Winter Grave

by Helene Tursten

  The voice was dry and hoarse, as if she smoked too much. The deep lines around her mouth and eyes told the same story. Embla could see through the bored expression she’d adopted right away. She’d been to drama school in Gothenburg and had learned quite a bit about body language. Arms folded, legs crossed, one foot constantly bobbing up and down. Carina was nervous.

  “I hope so, but if not we can always continue the conversation down at the police station. That interview would be conducted by Chief Superintendent Roger Willén.”

  Embla kept her tone pleasant, but she could feel the tension around her mouth. Admittedly she’d left “acting” out of the chief superintendent’s title, plus the fact that he was no longer in Strömstad and had gone back to Trollhättan, but there was no need for Carina to know that.

  She looked as if she’d just bitten into something very sour, then swallowed it with a concerted effort. “Right.”

  Embla began by asking when Carina had last seen Olof or Kristoffer. Carina informed her that she never saw either of them; they had no contact whatsoever. How long had she and Olof been married? Twenty years, and it was twenty years since the divorce. Evelina was married with two children, and lived in Australia.

  “Will she be coming home?”

  “Yes. I think it’s important for her to . . . protect her interests.”

  The response was grudging; she clearly thought it had nothing to do with the police.

  Even though she already knew the answer, Embla asked, “Did she and Olof get along well?”

  “No. He abandoned both of us for that . . . woman!”

  In spite of the fact that the woman in question had been dead for ten years, and now Olof was dead, too, Carina made no attempt to disguise the venom.

  “Did he just kick you out? Leave you with nothing?” Embla tried to sound sympathetic.

  The red flush on Carina’s cheeks glowed through the makeup. Embla’s question took her by surprise, and she mumbled something unintelligible.

  “Sorry? I didn’t hear what you said.”

  Carina took a deep breath. “He had to pay his dues! Evelina was still in school, and I didn’t earn much at the gallery.”

  The gallery—that explained all the paintings on the walls. Embla glanced around the luxuriously furnished room. Three doors, so at least three more rooms.

  “Did you have a falling-out?”

  Carina glared at her. “What do you think! He let us down, both me and Evelina! After everything I’d done for him . . . I gave up my education to support him!”

  Anger burned in her eyes, and the red flush had spread to her throat. She’s absolutely furious, Embla thought. But all this happened a very long time ago, and she certainly hasn’t been short on money.

  As if she could read Embla’s mind, Carina straightened up and took a couple of deep breaths. Her voice was much more controlled when she spoke. “This isn’t about money. It’s about betrayal. The way he walked all over me. Everything we’d built up together—none of it mattered. I’ll never forgive him! Never!”

  “Not even now that he’s dead?” Embla asked quietly.

  “No! Never!”

  Implacable hatred. But had it been enough for her to hire someone to kill Olof and his son? Did she think her daughter was going to inherit a fortune? Embla remembered what Eva had said: the finances were tied up in the businesses Kristoffer would take over when he was eighteen. He and Evelina would receive “four or five million” each. That sounded like a lot to Embla—maybe worth killing for? Could Carina get her hands on the money? She might need it; her lifestyle was clearly expensive.

  “Do you still own the gallery?”

  “No, I sold it and invested in the stock market. And I got it right. Don’t imagine Olof was generous when it came to the alimony. Okay, he fixed up this apartment, but that was mainly for Evelina’s sake. He covered the rental and maintenance for her.”

  “But he’s carried on paying your alimony since Evelina moved away?”

  Carina pursed her lips. “It’s only fair. The court said he had to go on paying until I die,” she said eventually.

  That sounded like an American divorce. Carina must have had a good lawyer, and Olof probably wasn’t represented by Charlotta Stark back then. She never would have allowed her client to go along with such an unfavorable arrangement.

  “So what happens now that he’s dead?”

  “It doesn’t make a difference. I still get my money.”

  For the first time the hint of a smile played around that mean little mouth.

