Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1)

by Viveca Sten

  “It seems Kicki Berggren had asked her for directions to the house of someone who lived on the island. When we spoke to her before, she couldn’t remember anything because of the shock. But now a few details have come back to her. She thinks Kicki Berggren was asking about someone called Fille or Figge or possibly Pigge.”

  The room was silent.

  “Last name?” Persson asked.

  “The first name was all she could remember. She also has a very strong accent, so that will probably affect the pronunciation. But it’s definitely worth looking into.”

  “OK,” said Persson, turning to Carina. “Go through every homeowner on the island and check if anyone has a name that sounds similar. Try and get ahold of someone in the housing department as soon as possible. I hope they’re not closed on Fridays this time of year.” He shoved the rest of the Danish into his mouth and looked around. “By the way, do we know any more about Jonny Almhult?”

  Margit didn’t speak, so Thomas took the lead. “No more than we established yesterday. The most likely scenario is that he drowned. There was extensive bruising, but we won’t know for certain until we have the report from forensics. I’ve called them twice and asked for priority, so we’ll see if that helps.”

  “Anything from where the body was found?” said Persson.

  “It wasn’t possible to secure any evidence from the beach. Nothing that could lead to a possible perpetrator. It’s as if Almhult’s body just popped up out of the water.”

  “For God’s sake,” Persson said. “Do you have any idea where Almhult had been before he floated along in Trouville?”

  “I’m afraid not. The call went out on Tuesday morning, but so far nothing useful has come in. I’ll contact the national CID again as soon as we finish here. At the moment we don’t know where he’d been since his mother last saw him.”

  Persson shook his head. “And what about the link between Systemet and Sandhamn?”

  “Nothing there either,” Thomas said, looking worried. “I thought I might go and see Berggren’s boss at Systemet again this afternoon to see if we can get any more out of him. I’ll take Erik with me.” He started to gather his papers. “We need to go through all the statements we’ve taken this week, look closely at every scrap of information we have. Kalle, you concentrate on Jonny Almhult, and the rest of us will stay focused on the cousins.”

  Charlotte Öhman cleared her throat and spoke for the first time since the meeting began. Her hair was up in a ponytail just like the last time, and she looked cool and composed in a white blouse and blue skirt. “Haven’t we been rather cavalier when it comes to the question of motive? Shouldn’t we have a more fully developed hypothesis with regard to the reason behind the murders by this stage?”

  Persson turned to look at Charlotte as if he had only just noticed her presence. “Are you suggesting we haven’t been doing our jobs properly?” he said. “We’re still in the process of building up a picture of the victims. Obviously a motive will form part of that picture.”

  The prosecutor’s cheeks flushed, but she stuck to her guns. “And that’s exactly why we need to think very carefully about any possible motives, so we can find the perpetrator.” She looked Persson in the eye. “Or perpetrators. We can’t rule out the possibility that we’re dealing with more than one murderer.” She took off her glasses and swept the room with her gaze. “Unless anyone has any other ideas?”

  Persson glared at Charlotte. “One thing I’ve learned over the years: sometimes murders are committed without there being a logical motive. People aren’t always as rational as we might think.”

  Thomas tried to mediate. “Obviously we’ve considered various motives to try to establish a link between the three deaths. The problem is that the only clear connection between the first two is that they were cousins. We haven’t been able to find any direct link between them and Jonny Almhult’s death that explains why someone would want to take the lives of these three people. Neither their backgrounds nor lifestyles suggest any kind of common ground. But we’re devoting a lot of time to this aspect.”

  He looked at Charlotte, who gave him a wry smile. Her expression was skeptical, but she seemed prepared to accept Thomas’s explanation. For the time being, at least.

  “Good. But every possible scenario in this situation must be examined. I’m sure I don’t need to stress the seriousness of this case. We can’t risk another murder,” she said.

  “Margit,” said Persson, reaching for another Danish. He stopped when he saw the expression on Carina’s face.

  It’s hardly surprising that he looks the way he does, Thomas thought.

  “I want you back here on Monday so the prosecutor doesn’t need to worry about our resources being overstretched. Thomas could probably do with some help, and I think Ms. Öhman would prefer you to be here for the rest of the investigation.”

  “I understand. I’ll be there.”

  Margit was well aware of what the situation required and made no objections. Things were serious. Three dead bodies within the space of just a few weeks, and no resolution in sight.

  CHAPTER 37

  Erik and Thomas looked around the Systemet warehouse. There were bottles as far as the eye could see in all directions. The walls were lined with pallets stacked with boxes containing wines and spirits.

  “I’ve never seen this much booze in my life,” Kalle said. “If you don’t turn into an alcoholic working here, you never will.”

  He walked over to one of the boxes and peered at the bottles. “Look, it’s Dom Pérignon. A bottle like this costs over a thousand kronor, I think. Not bad for just five or six glasses, right?” He picked up a bottle and pretended to drink from it.

  Thomas laughed; it was almost inconceivable that so much alcohol could be gathered in one place. He wondered what the total value of the contents of the warehouse might be. An enormous amount, no doubt. He hoped Systemet was well insured against fire; it would be no joke if the place burned down. It would probably provide the biggest fireworks display since the millennium party.

