In Harm's Way

by Viveca Sten

  The back of the cottage lay in shadow, and two low-growing pine trees obscured the view of the sea. It was much darker here than at the front, and she couldn’t see anything through the dusty pane of glass in the door.

  The idea that Jeanette Thiels might have come to Sandhamn because of this run-down shack made her feel uncomfortable.

  She turned her head toward the forest. The only sound was the distant rushing of the Baltic. Hundreds of tall tree trunks met her gaze, but there was no movement among the pines.

  This place is so isolated, she thought. Not a single neighbor in sight. It must take at least fifteen minutes to walk here from the ferry.

  She assumed there must be a narrow track leading through the forest and down to the harbor, though now the snow obscured it, of course. It was a long way if you were carrying luggage and groceries, even farther if you were old and not as strong as you used to be.

  How long had Elly lived here? Nora had only a vague recollection of her; she wasn’t sure when she’d died.

  She tried the metal handle, spotted with rust. It was hard to push down, but the door was definitely locked. There were no footprints on the steps, nor in the snow down at the bottom. No footprints anywhere, apart from her own. Jeanette Thiels hadn’t had time to visit her grandmother’s house before she was found dead on December 26.

  The temperature was dropping; it was much colder now than when she’d left home. Nora shivered, then turned and made her way back to the shore.

  It was good to be back in the sun.

  CHAPTER 44

  Dusk was falling by the time Margit and Thomas parked outside Michael Thiels’s house, but it was still possible to see how beautifully situated it was on the hill overlooking the water.

  Michael seemed surprised when he opened the door to find that the two police officers had decided to pay him another visit. He looked worn out; his eyes were narrow slits, and he was unshaven. The dark stubble was peppered with gray, making him look older.

  “May we come in?” Thomas said.

  Michael stepped aside; this time he led the way into the kitchen instead of the living room.

  “Have a seat. Coffee?”

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Thomas replied quickly before Margit could say yes. He pulled out one of the black-and-white leather chairs and sat down.

  The kitchen was modern, with an induction cooktop and a stainless-steel-finish refrigerator and freezer. The walls and floor were tiled in subtle shades of gray. There were various appliances on the counter tops, suggesting that Michael enjoyed cooking.

  Margit got straight to the point.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were involved in a custody battle with Jeanette?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  Michael clearly regretted the words the second they left his mouth. “I mean . . . What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “That kind of information could be important for the investigation,” Margit said, with an almost sympathetic look in her eyes.

  The spider contemplating the fly, Thomas thought.

  “Did you really believe we wouldn’t find out?” Margit went on.

  “I wasn’t thinking that way.”

  Michael sounded defensive, with a defiant tone beneath the surface.

  “She accused you of having a problem with alcohol,” Thomas said. “Is there any truth in that?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Do you drink too much, Michael?” Margit said.

  His face and neck had gone red, but he managed to retain his composure.

  “I have the odd whisky, a glass of red wine now and again. Like most people. It’s not illegal.”

  Behind him Thomas could see an open box of red wine on the counter; Margit had noticed it, too. She stood up and went over to the sink, read the label.

  “Your ex-wife claimed your drinking made you an unfit person to have sole custody of your daughter,” she said, picking up the box. “Which sounds to me as if you put away considerably more than the odd glass of wine now and again.”

  “Maybe I’ve drunk a little too much occasionally,” he responded calmly. “But it’s under control. I’m not an alcoholic, whatever Jeanette said.”

  “Apparently she didn’t agree.”

  Thomas could see that Michael had clenched his fists on his lap.

  “We argued about Alice,” he said after a long pause. “I thought the arrangement we had was working perfectly well; Jeanette was hardly ever home. It was bizarre, almost comical that she wanted custody, given that I was the one who took all the responsibility for Alice while Jeanette went off on her travels. I’m the one who raised her.”

  Michael fell silent and ran a hand over his shaved head. The wide ring on his right hand glinted in the light.

  “Did you threaten her?” Thomas asked.

  According to the papers in the folder Aram had found, Michael’s words had been vicious.

  Instead of answering, Michael stood up and went over to the coffee machine next to the toaster. He placed a cup on the tray and pressed a button. There was a grinding noise, dark liquid began to trickle down, and the kitchen filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  “It was one evening back in the fall,” he said when he came back to the table. “I was so angry. I’d received a letter from Jeanette’s lawyer making new demands. I found it in the mailbox when I got home late after work. Alice wasn’t here; she was staying over with a friend.”

  He turned the cup of espresso around and around.

  “I sat and drank all evening, and in the end I lost it. I called her up and yelled at her over the phone; I was too drunk to realize how stupid that was.” His shoulders slumped. “I hope you believe me, because it’s the truth; it only happened that one time.”

  “So what did you actually say?” Margit asked.

  Michael’s nostrils twitched. Was he lying?

  “Dumb stuff,” he said eventually. “But I didn’t mean any of it; it was just the kind of thing you say when you’ve had too much to drink.”

