by Sten, Viveca
“You were there the whole time?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, of course. Except when I went to the bathroom.”
“Could you see Juliander’s boat from where you sat?”
“Absolutely. We could see the whole starting lineup.”
“How far were you from Juliander’s boat?”
She studied her manicured nails.
“Maybe seventy, eighty yards. Maybe one hundred. It’s hard for me to say for sure.”
“Do you remember anything else?” Margit asked.
“Oscar was placed well. I remember that. I was admiring the entire starting line, however. That’s what we were there to see, after all. Those big racing yachts are so beautiful.”
“When did you realize what had happened?” asked Margit.
Isabelle von Hahne took another sip of water. Her brow tightened with concern.
“It was probably when the Emerald Gin rounded off and stopped sailing.”
“What did you do then?” asked Margit.
“Axel turned the boat around so we could get closer and see what was happening. Then made his way to the police boat nearby. You were on board, weren’t you?”
She looked at Thomas, who nodded.
“What were you thinking then?” asked Margit.
“What was I thinking?” Isabelle said. She put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand.
Thomas watched her closely.
“I really don’t know,” she said. “I probably thought that something had broken on board the Emerald Gin. A rudder or a sail. Something that made it impossible for the boat to compete.”
She straightened up and looked right at Thomas.
“Not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined someone shot Oscar.”
CHAPTER 11
Cognac spilled slowly from the heavy Martell bottle into the crystal glass. Martin Nyrén placed the bottle back in the bar cabinet. After a day filled with telephone calls to RSYC colleagues and acquaintances, he deserved a strong drink.
As the head of the Facilities Committee, it was his job to call each member of the committee to inform them of Oscar Juliander’s death. Thanks to the media, the news did not come as a surprise. Still, a personal call was good form.
Martin Nyrén shivered. What kind of sick mind would dream up something like this? Who would shoot someone to death in his happiest moment?
Now he regretted not taking his vacation on July 1, like most of his colleagues. He’d thought it would be pleasant to remain a few more weeks after the tumult had quieted down. Plus, it was always best to have someone from the board on hand until the middle of July. Not much happened at the National Board of Trade during the summer, but you never knew . . .
At any rate, it was now too late.
His sailboat, a stylish Omega 36 with a white hull, waited for him at Bullandö Marina. The boat was the apple of his eye, and he would be able to get it soon. He would sail it alone if no friends or relatives wanted to keep him company.
He took a hefty swig of cognac. The warm amber liquid spread through his body, and he started to relax.
Holding the cognac, he walked into his home office—more of an alcove by the bedroom—and turned on his computer. He’d purchased this three-room apartment in the Birkastaden District in the early nineties, and he liked it. Real-estate prices had been low then, so even a government bureaucrat could afford to buy an apartment in the center of the capital.
He swiveled the glass between his hands as he thought about Juliander. He didn’t have much to do with Oscar, except for the board meetings, of course. The Facilities Committee was not as glamorous as Juliander’s Offshore Racing Committee.
Nyrén’s duties involved managing the club’s various properties and making sure they were properly kept up. His committee oversaw the maintenance of the docks and the buildings. It wasn’t very exciting work, but it suited him.
The computer screen blinked on, and Martin Nyrén made a few quick keystrokes to check his mail. As a government employee, he was careful to not receive private e-mail at work, since all incoming mail was considered an official document. Because of his relationship with Indi, he’d installed an extra security screen on his private computer.
He took a quick glance at his in-box. He found nothing but ads, except for a message from his brother wondering when they’d get together for a week of sailing. He also read an official memo from the government office telling employees about Oscar’s death.
He shivered as he thought about the gunshot.
Dreadful.
He scrolled down the list of messages. Nothing from Indi today either. Most likely the family was in the country. Not so easy to send a message to a secret lover, Nyrén realized. Still, he was disappointed. Even a short message would please him. He considered sending a text message, but it was late and a text might draw too much attention. Someone else might see it. Someone who had to be kept in the dark. No matter what.
That had been the one condition of the affair. Nonnegotiable.
If their love were revealed, the consequences would be unimaginable. Indi was vigilant. The family must not be affected. The children came first.
Martin turned off his computer and sighed. He hated these weeks of vacation when everyone else spent time with relatives and friends. Vacation meant a long string of barbecues no one truly wanted to attend. Half of the couples at these events politely lifted their glasses to one another while thinking about someone they were seeing on the side.
After observing all these seemingly happy couples, he was glad he’d never married. He’d rather be single for the rest of his life than live a lie. It was better to wait for an honest e-mail than to participate in a hypocritical marriage.
He downed his cognac and went to pour himself another glass.
TUESDAY, THE FIRST WEEK
CHAPTER 12
As soon as his eyes opened, Thomas was wide awake. He lay on the edge of the double bed that dominated the corner of Carina’s small studio apartment in Jarlaberg, not far from the Nacka police station.
