by Viveca Sten
The sound of the scream came when the body had already passed them.
“Robin,” she said, struggling to breathe. “Did you see that? Someone fell overboard!” Her eyes were wide open, and tears of shock began to glisten. “Someone just fell into the water. We need to report it!”
The boy looked at her, his expression doubtful. “To who? Are you sure it was a person?”
She stared at him, worried. “We have to report it to someone,” she said. “Anyone. They have to stop the ship and search for him!” She grabbed his hand. “Come on!”
He refused to move. Disbelief was written all over his face. Instead he attempted to pull her close again, trying to kiss her. “Forget it,” he said. “You’re imagining things. I’m sure it was nothing.”
She pulled away. “What if someone pushed him? What if we’ve just witnessed a murder?”
He ignored her protests. “It was probably a bird. Anyway, it’s too late to do anything now.”
His hands stroked her warm skin with even greater enthusiasm. He pressed his throbbing groin against her thigh.
“Come on,” he breathed in her ear. “Relax.”
She struggled halfheartedly for a few seconds more, then her body softened. She turned her mouth to meet his and forgot all about the person who had fallen overboard.
MONDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
CHAPTER 24
The boat from Stockholm was a few minutes late. It should have arrived at eleven o’clock, but there was no sign of it yet. The pier was packed with people in shorts and thin tops. Some had brought carts to transport luggage.
“When will Grandma and Grandpa be here?” Simon asked for the third time.
“Any minute now, sweetheart. As soon as the boat gets in.”
“I want ice cream,” Adam said, looking over at the kiosk where a long, snaking line had formed.
Nora shook her head. “Not now. We’ll be having lunch as soon as Grandma and Grandpa arrive. You’ll spoil your appetite if you have ice cream now.”
“But I want ice cream. Please, Mom.”
Simon joined in. “Me, too. Please. Please, please, please!” He looked at her, his hands joined in prayer.
Nora gazed out across the sound. No sign of the Cinderella. She wasn’t often delayed, but when it did happen, it was usually by quite some time. Nora gave in. It would take a while for everyone to disembark anyway.
“OK. But only a small one each. OK?”
Her voice was firm as she took out her wallet and gave Adam a fifty-kronor note.
“Don’t spend more than fifteen kronor. I’ll wait here for you.”
She sat down on a bench next to the bulletin board displaying timetables and looked around. The harbor was full of life. The truck from the Yacht Club restaurant was busy loading goods that had arrived on the morning boat. One of the island’s craftsmen puttered by on his platform moped, every inch crammed with sacks.
The fruit-and-vegetable stall had opened outside Westerberg’s grocery store. The tempting array of sun-ripened tomatoes and other vegetables lying side by side with melons and nectarines reminded Nora of a market in the south of France. At one side of the stall an elderly lady was practically standing on her head in the potato bin, skillfully picking out the smallest and finest new potatoes. She held them up one by one, carefully examining them in the sunlight before setting them in her bag. The girl behind the register rolled her eyes, but the customer ignored her.
A little girl waiting for her mother to finish shopping was gazing at the boxes of raspberries and strawberries packed closely together.
Idyllic, thought Nora. If it weren’t for the fact that people were being murdered on this island.
Just as the Cinderella docked at the landing stage, the boys came back clutching their ice cream.
Nora’s mother-in-law was elegantly dressed as usual, in white shorts and matching wedge-heeled espadrilles. She was wearing a white straw hat and looked as if she were going out for lunch on the Riviera rather than visiting her grandchildren in the archipelago. Nora’s father-in-law trailed behind, carrying their suitcase.
When Monica saw Nora, she put on an artificial smile. Then she spotted the boys.
“Darlings!” she shouted so loudly that everyone in the vicinity turned around. “Grandma’s sweethearts! My little angels!”
She took a step back and contemplated the ice cream with a critical expression. “Why are you eating ice cream now? I thought we were having lunch shortly? You’ll spoil your appetites. Did Mommy say you could have those?”
Nora suppressed a sigh and went over to greet her mother-in-law.
Monica kissed her on both cheeks in the French manner. What the hell is wrong with a good old Swedish hug? Nora thought. She greeted her father-in-law more warmly and offered to take the suitcase.
Lunch was waiting at home: gravlax with new potatoes. Dessert was a bought almond tart; she couldn’t be bothered to spend all morning preparing a meal for guests who had invited themselves. There was no point in making an effort anyway—her mother-in-law would simply tell one of her countless stories about all the dinner parties she had given in various embassies, where everything had been homemade by Monica herself in spite of the fact that she was catering for dozens of guests.
As a diversionary tactic, Nora had invited Signe to lunch. Not even Monica dared to tackle Signe. Those gentle eyes turned to ice-cold steel at the least attempt. Signe couldn’t bear anyone showing off. And she knew exactly why she had been invited; there had been no need for Nora to explain.
Monica looked at her daughter-in-law with curiosity shining in her eyes. She tucked a bony arm through Nora’s.