  Krister’s boss came over to them. He introduced himself to Erik, who had some difficulty in suppressing a smirk when he heard the man’s name: Viking Strindberg. The name suggested a tall, well-built figure of a man, but in reality Viking Strindberg was small and skinny, with round glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked as if he belonged behind a desk rather than in a place like this, surrounded by bottles and forklifts.

  He asked if they would like coffee and pointed to a machine in the corner.

  Thomas declined. The machine looked alarmingly like the one in Nacka’s police station. Erik, however, who would happily drink engine oil if it were offered, accepted a cup without hesitation.

  They followed Viking Strindberg to a conference room at one end of the depot. There was an oval desk in the center of the room, surrounded by blue chairs. Along one wall a range of Absolut spirits was displayed on a narrow table.

  Erik and Thomas sat down across from Viking Strindberg.

  “I thought you’d found out everything you wanted to know last time we spoke,” Viking Strindberg began, glancing at Thomas.

  “Not quite. We’d just like to check one or two more things,” Thomas said as he worked out how to phrase his first question. No point beating about the bush. “Do you have any reason to believe Krister Berggren may have been involved in any kind of organized crime related to Systemet?”

  “Absolutely not,” came the swift response. “It’s out of the question.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “If you’d met Krister, you’d understand. He just wasn’t the type. I don’t think he would ever have had the nerve to do such a thing. He might have taken the odd bottle home from time to time, but that’s not something I’ve looked into. Certain things just aren’t worth making a fuss over,” he said with a shrug.

  “I
f I worked here I think I might be tempted to start selling booze on the side. So that wouldn’t be picked up, then?” Thomas said with a meaningful look at Erik.

  “We have excellent security procedures, I can assure you.”

  “But you just said Krister probably took home the odd bottle—your security procedures didn’t pick that up, did they?”

  Viking straightened up and took a sip of his coffee. To be on the safe side he took another sip before putting the cup down on the table. He didn’t seem all that happy with the turn the conversation had taken.

  “I’ve already spoken to you about Krister Berggren. I don’t understand what else there is to say.”

  “I think there’s plenty to say.” Erik joined in. “You mean there’s no wastage here?”

  “Of course there is, but I don’t see what that has to do with Berggren’s death.”

  “That depends what kind of volume we’re talking about.” Thomas leaned forward. The little man’s arrogance was annoying him. He could at least cooperate with the police in an investigation into the death of an employee. “According to my research, Systemet sold something in the area of two hundred million bottles of wine last year. Let me see,” he said. “If my calculations are correct, that means that as little as one percent of that volume corresponds to two million bottles. Just half of one percent equals one million. Most companies within the retail sector allow for a considerably higher level of wastage than that.”

  Viking Strindberg was looking at Thomas like he wanted to kill him. “I can’t tell you the exact level of wastage or the sums of money involved,” he said. “That’s confidential information. But I don’t think it’s anything serious. Definitely not.” He tapped the desk with the palm of his hand to emphasize what he had just said.

  Thomas wasn’t impressed. References to confidential information were irrelevant in the middle of a murder investigation. “Please bear in mind that you’re talking to the police. Now let me ask you again: Do you have any wastage here?”

  Strindberg didn’t look quite so cocky now. He took off his glasses and put them back on again. Then he ran his hand over the small amount of gray hair he had left. “We do have a certain amount of wastage, of course; it’s unavoidable. Particularly in this trade. But we have very good procedures for dealing with that kind of thing.”

  “If someone could sell hundreds of thousands of bottles on the side, how much would they be able to make?” Erik asked the question as if it were routine.

  It took Viking Strindberg a long time to answer. He ran his hand over his head once again before he spoke. “It’s hard to say. Obviously it depends on how much you charge. We could be talking about big money.”

  “Big enough to murder someone over?” Erik asked.

  Viking Strindberg looked quite ill now. “I can’t possibly answer that.” He glanced around. “You’ll have to contact our security department if you want to discuss that kind of thing.”

  Erik wasn’t prepared to give up. “Who would be interested in buying cheap booze?”

  Beads of sweat appeared on Strindberg’s forehead. “I’ve no idea what they get up to in the catering business. It has nothing to do with me.”

  SATURDAY, THE THIRD WEEK

  CHAPTER 38

  “Turn that damn music down!” Henrik shouted from upstairs.

  “What did you say?” Nora shouted back.

  “I said turn the music down!”

  Nora smiled. Bruce Springsteen was reverberating through the house. The neighbors’ windows were probably rattling. She shouldn’t really be playing such loud music in a densely populated area like Sandhamn village, but today she couldn’t care less.

  The regatta was over at long last, and there were celebrations that evening. Prizes would be awarded by King Harald of Norway, who had participated in the competition, and then there was a gala dinner at the Yacht Club.

