There was nothing new on Amelie Holm.
Viggo’s disappearance was equally mysterious. He had gone missing during a period of fifteen to twenty minutes while he was alone in the garden, playing with his flashlight. The neighbors hadn’t seen or heard anything suspicious. There had been no unfamiliar cars in the area, and no one had noticed a stranger in the street. The darkness and the bad weather had of course contributed to the fact that no one had been paying much attention to what was going on outdoors.
During the subsequent discussion Willén decided that the three officers from VGM should focus on the search for the two children.
“Take a look at Viggo first because the trail is still fresh. We’ve put a hell of a lot of resources into Amelie’s case, but we’re still stuck on square one,” he said.
Göran Krantz nodded. “Okay, we’ll make a start right away.”
“Good.” The relief in Willén’s voice was unmistakable.
“Where can we set up?” Hampus asked.
The relieved expression on Willén’s face vanished in a second.
“The thing is . . . we have a slight problem. The Laholm Hotel has rooms for you, but only for tonight. From tomorrow until the weekend every bed in Strömstad is booked for a major Norwegian conference—some oil company. But of course we’ll find you a decent place to stay.”
He didn’t sound quite as convinced as he was trying to appear. The team wasn’t worried. They could usually sort out a roof over their heads.
“Embla, I’d like you to go and speak to Kristoffer’s aunt, Eva Sjöberg,” Göran said.
“Sounds like a good start.”
“Hampus, maybe you could have a chat with Viggo’s parents.”
Hampus nodded without looking up; he was busy tapping away feverishly on his cell phone. He hadn’t said much during the journey, but Embla had assumed he was tired. Was something else going on?
They were sitting at a window table in the hotel’s spacious foyer, which was sparsely populated. Two large gas-powered stoves gave an illusion of warmth, with flickering flames behind the glass doors. From her seat right by the window, Embla could look down onto the open-air pool. People emerged from the changing rooms and the steaming sauna and stepped into the black water. In January! It must be freezing cold! The wind had dropped a little, but the water was far from still.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Göran got to his feet.
“We’ll meet back here for dinner at nine,” he said.
At first glance it didn’t look as if Eva Sjöberg was home. The exterior lights were on, but Embla couldn’t see any sign of life from inside. She drove up slowly and parked at the bottom of the steps. As she switched off the engine, a light came on in the hallway; she could see the glow through the frosted glass in the front door. She got out of the car, walked up the steps, and rang the bell.
“Who is it?” a faint voice asked.
Eva must have been standing right behind the door, but after what had happened to her relatives, Embla could understand her caution. She took out her ID and held it up.
“My name is Embla Nyström and I’m a detective from Gothenburg. I’m here to help with the investigation.”
The door opened a fraction of an inch and a pale, haggard face appeared in the gap.
“A Superintendent Krantz called to say you were coming,” Eva said, opening the door. Embla stepped inside, hung up her jacket, and took off her shoes. Eva’s thick gray hair was tousled and uncombed. She was wearing a green-and-white patterned loose-fitting full-length dress and bobbled gray cardigan. Shuffling along in thin sandals, she led the way through the house, switching on lamps as she went. The décor was an intriguing mix of the old and the exotic. The living room was furnished with a well-used leather sofa and armchairs. Eva clicked on the ceiling light, as well as several small lamps in the huge picture window, making it impossible to see anything outside. There was only darkness.
“Tea?” Eva asked wearily.
Tea, not coffee. Fantastic!
“Please.”
Embla looked at Eva’s pallid complexion and noted the dullness in her eyes. She probably hadn’t slept for the last twenty-four hours, and maybe she hadn’t eaten either.
“I’ll come and give you a hand,” Embla offered.
Together they went into the spacious kitchen. The cupboard doors were made of dark wood, as were the table and chairs. Above the table hung a conical lamp that looked like it was made from woven birch bark. Embla filled the kettle and spooned tea leaves out of a shiny packet labeled organic assam golden while trying to make small talk with Eva, but it ended up being more of a monologue. The older woman mostly just mumbled unintelligible things, interspersed with the occasional “yes” or “no” in response to a question. She took out some bread and dropped four slices into a toaster with a retro design. She placed butter and cheese on a tray—a fine, mature cheese. Delicious, Embla thought. And excellent tea.
They added the teapot, mugs, plates, and toast to the tray and returned to the welcoming living room. The zebra-skin rug had seen better days, but both the rug and the beautifully carved chest that served as a coffee table seemed very modern. I could imagine having these things in my living room, Embla thought. Her gaze fell on an open fireplace in the corner, with plenty of wood in a copper pan beside it.
“Would you like me to light a fire?” she asked.
She caught a faint glimmer of interest in Eva’s eyes. “Yes, I think that would make me feel . . . better.”
There was such sorrow in her voice that Embla felt her throat tighten with sympathy. Eva’s grief was understandable; the family had suffered a terrible blow. But she had to start functioning again. Her help was vital to the investigation.
Embla quickly got the fire going, then poured the aromatic tea into the generous hand-painted mugs before settling down in a comfortable armchair. She made a cheese sandwich with the toasted bread and ate it before tentatively asking a few questions.