“I want to know all about these dreadful murders. What’s happening on this island? During all the years I’ve been coming here, I’ve never heard of anyone so much as hurting a fly. Is it some foreigner? I’m sure it is. We all know what they’re like.”
Nora never got used to the way Monica scattered her prejudices around as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Patiently, she tried to explain that she didn’t really know much more than what was in the newspapers. Which Monica had no doubt read from cover to cover.
But Monica wasn’t about to give up that easily. “That stylish friend of yours with the police . . . Torben. I’m sure he knows what’s going on?”
“Thomas,” Nora corrected her.
Monica carried on regardless. “He must be well informed. Do you think there might be some big gang behind it all? You are locking the doors at night, I presume?”
She looked at Simon and Adam, who were busy finishing their ice cream. Adam’s shirt was already stained with chocolate. Nora swallowed her annoyance and decided she’d change his clothes when they got home.
“Is it a good idea to have the boys here when the police haven’t cleared up these murders?” Monica went on. “You need to put the children’s safety first, Nora.”
Without waiting for a response, she adjusted her hat and embarked on a long story about a break-in at a good friend’s house down in Båstad, which the police had failed to solve.
The point of the story was unclear, and Nora was merely required to nod from time to time. It seemed like a small price to pay to avoid an argument.
CHAPTER 25
After almost ten hours of door-to-door inquiries, Thomas came by on Monday evening to see how Nora was doing.
He had decided to stay on the island and spend the night at the local station, which meant he could take the first boat back to Stockholm on Tuesday morning, when the whole team would gather for a meeting.
He opened the door as he knocked and walked straight into the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Nora was busy making dinner.
She greeted him with a wan smile.
Nora and the boys had just waved her in-laws off from the jetty. Henrik wasn’t expected back until later
. Thomas was welcome to stay and eat with them as long as he was prepared to listen to a tirade about her mother-in-law. She handed him a cold beer and poured herself a glass of wine. He sat down at the kitchen table as Nora ranted about Monica.
When she had calmed down, she fetched a piece of paper with a long list of names on it. She sat down beside Thomas and explained what she had done.
“I’ve made you a list. I went through the Sandhamn phone book yesterday and looked for subscribers with the initials G and A—the initials that were on that net needle, the one you didn’t think you’d be able to identify. There are fifty-four people on the list, but only three who have both initials.”
Thomas smiled. “Nora Linde, master detective?”
Nora glared at him. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I’m joking. I need all the help I can get. Margit’s off on a vacation to the west coast, so she’s running the investigation by remote control. Most of the people I need to talk to have already left, and Kalle and Erik have their hands full trying to track down witnesses.”
“I think the problem will be locating them,” Nora said, taking a sip of her wine. “There are no addresses on the island that can be linked to the names.”
Thomas put his hands behind his head and gave the matter some thought. Nora’s list was a good idea. He should have thought of it himself, instead of just dismissing the net needle. Especially now that he had a murder investigation on his hands. The question was how to find the people Nora had identified.
The buildings on Sandhamn were mainly in the village itself, and in Trouville on the southeastern side of the island, where most of the summer cottages lay. But there were also a considerable number of houses dotted around the rest of the island, so you could find residential properties just about anywhere, with no designated street names. There were also plenty of unnamed alleyways and historical indicators such as Mangelbacken or Adolf Square, places that were often named after someone who had lived or worked in a particular place. If you put it all together, it added up to a distinct lack of specific addresses. They could call the numbers on the list but would lose the ability to show the photograph of Kicki.
Thomas finished off his beer. He needed some sustenance before he gave the problem further thought.
A few hours later they were sitting in the garden drinking coffee. They had eaten fresh pasta mixed with grated Parmesan, halved cherry tomatoes, and basil. Homemade focaccia with black olives had tasted deliciously fresh after five minutes in the microwave, and the bottle of Rioja had gone down well.
The boys had fallen asleep right after dinner. Long, sunny days and lots of swimming caught up with them in the evenings. Although they had insisted they weren’t the least bit sleepy, they had dropped off in seconds. The fact that their grandmother had been at them all day might well have contributed to their exhaustion, too.
Thomas had read them a long bedtime story. Adam had been quick to point out that it was only Simon who needed a story. He himself was ten years old and perfectly capable of reading his own story. However, that hadn’t stopped him from listening with great interest.
Since Emily died, Thomas had spent more time than ever with Simon, who was very fond of his godfather. He seemed to understand that Thomas was deeply affected by grief, even if he never talked about it.
“Have you heard from Pernilla lately?” Nora asked tentatively.
“Not much. I got a postcard from Halmstad midsummer, but that’s the only sign of life I’ve had from her in months.”
“Do you miss her?”
Thomas rested his chin on one hand, his eyes fixed on some distant point. It was a little while before he answered. “I miss the life we had together. The company, the feeling that we were a couple. Little things like knowing someone cares if you’re home late from work. Sometimes I feel as if I might as well move in to the police station.” He lifted his cup halfway to his mouth, and a shadow passed across his face. “After all, nobody would even notice if I didn’t come home. Maybe I should get a dog.”
