by Viveca Sten
“Yes. She asked for a four-month leave of absence on very short notice,” Thomas said. “The casino where she worked was due to be renovated at the same time, so her employer was happy to agree. Otherwise they would have had to find her a temporary post elsewhere because she had a permanent contract with them.”
“I’m just wondering whether there might be some connection between her place of work and her cousin’s. Neither the gambling world nor the alcohol trade are exactly whiter than white,” Margit said.
Thomas leaned forward so that she could hear him more clearly. “What are you thinking, Margit?”
“Krister Berggren worked for Systemet. I’m just wondering whether there might be a link there. Something to do with smuggling booze or drugs, perhaps? Possibly with a Greek angle?”
“Or the former Yugoslavia.” Kalle straightened up, his face slightly pink with the excitement of having spoken up. “The Yugoslav mafia might be mixed up in this.”
“I think that might be taking things a little far,” Margit said, “but what if Krister Berggren was involved in something illegal at Systemet, and his cousin was helping him out? He could have been dragged into something. Or perhaps he was trying to put an end to it. Kicki Berggren might have known about whatever it was or been mixed up in it, too. I mean, a great deal has happened within Systemet in recent years that wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny.”
“Some illegal scheme that meant he had to go over to Sandhamn, then she followed him,” Kalle chimed in.
“Something along those lines,” Margit said. “Thomas, you met her—what was your impression of her?”
Thomas closed his eyes and thought about Kicki. The image of a lonely, disappointed woman with good intentions came to mind. They had talked for about half an hour. She had seemed genuinely upset about her cousin’s death. And surprised. “She said they were close, but she hadn’t spoken to Krister once during all the time she’d been in Kos. They didn’t seem to have had any contact for months. I found a postcard from her in his apartment, asking him to call her.” Thomas flipped through his notebook to refresh his memory. “I didn’t really get a satisfactory explanation as to why they hadn’t been in touch. We started talking about his mother’s death instead; evidently Krister had taken it very badly. It seemed to be a possible explanation for suicide.” He fell silent for a moment. “I should have asked more questions.”
Persson leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest. His thighs spilled over the edges of the seat, and his round face was tanned by the summer sun. “If we assume for a moment that this involves smuggling, what would that have to do with Sandhamn?”
“Wasn’t there some drugs case out there years ago?” Margit asked.
Thomas glanced around the table at his colleagues. “There was. I was only a little boy at the time, but there was a hell of a fuss. The Yacht Club restaurant was owned by a notorious guy named Fleming Broman. It turned out he had been spending his days serving food and his nights peddling drugs. It was a huge scandal, and the drugs squad was out in full force when they finally realized what was going on.”
Thomas recalled the placards outside the newsagent’s on his way home from school, the thick black headlines.
And now it was happening again.
“Do you think we could be looking at another drugs case?”
“It’s more likely to be booze,” Persson said. “If there was a way into Systemet via Krister Berggren, his cousin could have been involved as well. But that still doesn’t answer my question about the link with Sandhamn.”
Margit’s voice came from the speakerphone again. “Let’s assume Kicki Berggren knew her cousin was involved in smuggling alcohol to or from Systemet in some way. She comes home and finds out he’s dead. If she knows who his contact is, perhaps she decides to go and see him, either to exact revenge or to demand money, which is far more likely. If this person has property on Sandhamn, it would be logical to go over there, wouldn’t it? It’s the middle of summer, after all, and that’s also where her cousin’s body was found. And if this contact person murdered Krister because he was afraid of being exposed, then he might have killed Kicki as well.”
Thomas linked his hands behind his head and gave the suggestion some thought. “Kicki’s stay in Greece might be totally irrelevant, but the trip to Sandhamn is key,” he said. “In which case, Krister Berggren might have been found on the western shore because he too went over to Sandhamn to meet his accomplice over Easter, when he disappeared.”
“A meeting that somehow went wrong,” said Margit.
Thomas went through his notes from his conversation with Krister’s boss at Systemet, a balding man of about fifty by the name of Viking Strindberg. He hadn’t had much to say, in spite of the fact that Krister had worked there for almost thirty years.
He hadn’t regarded Krister as being particularly talented or bright. He had described him as a restless soul who thought life had treated him unfairly. He had confirmed that Krister had taken his mother’s death very hard and had started drinking heavily. His mother had also worked at Systemet all her life, but Strindberg had never met her. She had worked at the branch in Farsta, if he remembered correctly.
“I spoke to Krister’s boss last week,” Thomas said. “Krister’s main role was receiving deliveries at their big depot outside Stockholm. It wasn’t a particularly demanding job, but his pass card gave him access to the entire depot.”
“Is it possible he was selling alcohol as a little enterprise of his own and fiddling the books?” Margit wondered.
“But could you really steal enough alcohol to make it worth killing someone—or more than one person—to avoid being discovered?” Thomas said.
