“This is amazing—there’s everything you could possibly want!” Göran exclaimed as he munched happily on a chocolate Danish. It wasn’t exactly what his dietician had recommended, but it was definitely Göran’s idea of the perfect conclusion to breakfast.
“We need to do some food shopping if we’re going to stay in that house,” Hampus pointed out.
He still hadn’t said much. Embla was getting worried; he wasn’t being himself at all. Not that he was usually very talkative, but he was generally more sociable. She knocked back her vitamin shot of crushed ginger, raspberries, and orange juice.
Göran paused with his Danish halfway to his mouth. “You need to be careful. Those shots contain a whole lot of allergenic substances,” he said, sounding concerned. He stuffed the last piece of the chocolate-covered pastry into his mouth. Breakfast was over as far as he was concerned. “Shall we go and sit in the foyer?” he suggested.
They went and sat at the table by the window again. Reception was busy with arrivals and departures, but the three of them had already checked out.
As on the previous day, no one else was making use of the spacious foyer. A person suffering from agoraphobia might well be at risk of an attack, but it was ideal if you wanted to talk without being overheard.
“I’ve done some digging into Olof Sjöberg,” Göran began, opening up his laptop. “All I could find were two drunk-driving convictions. The first was nine years ago, on New Year’s Day. He hadn’t sobered up from New Year’s Eve. He was fined. The second incident was last summer. His blood alcohol concentration was much higher that time, plus the penalties had been increased, so he lost his license for two months and was fined sixty thousand kronor. He was also told that if it happened again, he would have to have an Alcolock ignition immobilizer fitted to his vehicle. That’s it, there’s nothing else in our records.”
He scrolled down the page and continued reading.
“However, there’s plenty about all the trouble concerning Sandgrav. There have been complaints and counter-complaints ever since the Second World War, but no one’s ever gotten anywhere in a fight with the Sjöberg clan. They’ve kept the land, and Olof has established a flourishing business.”
He broke off and nodded to Embla. “I think your friend’s here.”
Embla glanced toward the glass doors, which opened automatically as Eva approached. She was wearing a dark blue coat, black trousers, and sturdy boots, with a pink and lime green shawl wound around her neck. On her head was a fluffy angora beret in the same shade of lime green. She was striding along, and her eyes were bright and clear as she scanned the foyer. Her face lit up when she spotted Embla, and she came straight over. The three officers got to their feet and Embla introduced her colleagues.
As they headed for their respective cars, Eva said, “I spoke to Kristoffer’s doctor this morning. His condition is still serious, but he’s much more stable. They’re going to keep him sedated today and possibly tomorrow, but they’re going to let me be there when they bring him around. They’ll call and let me know when it’s time.”
There was a glint in her eye and fresh energy in her voice as she spoke about her nephew. The broken woman Embla had met the previous evening was nowhere to be seen.
Eva got into her silver-gray Audi A3 and led the way. Apparently it wasn’t that easy to find Sandgrav. Göran, Embla, and Hampus followed in the Volvo. Less than a mile to the south of Strömstad, it was clear they were out in the country. The farther south they traveled, the more isolated the area became. They passed several minor roads leading toward the coast, with signs advertising campsites and beaches, but the Audi kept on going.
When they reached a desolate stretch of the 176, where the flat landscape stretched in all directions, the Audi slowed down and signaled right. They turned onto a narrow dirt track; there was just about room for two cars to pass. There were no houses in sight, apart from a farm in the distance on the other side of the 176.
After a few hundred yards the track split in two. Two yellow arrows on a post pointed to Rävö in one direction, Sandgrav in the other. This track was no more than the width of a single vehicle, with fields and low-lying bushes on both sides. They hadn’t seen a house or any sign of activity since leaving the main road, apart from an information board about a nature reserve.
