Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1)

by Viveca Sten

  CHAPTER 34

  By the time Thomas knocked on Nora’s door and walked in, she was feeling a little better. She had curled up in a wicker chair on the veranda with a blanket wrapped around her. On the table next to her were a big cup of tea and a pastry, which she had crumbled into tiny pieces.

  Her parents had taken the boys down to the harbor to give her some space and the chance to recover from the shock of finding Jonny’s body.

  Nora really wished Henrik were home, but he was still out sailing. The regatta wouldn’t end until about five o’clock, and the idea of calling him on his cell phone when he was in the middle of a competition was out of the question.

  She was so sick of his sailing that she could have screamed. Where was he when she needed him?

  Even though there was brilliant sunshine outside, Nora was so cold she couldn’t stop shaking. Her brain registered the fact that it was warm inside the house, but the goose bumps on her arms and legs told another story.

  She couldn’t get the image of the dead body in the water out of her mind. Those unseeing eyes staring at her when she turned him over. A thin strand of hair bobbing up and down with the movement of the sea. A limp arm floating on the surface.

  Who would dare to visit Sandhamn after this? Who would be next? What if a child were killed? She shuddered again.

  When Thomas and his colleague had arrived in Trouville, they had quickly taken charge of the situation.

  The other people on the beach had been asked to leave. An area covering half the shore had been cordoned off with police tape—a familiar sight to many residents of Sandhamn by this time.

  Shortly after, a police launch appeared and moored by the rocks. The same rocks from which Nora had once dived for her bronze and silver medals.

  The launch dropped off an investigative team that quickly went to work. When photographs had been taken from every possible angle and any piece of available evidence had been secured, they respectfully prepared the body for transportation to Stavsnäs, where a hearse was waiting.

  Thomas called Nora’s parents, who cycled over to pick up the children. Lars and Susanne looked around with horrified expressions but did their best to remain calm. The boys didn’t want to go. There were far too many exciting things going on. There were police officers everywhere by this stage, and Adam could hardly wait to tell his friends at swimming lessons about the big police launch.

  In the end, Thomas spoke to them in his most authoritative police officer’s voice in order to get them to cooperate; the fact that they were also promised big ice cream cones probably helped, too.

  Once the boys had gone off with their grandparents, Thomas gently asked Nora a few questions. Then he told her to go home and rest. Quietly think over everything that had happened.

  They agreed that Thomas would stop by later so she could tell him in more detail about how she had found the body and what she had seen.

  While she was waiting for Thomas, she fell asleep and dreamed that she was desperately swimming to reach the shore, while unattached legs and arms floated around her. The water was red with blood, staining her bikini.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Thomas began.

  He had made a fresh pot of tea and settled down in a white wicker chair next to Nora on the veranda. The only sound was the gentle ticking of the kitchen clock. He waited patiently for her to find the right words.

  After a while she began a hesitant account of the whole course of events, from seeing the odd, motionless shape in the water to the moment Thomas arrived.

  “Did you notice whether the body was floating from a particular direction?” he asked.

  Nora closed her eyes, her expression uncertain. “He was just lying in the water. There was hardly a breeze.”

  “Was there anyone else on the beach who could have thrown him in?”

  “There was hardly anybody there when we arrived. I noticed two or three people over toward the little beach but nobody on the side where he was floating.”

  “And you didn’t see any boats that could have dumped the body in the water?”

  Nora looked doubtful. “It was really quiet. I remember thinking we were early, because there were so few people on the beach.”

  She fell silent, as if she were trawling through her memory. Then she told him about the bright sunshine that had almost dazzled her as she tried to make out the shape. “I didn’t really see anything else.”

  “Do you remember anything unusual, anything that seemed out of place?” Thomas leaned forward. “Try to remember everything you can. Someone you didn’t recognize, or someone behaving oddly.”

  Nora plucked at the Kleenex in her hand. Little bits of white fluff were starting to come off; it wilted immediately in the face of Nora’s despair.

  In his mind’s eye Thomas could see Kicki Berggren sitting opposite him just a couple of weeks earlier, shredding a paper tissue in exactly the same way as she learned of her cousin’s death.

  “I’m sorry,” Nora said, “but I can’t remember anything special. Nothing that might explain how Jonny ended up in the water.” She started to cry again, clutching the teacup with both hands. “It just feels so unreal. I can’t believe Jonny’s dead.”

  Thomas patted her hand. “I know. This sort of thing just shouldn’t happen. If I knew who was behind it I’d put a stop to it, I can promise you that.” He sank back in the chair and linked his hands behind his head. He was worried about Nora. She looked pale and frozen beneath her tan. The shock was clear in her slow movements. Her eyes were crimson from crying, and her nose was swollen.

  “When will Henrik be back? I don’t want you to be alone.”

  Nora shrugged. “I expect he’ll be back in a few hours. But I’ll be fine—don’t worry. The boys are with Mom and Dad. I can easily go over there if I need some company.” She grabbed a fresh tissue and blew her nose. “I think I might try to get some sleep, actually. You go—I know you’ve got things to do.”