“Any news on Kristoffer?” she began.
Tears sprang to Eva’s eyes. She swallowed hard several times before she was able to answer. “He’s . . . he’s still in intensive care. I’m not allowed to see him. Apparently they’re going to keep him in an induced coma for a few days because of the pain . . . and the swelling on his brain. How could anyone do something like this?” She let out a sob and fumbled in the pocket of her cardigan for a packet of tissues. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and tried to compose herself.
“Is he in Uddevalla or NÄL?” Embla asked.
“NÄL. It’s not exactly local, but I’m used to driving. I’ve driven through savannas and deserts . . . places where there are no roads. A long time ago . . .”
Norra Älvsborgs Länssjukhus—that was the hospital where Embla had been treated after the injuries she’d sustained during the moose hunt in October. She shuddered involuntarily, but tried to hide it from Eva. With a huge mental effort, she pushed aside those dark memories.
The older woman remained silent for a while, but Embla was glad she’d started talking a little more. Just as Embla was formulating another question, Eva took a deep breath and continued.
“They operated on him last night. His spleen was ruptured beyond repair. And his face . . . They’ve stabilized the cheekbone and the lower jaw with titanium. The jaw was broken in two places. They’ve also put his arm in plaster.”
Distress had brought color to her pale cheeks. Maybe the hot tea and toast were also helping to get her circulation going again. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to notice them.
“It’s appalling, but of course we’re doing our best to track down whoever’s responsible,” Embla assured her. “Do you have any idea who could have done such a thing?”
Eva snorted. “It could be just about anybody! There’s been so much gossip since Amelie disappeared—Kristo
ffer’s crazy; he better not approach girls of his own age; he’s shown signs of being a pedophile in the past. It’s all lies, every single word of it!”
Her cheeks were bright red now. Embla nodded to show that she was on Eva’s side. “Have people said these things to you? Or to Kristoffer?”
“Do you think they’d say that kind of stuff to our face? Not a chance! It’s all on the Internet. On Facebook. People have posted so many lies about Kristoffer, and he’s gotten some terrible text messages. His friends Anton and Gabriel told me. Kristoffer doesn’t say a word—he just gets . . . quieter.”
Eva blew her nose again. She seemed more present, somehow. She looked angry, which Embla felt was a good sign. She made a mental note to ask Göran to check out what had been posted online; there might be leads to the arsonist.
“Since your brother died in the fire, I’ve been wondering if he was the intended victim. Kristoffer might have seen someone setting fire to the barn and was beaten up to stop him from talking. Do you know if Olof had any enemies?”
Eva thought hard and weighed her words carefully. “Over the years, Olof has had a number of disagreements with various business associates. He is . . . was . . . the nicest man in the world, but when it came to business he was as hard as nails. The biggest disputes were over Sandgrav, I guess, but we inherited those from our father. Or, rather, our grandfather.”
A hint of a smile flitted across her face, but then she grew serious again.
“Our paternal grandparents were farmers, and they lived at Breidablick. They died soon after each other at the beginning of the 1950s. Our father was their only child, and he was a very skilled businessman. He’d already set up his workshop and started selling cars. He had no interest whatsoever in farming, although he held on to Breidablick and some of the land. He sold the rest and invested the money in his business; he also bought and built a number of houses in Strömstad. The land he kept is the area surrounding my house and Breidablick. He also retained the meadows by the shore and the cliffs at Sandgrav. His father had acquired that particular tract for next to nothing to use as grazing land. My father later built a summer cottage right by the water. There didn’t seem to be a problem with the house itself, but then he claimed he owned the rights to the water off Sandgrav. A lot of people tried to prove that the original purchase was invalid, but it was part of my grandfather’s estate when he died. It was set in stone, so to speak!”
Eva looked very pleased with herself as she uttered the last sentence. Embla realized it was doing her good to talk about Olof and the family.
“So why is the place called Sandgrav?” she asked.
“It’s always been called that. For hundreds of years, I assume. Back in the day, grav in Swedish meant the same as deep. The shore out there isn’t very big, but it’s surrounded by steep cliffs. So it lies deep down, if you will. There’s a natural deep channel that originates in what is known today as Kosterhavet National Park. Plenty of people wanted to get their hands on Sandgrav to turn it into a fishing harbor, and later a marina for yachts and other leisure craft; it’s ideal because it’s so sheltered. But neither our father nor Olof would sell. Olof renovated and extended the summer cottage, and today it has both water and sewage mains. He also built a service marina for larger yachts and commercial vessels. There aren’t many places along this coastline where the bigger boats can get close to the shore. The owners can get their repairs done and buy various nautical bits and pieces. There are also gas pumps, of course, and a small store that sells food and whatever else they might need at sea.”
Eva paused to catch her breath and take a sip of her tea, which was lukewarm at best by then.
“Would you like me to top off your tea?” Embla asked.
“No thanks, I’m done.”
Embla poured the last few drops left in the pot into her own mug. “So where exactly is Sandgrav?”
