Winter Grave

by Helene Tursten

  “I’ve just spoken to Willén, and he promised to post a guard outside his hospital room around the clock. He wants another team meeting first thing tomorrow. He’s booked the same room at the town hall, so we can all brief one another and see where we are in each investigation.”

  Hampus nodded. “There’s a lot going on.”

  “You could say that.” Göran gave a theatrical sigh, then clapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s go have dinner. I’ve booked a table at that spa hotel over in Kebalviken.”

  The comparatively new hotel was attractive and luxurious. The foyer was busy with smartly dressed Norwegians, presumably there for the oil industry conference. Embla’s heart leaped when she noticed Nadir Khadem emerging from the elevator with two women who looked as though they were heading for a party. They were chatting with him and laughed at something he said before going off to join a larger group.

  Embla glanced around, then said to Göran and Hampus, “I’m just going to the ladies’ room. I’ll join you in a minute.”

  “We’ll be in the bar,” Göran replied.

  Embla headed toward the elevator; fortunately there was a sign for the restrooms right next to it. She was just a few feet away from Nadir, and as she passed him she caught his eye and smiled.

  “Hi. It’s pretty crowded around here.”

  He returned her smile, and she thought she saw a glint in his eye. “Hi—yes, I think there’s some kind of conference on.”

  Embla continued to the ladies’ room. She waited a few minutes, and when she came out she saw that he was still hovering nearby. To be fair, he was in line at the bar and might not have been waiting for her. But on the bright side, he was chatting with Göran and Hampus. So far everything seemed to be going well.

  Göran spotted her just as it was his turn to order. “What would you like?”

  “Orange juice.”

  He asked for two beers and an orange juice. When he’d paid they went in search of a table, but had to give up. They ended up standing by one of the huge windows, toasting the fact that they were a team once more.

  Embla thought she could hear someone calling Göran’s name above the hum of conversation. She looked around and saw Nadir perched on a barstool. He beckoned them over and said:

  “You seem to be limping—take a seat.”

  He slid off the stool, and Göran didn’t need asking twice. He heaved himself up with some difficulty, and the stool protested beneath his weight but didn’t collapse.

  “Thank you!” he said, raising his glass. The other three politely followed suit, and Embla saw that Nadir was also drinking orange juice. It might be spiked with vodka, of course, but she didn’t think so.

  They chatted about everything except the reason why they were in Strömstad—for obvious reasons. After a while the foyer bar began to empty as people moved into the restaurant.

  “I’m hungry—shall we join them?” Hampus asked.

  “No.”

  Both Hampus and Embla looked at their boss in surprise.

  “No?” Hampus said eventually.

  Göran gave a cunning smile. “The dining room is fully booked, which is why I’ve reserved a table here in the foyer.”

  “Clever!” Embla said.

  “I know!”

  “Damn—I wasn’t that clever,” Nadir said.

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Göran assured him. With a certain amount of grunting and groaning he managed to clamber down from the stool, and the four of them made their way over to a table with a Reserved sign on it.

  The menu looked promising, and Embla chose a seafood salad with homemade bread and aioli. Göran and Hampus opted for the roast beef with potato salad, and after some thought Nadir went for a jumbo prawn sandwich.

  They ate and talked, still without mentioning Ted Andersson or anyone else involved in the case. To her relief Embla discovered that Nadir was pleasant and laid-back. Her colleagues seemed to like him, too, and for some reason, that was important to her. Neither of them was intending to go to bed with him, something she was increasingly determined to do. Her body was making its intentions very clear; this guy was hot. At last—she had almost begun to fear that she’d never feel that way again.

  “So you’re staying overnight,” she said casually.

  “Yes, Ted Andersson is being interviewed first thing in the morning. The hotel had a cancellation at the last minute. I’ve got plenty of paperwork to do,” he replied with a faint smile.

  I guess it’s nice to have some peace and quiet when you’re the father of small children, Embla thought without allowing her mask to slip.

  As the meal progressed she flirted a little with Nadir, and could see that he was interested, although he was trying to hide it from Göran and Hampus. Not that Hampus would have noticed if they’d thrown themselves on the table and started making out. He was in a world of his own most of the time, tapping away distractedly on his cell phone. Göran raised his eyebrows at one point, but said nothing.

  She knew what he was thinking: it wasn’t exactly best practice to embark on an intimate relationship with a suspect’s lawyer. But Embla was far from naïve; she had no intention of discussing the investigation with him. She just wanted to get laid.

  After a while they heard music from the hotel’s nightclub. They’d seen a poster by the entrance: disco time! nostalgia evening 10:00. Since Göran was the only one who’d been alive when disco was at its peak, a discussion broke out about music past and present. His view was that nothing decent had been written since the seventies; house and techno were synthetic crap, while rap wasn’t music at all, “just noise.” These opinions evoked howls of protest from the others, and they had a lively and entertaining conversation.

  “Maybe we should go and see what it’s like to dance to those old tracks?” Nadir suggested.

  “I’ve sprained my ankle.”

  “And I couldn’t think of anything worse,” Hampus said without looking up from his phone.

