Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1)

by Viveca Sten

  The manager made it very clear that she was lucky to get a room without having booked in advance. A last-minute cancellation freed one of the five rooms, so all she had to do was check in.

  Kicki was given the key and went up to the room, which was on the second floor. It was tastefully decorated in an old-fashioned style, with lace curtains. She unpacked the few things she had brought with her, then lay down on the bed to try to gather her thoughts. She had repeatedly gone over what she was going to say. Even though she had decided to take the step, she was nervous and anxious about what was to come.

  When she was ready to leave she asked the manager for directions, but she was new to the island and couldn’t help. Kicki wasn’t worried; she was bound to find the place. The island wasn’t that big.

  But it wasn’t as easy as she’d expected. Eventually a teenage girl outside the bakery told her which way to go; by then it was already three o’clock.

  She knocked on the door, and after a long time, when she was at the point of walking away, it opened. She gave her name and was admitted to the house. It was obvious that she was neither welcome nor expected.

  After she explained her errand, there was complete silence. The owner of the house stared at her coldly for a long time before eventually looking away. The gray eyes gave no hint of a reaction to her demand. Instead, silence closed over the room like a lid; the atmosphere became oppressive, suffocating.

  Kicki swallowed a couple of times and licked her lips. For a moment she wondered if she had gone too far. The unfamiliar environment was making her uncomfortable. The decor was definitely not to her taste; it was like being a visitor in another world.

  Then she thought about her cousin.

  “Krister’s dead, and I want my share!”

  She kept her eyes fixed firmly forward, determined not to sound nervous or to show her unease. She clenched one fist so tightly that the nails cut into her skin; the pain made her blink, but she tried not to let it show.

  Her host suddenly stood up. The movement was so unexpected that Kicki gave a start.

  “There’s no need for us to fall out over this. Let me get you something to drink, then we can have a chat.”

  Kicki was left alone in the living room. She could hear the sound of cupboard doors opening in the kitchen, the clink of cups and saucers being placed on a tray. She glanced around the room, which was next door to a spacious dining room containing a huge table. She counted a dozen chairs around the table, with four more standing against the walls. The sea view was fantastic. You could almost touch the water.

  When she looked up, she was faced once more with that searching expression in those gray eyes.

  “Tea?”

  She was offered a cup filled to the brim.

  CHAPTER 14

  The sight that met Thomas’s gaze in the bathroom mirror was a weary, exhausted man. It definitely didn’t look like someone who was due to join the Linde family soon for a pleasant evening.

  He had come out to Harö just after six. He was due at Nora’s in an hour, but before that he needed to shave and shower.

  Thomas’s house was on one side of northern Harö. His parents had bought the place back in the fifties, long before owning a cottage in the archipelago became so popular. A few years ago they had given their two sons each a part of the land.

  There had been an old barn on Thomas’s section. It was pretty dilapidated, but it was in a beautiful location right by the water, with a huge weeping birch beside it. Pernilla and Thomas took on the barn and put a lot of time and effort into transforming it into a proper summer home. A home that was perfect for a family.

  By the time they had finished, the old barn had become a wonderful house with big windows and an open-plan interior. They had built a large loft bedroom to make full use of the high ceiling. From the front door, a narrow gravel path led down to the jetty, which they had extended so there was room to sit on summer evenings.

  The house swallowed up all their spare time and money, but the result was exactly what they were hoping for.

  Then they split up.

  They had hardly even managed one whole summer there before they went their separate ways.

  Since the property had belonged to Thomas’s parents, the decision was obvious. Pernilla kept the apartment in town, and Thomas kept Harö. It was neat and tidy and entirely logical.

  And heartbreaking.

  After the divorce he had found a two-room apartment in Gustavsberg. It was practical and functional and only twenty minutes away from work, but it wasn’t a home. If anywhere, it was only on Harö that he felt at home these days.

  He got his razor and shaving cream out of the medicine cabinet and ran hot water in the sink.

  He hadn’t the slightest desire to get in the boat and head over to Sandhamn. But Nora had invited him weeks ago, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. Especially on such short notice.

  “Come on, Thomas,” she had said to him. “It’ll do you good to get out and about. You can’t just work or bury yourself on Harö. You need to start seeing people again.”

  She was right, of course. But it was so difficult.

  He sank down on the toilet seat with the razor in his hand. Sometimes he felt as if he didn’t have the strength to take one more step.

  The last fifteen months had been the worst of his life. He wouldn’t wish them on his worst enemy. Nights plagued by bad dreams about Emily and his inability to save her life. Days when he could hardly bring himself to go into work because he was afraid of breaking down in front of his colleagues. The gradual disintegration of his marriage, which he had been powerless to prevent.

  Since the divorce had been finalized six months ago, he had avoided social gatherings. There had been no need for the company of others, just a deep desire to be left alone and in peace.

