In Harm's Way

by Viveca Sten

  CHAPTER 12

  “I’m leaving now, Bertil,” he heard Lisa say. Or was it Lena? “If you feel hungry later, there’s food in the refrigerator that you can heat up in the microwave. Saffron pancakes—how good does that sound?”

  Her shoulder-length hair was dyed in black-and-white stripes, and she had a colorful dragon tattooed on her right arm, winding its way down from elbow to wrist.

  She had just helped him change into his pajamas. Before that she had made his dinner, a microwave meal of meatballs, mashed potatoes, and lingonberry jam, which was supposed to represent Christmas fare.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said with such emphasis that the ring in her nose wobbled. “I’ll see you after New Year’s—I’m off work for a few days now.”

  She pulled on her jacket, and then paused.

  “Shall I put out a few ginger cookies before I go? Or some chocolate?”

  Bertil Ahlgren waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine. Bye now.”

  He was lying on top of the covers with a blanket over his legs. The television was on, with some woman talking enthusiastically about her childhood memories of Christmas Eve in Lapland. He wished she’d shut up. Jesus, she could talk!

  It didn’t matter which channel he chose, it was the same thing everywhere: either ancient black-and-white movies he’d already seen a dozen times, or ridiculously upbeat presenters trying to evoke a festive atmosphere.

  At long last the door slammed shut behind Lisa, or possibly Lena, and Bertil could relax.

  The girl meant well, but he loathed the whole thing, all those people crashing around in his home and treating him like a child.

  Someone came in four times a day; sometimes they were laughably young, with smooth cheeks and bright eyes, chirruping: “Hi, Bertil, and how are you today?”

  It was only late in the evening that he had the place to himself. During the night he could pretend that everything was the same as it had always been, that he was master of his own house rather than being at the mercy of those girls who prepared his meals and helped him to get dressed and undressed.

  He liked the peace and quiet in the apartment block at this time, with no one running up and down the stairs or taking the clanking elevator. Tonight he couldn’t hear a sound from next door either; Jeanette had left the previous day. He had looked through the peephole and seen her step into the elevator, and had only just managed to open the door to wish her a merry Christmas before she disappeared, calling out that she was going to be away for a few days.

  Bertil had lived in this block for fifty-six years, ever since he was first married, and knew every single resident. His bedroom was just off the hallway, so he knew exactly when his neighbors came and went.

  There were so many oddballs around these days, so it seemed even more important to know who was going in and out. He had read in the newspaper about these foreigners who tried to con their way into old folks’ homes by asking for a glass of water. Once they were in, they stole like magpies.

  He often peered out through the peephole when he heard sounds on the stairs; it enabled him to see what was going on, and made him feel as if he were an active participant rather than an old man who had no idea about the world outside his front door.

  CHAPTER 13

  Thomas went over to join Pernilla, who was half lying on the sofa with Elin curled up on her chest. There were a few crumpled candy wrappers on the coffee table, and the news had already started on TV.

  Elin was sleeping peacefully, while Pernilla’s cheek was resting on the arm of the sofa. She didn’t look particularly comfortable. Thomas leaned forward, making the candles flicker. He gently stroked her hair.

  “Shall I put her to bed?”

  Pernilla smiled at him.

  “Please—I just want to catch the end of the news. Half the world could have been destroyed, and we wouldn’t know a thing about it. I haven’t read a paper for days.”

  She turned her head a fraction to check her watch.

  “There’s only five minutes left, then it’s that movie you wanted to see.”

  Gently Thomas picked up his daughter, feeling the warmth of her body. Her head fit perfectly into his hand, a fact that took him by surprise every single time. He placed her in the crib, and carefully tucked her in. Her eyelids flickered as he kissed her forehead, but she didn’t wake.

  From the other room he could hear a report on the organization known as New Sweden, Nya Sverige. Pernilla was muttering to herself as she always did when there was something on about that xenophobic bunch. He loved her commitment, her interest in current affairs.

  By the time he got back to the living room, the weather forecast for the following day was on. Overcast, brightening later, no more snow for a while, but it would remain cold.

  Thomas settled down next to Pernilla. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

  I’m such a lucky man, he thought. Is it really possible to be this happy?

  CHAPTER 14

  Friday

  Bertil Ahlgren looked at the clock in some confusion: almost three thirty in the morning. He must have fallen asleep in front of the television.

  He tried to orient himself. Something had woken him, a loud noise. Where had it come from? He heard it again, from the other side of the wall—in Jeanette’s apartment.

  There was yet another black-and-white movie showing on TV; he recognized the leading man. Long dead, of course. His blond costar, too, no doubt.

  All dead.

  Another thud from next door; he was wide awake now.

  He reached for his robe at the foot of the bed. The belt was a little tricky; he had difficulty with knots these days. He pressed his ear to the wall; there was definitely someone moving around in there.

  He began to feel anxious. He ran his hand over the few remaining strands of hair on his head and listened again. There was nothing wrong with his hearing, it was just his body that was falling apart.

  It had gone quiet now, hadn’t it?

  Wait—another thud. Someone was knocking things over in Jeanette’s apartment; he was sure of it.