  Embla was a little concerned. She was the designated driver because she hadn’t consumed any alcohol, which meant she couldn’t stay behind with Nadir. She tried to swallow her disappointment, but that didn’t go well.

  At that moment Göran’s phone rang. He glanced at the display before answering. “Hi, Paula.” He nodded and made various noises of agreement, then said, “Good. Can you pick me and Hampus up from the spa hotel in Kebalviken? Great.”

  Me and Hampus? Embla was confused, but a little seed of hope began to grow. Was she going to be able to stay after all?

  “I asked Paula to pick up Ted Andersson’s laptop. She’s got it in the car, and she’s coming to collect the two of us. She’ll drive us back to Sandgrav.”

  He got to his feet with some difficulty, and he and Hampus said their goodbyes before heading for the door.

  When they’d disappeared into the darkness, Nadir looked at Embla. There was definitely a glint in his eyes now, and she could feel her heart racing.

  “Would you like to come up and see my etchings? I’m sure there must be at least one in my room,” he said with a little smile.

  At that moment Embla couldn’t think of anything she’d like more.

  The 176 was deserted. The full moon appeared intermittently between the dark clouds scudding across the sky. The car radio was playing quietly, and Embla hummed along to Darin’s “Nobody Knows.” An appropriate song, but she could tell Göran wasn’t fooled.

  She felt as if a whole lot of internal knots had been untied. It was actually easier to breathe. A quiet, harmonious glow had spread through her body, and for the first time in months she was completely at ease with herself. The recollection of her encounter with Nadir made her smile into the darkness.

  They had hardly gotten through the door of his hotel room before they started to undress—or rather rip each other’s clothes off. She had be
en slightly surprised to discover that he was just as horny as she was, but only for a fraction of a second until lust swept everything from her mind.

  They were like two perfectly matched dancers, each knowing instinctively what the other wanted.

  Afterward they lay together for a while, her head resting on his chest. He stroked her hair, allowing the strands to run through his fingers.

  “Embla . . .” He fell silent.

  This is where he tells me he’s married and this was a one-off, Embla thought, with an unexpected pang of disappointment. However, he didn’t say anything else for a while; he just carried on stroking her back and her hair. When he cleared his throat, she unconsciously braced herself.

  “We can . . . get together again. If you want to.”

  She couldn’t hide her relief. “Absolutely.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Will you still be here?”

  “Yes.”

  One more evening. She was more than grateful for what had just happened; another was a welcome bonus.

  “I bought something in the spa shop,” he said suddenly. Gently he moved her head and got out of bed. He walked over to the desk and picked up a small white paper bag as Embla admired his muscular legs. His running gear was draped over the chair, with his sneakers underneath it. He’d told her he’d done two marathons, Stockholm and Minneapolis. Apparently he had relatives both there and in New York. He reached into the bag and took out a little bottle.

  “Massage oil.”

  He came and sat on the end of the bed. He tipped a few drops of oil into the palm of his hand, then began to massage her with firm, caressing movements.

  Friday’s early meeting took place in the town hall, in the same room as last Wednesday’s briefing. This time there were significantly more officers in attendance; reinforcements had been brought in from the National Crime Unit in Stockholm in the hunt for Viktor Jansson’s killer. Embla noticed that Sven-Ove Berglund was still out sick. It must have been something serious—a heart problem, rumor suggested—which meant a heavier responsibility lay on the shoulders of Acting Chief Superintendent Roger Willén. He stood there straight-backed in his impeccable uniform, his blue shirt freshly ironed. Who took care of that kind of thing? Did he have a wife or someone else at home, or did he do it himself? Embla realized she didn’t know a thing about his personal life, which was a little strange given how closely they’d worked together during the events of the previous fall. Then again, maybe not. VGM had never been part of the regular team, but had always worked as a separate external resource.

  Willén began by informing everyone that he’d spoken to the doctors responsible for treating Kristoffer Sjöberg at the hospital. They had reluctantly agreed to bring their patient out of his induced coma.

  “His aunt, Eva Sjöberg, will be there. She’s his next of kin and a trained nurse. I’ve also asked for a police presence, and I’d like VGM to take care of that. Okay?”

  He looked at Göran, who nodded.

  “Good. They’ll be bringing him around this morning. I don’t think it will be possible to question him right away, but maybe in a few hours?”

  Willén moved on to the CCTV footage from the gas station, which elicited a murmur of approval. Ted Andersson wasn’t going to get away with this. But why was Johannes Holm with him? He wasn’t known as a bad guy. And who else was in the car? Willén asked the locally based officers to try to come up with possible names. They were probably looking at one or more associates of Andersson, possibly Holm as well.

  Patrik Lind was sitting not far down the table from Embla, whispering to an older colleague from Strömstad. The other man was speaking a little more loudly, and she heard him say that he could understand the fathers’ frustration and that he didn’t know how he would have acted under the circumstances.

  “That Sjöberg kid has always been weird. My daughter went to junior high with him. Like I said, weird. I bet he took Amelie, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he took Viggo, too,” he said.

  The online trolls and the gutter press have done a good job, Embla thought.

