‘One for the road?’
Kjeld thought about it. He could practically taste the slow burn at the back of his throat and the temporary ease to the tension headache it would provide. But like all addictions it would eventually leave him empty, craving more. In the end, he shook his head.
‘Keep it. I think it’s about time I quit.’
Chapter 62
Måndag | Monday
Kjeld stared up at the portrait of the man above the fireplace. He may not have noticed it upon first glance, but after closer scrutiny he began to see the similarities. Ears that pinched back at the top and hung a tad lower than expected, giving the face a peculiar dissymmetry. Nose not large, but prominent. A jaw that cut a sharp turn down towards the chin. Kjeld even recognised the lines at the corner of the man’s eyes as the same ones he saw in the bathroom mirror, creasing into his brows. And, like Kjeld, he looked like a man who could use a good night’s sleep. And then of course there was the hair. There was no mistaking that resemblance.
‘My grandfather, Mikael,’ Roland said. He passed Kjeld a dram of whisky. ‘Your great-grandfather.’
‘Looks like a hard man.’ A trait that Kjeld thought might run throughout the entire Lindqvist family. From what he’d learned of Roland in the days following Sara’s arrest, he had a shrewd and manipulative aspect to him. And while that should have made Kjeld uncomfortable, knowing that he’d plotted to place the blame of Peter’s death on his father, Kjeld found himself uncommonly forgiving towards Roland. Not because he was family, but because Kjeld knew something about being in the shadow of a favourite child.
Kjeld brought the glass to his face and took a deep whiff before taking a sip. It burned the back of his throat and he coughed.
‘He was, but he was also a good man. It wasn’t easy running a mining operation back in those days. The dangers were greater, the risks were higher, and he had to make a lot of sacrifices, which we take for granted now. But he always did what he thought was right. And he wasn’t afraid to dig in the dirt beside his men.’ Roland looked as though he might say more, but didn’t. Instead he turned away from the fireplace and took a seat on the sofa.
Kjeld watched Roland with a strange sense of ease. There was no discomfort between them. From the moment they first met, Kjeld felt like he was in the company of someone he’d known for a long time. He didn’t feel like he was home, because he wasn’t. Home would always be his father’s house on the outskirts of Varsund, a cramped three-bedroom cabin stuffed with nature books and his mother’s Mora clock. Home would always be the house with the barn and the ravens cawing through the night. But while he didn’t feel like he was home at the Lindqvist estate, he did feel like he was in the presence of someone familiar.
He was, after all.
‘And Peter?’ Kjeld asked.
‘Peter was the same. He was a decent man. Not perfect. He definitely stumbled along the way, but he tried to follow his heart as much as possible. You know, for all their differences, Peter and your father had a lot in com
mon.’ Roland rolled the whisky glass in his hand. ‘I remember when they had their falling-out, Peter was devastated. They were close friends. He took it really hard.’
Kjeld sat in one of the leather chairs beside the sofa. ‘I wish I could have known him.’
Roland nodded. He wiped away the start of a tear from his eye and took another sip. ‘I never really knew Stenar well, but I remember Peter once saying that the best thing to come out of freezing his balls off in Lapland was the fact that he got to do so with his best friend by his side.’
Kjeld chuckled. ‘Yeah, my dad used to say something similar.’
‘From what I can tell you’re a lot like him, you know.’
Kjeld raised a questioning brow.
‘A lot like Peter, I mean. He wasn’t closed off, but he was careful not to let people get too close to him. After his wife, Yvonne, passed away he maintained a cautious distance with everyone. I assume he was afraid to get hurt again.’
‘Am I so obvious?’
Roland grinned, shaking his head. ‘I admit I’m getting some of this information second-hand. What I couldn’t glean from your recent notice by the press I got from Gunnar Ek.’
‘Ah, all reliable sources then,’ Kjeld said. Normally he might have been offended, but in this case he couldn’t argue. The comparison was true. ‘I’ve always considered myself a difficult man to get along with, let alone like.’
And he could count on one hand the people who saw through his difficulty to a man worth getting to know.
‘There’s only one thing that bothers me,’ Kjeld said.
Roland leaned forward by way of a question.
‘The emails. The ones that were supposedly sent by Peter. I know my sister wasn’t behind that.’
Roland nodded. ‘Erik.’
‘Norberg?’ Kjeld couldn’t reason that in his mind.
‘He felt indebted to Peter for helping him obtain the career he has. Apparently, he and Peter had a heart-to-heart during their last meeting. And a tad too much to drink. Peter accidentally left his mobile phone behind. Erik found it.’ Roland turned his attention to the fire. ‘He tried to stall my selling of the company. He thought if he could sow enough doubt that I would wait and he could use that time to determine what really happened to Peter. And, I’m assuming, to make certain that you wouldn’t be cut out of the inheritance if it did go through.’
‘I never would have pegged him as being so—’
‘Loyal?’
‘I was going to say ballsy.’
Roland laughed. ‘He’s an odd man, but a decent one.’
A silence fell between them and Kjeld caught himself staring up into the piercing gaze of the man who was his great-grandfather and wondering if he was very different from the great-grandfather he’d always heard about at home. And he wondered if Peter had been much different from the man who’d raised him. Would he have stayed in Varsund if he’d been raised a Lindqvist? Would he have followed a career with the police? Or would the events in his life still have led him to where he was now? In the end he decided it was superfluous to consider the what-ifs of his life. Besides, he was fairly certain that he knew the answers.
‘Will you be facing prosecution back in Gothenburg?’ Roland asked, cutting through the stillness.
The Aubuchon case. The Kattegat Killer. Kjeld had almost forgotten. It had been little more than two weeks since he was put on temporary suspension pending the court’s investigation into the handling of the case, but it felt like months.