Persson stroked his chin. “People commit murder for the strangest reasons. And for much less money than you might think. Don’t imagine someone won’t kill for a couple hundred thousand kronor. Let’s find out if there’s a link between Sandhamn and Systemet, the alcohol trade, or other related areas.”
“That sounds sensible,” Margit said.
Persson cleared his throat and went on. “We’ll continue with the investigation on Sandhamn so we have a complete picture of Kicki Berggren’s movements from the moment she stepped ashore until her body was found.”
Thomas didn’t speak. What did Persson think they’d been doing on Sandhamn so far?
“Thomas.” Persson turned to face him and underlined the importance of his words with a stabbing finger. “We also need to find this Jonny Almhult as soon as possible. Have you put out an alert?”
“I wanted to wait until after the meeting,” Thomas said.
“Put out an alert across the region. Then get back to Sandhamn with Kalle and Erik. Turn Almhult’s place inside out. There might be something hidden there that will shed some light on the case.”
He scratched the mosquito bite again. “Why does this kind of thing always turn up in the middle of the summer?”
The speakerphone crackled. “Do you want me to come back?” Margit asked.
Persson shook his head. “I think we’re fine for the time being. Thomas seems to be on top of things, and his local knowledge is improving with each day.” He was almost chuckling. “You look after the children and that husband of yours. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” He looked at Thomas again. “I think we’re nearly done. By the way, have you been in touch with the prosecutor yet? It’s Öhman, isn’t it?”
Thomas nodded. Charlotte Öhman was the name of the prosecutor with the court in Nacka who would lead the preliminary investigation. He didn’t know her, but she had a reputation for being practical and easy to work with. No doubt she, too, had been hoping for a quiet summer with nothing more challenging than paperwork.
Another person who had had to change her plans.
“I’m seeing her first thing tomorrow. We’re keeping her informed.”
As T
homas was leaving, it occurred to him that he ought to get in touch with Kicki Berggren’s friend, the one who had persuaded her to go to Kos. He needed to find out who Kicki had met down there and whether she had said anything about her relationship with Krister. Perhaps Agneta would be able to explain why Kicki had sent that postcard to Krister.
He caught up with Carina in the corridor before she reached her office.
“Can you help me track down Kicki’s friend, Agneta Ahlin? Try and get ahold of a phone number as soon as possible, then call me. I don’t care how late it is.”
WEDNESDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
CHAPTER 28
Charlotte Öhman, the prosecutor, peered at Thomas. Her light-brown hair was fastened at the back of her neck, and she had pushed her glasses up on top of her head. She was rolling a pen between her thumb and forefinger as she tried to grasp the situation.
“If I’ve understood this correctly, we have one deceased cousin where we know the cause of death, but we have no idea if he was killed by someone. Then we have another deceased cousin whom we suspect was murdered, but we are unable to establish that fact at the moment.”
“Exactly.”
The prosecutor made a note on her pad. She was left-handed. She had a furrow of concern on her forehead that resembled a figure eight. Thomas had never seen anything like it.
“And how are you intending to proceed?”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows a fraction. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by the investigation so far. Hardly surprising, Thomas thought, given that they had made so little progress.
He went over the points the team had raised the previous day and outlined the way in which they intended to move the investigation forward. He summarized what they had done so far and the conclusions they had been able to draw.
The room fell silent, and Charlotte leaned back in her chair. She unclipped the barrette holding her ponytail in place, then refastened it—a ritual seemingly designed to give her time to think.
“I’m not sure if there’s much substance to this smuggling idea, but I agree that you ought to look into it. The most important thing at the moment is to track Kicki Berggren’s movements on Sandhamn and find the people she met.”
“I’ve spoken to Inger Gunnarsson, the waitress who served her that Friday evening. According to her, Berggren was in the bar with Jonny Almhult for several hours. They ordered several rounds of beer, and it seemed as if they were getting along well. She certainly didn’t have the impression that Kicki Berggren was in any way afraid of Almhult.”
Charlotte made notes and nodded. “That sounds good,” she said. “Sandhamn is a small island, so it seems reasonable that a number of people must have met her.” She unfastened and refastened the barrette again. “When are you expecting the detailed analysis from Linköping?”
“I expect it will take a few more days; by the end of the week at the earliest, I think. We’ve asked them to give it priority, but they’re short-staffed in the summer, just like everyone else.”
The prosecutor smiled. “I appreciate that it could take a while before we have definite information, so just carry on as best you can.”
“Of course.”
“Keep me informed.” She jotted down a few additional points. “By the way, have you checked on the financial situation?”
“There are no large sums of money floating around. Krister Berggren had a savings account containing a few thousand kronor; Kicki Berggren had a monthly savings plan, but we’re not talking unusual amounts.”
Charlotte nodded. “So if they were making money from smuggling booze, there’s no sign of it in their bank accounts,” she said. “Did either of them have a safety deposit box?”
“Not that we know of, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. We’ll keep looking.”