  “We’d really like to know how you expressed yourself.”

  Michael twisted the ring around his finger. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Yes.”

  “I said I’d go public with the custody battle. I told her the whole world would find out what a useless mother she was, that she’d never cared about her own daughter, that she’d always put her career first.”

  “You were going to hang her out to dry in the media?” Thomas said.

  Michael had the grace to look ashamed. “I regretted it the following morning,” he muttered.

  “Had you made similar threats in the past?”

  “I don’t remember. We used to argue a lot before we split up; in the end we could barely speak to each other. It wasn’t good for any of us, especially Alice.”

  He was interrupted by a loud beeping; the dishwasher had finished its cycle, and a light was flashing on the control panel.

  “But I’ve never harmed her—physically, I mean,” he went on. “I swear.”

  Thomas remembered what Aram had told him over the phone. Michael said he’s going to kill me if I don’t withdraw my demands, Jeanette had written to her lawyer. He said I’d better watch my back.

  Michael placed his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands for a moment.

  “I don’t understand why she started all this; things had been working perfectly well.”

  “Would it have been so bad to go along with what she wanted?” Margit said.

  Michael looked away.

  “You could have accepted joint custody of Alice. And surely she’s old enough for you to take her views into account?”

  “Jeanette didn’t deserve to have custody,” Michael said harshly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “Would you like to expand on that?”

  “No.”

  Michael got up and w
alked toward the door, placing his hand demonstratively on the handle. “If there’s nothing else, I assume we’re done here.”

  What was going on? Thomas stared at him, standing in the doorway. A moment ago he’d been embarrassed, even ashamed at his behavior toward Jeanette. Now he was trying to throw them out.

  The anger had flared up as soon as they started discussing the custody battle. Thomas stood up and went over to Michael; at six feet four, he was significantly taller.

  Michael didn’t move.

  “I don’t think you understand the seriousness of the situation,” Thomas said. “Your ex-wife was murdered; this is a homicide inquiry.”

  “That’s not what you said last time.”

  “We couldn’t be sure then, but we are now,” Margit informed him. “We have a number of questions, and we’d like you to answer them. But if you’d prefer, we can hold a formal interview at the station in Nacka instead. That’s fine by us.”

  Thomas pointed to the chair. “Maybe you’d like to sit down again.”

  After a brief hesitation, Michael sighed and perched on the edge of the seat.

  “The autopsy on Jeanette’s body took place this morning, and the results show that she was poisoned,” Margit explained.

  Michael’s face lost some of its color. Was that a fleeting expression of relief? Or regret? Thomas had the distinct feeling that he was still furious with the dead woman.

  “But we also found out something else,” Margit continued, as if she didn’t want to give Michael an opportunity to reflect on what she’d just told him. “Jeanette was very sick: cancer. She probably had no more than a year or two to live.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that right away?” Michael exclaimed.

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  “Of course!”

  “In what way?” Margit said.

  The kitchen fell silent. From outside came the sound of a car driving along the street, skidding on the slippery surface, the engine revving until the wheels regained their grip.

  “I have nothing more to say,” Michael mumbled.

  Oh yes you have, Thomas thought. What happened when you and Jeanette decided to use your only child as a stick to beat each other with? You were in love once upon a time; now you’re virtually spitting out her name.

  He couldn’t imagine such vitriol between himself and Pernilla, particularly not because of Elin. But what did he know? Custody battles could provoke bald-faced lies and desperate measures from the most balanced members of society.

  How far is a person prepared to go in order to keep a child?

  “Where were you between six p.m. on December 23 and midnight on Christmas Eve?” Thomas said.

  “Are you asking if I have an alibi?” Michael’s jaws were working. “Are you crazy?”

  “Please answer the question,” Margit said. “I’m sorry if you’re offended, but we need to know.”

  “I was at home with Alice.”

  “Can she confirm that?”

  “I was here the whole time.”

  Thomas thought back to Jeanette’s apartment, the broken lamp, the missing computer. There was still a whole range of possibilities.

  “OK, on a different matter: when Alice visited her mother on the day before Christmas Eve, do you happen to know whether Jeanette gave her anything?”

  Michael frowned, his eyebrows almost meeting in the middle.

  “Like what?”

  “A folder, a fat envelope, maybe a USB stick? Something Jeanette asked her to take for safekeeping.”

  Michael still looked at a loss.

  “I’ve no idea, but I can ask her; she’s in her room.”

  CHAPTER 45

  The police were downstairs. Alice could hear the sound of voices, murmuring coming from the kitchen. She had seen them drive up the hill and park their car. They were the same two who’d been here before, the tall guy and the short woman. She must be at least ten years older than he; she reminded Alice of a German teacher she’d once had. The same skinny figure, the same deep-set eyes and lined forehead. But what was up with that cropped, red-streaked hair? The woman had to be as old as Dad.