  The Thai restaurant was past the Laholm Hotel, opposite the quay for the ferries to North and South Koster. The service was infrequent at this time of year. The only disturbance came from a group of gulls, screaming as they fought over something in the water. Given what she knew about their eating habits, Embla was pretty sure she didn’t want to find out what it was.

  Even though it was well after lunchtime, they weren’t alone in the small dining room. There were a number of guests, many of them speaking Norwegian. The food wasn’t cheap, but it was well worth the price. It was easy to see why the place was so popular.

  They had chosen a corner table, and spoke quietly. The tables were close together—it wouldn’t be hard to eavesdrop. Their nearest neighbors were two elderly Norwegian couples. You had to admire their vitality; it was only just after two, and they were already more than a little tipsy. From the fragments of their conversation she picked up, Embla gathered that one couple owned an apartment in the town, and were trying to persuade their friends to buy one, too. Their lively debate and loud laughter provided excellent cover for the three detectives.

  “The guys who checked out the CCTV cameras did a good job,” Göran said. “Not only did they spot an SUV heading south on Uddevallavägen just before eleven on Sunday night, they found something even better.”

  He opened up his laptop and switched it on. He clicked on a video clip and turned the screen toward his colleagues. The black-and-white film, taken at a gas station, was jerky. In spite of the lack of color it was possible to see that the SUV was probably black or dark blue. A blond man in jeans and a leather jacket got out and walked around to the trunk. He opened it, took out a petrol can, and closed it again. Another man climbed out of the passenger seat. He was tall and skinny, wearing jeans and a thick padded jacket with a fur-trimmed hood. He turned and spoke to someone in the back seat. It was impossible to see whether there was more than one person in the vehicle. Then he wandered over to the kiosk; he seemed to be having some difficulty walking in a straight line. Meanwhile the blond guy filled the gas can and replaced it in the trunk. He got back in the car and waited for the tall man, who reappeared after a moment or two. He was about to open the passenger door when he dropped a cigarette packet. His clumsy movements as he attempted to pick it up showed just how drunk he was. He half-fell into the car, which sped away with a screech of tires. The time on the screen was 9:57.

  “Ted Andersson and Johannes Holm,” Hampus said.

  “Are you sure?” Embla asked. She hadn’t met Viggo’s and Amelie’s fathers.

  “I spoke to both of them earlier today. It’s definitely them.”

  Göran nodded. “Correct. Andersson owns a black Lexus RX 300, which is the one we can see in the video. You might have noticed that he filled the can with diesel, while his Lexus runs on gas.”

  “That’s . . . Diesel is the accelerant most frequently used in arson attacks. It’s not as volatile as ordinary gas.” Hampus couldn’t hide his anger.

  “Exactly. And bearing in mind what you told me in the car about what Ted said and how he behaved . . .”

  Göran broke off as the young waitress came over to clear their plates. All three of them said how much they’d enjoyed their meal, and she looked delighted.

  “Two coffees, one white, one black, and a cup of green tea, plea
se. And three truffles,” Göran said.

  “Truffles? Are we celebrating something?” Embla wanted to know when the waitress had gone.

  “Absolutely. I’ve just had Andersson and Holm brought in. They’re waiting for us in separate rooms at the station. And they can sit there and sweat a while longer. I’m convinced they were responsible for the fire at Breidablick and the attack on Kristoffer. We don’t know if they were aware that Olof was in the workshop, but we’ll find out.”

  The waitress returned and served their drinks with a practiced hand. The truffles looked delicious, topped with crushed licorice and a raspberry.

  “Thank you so much,” Göran said, smiling warmly at the young woman.

  She gave him a radiant smile in return, and there was something of a glow about the superintendent as he focused on the matter at hand once more.

  “Ted has two convictions for the possession of cannabis: the first at the age of sixteen, the second at eighteen. The quantity was relatively small in both cases, but too much to be regarded as for personal use only. He was referred to the local rehab team the first time, and given a community service sentence the second. He was on the fringes of a gang that dabbled in a variety of activities. The three leaders were caught breaking into a fancy house near the Svinesund Bridge. All three were from the Strömstad area, but none of them mentioned Ted when they were questioned.”