Thomas stood on the steps outside the prosecutor’s office. It was a glorious day, perfect for sitting in the sunshine with ice cream. You could hardly imagine more unsuitable weather for a murder investigation.
He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked at his watch. There was a boat back to Sandhamn after lunch; with a bit of luck he might catch it.
CHAPTER 29
Strindberg’s Café was almost full as Thomas, Erik, and Kalle sat down with cups of coffee.
Just a few yards away a young girl in a white apron was making waffles, using big black old-fashioned waffle irons. They were obviously popular, because they disappeared as soon as they were ready. She had a large bowl of whipped cream in front of her and another of dark-red strawberry jam, both of which she heaped on generously.
Thomas thought they looked delicious, in spite of the warm weather. The golden waffles reminded him of when he was a little boy and used to come over from Harö with his parents. If he were lucky they would come to Strindberg’s.
They were sitting in one of the booths, which was made from a skiff standing on end. A fishing net was draped over the prow for decoration. It didn’t provide much in the way of shade, but it did create an authentic atmosphere.
The name of the café came from the fact that August Strindberg had spent the night there when he’d visited Sandhamn in his youth. When he spent time on the island later in life, during his marriage to Siri von Essen, he had stayed elsewhere, but the café had borne his name ever since.
Thomas noticed that the dish of the day was fried herring with mashed potatoes. What could be better out here in the archipelago?
As Erik and Kalle discussed the forthcoming Stockholm derby between Hammarby and Djurgården, Thomas’s thoughts returned to his conversation with Kicki Berggren’s friend, Agneta Ahlin.
It had taken Carina just a few hours to track her down on Kos, where she was still working, and she had passed on a number where Agneta could be reached. The conversation hadn’t made things any clearer. Thomas had explained what had happened and said that he would like to ask her a few questions. Agneta had become distraught and had wept most of the time. She had been unable to accept that Kicki was dead. She had no idea why anyone would have wanted to kill her friend or Krister, whom she had met only once. The police already knew more or less everything she could tell him about the relationship between the cousins, and she didn’t have much else to add.
Agneta did, however, tell him that Kicki had called her the day she found out Krister was dead. Kicki had been devastated, and they had talked for a long time. Toward the end of the conversation Kicki had hinted that she had an idea why her cousin had been found dead on Sandhamn. She had made some cryptic remark, said that was where the money was, but then she had changed the subject and talked about other things. She hadn’t told Agneta that she was intending to travel to Sandhamn.
Kicki had talked a lot about money, according to Agneta, and was always complaining that she was broke. She was fed up with her job but didn’t know how she could afford to give it up or get another job, because she had no qualifications. While she was in Greece she had given some thought to how she could earn more money. The question had come up on several occasions.
After the call, which was memorable largely for the sound of Agneta sobbing, Thomas wasn’t really any the wiser.
But the information that Kicki needed money was interesting. If she had known that her cousin was involved in something illegal, she might well have decided to exploit this knowledge in order to make some cash—the easy money she had been wanting for so long.
Sandhamn, that’s where the money is, Kicki had told her friend.
Thomas thought about the comment. Was it a failed attempt to get ahold of that money that had led to her death?
THURSDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
CHAPTER 30
Why do kids enjoy playing in the sand so much? Nora wondered as she spread the beach towels out on the shore at Trouville. The boys had been nagging her for several days to bring them here. She thought they might have had enough of swimming, since they we
re taking lessons every day, but a trip to the beach was still the best thing in the world.
The beaches at Trouville were among the finest stretches of sand in the archipelago. There was a reason the real name of the island was Sandön, or Sand Island, although most people these days called it Sandhamn. It was one of the few islands in the Stockholm archipelago that didn’t consist mainly of rocks.
As soon as they woke up, both boys had started campaigning for a trip to the beach. Adam had asked if they could miss their swimming lessons for today, and Nora had allowed herself to be persuaded. Once in three weeks wasn’t the end of the world, after all. In addition, the water was unusually warm: seventy-two degrees. It wasn’t often possible to swim in water like that in the outer archipelago.
Once breakfast was eaten and cleared away, Nora packed their swimming gear and beach towels. Simon found their brightly colored plastic buckets and spades, then they cycled across the sand, past the tennis courts, and through the forest until they reached Trouville.
Adam complained that they were cycling too slowly, but Simon was pedaling as fast as his little legs could go. Nora hadn’t the heart to tell him to hurry up.
After a mile, the Trouville road ended in a fork, and they headed off to the right. Just a few hundred yards along the track they reached the shore.
As it was still quite early, the tourists from Stockholm had not yet arrived. When they came on the ferry from the city at about eleven o’clock, the beach was usually packed, but it was still only ten, so Nora and the boys could choose where they wanted to set up.
Nora certainly didn’t begrudge the tourists their enjoyment of the islands, but she couldn’t help thinking how nice it had been when she was a child and the stream of visitors was a mere trickle. Now she could almost imagine the island was going to sink when she saw all the people pouring off the ferries in July.