They took a sharp bend, and there it was. They could see why it was known as the Shore House. It was painted white and built in the style of a typical archipelago manor house from the early 1900s. It was all there: the leaded windows, the glassed-in veranda, the white façade, the ornate blue eaves, the tiled roof. It was in an elevated position on a flat rock. Presumably Olof had had some excavation work done for the original summer cottage.
Even on a gray and windy January day, the view of the sea was fantastic. The skerries and islands were quite close, but the deep channel was well-marked. It reached land around a hundred yards away, where the service marina was located.
The Audi stopped on the drive and Eva jumped out. “You can see why most people arrive by sea,” she said as the three officers joined her.
“Is that what your brother usually did?” Göran asked her.
“Yes. The boat’s moored in the boathouse.” She pointed to a roof that was just visible down below. “Of course it’s out of the water for the winter,” she continued. “It’s over in the boatyard; we’ll go there later.”
While Eva was talking, Embla took the opportunity to fill her lungs with the salty air. The smell of seaweed was strong, but not at all unpleasant.
They headed for the bright-blue front door. On either side of the steps were large concrete pots containing heather and spruce. A sticker on the door informed visitors that the house had an alarm.
“The alarm is just inside the door. The code is zero zero seven six. Olof was a fan of James Bond, hence the first three numbers. And . . . six.”
She smiled, and Embla felt it might be the right time to ask a question that hadn’t seemed appropriate the previous evening.
“Six . . . sex in Swedish. I was wondering . . . did Olof have a girlfriend?”
Eva had inserted the key in the lock, but paused for a moment. “He went on a few dates, but nothing worked out. A few years ago, he told me he’d given up on the idea of a steady relationship. He worked hard and wanted to spend his free time with Kristoffer.”
She turned the key and opened the door. An uninterrupted beep told them the alarm was activated. She keyed in the code and the noise stopped immediately.
“Come on in,” she said.
They took off their coats and hung them on a rack in the hallway. The place was a little chilly and there was a stuffy smell, but Eva showed them how to turn up the heat. There were beautiful rag rugs in white and various shades of blue on the polished floorboards. The kitchen had large windows overlooking the sea. It was ultra-modern, but with old-world appeal. The cupboards were white, as were the big table and chairs—Embla counted ten. The wallpaper was blue and white, and there were more rag rugs on the floor. The chair cushions were also blue. A lovely, fresh nautical theme. Embla felt the need to comment.
“This is fabulous! Olof has . . . had . . . a real flair for this kind of thing.”
Eva nodded. “To be honest, it was Ann who was responsible for the décor both here and at Breidablick. She was an interior designer; that was how they met. He asked her to fix up his office when he moved into the new office block down by the river. I say new, but that was twenty years ago . . .” She sighed. “The years go so fast.”
It was obvious she was talking to herself, and didn’t expect an answer.
She showed them around the place. The big living room had sliding glass doors that led out onto a huge sun terrace. Just as at Breidablick, the fence was made of plexiglass so that the sea view was uninterrupted. At the moment the idea of sitting out there was far from tempting, but it wasn’t hard to ima
gine how wonderful it would be on a warm, sunny day.
On the ground floor there was also a bedroom and a bathroom with blue and white tiles. Next door was a sauna with a separate shower. There were three bedrooms and another bathroom upstairs, plus a furnished landing with a window and glass double doors, beyond which they could see a glassed-in balcony.
“If you take the downstairs room, Hampus and I will camp up here,” Göran said to Embla. She was about to protest, in view of the stairs and his physical bulk, but then she thought it would do him good to go up and down. Involuntary exercise, so to speak. She kept quiet and merely nodded.
They carried in their overnight bags plus the three bags of equipment that were always kept in the Volvo, then they locked the door and accompanied Eva down to the marina. Apparently sailors from all over Bohuslän and southern Norway knew the name Sandgrav Marina, and exactly where it was.