  “Are they still around?” Hampus asked.

  “No—things didn’t go too well for any of them. Two of them are in jail serving long sentences for dealing. The third was released almost a year ago and now lives in Stockholm. Ted does appear twice more in the database; on both occasions he beat someone up while he was under the influence of alcohol.”

  “So he’s aggressive,” Embla said.

  “Yes, especially when he’s had a few drinks. However, the last time was almost seven years ago. Since he met Pernilla and Viggo came along, he’s kept his nose clean. Got himself a house and a steady job. He’s had two speeding fines, but he was lucky. Both times he was just under the limit for losing his license. Apart from that, nothing.”

  “Until now,” Hampus said.

  “Exactly.”

  “How old is he?” Embla asked.

  “Thirty-five—the same age as Johannes Holm.”

  “Does Holm have a record?”

  “He and a pal stole a moped when they were fifteen. The other kid got away, but Johannes refused to tell the cops who he was. Johannes was referred to social services because he was a juvenile. He was also involved in one of the fights when Ted was charged with assault. Apparently there was some beef between two gangs in a bar. Ted beat the crap out of one of the guys, but Johannes had his nose broken. That was seventeen years ago.”

  Hampus ran his fingers through his dark quiff several times, a sure sign that he was thinking hard. With his hair standing on end, he gazed thoughtfully at Göran through his Harry Potter glasses.

  “Something tells me Ted was the pal who stole the moped. It sounds like the classic setup: the leader and his sidekick,” he said.

  “Yes—and we can exploit that.”

  They decided to start with Ted Andersson. He was probably the harder nut to crack, because he’d been questioned by the police before. He had made the most of his right to remain silent even as a teenager, but on a few occasions the interviewer had managed to make him lose his temper, and he’d blurted out things he hadn’t meant to say. So the best strategy was good cop/bad cop, as long as the good cop wasn’t too nice.

  An hour later Patrik Lind and Alice Åslund collected Ted Andersson and escorted him to Sven-Ove Berglund’s office, which was free because the chief inspector was still sick. Göran and Hampus sat behind the desk, and opposite them was Andersson’s defense attorney, a man in his thirties who’d introduced himself as Nadir Khadem. In the middle of the table lay a small tape recorder. Embla positioned herself by the door.

  Ted Andersson’s face was bright red when he was brought in. His lips were clamped together, and he glared at Göran and Hampus as he slumped down on the chair. He was slightly above medium height, and well-built. Judging by his belly, however, they could see he put away a fair amount of beer as well. His dirty curly hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead, but his eyes were bright blue, his features pleasingly regular. He turned and gave Embla a scornful smile and a meaningful look, licking his lips slowly. She unconsciously pursed her lips. Once upon a time he might have been an attractive guy, but now he was pretty repulsive in his smelly shirt and scruffy jeans. His upper lip was beaded with perspiration, too. There was something of the worn-out has-been about him. He had definitely lost his appeal.

  His lawyer, on the other hand . . . A strong face with well-defined cheekbones and a firm chin, honey-brown eyes, and thick eyelashes. His dark hair was cut short. His best feature was his mouth. His smile reached his eyes. He was wearing a black jacket, pale-blue shirt without a tie, and dark-blue designer jeans. No doubt his shoes were also some exclusive brand; they were super smart. To her surprise, Embla felt a little pull in her lower belly that spread downward. Nothing like this had happened since that fatal moose hunt last year, when she had been seriously assaulted by a man. Men and sex had held no attraction since then, but now she was turned on by a total stranger she hadn’t even spoken to. She’d experienced something similar from time to time over the years, but never in circumstances like this.

  Hampus went through the formalities for the tape, while Göran kept his gaze fixed on Ted’s face. Ted stared back defiantly, his eyes burning with suppressed rage. Or was it fear?

  “So, Ted. You’re not exactly unfamiliar with police interviews, but this time we’re dealing with considerably more serious matters than in the past,” Göran began.