  She preferred the guy; he reminded her of Brad Pitt with his short fair hair. And he seemed nice. Alice could tell he’d felt sorry for her when Dad told her Mom was dead.

  Mom. It hurt every time she thought about her.

  Why had they come back? It must have something to do with Mom, something serious they hadn’t mentioned before.

  She knew it.

  She began to feel a heavy weight on her chest. She buried her face in Sushi’s velvety fur, but the cat jumped down and hid under the bed.

  Alice bit her lip, forcing herself to stare at a fixed point on the wall until she could breathe again. Then she sat up and grabbed her phone. That first text stared back at her; she’d read it over and over again.

  Do you want to know how your mom died?

  It had been pointless, going out in the middle of the night. When Alice got to the hotel at midnight, a gang of drunken boys from school had been hanging around outside. One of them had recognized her and called out her name, waving a can of beer and offering her a drink. As soon as she saw them, she realized that no one else would turn up; there were far too many people around. She’d still stayed there for a while until she was so cold she had virtually no feeling in her hands and feet.

  Back home, Dad was still snoring on the sofa; he hadn’t noticed she’d been out.

  Was it a sick joke, someone trying to make a fool of her?

  But no one knew her mom was dead. Alice hadn’t told anyone, not even her best friend, Matilda.

  And no one knew what Mom had given her before Christmas. She chewed her thumbnail while she was thinking; the black nail polish was more or less gone by now.

  There was a knock on the door; she turned to face the wall and hid her face in the pillow.

  “Alice?”

  Dad’s voice.

  “Go away.”

  He opened the door.

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

  He came into the room and gently touched her shoulder. Alice lay there motionless as if she wasn’t aware of his presence.

  “Alice, can you sit up, please? The police are downstairs, and they’d like to speak to you.”

  Alice didn’t move.

  Dad tried again.

  “They want to ask you a couple of questions. About Mom. We have to help them.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “Why?” she said quietly, lifting her head a fraction.

  Dad didn’t seem to know what to say at first. “They’re wondering . . . whether Mom gave you anything when you saw her on the day before Christmas Eve. A document maybe, or a folder.”

  Alice tried not to give a start. Her head was spinning; how could the police possibly know about that? If she told them about the envelope containing the USB stick, they’d take it from her, and she would never find out how Mom died.

  “Leave me alone,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to talk to them.”

  “Did Mom give you anything?”

  She shook her head without looking at him. “Just leave me alone!”

  CHAPTER 46

  Michael Thiels went back downstairs to the kitchen, where Thomas and Margit were waiting.

  “I’m sorry, but Alice refuses to come down.”

  “Does she realize how important it is for us to speak to her?”

  Margit made a small movement, as if she was about to go up and confront Alice herself.

  “She doesn’t want to know,” Michael said. “She won’t talk to me either.” He sat down next to Thomas. “She’s still too upset about Jeanette; you won’t get anything out of her at the moment.”

  We can’t force a thirteen-year-old to answer our questions, Thomas thought. But she doesn’t understand the seriousness of the situation.

  “Did you ask if her mom gave her anything the last time they saw each other?”
<
br />   “I did, but she just shook her head. I know she got two Christmas presents: a pair of pajamas and an envelope with five hundred kronor in it. I saw her open them on Christmas Eve.”

  Thomas exchanged a glance with Margit.

  “Just one more thing before we leave,” he said. “We can’t find Jeanette’s computer, and it looks as if someone’s searched her apartment. Do you have any idea what she was working on?”

  Michael looked blank. “She would never have told me that.”

  “We think she was involved in an investigation of some kind, presumably with the aim of writing a piece that wouldn’t have gone over well with some people,” Thomas explained. “There could be a connection with her death.”

  For the first time since they arrived, he saw a flash of anxiety in Michael’s eyes. Was he worried about what had happened to Jeanette, or about himself?

  The sun was beginning to go down; the sky had already turned red. Thomas gazed at Michael Thiels in the fading light; he had a strong feeling they’d missed something.

  What had Sachsen said about the paternoster beans? They bore a close resemblance to coffee beans. The coffee machine on the counter top . . . It would be the easiest thing in the world to pour something else into the opening.

  CHAPTER 47

  Thomas fastened his seat belt. The digital clock on the dashboard informed him that it was 2:20.

  At that moment his cell phone rang—Karin Ek.

  “Hi, Thomas. A nurse from St. Göran’s Hospital called and left a message; she has a patient who’s desperate to talk to the police about Jeanette Thiels. His name is Bertil Ahlgren.”

  Thomas searched his memory, but the name didn’t ring any bells.

  “Bertil Ahlgren . . . who is he?”

  “The neighbor,” Margit reminded him from the passenger seat. “The guy who collapsed outside his front door.”

  “Oh yes, of course. What did he want?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Karin said. “All I know is that he wants to talk to the police.”

  Thomas made a decision. “We can go over there right away. We’ve just finished interviewing Michael Thiels.”