  He had devoted almost all his waking hours to work. He had no idea how many late nights he had stayed at the station. But there was something restful about the dark corridors when everyone else had gone home. The emptiness appealed to him. He enjoyed sitting at his desk in silence.

  Work had been his lifeline.

  Without his colleagues, he doubted whether he would have made it. Getting up every morning had been a real struggle, yet he had taken on as much work as he possibly could. Volunteered for just about everything. Sat there for hours dealing with tasks that weren’t part of his job.

  As if every fresh case he solved helped him to rebuild his life, little by little.

  Gradually it had begun to hurt less, but the pain was replaced by weariness. It overwhelmed him. Thomas was so exhausted he didn’t know what to do with himself. He could cope with the days, but by the evening he was spent.

  He had slept more during the past six months than in his entire life. All he wanted to do at night was to go to bed and sink into oblivion, escape from his life. It was as if he couldn’t get enough unconsciousness.

  It wasn’t until the light began to return in April that he started to regain some of his old energy. He was able to rest in those long, light, late spring evenings. To his surprise he found he was breathing more easily.

  But the distance between the professional police officer who conscientiously did his job and the private individual who merely wanted to be left in peace had not diminished.

  He sat there in the bathroom trying to gather his strength. The dinner party would be starting soon. He stood up and applied the shaving cream to his face. With a determined smile at his reflection, he began to scrape the razor firmly down his cheek.

  Kicki Berggren looked around the harbor, which was now half in shadow. The unpleasant taste of the tea she had been given lingered in her mouth. She hadn’t even been offered a cup of coffee—just that revolting tea.

  She had tried to rest in her room for a while, but she had been far too wound up, and after an hour she gave up. She pick
ed up her jacket and walked down to the harbor; she needed something to drink. Something strong. And something to eat would be good. She crept down the stairs to avoid the manager, who was a bit of a busybody. She couldn’t deal with her chatter now; she had enough to think about.

  The Divers Bar looked nice, but when she got closer she could see that all the seats outside were occupied by younger people. Girls in low-cut tops and oversize shades were sitting there with boys who had greasy, slicked-back hair and red shorts. Rosé wine was obviously cool at the moment; there was a big silver wine cooler on every table, labeled “Think pink, drink pink.”

  Her own opinion of rosé was based on her experiences of Mateus Rosé, which had been the drink of choice in every backyard when she was in high school. It hadn’t tasted good then, and it was unlikely that it would taste good now. And she’d had more than enough of spoiled, drunk teenagers on Kos. She didn’t need that here.

  She looked around for an alternative.

  Sandhamn Värdshus, at the far end of the harbor, looked considerably more inviting. She headed for the area marked “Bar.”

  When she opened the door it seemed quite gloomy, but then her eyes adjusted to the subdued lighting, and she could see that she was in a large room with dark wood paneling on the walls and a cozy atmosphere.

  A young man with long blond hair in a ponytail was standing behind the bar, taking an order. The long tables were occupied by a handful of people with half-empty glasses in front of them. The place was almost empty, but then a dark bar probably wasn’t the first place the tourists in their summery clothes would go on a lovely evening like this.

  Through the window she could see a line of people patiently waiting for a table outside, but sitting indoors suited her perfectly. She needed to be alone for a while, and she wanted something to eat so she could get rid of the disgusting taste in her mouth.

  A blackboard on the wall listed the daily specials. Everything looked appealing, and she settled on bubble and squeak with a beer.

  She carried her glass over to a corner table far from the bar. She took off her jacket and placed it on the chair next to her, then dug a comb and mirror out of her purse. She dragged the comb through her long hair, then tucked it in the breast pocket of her jacket. Without thinking, she took out her cigarettes, then remembered that people were no longer allowed to smoke indoors in Sweden.

  From the corner of her eye she saw a man walk in and order a beer at the bar. He picked up his glass and made his way over to her part of the room.

  She automatically smiled at him. Years of welcoming strangers to the tables in the casino evoked the upward curve of her lips without a second’s hesitation.

  The man looked pretty good, around forty. Slim build, faded blue T-shirt and jeans, sneakers. His hair needed cutting, but at least it looked clean.

  Suddenly she felt the need for some company. As their eyes met she moistened her lips and opened her mouth.

  “You’re welcome to sit here,” she said, pointing to the chair opposite her. She smiled as he sat down.

  “Do you live here?” she asked.

  He looked up from his beer and nodded. “Mmm, I’ve got a house on the island.”

  “A summer cottage?”

  “No, I live here all the time. I was born on Sandhamn. I’ve lived here all my life,” he said, raising the glass to his mouth.

  Kicki edged a little closer. “I’m Kicki.”

  “Jonny.” He held out his hand for a second, then changed his mind and nodded instead.

  “What do you do?” Kicki asked.

  “This and that. I’m a carpenter, but I do a bit of painting as well. I do all kinds of jobs for the summer visitors.”

