by Viveca Sten
Deep down she regretted the development that had turned the island into a symbol of expensive sailboats and the beautiful people who followed in their wake. At the same time, it helped to keep the island alive. Far too many islands in the archipelago were already depopulated, and it wasn’t easy to find work here. Regattas and other events made sure that Sandhamn was on the map, creating permanent jobs year-round.
You had to take the rough with the smooth.
Since Henrik loved sailing and felt completely at home at the Yacht Club, there wasn’t really much to say. In any case, Nora couldn’t imagine spending the summer anywhere other than Sandhamn, so what did she have to complain about?
The huge table was covered with silver cups of all sizes, and bottles of champagne were lined up at the ready. The odd paparazzo wandered around, searching for famous faces. Members of the royal family sometimes took part in various sailing competitions, so there was a good chance of success for the photographers.
Henrik spotted his crewmates and skillfully piloted Nora through the crowd to reach them. He scooped up two glasses of champagne in passing without so much as breaking his stride.
Nora cheerfully greeted Henrik’s friends and their respective partners. She had met the other wives before, but they weren’t close friends like the men. Most of the women either worked part-time, or not at all. Those who did work had some “appropriate” occupation, such as standing behind the counter at an interior design shop.
Nora, who struggled to combine her full-time job as a legal adviser with the bank and her role as the mother of two young boys, always felt slightly out of place in their company. She would think carefully before saying anything about how she spent her days. If someone had just been talking about the difficulty of getting an awkward customer to choose a particular fabric for her sofa, the contrast would be quite marked when she started describing negotiations involving loans worth tens of millions of kronor.
She always had the feeling that the others secretly shook their heads at her ambition, her determination to pursue a career.
As they took their places at the table, Nora realized how hungry she was. She polished off the ridiculously small starter of whitefish roe on toast in just a couple of bites while attempting to converse with Johan Wrede, one of the guests at their table.
Johan and Henrik had studied medicine together, and their families had known each other since forever. When she and Henrik got married, Johan had given a long and boring speech detailing every single sailing incident they had been involved in, none of them of any interest whatsoever to anyone else.
“So, how are the children?” Johan asked as he raised his glass to Nora.
“Fine, thanks,” Nora said, nodding to acknowledge the gesture. “They love spending the summer here.”
“Have they got many friends?” Johan asked. His children were younger; he had a three-year-old girl and a little boy of nine months.
“Tons. The island is crawling with kids. There’s no shortage of playmates around here.”
“It seems as if quite a lot of new summer residents are coming over these days. There have been a fair number of houses for sale lately, hasn’t there?”
Nora could only agree. Despite the sharp price increases, low interest rates in recent years had led to dream deals on attractive properties with a sea view. Unfortunately, this also meant that many siblings could no longer afford to buy each other out when their parents passed away, so even more properties came onto the market for prospective buyers to fight over. The buyers were often rich Swedes who lived abroad, spending just a few weeks each summer on the island. For the rest of the year the houses stood silent and empty, making the little community even more desolate in winter.
“You’re right. Several old houses that have been in one family for generations have been sold over the past few months. I think it’s really sad,” Nora said.
Johan looked at her, curiosity shining in his eyes. “Wasn’t there some place that went for six or seven million last year?” He gave a long, low whistle. “Just for the summer!”
Nora grimaced and nodded. “Yes. And another in the middle of the village went for almost as much. It’s crazy, when you think about it.” She speared a piece of steak with her fork and went on. “It’s a terrible state of affairs. Soon ordinary people won’t be able to buy out here at all.”
Johan held out his glass to a passing waitress for a top off. “So what are they like, these people who spend millions on a house?”
Nora thought for a moment. She pictured several of the families who had come to Sandhamn over the past few years. “They’re like anyone else, I suppose. But with more money. Some of them try to fit in as best they can, while others have no sense of community at all. Some families spend a fortune restoring the property they’ve bought, while others ruin the place by getting rid of everything and doing it up to fit in with the latest trends. Or they build ghastly extensions that don’t look right at all.” She fell silent, thinking about a house that had been particularly dilapidated. “One or two have turned out really well, I must admit. So in a way you could say it’s a kind of cultural bonus.”
“If you spend that kind of money on a place just for the summer, I suppose you can do what you like,” Johan said.
Nora shook her head. She didn’t agree with that at all. “If you come to a place like Sandhamn, you have to adapt and follow the unwritten rules. For example, it’s always been tradition that everyone can walk right around the island. You can’t just buy a house and build a fence right down to the water’s edge, even if the land forms part of your property. If you don’t like the local customs, then you can take your millions and buy an island of your own. I mean, they obviously have the resources.” The last comment came out more sharply than she had intended. But she couldn’t hide her frustration over recent developments and the careless attitude many of the new owners displayed toward both permanent residents and visitors who had spent their summers on the island for many years. Suddenly the original benefits, like the opportunity to fish or hunt, had begun to be valued in a completely different way. Many things that in the past had been an integral part of life on Sandhamn were now being reassessed, and came with a price tag. It gave Nora the unpleasant feeling that everything was for sale. Everything could be bought or sold.