“Do you often think about what happened?” Nora couldn’t stop the tears springing to her eyes. She had taken Emily’s death almost as hard as Thomas. The thought of finding your little girl cold and dead beside you when you woke was unbearable.
She swallowed quickly and drank some of her wine to prevent the tears from falling.
Thomas didn’t appear to have noticed anything. He carried on talking, almost to himself. “Sometimes I wonder what Emily would look like if she were alive today. I can still see her as a baby, but she’d be a little girl now, walking and talking.” He shook his head. “Emily was never meant to grow up.” His voice thickened slightly. He took a sip of his coffee, then another. “I envy you when I see your boys. They’re terrific. Simon’s great.”
Nora placed a consoling hand over his. “You’ll get another chance to have a family of your own. Trust me, you’re a real catch. You’re bound to meet someone new and have children.”
Thomas gave a wry smile, then shrugged. “At the moment it doesn’t seem all that important. I’m happy with my own company. I get by. And you and your family have been a great support for me, just so you know. I really do appreciate it.”
“You’re always welcome here,” Nora said, topping off their glasses with the last of the wine. “So how’s the investigation going?”
“No luck so far,” Thomas said. “It seems so strange. Two people turning up dead within a few weeks. It’s as if one of those English detective TV series has suddenly become a reality. The only thing missing is an English inspector with a pipe.” Thomas laughed but quickly became serious again. “We don’t actually know if both of them were murdered. Kicki Berggren was killed by another person, but the only thing we know about her cousin is that he drowned. We can’t jump to conclusions.”
“There has to be a connection. The question is, why should someone want to murder two cousins? They must have been mixed up in something illegal, don’t you think?” Nora waved her spoon to underline her point. “And I can’t stop thinking about the fishing net. How does that fit in?”
“No idea. It might have been sheer coincidence. There isn’t even a guarantee that the net belonged to someone on Sandhamn. It could belong to someone from one of the other islands.”
Nora nodded. “What did it look like, by the way?”
“Torn—a mess. But it had been in the water for months, so that’s hardly surprising.”
“What if it was old? Nets can be used for years, if you look after them and mend them when they tear,” Nora said. “It could be a really old net, one that belonged to a different generation.” She was struck by a sudden thought and leaned eagerly toward Thomas. “There was actually someone on Sandhamn who had the initials GA. Someone I didn’t put on the list. Do you remember Georg Almhult, Jonny’s father? Jonny lives on the island—he’s a carpenter, and he also paints pictures. He helped us out the other week when the fence needed mending. Jonny’s father’s initials were GA. What if it was his dad’s net, even though he’s dead?”
“You mean Jonny might have had something to do with Krister Berggren’s death?”
Nora waved the question aside. “I’ve no idea, but if you could trace the net, it would at least be a start. It’s worth looking into, isn’t it?”
She gazed at him and leaned back in the white garden chair, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. There was definitely an evening chill in the air, and a cool breeze blew in off the sea.
Nora pictured Jonny Almhult.
When Nora was twelve years old, Jonny was one of the cool teenagers who hung out down by the harbor. He was a talented artist, and in seconds he could produce a pencil sketch that bore an almost creepy resemblance to his subject. He had been painting watercolors for years and had probably dreamed of going to art school in the city. There was a long-standing artistic tradition on Sandhamn; both Bruno
Liljefors and Anders Zorn had spent time on the island, and Axel Sjöberg had been a permanent resident.
But Jonny never did get away. He remained on Sandhamn with his parents. As the years went by, he got stuck in a rut. Like many other lonely bachelors, he drank too much and never managed to find a steady girlfriend. He made a living as a carpenter and general handyman, working for the summer visitors, and from time to time he sold the odd picture, featuring an archipelago motif. Nora remembered Georg, his father, clearly. He had been Sandhamn’s stonemason. He had looked exactly like his son: wiry build, medium height, not particularly striking.
He had been fond of the bottle, too.
When he died, his widow, Ellen, had only Jonny left. There was an older sister, but she had left the island long ago. She was married to an American and lived overseas, if Nora remembered correctly.
Thomas interrupted her train of thought. He had also met Jonny over the years. “I find it difficult to imagine Jonny as the brains behind some sort of criminal enterprise,” he said.
“But as somebody else’s sidekick?” Nora asked. “Someone who needed a hand to deal with a person who was causing problems? A person who needed frightening into keeping their mouth shut, for instance?”
“I think you might have watched one too many crime shows.”
“Seriously,” Nora insisted. “Everyone knows he has a problem with booze. Maybe he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to get money. What if there’s some kind of link? Surely it’s worth having a word with him, isn’t it? And at least you know where he lives.”
Thomas thought for a moment, then he looked at his watch. “Time I made a move. I’ll go to Jonny’s. If I leave now, I can be there before it’s too late.” He gave Nora a brief hug. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll call you.”
CHAPTER 26