Carina was rolled up in a tight ball on the left side of the bed. Her dark hair covered half of her face. Her dimples were invisible when she slept. She looked more like a teenager than a twenty-five-year-old woman.
They were fourteen years apart in age, a gap that seemed much greater at times. The youth and enthusiasm that had first drawn him to her now made him feel old. He was closer to forty than to thirty. Before long, he’d be middle aged.
Looking back, he was no longer sure how this relationship with Carina Persson, the boss’s daughter, had begun. He hadn’t chased her. In fact she wasn’t really his type, if he had any type at all.
His ex-wife, Pernilla, had been tall and thin like him. They’d met at a pub one evening while he was out with some friends from the police academy. They’d started hanging out after that. She’d studied at Berghs School of Communication and then taken a job as a project leader at an advertising firm. They’d finished their studies at the same time. They’d moved in together shortly after that and gotten married. The only thing missing had been a child.
They’d tried for years to conceive, deciding finally to join the wait for artificial insemination. Before they’d reached their turn in line, the miracle had happened.
He remembered the magical moment when Pernilla had held a stick with two blue lines in her shaking hand. It had seemed so incomprehensible. Finally, finally—a small life was taking shape in her womb.
Then the catastrophe. They couldn’t deal with it. Everything they’d waited for, everything they’d hoped for—all gone. If Emily hadn’t died from SIDS, perhaps they’d still be married, but grief and guilt had destroyed their marriage. They’d divorced almost two years ago.
For a long time, he couldn’t look at another woman. His long-time friend Nora kept trying to match him up with various single friends, but he had no interest. He felt only indifference.
Carina was always at the police station. She
’d had to put in a massive amount of overtime during their murder investigation last summer. She never complained, even when the days were long. She’d worked through endless lists and compilations in their hunt for information.
One day she’d invited him to lunch. After a few lunches, she’d suggested dinner. After that, they’d gone to the movies. One thing led to another, and now he slept at her place several days a week.
Thomas looked over at her.
She didn’t resemble her fat father in the least. She didn’t have his bad moods either. She was cute as a button, petite with dark hair and a nice figure.
Thomas insisted they keep their relationship quiet at the station. He didn’t want his colleagues to know, and certainly not her parents. Carina had gone along with this so far, but she was beginning to question the secrecy. She planned to leave her job at the station soon. Then they would no longer be colleagues.
He felt like an alien in her apartment. It was a feminine place with fluffy, embroidered pillows scattered about and a light-blue sofa, a color he’d never have chosen. It looked more like a girl’s bedroom than an adult’s apartment.
What was he doing here with a woman who was so much younger—not just in body but also in soul?
He didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or flattered that a woman her age wanted him. Perhaps he was unwilling to face the situation—the thrill of infatuation was fading, leaving no deeper feelings behind.
Nora might have understood, but she’d had so much to think about the last year. She’d always known what he felt before he did, like a little sister.
This special friendship with Nora had existed for a long time. Pernilla had never questioned it, unlike Nora’s husband, Henrik. But Thomas and Henrik had never been close.
From the start, Thomas had seen Henrik as a spoiled, upper-class medical student. But Nora had fallen in love with him, and Henrik had reined in his worst behavior. Later, Thomas had figured out how to handle Henrik, but they’d never been comfortable around each other. These days, he often met Nora alone, or together with Simon, Nora’s youngest boy. Simon was also his godson, and Thomas was very fond of him.
Thomas glanced at his alarm clock. It would be twenty minutes before it went off, but it seemed already bright as midday outside. Carina’s white curtains let in more light than they kept out.
As Thomas rolled onto his back, his thoughts turned to the investigation. Obviously Oscar Juliander was a strong, virile man who liked the company of women. This meant that both his wife and his lovers had reason to kill him. Or why not some cuckolded husband? Jealousy was a powerful motive.
On the other hand, why would a wife get rid of the husband who provided everything for her? Apparently she’d put up with his extramarital affairs for years, so why would she take such drastic revenge on this particular day?
Regardless, they needed to talk to his wife as soon as possible. Thomas hoped she’d recovered enough to speak with them. Last Sunday, in Sandhamn, she’d not been capable of dealing with anything, and her doctor had not allowed them to interview her.
Thomas thought about the client list the law firm had provided. They’d handled hundreds of bankruptcies in the past few years. Juliander must have made a fortune. How he’d found the time to juggle work, women, and sailing was another question.
Thomas decided he’d assign Carina to check Juliander’s bank accounts. Money often revealed motive. He wondered if lawyers were generally honest, or if they simply hid illegal funds better since they knew how to work the system.
Thomas glanced at his alarm clock again. Time to get out of bed and take a shower. First on today’s list: a visit to the Kalling law firm.
CHAPTER 13
Nora stared at her cell phone. The message in her voice mail was painfully clear, yet she didn’t want to admit what it meant. The man from the Outer Islands Real Estate Agency said he would be in Sandhamn the next day to appraise the property. Would someone be there to meet him on the steamboat landing?