But there was no point in sitting here at a wonderful dinner and getting annoyed. She quickly raised her glass to Johan in order to take the sting out of her words. “Let’s drink to the excellent results of the regatta,” she said with a smile.
As usual, the restaurant got hot and stuffy as the guests dived into the main course; the ancient clubhouse had never had much in the way of air conditioning. The waiters scurried between the tables in spite of the temperature being around eighty-six degrees, and the gentlemen had removed their jackets long ago.
Everyone was laughing and chatting. The atmosphere was perfect.
No one even mentioned the recent deaths.
CHAPTER 40
The dancing began after dinner. The same band had been playing at the Yacht Club for the past eighteen years. Nora had been a teenager when they’d first started, and the boys in the band just a few years older. At the time she had thought the guitarist was the best-looking boy she had ever seen.
Not anymore.
Henrik asked Nora to dance as the band struck up with “Lady in Red.” She had always thought they danced well together; they both had rhythm and found it easy to keep the beat. Nora felt much better about everything now. And things were bound to work out with the job in Malmö. If she got it. She ran her fingers down Henrik’s spine and breathed in the scent of him. She could never remember the name of his aftershave, but she would recognize it anywhere. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the music, feeling the melody all through her body.
After one more dance they went out onto the veranda to get some fresh air and cool do
wn. The packed dance floor created an almost sauna-like heat.
Outside, it was pleasantly warm, with hundreds of masts silhouetted against the dark-blue sky. One or two boats were still flying their ensigns, in spite of the ancient custom that dictated that all flags should be lowered at nine o’clock in the evening in the summer. Many sailors were still on board, enjoying the beautiful evening.
Over by the pool, they could see motorboats whose owners had gathered to celebrate this Saturday evening, untroubled by the dramatic events of recent weeks.
The biggest motorboats, the Storebro and the Princess, lay side by side at the Via Mare jetty. There was a fine line between what constituted a boat and what was actually a floating summer cottage. Some of the boats were so enormous they could only berth in Sandhamn or Högböte, the harbor that was home to the Royal Motorboat Club.
Nora had once asked one of Henrik’s sailing friends how much a vessel like the Storebro would cost. He had given her a look and said, “Don’t worry about what the boat costs—worry about what it costs to fill her up!” She hadn’t asked any more questions after that.
Henrik interrupted Nora’s thoughts. “Did you enjoy dinner?”
He put his arm around her shoulders as she shivered in the evening breeze.
“I did. Johan is easy to talk to, even if his account of the qualities of your new mainsail did take up most of the main course.” Nora smiled at him. “But it’s lovely to have a pleasant evening together for a change. I’ve missed this.” She snuggled a little closer and gently stroked his cheek. “Have you given any more thought to the idea of moving to Malmö? It all sounds very exciting, doesn’t it? It would be a terrific opportunity for me.” The sense of pride at having been asked to apply for the post gave her a warm feeling. She gazed up at her husband, smiling.
Henrik looked back at her, surprise written all over his face. “I thought we’d finished talking about this. We can’t move the entire family to Malmö just because somebody offers you a job there.”
Nora was shocked. “What do you mean? Why can’t we move to Malmö just because somebody offers me a job there?”
“I can’t move, and I have no desire to do so. I’m very happy at the hospital in Danderyd. I have absolutely no wish to start again somewhere else.” He half turned and waved to a passing acquaintance. “Shall we go back inside? The others will be wondering where we’ve gone.”
Nora was at a loss for words. Then she furiously shook off his arm. The happy atmosphere was gone in a second; suddenly the gala and all those people laughing and dancing seemed a long way off.
“How can you possibly say we’ve finished talking about this? We haven’t even discussed it properly!” She pushed a strand of hair back from her face and continued. “Have you even heard what I’ve been trying to tell you?” To her surprise, her voice was shaking. “I thought we had a modern relationship, an equal marriage, where both our jobs were important, not just yours.”
“Calm down,” Henrik said. “Let’s not get carried away. I just meant that you need to be a little more realistic about the future. After all, I’m the main breadwinner. Our family and friends are in Stockholm. And I’ve got the boat here, of course.” He took a step back and looked at her. “There’s no need to be so melodramatic when I don’t agree with you.”
Henrik sounded exactly like the clinical practitioner he was. His voice was cool and distant, and he was looking at her as if she were a small child.
“I’m not being melodramatic.”
Nora blinked away a tear, even more angry because she was starting to cry. The injustice of it all took her breath away. She swallowed, partly to get rid of the lump in her throat and partly to prevent the tears from falling.