  Bertil swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his wheeled walker. Carefully he put down one foot at a time, feeling for his slippers. Using the bedside table for support, he managed to stand up and shuffle out into the dark hallway. He didn’t bother switching on the light; after all these years, he knew exactly where he was going.

  He moved as fast as he could; the effort made him break out in a sweat, and he had to wipe his forehead when he reached the front door. He positioned himself as close as possible, and peered out through the peephole.

  Jeanette’s door was at a ninety-degree angle to his, so he had no difficulty seeing it in spite of the poor lighting. He had complained to the housing committee on several occasions, but nothing had been done. No one listened to an old man.

  The dark-brown oak door seemed to be slightly ajar.

  Bertil screwed up his eyes in an effort to see more clearly. It definitely wasn’t closed properly.

  His heart was pounding; had someone broken in? Or had Jeanette been taken ill and returned home?

  There wasn’t a sound in the stairwell, but suddenly the silence was broken by a scraping noise.

  Bertil picked up an umbrella, hesitated for a second, then unlocked his door and pushed it open a few inches.

  He left the walker where it was and took a couple of steps, clutching the umbrella in his left hand and using the wall for support.

  The two doors were only a few feet apart.

  “Hello?” he called out tentatively. “Is anyone there?”

  All he could hear was his own labored breathing. The overexertion caused his vision to flicker, but he couldn’t stop now. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple, and the hand holding the umbrella felt damp.

  Should he go back inside?

  But what if Jeanette needed help?

  “Jeanette? Are you there? It’s me, Bertil.”

  A thin st
rip of light appeared in the doorway. A flashlight, he thought as the door flew open and a burst of pain exploded inside his head.

  CHAPTER 15

  The sun rose at 8:43 on December 26. Two minutes later, Elza Santos stepped out of the back door of the Sailors Hotel. She was wearing a thick jacket over her housekeeping uniform, and had pulled a woolen hat down to cover her curly black hair. A scarf was wrapped around her nose and mouth, but the cold still struck her like a blow to the face. The shock actually made her stop for a few seconds.

  A large party was due to arrive around noon. They had booked the apartment by the pool, so everything needed to be fresh and clean—the bathrooms spotless, miniature shampoos and shower gels laid out. The top of each toilet-paper roll had to be folded into a perfect point.

  With a grunt, she turned her head from side to side several times in order to improve her circulation. Her hands were full of heavy cleaning equipment, and her shoulders ached. She was only too aware that she would soon turn fifty. In Brazil she’d been a teacher; that had been hard work, too, but in a different way. Then she’d met Anders and fallen in love.

  Elza sighed. It was so early that the path running past the minigolf course hadn’t been cleared, so instead she had to go via the jetties. That was the easiest way to reach the apartment complex.

  As soon as she was done for the day, she was planning to catch the ferry into town, hopefully the one that left at one thirty. This evening there would be a real Brazilian Christmas feast, with friends and relatives and plenty of food.

  The thought made her smile. The children would be there, too, all three of them.

  Time to get going. She crossed the track and set off toward the jetties, first stopping to take in the scenery. The water was blue-gray, but completely calm, sheltered from the southeasterly wind. Along the shoreline, dark ice had formed on the surface of the water and was covered in patchy snow.

  Elza had lived in Sweden for twelve years and worked at the Sailors Hotel for three, but she had rarely experienced such a beautiful winter morning.

  It was too cold to admire the view for long, so she set off again. However, when she reached the clump of pine trees she had to put down her heavy bucket and rest for a moment. She stretched her back and allowed her gaze to travel along the promenade.

  The snowdrifts were piled up in front of the hotel. The benches where the sailors liked to sit with a cold beer in the summer had been removed. A white Vaxholm ferry was just about to dock, white steam emerging from its funnel.

  Something wasn’t right. Elza frowned, trying to work out what she was reacting to. Everything looked the same as usual. She was alone in the harbor, except for a guy on his way to the gas station.

  She looked around once more.

  On the narrow strip of sand next to the gas station lay a thick layer of virgin snow. But there was a kind of hump in the middle, as if a long bag or a short canoe had been forgotten on the shore.

  Elza was almost certain there had been nothing there before Christmas. Could one of the guests have left something behind?

  Feeling curious, she moved closer, and realized the shape was too large to be a bag.

  Elza hesitated, then bent down, reached out, and brushed off a little of the snow.

  A black boot appeared.

  Elza remained frozen to the spot, hand outstretched, eyes staring. Then came the scream.

  CHAPTER 16

  The morning sky had clouded over by the time Thomas went out onto the jetty to meet the approaching taxi boat. The waves she carried into the sheltered inlet rolled toward the shore, meeting thin shards of ice. The fragile surface broke with a crunching sound as the waves crashed and receded.

  If this weather continued, the whole area would freeze and link the islands of Harö and Hagede. As a child, Thomas had loved the cold winters when the sea froze and he was allowed to play off the jetty. It felt unreal, being out on the sea, yet on solid ground. He remembered standing on that dark, glassy surface, transparent in places, yet impenetrable.