“It’s about nine miles from here, south of the town. Not far from Dillehuvudflo. I’ve always thought that’s an amusing name for an inlet. Sandgrav is in a sheltered spot behind Tjärnö, Rundö, and Rossö. These days several entrepreneurs are keen to exploit the area, build houses and jetties. But Olof has always said no, and just to make things worse, he called the summer cottage Strandvillan—the Shore House. It was because a building firm tried to accuse him of flouting the planning regulations when he extended the place. But since it was all done at the same time as the construction of the marina, Olof provided plenty of new jobs for the community, so nothing came of the complaint.”
Eva looked really smug once more. Better to think about this than all the terrible things that had happened over the past few days.
“So there could still be a motive for these businessmen to want Olof out of the way. Then again, building firms in Sweden don’t usually kill people . . . What about personal enemies?” Embla asked.
Eva pulled a face. “The only one I can think of is Carina, Olof’s first wife. She’s never forgiven him for leaving her for Ann. Carina’s a very bitter woman.”
“Surely a lot of time has passed since they split.”
“Yes, almost twenty years, but she’s still just as angry. She also managed to turn Evelina against us.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes.
“Who’s Evelina?”
“Olof and Carina’s daughter. She was eighteen when they divorced. Carina got herself a smart apartment in Strömstad—all thanks to Olof, of course—and persuaded the girl to join her. She was in her last year of high school and I guess she preferred to live in town.”
“So Kristoffer and Evelina are half-siblings?”
“Yes, although Olof’s had very little contact with Evelina. She and I used to be close, but after the divorce she refused to have anything to do with me. She’s never shown any interest in Kristoffer, which is a terrible shame.”
Embla needed more information about this daughter who’d suddenly popped up.
“How old would she be now . . . let me think . . .”
Mental arithmetic had never been her strong point.
“Thirty-eight. She’s married to an Australian, and she’s been living in Sydney for the past fifteen years. Two kids. She’s been back four or five times and Carina’s been over there, but Olof was never invited to visit, which made him very sad. He only saw his grandkids when Evelina and her family came to Strömstad, and only for very short periods of time.”
“Does she know he’s dead?”
“Yes. Our lawyer has taken care of all the practical details.”
Eva’s tone became dismissive; Evelina was obviously a sensitive subject, but Embla wasn’t done yet.
“I assume Evelina stands to inherit a considerable amount from her father?” she said tentatively.
Eva narrowed her eyes, evaluating Embla. “Olof was a strategist,” she said after a few moments. “He planned everything because he knew there was a chance he’d die before Kristoffer reached adulthood. Most of the money is in his various businesses. Kristoffer will inherit all the businesses when he turns eighteen in April. In order to help him, Olof set up an administration company, which is run by his lawyer, Charlotta Stark. The board is made up of trusted individuals chosen by Olof. A sum of money will be divided between Kristoffer and Evelina, but it’s not a ridiculous amount—four or five million each at the most. She’s going to be disappointed if she thinks she’s going to get her hands on the business side of things.”
Embla had one more question. She hesitated to ask, but she had to know.
“Don’t you inherit anything?”
Eva raised her eyebrows and gave a faint smile. “We’ve already taken care of that. I received my inheritance when Mom and Dad died. I used some of it to build this house. Over the years Olof has given me money and invested in stocks and shares and private pensions on my behalf because I’ve helped him with Kristoffer. I’ve also worked full-time throughout
my career, so I have enough to get by. More than enough.”
They sat and chatted for a while longer, but when Embla glanced at her watch, she realized it was time to head back to town to meet her colleagues for dinner. She stood up and carried the tray into the kitchen, ignoring Eva’s protests.
“Thank you for the tea and toast,” Embla said. When she had put on her boots and jacket, she was struck by a thought. “By the way, do you know of a place we might be able to rent for a few days? There are three of us, all police officers from Gothenburg. Every hotel room in the town is booked up until the weekend—some Norwegian oil conference, apparently.”
“Where are you staying tonight?”
“The Laholm—we can have rooms for one night.”
Eva seemed to be considering something. After a few seconds she said, “You can use the Shore House. It’s clean and heated. There’s bed linen, towels—everything you need.”
Embla was surprised, but when she thought about it, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. “That would be fantastic!”
Except . . . Her boss would want to know the answer to one very important question.
“How much will it be? Per night?”
“Nothing. You’re here to catch whoever killed Olof and beat up Kristoffer. In any case, nobody uses the place during the winter.”
“That’s so kind of you!” Embla exclaimed, giving Eva a spontaneous hug.
Tears shimmered in the other woman’s eyes again, but she was smiling as she said, “It’s me who should be thanking you. You arrived like an angel and . . . thawed me out.” She wiped her nose with a crumpled tissue, then straightened her shoulders. “I’ll come over to the Laholm tomorrow at nine. I’ll give you the keys and show you around the house, give you the alarm code and so on.”
It was still raining on Thursday morning, but the wind had died down. Embla, Göran, and Hampus made the most of a fantastic breakfast buffet, which was almost as good as the previous night’s dinner. They all agreed that the hotel had a brilliant chef.
Winter Grave Page 9