  The hunt for Viggo was still ongoing, it was day five now, and no trace of the boy had been found. There was an air of resignation about the team responsible for organizing the search. The parallels with Amelie’s disappearance were all too evident. The theory that both children had been abducted and were no longer in the area had been put forward on a number of occasions, but online investigations and contact with other police regions had produced nothing, apart from the fact that Oslo had uncovered a new pedophile ring previously unknown to them, with branches in Bergen, Gothenburg, Trondheim, and Copenhagen.

  The team looking into the murder of Viktor Jansson also seemed somewhat disheartened. They had been unable to secure leads at the scene of the crime because the dogs and their owners had trampled over everything in sight. The pouring rain had also helped to destroy any possible footprints or tire tracks in the thin layer of earth and gravel covering the tarmac in the tiny parking lot. Nor was there any sign of the murder weapon. The forensic pathologist had said they were looking for a blunt, heavy object; the force of the blows had killed Viktor.

  Willén was about to summarize the situation when there was a loud knock on the impressive double doors, and a very stylish gray-haired lady wearing a pale-gray skirt suit and black boots came in. She looked straight at the chief superintendent through the thick lenses of her glasses, which made her eyes look unnaturally large.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a call for you. You all have your cell phones switched off in here . . . I was asked to get a hold of Chief Superintendent Willén as quickly as possible—it’s extremely urgent!” she said, stressing the last two words.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  For a moment he seemed unsure what to do, then he made up his mind.

  “Stay here—I’ll go and see what it’s about.”

  He hurried out of the room and everyone started talking at once, speculating about what might have happened. Had one of the children been found? Or maybe both?

  Göran leaned over to Embla and Hampus. “The three of us will have a chat with Ted and Johannes again before you go to the hospital,” he said.

  Just then Willén returned. His cheeks were flushed, his expression tense. “That was the head of the fire investigation unit at Breidablick,” he said once the conversation had died down. “They found an old toolbox in the trunk of one of the cars outside the workshop. One of the technicians decided to open it this morning, and inside he found a small battery-powered candle. The kind children carry in the Lucia procession.”

  At first there was a deathly silence, then the chatter broke out again.

  “I knew it! It was that weirdo Sjöberg!” the older colleague from Strömstad shouted. He underlined his words by raising his hand to high-five Patrik Lind.

  They decided to start with Johannes Holm. Jasmin Carell, his lawyer, arrived an hour after she’d been contacted. She was wearing the same skirt suit as the previous day, but had added a pair of elegant black boots. As she walked by leaving a faint trail of fresh perfume, Embla suddenly felt short and dumpy. She measured five foot eight in her stocking feet, so she knew perfectly well that she wasn’t, but there was something about the slender woman in high heels that made her feel that way.

  Someone who appeared to have shrunk noticeably during the night was Johannes Holm. He was stooping and his head was down as Alice Åslund brought him into the room. He was still in the same clothes he’d been wearing when he was arrested—jeans and a long-sleeved gray cotton top. The dark circles around his puffy eyes indicated that he hadn’t slept much, if at all. As soon as he sank down on the chair, Embla knew he wouldn’t be able to stand up to any pressure. The arrangement was the same as before: Göran and Hampus opposite Johannes and his lawyer, with Embla standing by the door.

  After going throug
h the formalities for the tape, Göran said, “Johannes, you’re not known for being a violent guy. I’ve spoken to a number of local officers, and they can’t understand why you’re on the CCTV footage from the gas station. What actually happened on Sunday evening?”

  Johannes kept his head down and made no attempt to answer.

  Göran leaned across the table and said slowly and clearly, “Olof Sjöberg died in that fire, and his son was lucky to survive. Arson with intent to endanger life, assault, possibly attempted homicide in Kristoffer’s case. Extremely serious crimes.”

  Jasmin Carell looked as if she was about to say something, but Johannes preempted her by half-getting to his feet.

  “You don’t understand! If I say anything . . .”

  His voice broke and he began to sob uncontrollably. Slowly he sank back down onto the chair and buried his face in his hands. His bony shoulders shook. Göran and Hampus exchanged a quick glance. Hampus nodded almost imperceptibly, then turned to Johannes.

  “Are you scared of Ted?”

  At first it seemed as if Johannes hadn’t heard the question, but after a moment he looked up. Jasmin quickly produced a packet of tissues, which Johannes took, his gaze still fixed on Hampus. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Hampus’s expression was sympathetic behind those round glasses.

  “Ted is used to interviews like this. He knows if he blames you, he’ll get a lighter sentence. But these crimes are so serious that you’ll both go down for at least ten years if you refuse to tell the truth,” he said.

  At that moment Johannes’s face cleared and he appeared to be more present. When he spoke, the words came out as a hoarse whisper. “But . . . it wasn’t me.”

  “In that case you need to tell us what really happened, otherwise it’s your word against his.”

  Hampus was good, there was no doubt about it. He made it sound as if Ted had already started blaming the whole thing on Johannes.

  “I can’t go to jail and leave Maria alone with Julien! And then there’s Amelie . . .” His voice failed him again, but he struggled to regain his composure. He blew his nose once more, then swallowed hard. “Me and Ted . . . we hung out together in school, and he always got his way.”