Kjeld shrugged. ‘Probably just a slap on the wrist. I made some mistakes, but the biggest one they can’t prosecute me for.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Naivete.’
Roland nodded as if he understood and Kjeld believed that he did.
‘If there’s anything I can do to help.’
‘I appreciate it,’ Kjeld said. ‘But it’s one of those things I have to do on my own. The mistakes are mine and the least I can do is take responsibility for them.’
It occurred to Kjeld after the fact that his words could have been interpreted as twofold, for both his actions as well as Peter’s. But Roland didn’t seem dismayed by the suggestion that so much heartache could have been avoided if Peter had told the truth. Or Stenar, for that matter.
‘Just know that, regardless of everything, you still have family here. I know we’re not exactly admirable. God knows that if my children weren’t my children, I wouldn’t have anything to do with them. But they’re family. And so are you. I know that can’t make up for the past or anything you might have missed out on had Peter been in your life, but you’re not alone. I can’t say for sure what Peter would have wanted, but I think he would have liked you to know that you’re one of us.’
Kjeld welcomed the sentiment, but while he knew Roland meant what he said, the truth of the matter was that it didn’t ring entirely true for Kjeld. It was too soon. Perhaps in time he might feel like he was a Lindqvist. But for now he felt as he always had. Like the son of a forester. Like a boy who spent his summers searching for rare plants and animals instead of learning how to inherit a corporate legacy. Like a child who, despite the bad memories, had enjoyed picking chanterelles with his father and travelling north of Kiruna to watch the reindeer migrate across the taiga forest. Like a Nygaard.
Kjeld took one last lingering glance at the portrait above the fireplace and raised his glass to Roland. ‘To family then. With all its faults.’
Roland smiled. ‘To family.’
Chapter 63
Torsdag | Thursday
The room at Granngården Retirement Community in Östersund had a window that overlooked Lake Storsjön with a backdrop of the piste on Gustavsbergsbacken where the city hosted the Biathlon World Championship in 1970. It was too early for ski season, but Kjeld could see pinpricks of colour on the slope that indicated a few winter enthusiasts who couldn’t wait for the official opening. It was beautiful, but Kjeld would be glad to get back to Gothenburg and the rain.
‘These pictures are crooked,’ Stenar said.
Kjeld turned away from the window. ‘Let me help you with that.’
There wasn’t a lot of space in the room, but Kjeld had brought as many of his father’s favourite pictures from home as he thought the walls could handle. Most of them were landscape paintings of northern Swedish forests. But Kjeld had also taken down some of Stenar’s framed specimen collections. Butterflies, flowers, plants. They made the walls look crowded, but that’s how his father had always liked it.
Kjeld straightened the framed black orchid that had previously hung in the kitchen. ‘Better?’
Stenar nodded. Then he shuffled over to his armchair, the same one from the living room, and fell into the cushions. Beside him on a small bookshelf was a collection of books on local flora and fauna and, of course, his aviary atlas.
Kjeld sat on the edge of the bed. His father hadn’t said anything about the barn since Sara’s arrest. He hadn’t said much about anything. The first few days away from the house had been difficult. He’d fought against Kjeld and the staff at the retirement community with that confused belligerence most Alzheimer’s patients developed. The nurses told Kjeld it was a normal progression of the disease, but Kjeld knew he would have done the same thing if someone tried to remove him from his home. He would have gone down kicking and screaming, as well. Once the room began to take on a better resemblance of the old farmhouse in Varsund, however, Stenar seemed to calm down.
‘I’m going to have to leave soon, Dad.’
Stenar reached over and took the aviary atlas off the shelf, setting it in his lap.
‘Yes, yes,’ Stenar said, opening the book to a centre page. ‘You’re busy.’
‘I have to finish up a case at work, but I’ll come back and visit as soon as it’s all settled. Then maybe we can talk some more.’
‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘Anything. It doesn’t matter. Whatever you want.’
‘Will you f
eed the birds before you go? I’ve got a pain in my knee. Don’t think I can make the walk across the yard.’
Kjeld held in a sigh.
Three days prior, Kjeld had gotten in contact with a local wildlife sanctuary who agreed to take on the ravens. They would train the younger birds to be reintroduced into the wild while the older ones would remain at the sanctuary to live out their lives under the care of ornithologists and specialised researchers from Uppsala University. The representative they sent to check the condition of the birds had actually been quite enthusiastic about them. She said they had a unique plumage that looked as though it might have been the result of interbreeding with a now-extinct species from the Faroe Islands. Kjeld said he thought he’d heard his grandfather say something similar. Regardless of their genetic worth, they were going to be taken care of. And while Kjeld didn’t think his father could understand that, he thought he would approve.
‘Of course. Don’t worry about the birds, Dad. I’ll take care of them for you.’
‘Thank you,’ Stenar said, turning a page in the book.
Kjeld glanced at the time. He had one more stop he had to make before he could leave. An appointment with Erik Norberg to accept Peter Lindqvist’s inheritance as well as his share in the recent sale of Norrmalm Industries. Kjeld didn’t know how much it was exactly, but Erik assured him it was a two-digit number followed by a significant trail of zeros. Didn’t matter. Kjeld wasn’t planning on keeping much of it. He was going to put most of it in a trust for Tove, as well as an account for Sara’s children when they were older. He also planned on asking Erik to set aside a sum to help Valle find himself a proper place to live. He thought that was something his father would have done if he could. The rest he would invest in the protection and preservation of Jämtland’s forests. For his dad.
He stood up from the bed and picked up the cat carrier where Oskar was sleeping off another can of herring.
‘You know, I was thinking maybe I’d bring Tove up here for Christmas. Would you like that?’
‘Who?’