  Before the accident he had enjoyed walking on the ice. Now he avoided it.

  He blew on his fingers to warm them, glancing back at the house where Elin and Pernilla were safe and warm. When he left, Elin had been gurgling happily in the wide double bed next to a sleepy Pernilla, completely absorbed in one of her new toys—a teddy bear that growled when she squeezed it.

  The boat was only yards from the jetty now. The hatch in the prow opened silently to let Thomas board, before pulling out into the harbor again. He felt a cold blast of wind as the hatch closed behind him.

  Hasse, the driver, glanced at him with interest as he made his way down the narrow ladder. They knew each other in passing; Hasse also lived on Harö.

  “Morning, Andreasson,” he said. “Welcome aboard.”

  The jetty disappeared behind them as Hasse increased his speed. “I thought the cops had their own boats for traveling around the archipelago.”

  Thomas shook his head. “They’re not always on standby when I need to get to Sandhamn.” He hoped that would be enough of an explanation. He had realized the gossip would start as soon as he called Hasse and asked for a ride over to Sandhamn. He would have preferred to take his Buster, but it was out of the water, and both police launches were busy elsewhere. The quickest option was to contact Hasse. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes, if that, to reach the island.

  “So what’s happened?” Hasse went on, undeterred. He steered out of the inlet toward the narrow sound, Käringpinan, in order to take the western route around Lisslö.

  Thomas tried to avoid the question, and glanced around the boat instead. The saloon was extremely elegant, with blue upholstery and tables and walls of dark mahogany. The brass fittings shone, and there was a framed nautical chart mounted on the wall.

  “Nice,” he said, nodding in the direction of the curved sofa. “I guess you’ve refurbished since I was last on board.”

  Hasse let go of the wheel with one hand and turned his head.

  “Yes, things are going well. We provide transportation for a lot of corporate groups going to the Sailors Hotel—you know, for team building, all that kind of crap. Taking a bath in a barrel outdoors and hugging one another.”

  A plug of snuff could be seen under his top lip when he grinned.

  “Come on, tell me what’s happened. And don’t tell me you needed to get over to Sandhamn with ten minutes’ notice just to admire the view. Especially not on December 26.”

  Thomas shrugged. The information he’d been given over the phone was sparse, to say the least. The officer who called knew Thomas had a house on Harö, which meant he was closer to Sandhamn than anyone else.

  “I’m on official business,” Thomas said eventually. “I can’t tell you any more than that at the moment.”

  He grabbed the passenger seat as the boat jolted.

  “But I really do appreciate your taking the time to run me across.”

  Hasse dropped Thomas off at the main jetty in front of the Sailors Restaurant. The propellers churned up the water as he reversed away and headed back toward the Sound.

  A woman with medium-length dark hair and a thick padded jacket was waiting for Thomas. She seemed agitated; her eyes were darting all over the place, and the lines of tension around her mouth were unmistakable.

  “Maria Syrén,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m the assistant hotel manager. I have to tell you that people have already started talking. The hotel is almost full; this is most unfortunate. It’s been so wonderfully festive here over the past few days. I can’t believe what’s happened.”

  She hesitated, then went on: “We’d really appreciate if you could be a little . . .” She paused as if she were embarrassed, but felt she had to say what was on her mind. “. . . a little discreet.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the Sailors Hotel, where the Advent candle bridges glowed warmly in the windows.

  The Swedish flag was flying as if nothing was amiss
. Swags of fir branches were wound around the handrails of the wide steps leading up to reception, and a beautifully lit Christmas tree stood on the wooden decking outside the Almagrundet pub.

  “I’m just thinking of the other guests, that’s all,” she said. Thomas followed her gaze. He saw a group of warmly dressed people who kept looking in his direction. Something about their body language told him they knew what was going on.

  “It’s over there,” Maria said, pointing to the east. “By the gas station, behind the bushes. It was Elza, one of our cleaners, who found . . .”

  She wrapped both arms around her body.

  “She was on her way to clean the apartments by the pool. Then William came along; he works at the gas station, and he was just going in to check on something. They’re actually closed at this time of year. Anyway, he heard Elza screaming and rushed over to her.”

  “What time was this?”

  “It must have been around nine. We called emergency services right away.”

  “And where are Elza and William now?”

  Maria gestured toward the restaurant on the first floor. A shaft of sunlight had broken through the clouds and turned the large windows to gold.

  “They’re waiting in the dining room—I expect you’ll want to speak to them?”

  “Can you show me where the body is first?”

  Maria nodded and led the way along a narrow track that had been cleared on the wide wooden deck to which all the jetties and pontoons were secured. It creaked faintly beneath Thomas’s feet, and he could feel the cold through the soles of his boots. In the summer this area was packed with boats, all moored side by side; today there wasn’t a single one in sight.

  Maria stopped at a small red-painted café by the walkway to the gas station.

  “It’s behind this building,” she said quietly. “On the shore.”

  They walked around the corner and found a well-built security guard with his back to them. He was talking on a cell phone. A couple of orange cones had been set out to form an improvised barrier. The snow around them had been churned up by goodness knows how many feet.