It was an impressive facility, with gas pumps, a grocery store, and a chandlery. A notice informed them the stores would be open on April first, and anyone wishing to order from the chandler before then could do so online. There was a large building on the pontoons out in the water, and they could hear the screech of tools slicing through metal coming from inside it. A slipway ran down into the sea; this was obviously the boatyard Eva had mentioned.
They walked along the wide quayside, which Embla guessed must be almost two hundred yards long. A series of jetties provided berths for boats of different sizes.
“There are no permanent berths; only visitors to the marina are allowed to moor here. The jetty at the far end is for boats in need of repair. As you can hear, the boatyard is open for business. Three men work there all year round—more during the high season. But it doesn’t look as if there’s going to be any ice this year, so they’ll probably be at full stretch by the beginning of March. Olof says . . .”
Eva fell silent and her eyes filled with tears. A combination of grief and the biting wind perhaps. All four were hunched against the gusts blowing in off the lead-gray sea.
“Shall we take a look at the boathouse?” Hampus suggested.
“Good idea.” Eva led the way back to the Shore House, around the patio, and down some steps to a jetty.
The boathouse had the same look as the main building. On the wall hung a fishing net and some green glass floats. Embla had the feeling this was more for decoration than everyday use. In the center of the broad jetty stood a wood-fired hot tub. Needless to say, the cover was on it right now, but again it was easy to imagine sitting in the warm water, gazing out over the sea and the skerries. There was a small deck at the side, and Embla could see a flight of steps leading downward. She went and looked over the fence. The steps provided access to a small inlet with a beautiful sandy shore. The cliffs all around were tall and steep; there was no way someone could clamber down the rock face without climbing equipment. Outsiders would have to come by boat, so in fact this was more or less a private beach for the residents of the Shore House.
She went back to the boathouse, running a hand over the attractive glass floats as she passed.
“I’ve got the key,” Eva said. She unlocked the door and went inside.
A loud thud and a stream of curses made Eva stop dead. She turned and saw Göran Krantz sitting on the wet jetty, clutching one foot, as Embla and Hampus stared at him in horror.
It must really hurt—I’ve never heard him swear before, Embla thought as she rushed over. “What happened?”
“I tripped. I think I’ve sprained my ankle,” he groaned, pointing to a large padlock securing a trapdoor in the jetty.
“Oh my goodness, I forgot to warn you . . . That’s Olof’s lobster trap.” Eva knelt down beside him. Gently she checked the foot and ankle. “Nothing broken, just a sprain. I’ve got a support bandage in the house; we need to go back,” she said firmly.
With the support of Hampus and Embla, Göran managed to make it back to the house. They parked him in a comfortable armchair with a matching footstool.
“I keep a first-aid kit out here,” Eva explained. “Sometimes one of the sailors needs a little help. Of course if it’s anything serious I send them to town.”
She disappeared into the hallway and they heard her rummaging around in a closet. When she came back she carefully removed Göran’s shoe and sock. He couldn’t suppress a groan when she felt his foot. With practiced movements she rubbed in a colorless, odorless gel.
“What’s that?” Göran wanted to know.
“It’s an analgesic, plus it reduces inflammation and swelling. It’s very effective. It contains diclofenac diethylamine.”
The inspector raised an eyebrow. “Of course it does.”
Eva smiled, but didn’t expand on the ingredients of the magic gel. “What’s your shoe size?” she asked.
“Forty-four.”
“Excellent, I have that size.” She chose a support bandage from the small pile she’d brought in with her and slipped it over his foot and ankle. “You need to rest today. You can put some weight on the foot, but don’t attempt to walk far,” she said in a professional tone.
“Do I have to sleep with the bandage on?”
“For tonight, yes, and make sure you keep it on during the day. And take it easy for the next few days.”
“Okay.”
Göran didn’t sound too upset; Eva’s instructions didn’t involve much deviation from his normal lifestyle.
Hampus was standing by the glass doors looking out over the choppy sea. After a while he turned and asked Eva, “Are there any lobster down there now?”