The property had to be the Brand house! Henrik must have gone behind her back and contacted an agent without speaking to her first. She didn’t want to believe that, but who else could have arranged such a meeting?
Nora sank into her wicker chair on the glass-enclosed veranda. The Mårbacka geraniums crowded the windowsill, though the pots were dry. The sun had shined on them all morning, and they needed watering.
How could Henrik do such a thing?
She let her gaze drift out the windows toward the Brand house. The building towered over theirs, standing on the hill just a stone’s throw away. She could almost smell the roses growing along the outer wall. Aunt Signe had loved those roses like children.
Last fall, Nora had declined a dream job in Malmö as the bank’s regional lawyer. Henrik did not want to leave Stockholm.
After what she’d been through last summer, it hadn’t been difficult to refuse the offer. She’d felt fragile and depressed. Henrik had even urged her to keep her old job at the bank’s central law office. “You’re not up to a big change right now,” he’d said. “You need rest first.”
As she slowly began to regain her balance during the winter, she wondered why Henrik assumed his job was more important and that the family should remain in Stockholm. Couldn’t he follow her for once? Why was there so little room for her own ambitions?
If Henrik had been offered an exciting position in another city, moving vans would be pulling up to the door.
Declining the job had left a thorn inside her that wouldn’t go away. It pricked at her. No matter how much she tried to reason with herself, neither facts nor logic eased her discontent. It was difficult to accept remaining at the same job with the same overbearing, incompetent boss—a constant reminder why the job offer in Malmö had made her so happy.
She stood up and plucked a few yellowing leaves from the geraniums. She couldn’t avoid confronting Henrik about this message. She already dreaded asking the question.
She went into the kitchen to prepare lunch for the boys. Swedish cultured sour milk, cornflakes, and cheese sandwiches. She didn’t have the energy to make anything else. Sometimes, it seemed that summer vacation was nothing more than a food preparation marathon. Between making breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks, there was not much time left for her to enjoy vacation.
As usual, Henrik was down at the docks working on his boat, a six-meter class that he raced at every opportunity during the summer. It would be hours before he’d be home.
Nora decided to bring up the question in a quiet moment. They’d already fought a lot this past winter, and she had no desire to start their vacation with another quarrel. She would be neutral, not aggressive. There must be a reasonable explanation. Henrik deserved the chance to explain before she accused him of deception.
She put the thought out of her mind for the moment and walked outside to call the boys in for lunch.
CHAPTER 14
The entrance door to the fin-de-siècle building at the center of Norrmalm Square opened more easily than Thomas had expected.
The door squeaked a bit as it opened. On the wall inside, a brass plaque informed Thomas and Margit that the Kalling law firm had offices on all floors, but the reception was on the third floor. A red carpet led to the elevator.
From behind an expensive dark-wood reception desk, a cute girl in a modest white blouse and blue skirt greeted them. She asked how she could help them. They explained their business, and a few minutes later a well-dressed woman in her fifties approached them.
“Mr. Hallén, our managing partner, can see you now,” she said. “Please follow me.”
She led them through the hallway to a conference room with a large mahogany table. In the middle sat a row of sparkling waters in several flavors and a tray with coffee cups in blue-and-white Danish porcelain next to a plate of cookies and a bowl of expensive dark chocolate.
“Are they inviting us for coffee?” Margit whispered to Thomas.
The middle-aged man who
entered the room matched every one of their prejudices about lawyers.
He wore a dark custom-made suit with thin chalk-white stripes. His breast pocket held a light-blue silk handkerchief that matched his tie, and his white shirt had been perfectly pressed.
“What a terrible incident,” Ivar Hallén said. He shook hands with Thomas and Margit. “Absolutely dreadful. Oscar was an esteemed colleague here in our firm. He took our big cases. He was much in demand and generated substantial business.” He gestured to them to take a seat.
“Did Juliander have any conflicts with any clients?” asked Thomas.
Hallén turned the question over in his mind.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he said. “He’s a bankruptcy lawyer, so there is little chance of conflict with clients. The company is already insolvent, if you get my drift. The bankruptcy administrator is a neutral party called in once bankruptcy has become a reality.”
“Was Oscar Juliander popular here at the firm?” asked Margit.
Hallén took his time before answering. He pressed his palms together and looked down at the table before he began to speak.
“Popular is probably not the right word. He was respected and valued as a lawyer. Still, he was a bit of a prima donna. He was always happy in the spotlight, no matter what the occasion.”
The lawyer fell silent for a moment before continuing.
“Some people thought he took credit for himself at the expense of the firm. He put in many hours and ruled the associates with an iron fist. His team was always the first in the office and the last to leave.”
“So he earned a great deal of money,” Margit said.
“Yes, he brought in the largest fees.”
“How do you share the profits here?” Thomas asked.
“We have a true partnership.”
“What does that mean?”