  Thomas gave her an encouraging nod. “A few hours of sleep will do you good. Call me if you think of anything or if you just need to talk. I’ll keep my phone on. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Thomas stood on the steps for a moment, weighing his phone in his hand as he wondered whether to call Henrik or not. He was always pleased to see Henrik and Nora, but right from the start Thomas had been aware of a kind of resistance on Henrik’s part, something that stopped Thomas from feeling relaxed in his company. It was as if Henrik couldn’t quite come to terms with the solid, understated friendship between Nora and Thomas. Thomas didn’t think Henrik was jealous; it was more as if their friendship somehow encroached on the private territory that Nora’s husband believed should be reserved for a marriage.

  There was an underlying distance between the two men that never quite disappeared in spite of the fact that they had known each other for a long time. Henrik’s upper-middle-class background and deeply conservative values didn’t exactly improve matters.

  On top of that, Henrik was a doctor and was used to everyone listening to him whenever he had something to say. There was an element of authoritativeness in him that sometimes annoyed Thomas. And the way in which Henrik would interrupt Nora in the middle of a sentence or the irritation that was apparent when she didn’t always agree with him made Thomas wonder occasionally about the balance within their relationship.

  He decided that he would call Henrik and leave a message, so he would know what had happened before he got home. With a bit of luck he might realize that his wife needed him.

  FRIDAY, THE THIRD WEEK

  CHAPTER 35

  When Thomas arrived at the police station in Nacka on Friday morning, it was blissfully quiet. It seemed most of his colleagues who weren’t on vacation had opted for a late start. Even those who were normally in first thing were conspicuous by their absence.

  He
had caught the early morning ferry once again, and his reward was time alone in the office. Thomas appreciated the silence. It had been an intense week, and it wasn’t over yet. Being able to sit down at his desk without having to talk to anyone felt liberating. He went along to the kitchen with his mug, which was large and sturdy and bore the logo of the maritime police.

  A selection of teas was arranged on a shelf. After some consideration he settled on Earl Grey. Not very original, perhaps, but a good choice first thing in the morning. Two teaspoons of sugar and a drop of milk—perfect.

  He walked back down the corridor to his office. Apart from the obligatory desk, two birch wood chairs for visitors, and a neutral bookcase in the same pale wood, it was virtually empty. On the desk were piles of papers and documents. There were no photographs or potted plants to make the room homier.

  He used to have a large photo of Pernilla next to the phone. He had loved that picture. It had been taken on Harö at sunset. Pernilla’s hair had been bleached by the sun, and the picture captured that special evening light that exists only in summer in the archipelago.

  She had been sitting at the end of the jetty gazing out to sea, just as the sun was going down. She hadn’t noticed that he was taking the photograph, which was why it had turned out so well. A wonderful moment tenderly captured.

  After the divorce he had put the picture at the bottom of a desk drawer.

  He couldn’t have a photograph of Emily on display either. It was just too hard. Whenever he thought of Emily he saw her tiny hand resting in his. He had sat by her for hours before they came to take her away, just stroking those little fingers as they lay lifeless on his palm.

  It had been impossible to grasp that he would never again be able to touch her soft cheek, never hold her in his arms. In the end, when the paramedics had insisted on taking her away, he had gone crazy, clinging to her as if he could make her start breathing through sheer willpower.

  He had howled like a wounded animal. When they took his daughter from him, he had sobbed helplessly. Nothing had been as painful as watching the ambulance drive away with his daughter’s body—not the funeral, with the tiny white coffin in front of the altar, nor the unavoidable separation from Pernilla.

  There was an envelope with his name on it sitting on his desk. He slit it open and immediately saw that it was the report from the national forensics lab in Linköping giving the results of the more extensive tests on the samples from Kicki Berggren’s body.

  They had worked fast, he thought. He began to read. The report wasn’t what he had expected. And it didn’t cast any further light on what had happened on the island.

  Quite the reverse, in fact.

  He scratched the back of his neck and stretched. Persson would be even more annoyed. New information that didn’t help at all. It would probably be best to ask the prosecutor to attend their next meeting. She needed to hear this. She was leading the preliminary investigation, after all, which made her technically responsible for the case as a whole.

  He picked up the phone to call Margit; she, too, must be informed. This was something the two of them needed to tackle.

  CHAPTER 36

  The meeting began at nine thirty on the dot. Persson believed in punctuality. If you couldn’t turn up on time, then it didn’t say much for your character, in his opinion.

  When Thomas walked in to the conference room, both Persson and Charlotte Öhman were already there. Kalle and Erik were sitting opposite, and Carina was next to them with her pen at the ready. Thomas noticed that she was wearing a barrette, but a few strands of hair had escaped. Her pink blouse looked pretty against her tanned skin.

  Carina pointed to a plate in the middle of the table. “Help yourself to a cinnamon Danish, Thomas. I passed a bakery on the way in, and I thought a treat might help.”