Henrik was expressionless. He took a few steps toward the door. “Yes, you are. Now pull yourself together so we can go back inside.” He took another step.
Nora clenched her fists in rage. Every time Henrik wanted to go away for a competition, the family simply had to make it work. His training sessions and sailing competitions already took up most weekends during the spring and autumn, and their entire summer vacation was arranged according to the various regattas. But when her job happened to be in the spotlight for once, she was being melodramatic.
Henrik was leaning impatiently against the doorframe. “Come on, Nora. Surely you don’t have to make a scene tonight of all nights. Can’t we just go back inside and enjoy ourselves? Is that too much to ask?”
Nora glared at him. “Yes,” she said. “It is.” She dashed away another tear. “I’m going home. This evening is over as far as I’m concerned.” She ran down the steps. The night was ruined. Henrik could come up with some explanation for his friends—she really didn’t care.
It had been a terrible week. Perhaps it was only fitting that it had ended with a terrible evening.
SUNDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK
CHAPTER 41
The attempt to clear his mind by going over to Harö hadn’t exactly been a success. By the time Thomas got there on Saturday afternoon he was far too pumped up on adrenaline to unwind completely. Instead he had gone out for a long run, followed by a refreshing dip from the jetty.
He had gone to bed early to try to catch up on the sleep he had lost during the week, but it had been a waste of time. He found it impossible to stop his mind from dwelling on the case. Fragments of conversations with potential witnesses and disjointed images of the victims whirled around in his head.
At about two o’clock in the morning he gave up, grabbed a beer, and went to sit on the jetty. The sun had already begun to rise; it didn’t stay below the horizon for very long at this time of year.
Thomas sat there thinking about the murders, and eventually he nodded off in his chair. His mother woke him when she came down for her morning swim.
“Have you been out here all night?” she asked, looking puzzled.
Thomas blinked at her, still only half-awake. “I couldn’t get to sleep, so I came down here.”
He sat up and ran his hands through his hair, then stretched to ease the muscles in his back, stiff from sitting in an awkward position in the chair.
It was a beautiful, still morning, with gentle ripples on the surface of the water. A little family of eider ducks with three ducklings came swimming along; one little ball of fluff almost got tangled up in a piece of floating yellow seaweed.
His mother shook her head, looking concerned. “You need to take things easy. You sleep badly and you eat badly. I’m going to make you a proper breakfast after my swim.”
Thomas smiled at her. He knew that his parents worried about him. Emily’s death had hit them hard. They had so looked forward to their first grandchild and had been utterly devastated by what had happened.
It suddenly struck him that they were both over seventy. Two living, healthy parents was no longer something he could take for granted.
He got up and gave his mother a great big bear hug. She almost disappeared in his embrace.
“Breakfast would be fantastic. I’m starving.”
After lunch, he abandoned the attempt to think of anything other than the investigation. He took out his laptop and logged on. He spread out all the relevant documents on the kitchen table, including information from the general public and the various reports that had been handed in during the week. Methodically he went through it all.
It was clear that few people had noticed Kicki Berggren’s visit to Sandhamn. Among the crowds of summer visitors, sailors, and tourists, hardly anyone had noticed a lonely woman of about fifty.
In spite of the fact that they had knocked on every single door in Sandhamn—more than once in some cases—their inquiries had produced little. Thomas rubbed his eyes and yawned. The only point of interest was a statement Erik had handed in. He had spoken to a woman who lived in the older part of the village who thought she remembered Kicki Berggren walking past the bake
ry heading toward Fläskberget—going west, in other words. The woman had noticed her because she had been wearing such high heels and had had some difficulty walking on the sand.
“These are much better,” the old lady had said, pointing to her white sneakers, the laces tied in a neat bow.
According to the report, Kicki Berggren had been looking around as if she didn’t really know where she was going.
The woman had also noticed that Kicki had spoken to someone, but she couldn’t remember who it was. She couldn’t for the life of her come up with any distinguishing features about the person Kicki had been talking to. She couldn’t even recall whether it was a man or a woman, let alone the person’s age or appearance. Just that Kicki seemed to be asking questions.
“I’m sorry, but it was all so quick. It was just something I saw out of the corner of my eye. I was too busy wondering how she could walk in those shoes,” she had explained when Erik pushed her for more details.
Thomas got up and went to make a cup of coffee. Two spoonfuls of instant coffee, hot water, two sugar lumps, and a little milk. He stirred thoughtfully as the sugar dissolved. Then he opened the cupboard to see if there was anything to eat. There wasn’t much, but he managed to locate an open packet of slightly stale cookies.
He took his coffee and the cookies back to the computer and sat down. He read through Erik’s report one more time as he pondered. If Kicki Berggren was going to visit someone, but didn’t know where that person lived, it was only logical that she would ask the way. The bakery was a natural meeting point on Sandhamn. Everyone who lived on the island went there on a regular basis to buy bread.