  Nora would be wearing a new dress in shades of turquoise, together with white high-heeled strappy sandals. After the terrible events of the past few days, she was desperate for some frivolity. She was looking forward to spending an evening with her husband, who hadn’t exactly honored the family with his presence lately. Nora felt a powerful urge to enjoy herself, to get slightly tipsy and forget everything. She had wondered whether it was appropriate to attend the dinner in view of the recent deaths. The Yacht Club board had evidently been considering the matter, too; she had heard rumors that they were thinking of postponing the whole thing. However, they had eventually decided to go ahead as planned. After all, this was an international sailing championship, with participants from all over the world. With a bit of luck, many of the overseas participants might have missed all the commotion on the island, since they didn’t read the local papers or watch Swedish television.

  Nora just wanted something else to think about.

  When she got over the initial shock of finding Jonny, she tried to fill her mind with anything but the sight of his dead body. She had slept for almost twelve hours straight and had felt much better afterward. A long walk in the forest had also helped clear her head. But the best medicine of all had been a game of Monopoly with the boys. Sitting there with Simon on her knee as they tried to decide whether to buy Norrmalmstorg, the most expensive lot in the game, was pure therapy.

  Thomas had been careful not to release her name to the press, so hardly anyone knew that Nora had found the body and dragged it ashore. She blessed his thoughtfulness and his ability to keep tabs on something like that in the middle of everything that was going on.

  She went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine before she got changed. The boys were staying over with her parents, so she and Henrik would have the night to themselves.

  Ever since she was a little girl and used to go there with her parents on Sundays, Nora had loved having dinner in the Royal Swedish Yacht Club’s old clubhouse, where the traditions of competitive sailing were a part of the very fabric of the place. Wonderful old photographs showed elegant ladies in full-length dresses strolling along with their parasols as they admired the beautiful wooden boats, which in those days were regarded as the greyhounds of the sea.

  The contrast with today’s competitive sailing craft, which didn’t even have as many bunks as crewmembers because the crew worked in shifts, was almost laughable. In the old days, sailing had been all about sleek boats that combined beauty with speed. Today the major competitions were a complex and commercial machine, where technology and sponsorship were of equal importance.

  But the old clubhouse retained the atmosphere of those bygone days, and it wasn’t difficult to picture its inauguration under the patronage of Oscar II, with bearded gentlemen and gleaming mahogany sailboats.

  Nora and Henrik’s party would be seated on the eastern veranda, with a perfect view of the sea. On a clear day you could see all the way to the lighthouse at Almagrundet, which lay some ten nautical miles southeast of Sandhamn.

  She did a little dance of sheer joy. It had been ages since she and Henrik had gone dancing. These days they mostly went to dinner with other families, and the conversation centered on the children, how tired they all were, and how difficult it was to get everything done. Once they were all agreed on such matters, it was time to go home.

  She picked up her glass of wine and went upstairs. Henrik was lying on the bed, gazing idly at some sports program on television.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting changed?” Nora asked.

  Henrik grinned and winked at her. “I’ve got a better idea. Come here!”

  Nora perched on the edge of the bed. “And what might that be?” she said with a teasing look.

  “I was thinking of claiming my conjugal rights.”

  “Have we got time?” She couldn’t help glancing at the clock. The drawback of being a mother. No wonder people said that having small children stopped you from having any more.

 
“Of course we’ve got time.” He pulled her gently onto the bed. “When you’ve got kids you have to make the most of every opportunity!” His hand found its way under her top. Nora put down her glass and moved close to him. She kissed the hollow at the base of his throat and breathed in his familiar scent. He had virtually no hair on his chest; it had always been that way. She used to tease him and say he was like David Beckham, minus the razor.

  Everything was going to be all right, she thought. Whatever happened with the job.

  CHAPTER 39

  By the time they arrived at the Yacht Club, the pier was already full of happy people. The naval flags hoisted on the tall flagpoles fluttered in the wind. Waiters carried trays of champagne flutes. Everyone was dressed for the occasion, and there was an air of excitement.

  Several of the sailors were in uniform, old-fashioned ceremonial dress that reminded Nora of the 1930s. Henrik had once said, half in jest, that he was thinking of buying one, but Nora’s somewhat acid comment about looking like a circus performer had made him change his mind.

  She had no problem with nostalgia, but there had to be a limit when it came to romanticizing the past. She also thought the Royal Swedish Yacht Club with all its traditions could be rather too much of a good thing sometimes, but she kept that to herself.

  Henrik had grown up in a sailing family; his father was a prominent figure in the Yacht Club, so all the business of kissing each other on the cheek and preserving traditions was second nature to him. Nora, on the other hand, had never felt at home in this environment.

  Admittedly, she had spent every summer on the island since she was born, but her view of Sandhamn was completely different. To Nora, Sandhamn meant proximity to the sea, great expanses of silence broken only by the cry of the gulls. You caught your own fish and picked blueberries in the pine forest. On sunny days, you took a picnic down to the beach. In the evening, you fired up the barbecue down by the jetty. It was the simple life that Nora loved, the peace and quiet. The children could run free without anyone having to worry about traffic. Everyone knew everyone else. It was a feeling reminiscent of the novelist Astrid Lindgren’s Bullerby books, and it wasn’t so easy to find these days.