“No. Olof always has a lobster feast at the end of October, and it’s empty from then on. You’re allowed to keep them until May, but he thinks that’s cruel. He fishes for a few weeks from the first day of the season in September, then he has a big party. It’s great.”
“You’re there, too,” Hampus said.
It was more of a statement than a question.
“Yes. I usually take Kristoffer home after a couple of hours. He doesn’t like parties. Too many people. He’d rather be back at Breidablick.”
“Does he spend much time in this house?”
“No. He might come over once or twice in the summer on a really hot day. Which means Olof isn’t here too often either.”
“I suppose it’s not exactly kid-friendly, given how deep the water is,” Göran commented.
Eva smiled, clearly amused. “Actually Kristoffer’s always been a real water baby. He’s won every swimming badge there is. He can’t ride a bike at all, though—his balance is very poor. That’s why Olof wanted him to have an A-tractor; a moped was never an option.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to get back to town to meet with my lawyer.”
She said her goodbyes and hurried out. After a minute or so they heard the Audi start up and drive away.
“I suggest we unpack first, then we can have a coffee and work out what we’re going to do,” Göran said.
“You’d better take the downstairs bedroom,” Embla said, nodding toward his bandaged foot.
He didn’t object.
When all three had settled in to their rooms they divided up the tasks. Embla was to interview Carina Sjöberg, Olof’s ex-wife. According to Eva, she still harbored hostile feelings toward her former husband, but was she angry enough to set fire to the workshop? Maybe, but she could hardly be responsible for Kristoffer’s injures. He had been subjected to a frenzied attack, with real power behind the kicks and blows. It was sheer luck that the boy hadn’t died.
No, Carina couldn’t have assaulted him herself, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t somehow involved in the terrible events at Breidablick. They couldn’t rule out the possibility that she’d paid someone else to carry out the crime.
After several attempts, Embla managed to contact her by phone. Carina tried hard to get out of setting up a meeting on the basis that sh
e and Olof hadn’t spoken since the divorce, but Embla stuck to her guns, pointing out that they still had one thing in common: Evelina. At the mention of their daughter, Carina went quiet, then snapped that she could spare fifteen minutes at eleven-thirty. Which gave Embla exactly thirty-six minutes to get to Strömstad.
Hampus dropped Embla off in the square. She passed the now-familiar police station and continued over the bridge, then turned left and headed toward Skeppsbro Square. Carina Sjöberg lived in one of the apartment blocks.
An elevator whisked Embla to the top floor. Nothing happened when she rang the doorbell next to the name sjöberg. It wasn’t until the third ring that she heard footsteps in the hallway, and the door opened to reveal a tall woman. Her hair was dyed almost black, and cut into a neat bob. Her makeup was perhaps a little too thickly applied, as if she was going to a party, in spite of the fact that it was late morning on a gloomy Thursday in January. Her clothes reinforced the air of forthcoming festivities. She was wearing a bright-red lace dress and black high-heeled shoes. A pearl necklace gleamed at her throat, and one wrist was adorned with several gold bangles. Rings with stones the size of hazelnuts sparkled on both hands. Maybe she really was going to some kind of event?
“Come in,” Carina said before Embla had time to introduce herself. She stepped inside and took off her jacket and boots, then followed Carina into the living room. As expected there was a spectacular view over the water from the west-facing window. A glass door led out onto a generous roof terrace that continued around the corner, overlooking the harbor and town center. She glanced around the apartment before taking a seat on one of the two enormous white sofas facing each other. Beneath the glass coffee table was a dark-blue patterned rug; even Embla realized it must be valuable. She wasn’t usually interested in such things, but this one was exceptionally beautiful. Carina sat down opposite her. The light from the window revealed her age, in spite of her determined attempts to hide it. Embla knew that she and Olof had been the same age.
“I’m going out to lunch at twelve. I assume we’ll be finished by then.”
Winter Grave Page 10