  He took a swig of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As he put the glass down some of the liquid spilled over onto the table, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

  “What kind of things do you paint?” Kicki was interested. She needed a diversion for a little while, and she was curious about life on the island.

  “All kinds of things. Mostly nature.” He gave an embarrassed laugh, then took a pencil out of his back pocket and reached for a napkin that was lying on the table. With rapid strokes he drew Kicki in profile. It was no more than a few lines, yet the likeness was striking. He had managed to capture both her features and her expression in seconds.

  He pushed the drawing over to her.

  “There you go.”

  “Impressive,” Kicki said. “Do you do this all the time?”

  “Not exactly. I spend most of my time doing carpentry in the summer. There’s always something that needs fixing, and when people are on vacation, they don’t want to do it themselves. They also pay well—cash, of course, but that’s fine. Nobody needs to bother with a receipt, do they?” He underlined his words with a wry smile.

  A blond waitress arrived with Kicki’s food. She put the plate down on the table and handed over a knife and fork wrapped in a napkin. The food looked delicious, with a fried egg on the side and a generous serving of beetroot. The waitress picked up Kicki’s glass with a practiced movement and smiled at them.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  Kicki looked at her companion. He seemed nice. A bit shy, but interesting. There was something puppyish about him, which appealed to her.

  She leaned forward, pushing back a strand of hair as she winked at him. “How about buying me a beer? Then you can tell me what people get up to on Sandhamn on a Friday night in the middle of summer. This is my first visit.”

  CHAPTER 15

  This was what Nora called a perfect Sandhamn evening.

  From the gardens, all around they could hear the sound of their neighbors also enjoying dinner outside. In the distance, Dinah Washington was singing “Mad about the Boy.” The air was so still that the buzzing of the bees was clearly audible, and the swallows were flying high—a sure sign of continuing high pressure. It was almost nine o’clock, but the air was still warm. The perch fillets had been delicious, and everyone was enjoying themselves.

  As dessert was served, the conversation turned to the dead man on the shore.

  “How’s the investigation going?” Henrik asked.

  “Well,” Thomas said, “there are no signs of foul play. An accident, probably. He might have fallen overboard from one of the ferries to Finland; I mean, they do pass here every night.” He took some rhubarb crumble before he went on. “He was a lonely person. No immediate family, no parents still alive, no friends as far as we can tell. The only relative he had was a cousin, a woman he seemed to be fairly close to. But he had a pretty tragic life, so to speak.” As he uttered the words, he regretted them. The parallel with his own life was all too clear. No family, no children; he was approaching forty and lived in a two-room apartment just like the dead man. Who was he to call Krister Berggren’s life tragic?

  “What makes you think he died of natural causes?” Henrik asked as he passed around the pitcher of vanilla sauce.

  The question brought Thomas back to reality. He pulled himself together with some difficulty. “There’s nothing to suggest anything else. He drowned. The only strange thing is that he had a rope around his waist. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything; sometimes there just isn’t an explanation.”

  “A rope?”

  “Yes, a kind of loop that had been passed over the body. It looked like ordinary rope. We haven’t been able to trace it because there was nothing unusual about it.”

  “Was there any reason for him to take his own life?” Henrik asked.

  Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think so. We haven’t found a suicide note. But it’s hard to say for certain.”

  “Do you know any more about the fishing net?” Nora asked.

  “No, nothing. There was a long net needle woven through one corner, but that doesn’t tell us much. Besides, the body pr
obably drifted into the net after the man died. It’s hardly surprising; so many people lay their nets around the islands.”

  Henrik leaned forward, clearly interested. He swallowed his food as quickly as he could and went on. “What did it say on the needle?”

  “There were just two letters: GA. Hard to draw any conclusions from that.”

  Nora tried to think. “Do we know anyone with those initials?”

  Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s all that important. I mean, the net could belong to just about anyone who fishes in this part of the archipelago. Most indications still suggest that we’re looking at an accident.”

  “What does that mean?” Nora asked.

  “The case will be closed. There are no suspicious circumstances, so we’ll wrap up the investigation.”

  “So will you get to take a vacation?” Nora asked as she poured the last of the wine.

  Thomas nodded. “Very soon, I’m happy to say. I just have to finish this off next week, then I’ll be heading straight for Harö.”

  “Are your parents there?”

  “Of course. They went over at the end of April. Since they retired I think they spend more time on the island than in town.” Thomas’s face lit up at the thought of his parents. “They keep nagging me to take my vacation earlier, but I enjoy being there as the high season comes to an end. I’ll be there when it suits me.”

  He raised his glass to Nora in a gesture of appreciation.

  “Thank you for a wonderful dinner.”

  SATURDAY, THE SECOND WEEK

  CHAPTER 16

  The evening had been a success, Nora thought as she made coffee. They had all been in good form and seemed to have enjoyed themselves. They had sat outside until midnight without feeling cold.