  Thomas nodded. “Thanks. Anything that raises the blood sugar and provides energy is welcome.”

  Persson cleared his throat. “Right, let’s start. Is Margit with us?” He stared at the telephone.

  The answer came loud and clear. “I’m here. How are things in Stockholm? It’s seventy-seven degrees here, and the water is almost as warm.”

  “We can’t complain. So, let’s find out where we’re at.” Persson leaned back in his chair. “Thomas, you first.”

  Thomas quickly summarized the events of the past twenty-four hours, then picked up the report from the lab. “According to the forensic analysis, Kicki Berggren was poisoned.”

  Confusion spread around the room; they were all looking at one another without really knowing how to interpret this new information.

  “Probably rat poison,” Thomas went on.

  “You mean the cause of death was rat poison?” Carina asked.

  “The underlying cause of death,” Thomas said. “The report states that she had ingested a fatal dose of warfarin, which is a component of rat poison. Indirectly, this is what killed her, by causing internal bleeding in the brain and other organs.”

  “What do you mean, indirectly?” Erik asked.

  “Warfarin works as an anticoagulant, which means it prevents the blood from clotting. The blows or the fall that Kicki Berggren suffered were the direct cause of death, because her body was unable to stop the bleeding they caused.”

  “But otherwise she wouldn’t have died?” Kalle looked at Thomas.

  “Probably not. The violence to which she was subjected would normally have resulted in nothing more serious than some nasty bruises and a small amount of bleeding. It would have been obvious that somebody had slapped her but nothing worse than that.”

  “How do you think she consumed rat poison?” Margit asked.

  “We need to check on that. It certainly seems odd,” Thomas said. Who could possibly consume something like that by mistake, particularly in view of the fact that the container was usually marked with a clear warning?

  Margit spoke again. “I recognize the name warfarin; isn’t it used for people, too?”

  Thomas nodded and skimmed through the report in his hand. “Warfarin is also a pharmaceutical drug used on humans under a number of different brand names,” he said. “It’s commonly prescribed after a stroke, because it reduces the formation of blood clots. However, it can also cause internal bleeding if it’s administered in large doses. That’s what happened to Ariel Sharon, the former prime minister of Israel. He suffered a blood clot to begin with, and when he was treated with blood-thinning drugs, it resulted in a major brain hemorrhage.”

  “I heard about that on TV,” Carina said.

  Thomas went through the report and tried to summarize the contents. “Forensics routinely checks for warfarin. Therefore it wasn’t particularly difficult for them to find traces of an extremely high dose and to make the connection with rat poison. This dose would also explain the other bleeding discovered during the autopsy.”

  Persson drummed his fingers on the table, his impatience clear. “So, when did she take this rat poison?”

  “According to the lab, it takes between twelve and twenty-four hours for the poison to achieve its maximum effect. The blow or blows she appears to have received at Jonny Almhult’s place are likely to have exacerbated the situation. She was found at around twelve o’clock that Saturday. According to the pathologist, she had been dead for several hours by then, which means she must have been poisoned at some point Friday, if we work backward.”

  “In that case, it probably happened on Sandhamn,” Kalle said. “She arrived on the island after lunch on Friday; at least that’s what the girl in the kiosk said when we showed her Kicki’s photo.” Kalle seemed pleased that he had been the first to reach this conclusion. He looked around the table, radiating satisfaction.

  Margit’s voice came through the speakerphone. “Are you sure she couldn’t have ingested the poison somewhere else?”

  Thomas looked doubtful. “I suppose we can nev
er be one hundred percent sure, but the analysis is clear. This kind of poison works within this time frame. It doesn’t seem likely that she was poisoned anywhere other than on Sandhamn, but of course we can’t completely exclude that possibility.”

  “Who has access to rat poison?” Erik asked.

  “Most people, I presume,” Thomas said. “You can buy it all over the place. But of course that’s something we need to look into.” He turned to Kalle. “Could you call the toxicology unit when we’re done here? Find out where you can get ahold of rat poison. Can anyone buy it, or are purchases traceable? Someone should be able to help.”

  “Try Anticimex as well,” Carina suggested. “They’re the biggest pest-control company; they ought to know about rat poison and how people can get it.”

  Persson reached out for his third cinnamon Danish and bit into it angrily, glaring at the speakerphone as he chewed. “So to sum up: we have a situation where this woman somehow ingested a fatal dose of rat poison. Then she was subjected to violence from an external source, although this violence was not sufficient to cause death under normal circumstances. However, she had so much rat poison in her system that the blow or blows did in fact prove fatal. And all this happened on Sandhamn, presumably in the company of a person who has since been found drowned, also on Sandhamn. Have they gone completely mad over there? Is it something in the water?”

  Carina scribbled as if her life depended on it. The atmosphere around the table was tense. They were all looking down at their papers, avoiding eye contact. The situation was serious, to say the least.

  Thomas cleared his throat. “I have something else to report. The manager from the Mission House contacted me this morning.”

  Persson looked up from the report, which Thomas had passed over. “And?”