  No response. He was asked where he’d been Sunday evening: silence. Who he had spent time with on Sunday evening: nothing.

  “The fact that you’re refusing to answer our questions isn’t a point in your favor, especially as we know where you were and what you were doing,” Göran said.

  “Where’s your evidence?” Nadir Khadem interjected.

  Hampus clicked on his laptop. “We have CCTV footage.” He turned the computer to face Ted and his lawyer.

  “Please note that the can is being filled with diesel. Your Lexus runs on ordinary gas,” Göran pointed out.

  Ted began to shuffle uncomfortably as he watched. When the final image appeared, he leaped to his feet. At first it looked as if he was intending to grab the laptop, but he changed his mind and spun around. He narrowed his eyes and yelled at Embla, “Out of the way, you fucking cunt!” He hurled himself at the door, but she was ready for him. A well-aimed kick between his legs stopped him dead. He let out a muffled groan and doubled over. The uppercut with her right fist came from below. It wasn’t too hard, but it landed perfectly on his chin. He collapsed on the floor and lay there moaning.

  Patrik Lind, who was stationed in the corridor, flung open the door. “What the hell . . . ?” He fell silent when he saw Ted.

  “Handcuffs please,” Embla said, holding out her hand.

  Patrik gave them to her without another word. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ted, who started cursing and threatening Embla as she secured his wrists.

  “That was . . . I mean . . . Wow!” the lawyer exclaimed. He couldn’t hide the admiration in his voice, which made him even more attractive. However, Embla wasn’t entirely happy with the course of events.

  “That was a tactical error, Ted. You just tried to force your way past the reigning Nordic light welterweight champion. Didn’t go too well, did it?” Hampus kept his tone neutral, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.

  “Police . . . police violence!” Ted spat.

  “Go ahead and try that—the interview is being filmed.” Göran sounded bored.

  Embla was surprised—was the interview really b
eing filmed? Where was the camera?

  “We’ll take a break—my client needs time to recover,” Khadem stated firmly.

  As Ted Andersson was led back to the custody suite by Patrik Lind and Alice Åslund, Khadem turned to Göran.

  “I’d appreciate if this . . . incident . . . wasn’t blown out of proportion. Ted is very agitated, off balance. His young son is still missing, and of course the little girl’s disappearance is always in the back of his mind. I’ll have a word with him.”

  His smile included all three officers in the room. Embla’s stomach did a somersault. This guy had her hormones popping.

  “Is the interview being filmed?” she asked when the door had closed behind him.

  “No, there are no cameras in here. I just said that to cool him down,” Göran replied with a smirk.

  Before they questioned Johannes Holm, Embla went out into the corridor and googled Nadir Khadem. Iranian parents, all three of their children were born in Sweden. Nadir was the eldest. His mother was a well-known Persian poet, and his father was a doctor. They’d lived in Gothenburg since the late 1970s. After qualifying as a lawyer, Nadir had pursued his career with single-minded determination. He was currently employed by a large law firm in Gothenburg. Aged thirty-two, married to Soraya. One daughter, Jila, almost three years old.

  It was unfortunate that he was married, but not a disaster. Quite the reverse: Embla wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship. A little no-strings sex with handsome Nadir would suit her very well.

  Johannes Holm radiated as much energy as a wrung-out dishcloth. The dark circles around his eyes looked like bruises on his sallow skin. We don’t need to worry about any violence or escape attempts, Embla thought. This guy’s already broken. As if in response to her unspoken assessment, he began to weep quietly.

  His lawyer was a young woman by the name of Jasmin Carell. Embla had checked her out, too, and knew she was half African American and had grown up in Sweden with her Swedish mother. She worked for one of the biggest law firms in Uddevalla. She was certainly beautiful, with long dark hair and perfectly chiseled features. She was tall and slim, and wore her discreet navy-blue skirt suit in a way that would grace any catwalk. Her heritage seemed like a quirk of fate; her skin color was very similar to Amelie’s. And Elliot’s. Embla smiled to herself when she thought of him.