In Harm's Way

by Viveca Sten

  “Thomas!” Margit said, but he ignored her.

  “Are we supposed to wait for Aram to die before we go after Moore? Before we do anything?”

  “Enough!” the Old Man bellowed. He stood up, went over to the window, and flung it open. In spite of the cold air that came pouring in, he remained where he was, with his back to his colleagues.

  Margit folded her arms as if to say, Happy now?

  A few snowflakes settled on the windowsill, and the curtain fluttered in the draft. The icy chill made Thomas think of Jeanette, her body covered in snow on the shore in Sandhamn, her lifeless eyes.

  There’s a connection; this can’t be a coincidence.

  Margit went over to the Old Man.

  “Quarreling among ourselves won’t help. We have neither the time nor the resources for that.” She waited, and when the Old Man didn’t say anything, she turned to Thomas. “We have to prioritize—that’s the most important consideration right now.”

  One thing at a time.

  Thomas held his tongue; he knew she was right, but Aram deserved better than this. His whole family deserved better—Sonja and the girls.

  His cell phone rang; he glanced at the display and saw that it was Sachsen. The sound made the Old Man turn around, and Thomas held up the phone so that both he and Margit could see the name.

  “Take it,” the Old Man said.

  Thomas switched to speakerphone. “Yes?”

  “You were right.”

  Sachsen’s voice came through with a metallic quality. It was eleven thirty; he must have finished the autopsy.

  “In what way?”

  “Bertil Ahlgren was murdered, probably suffocated with one of the hospital pillows. I found cotton fibers in his mouth and throat.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  Margit’s mouth narrowed to such a thin line that her lips disappeared.

  Sachsen went on: “I hate to say this, but there’s a good chance you’re looking at two homicides perpetrated by the same killer.”

  “I understand. Thanks for the information,” Thomas said, ending the call and putting the phone down on the table.

  The Old Man closed the window and returned to his seat with fresh resolve.

  “The homicide investigation has to take precedence,” he told Thomas. “Find Jeanette’s killer. Then you can have your search warrant, even if I have to sign the damn thing myself.”

  “Are you OK to do this?”

  Margit looked searchingly at Thomas. Karin had just informed them that Michael Thiels was waiting; they had been on their way to the interview room when Margit suddenly stopped in the hallway.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  She had her back to the gray wall, which was blank except for the black rubber streaks left from the cleaning cart scraping along the baseboard.

  “I’m upset about Aram, too—we all are. But we have a job to do.”

  Thomas couldn’t contradict her. He had reacted much more strongly than he would have expected. He wanted to explain, but struggled to find the right words.

  “Did you know that Aram came here as a refugee when he was a teenager?” he said eventually. “His entire family had to flee from Iraq; his grandfather was tortured to death.”

  “No,” Margit said slowly. “I didn’t know that.”

  “You should have heard some of the things he told me . . .”

  Thomas shuddered. Margit didn’t ask any more questions; she just headed for the glass door. “You have to focus on the interview if you’re coming in.”

  “I’m fine.”

  CHAPTER 85

  Alice stared at her phone, trying to summon a new text message by sheer willpower. Why hadn’t whoever it was contacted her again? Weird . . .

  She’d looked up the sender’s number online, but couldn’t find a name. Must be a burner phone.

  Dad had gone into town, so she was home alone. Her bottom lip quivered.

  In hindsight, she was regretting everything she’d said to the police, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut when they asked their questions. Instead she’d babbled away like a toddler. It was her fault that Dad had been called into the station.

  Because she’d said something dumb.

  She’d wanted to say sorry earlier on, but the words wouldn’t come. She felt so guilty she’d just clammed up and pulled away when he tried to give her a hug. She’d disappeared into her music, pretended he wasn’t there.

  When he finally left, she felt even worse. What if the police didn’t let him go? Alice inhaled sharply at the thought. It was bad enough that Mom was gone—she couldn’t lose Dad, too.

  Why did she do such stupid things?

  Sushi had fallen asleep on the bed, her tail curled around her body. Her tummy rose and fell with her gentle, even breathing. Alice stroked the white fur, closed her eyes.

  After a while she sat up, tried to make a decision. Then she went into the bathroom. There was a litter box in the corner, in front of the radiator. Alice reached underneath it and removed the white envelope she’d taped to the bottom.

  Mom had said something just after she’d given it to her.

  “One day you’ll . . .”

  She had broken off, a tortured look in her eyes.

  “It’s just to be on the safe side. But you mustn’t show it to Dad—do you understand?”

  Alice held the envelope up to the light; she could clearly see the outline of the USB stick.

  The house phone rang. She didn’t want to answer, but Dad didn’t like it when she ignored calls. And it might be him, telling her he was on his way home. She would say sorry, she told herself, make everything all right again.

  With the envelope in her hand, she went into the master bedroom; there was a phone on the bedside table.

  “Alice.”

  “Hi, Alice, it’s Petra.”

  She immediately wished she hadn’t picked up.

  “Is your dad there?” Petra said in a cheerful tone that Alice knew wasn’t genuine, as if she’d been longing to hear Alice’s voice all day.

  “He’s at the police station.”

  A sharp intake of breath.

  “What?”

  “He’s at the police station,” Alice repeated. “He left here over an hour ago.”

  “Oh, sweetheart!”

  I’m not your sweetheart.

  “So when will he be back?”

  “No idea.”

  Petra didn’t know what to say; there was silence on the other end of the line. Alice waited, hoping she’d hang up, but she didn’t.

  “Shall I come over and keep you company while you’re waiting for Micke? Things haven’t been easy for you lately.”

  “There’s no need.”

  Petra wasn’t giving up.

  “Are you sure? It’s no trouble, I’m happy to come.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Haven’t you gotten the message yet? That was what Alice wanted to say, but she managed to hold her tongue.

  Another protracted silence. Alice started chewing a nail.

  “All right, then—can you ask your dad to call me as soon as he gets home?” Petra sounded defeated. Good.

  “OK.”

  Alice put down the phone and stared at the white envelope. Mom had said she shouldn’t open it, not under any circumstances. Those were the exact words she’d used.

  But now she was dead. The thought brought tears to Alice’s eyes.

  She tore open the envelope. A blue USB stick fell out onto Dad’s bed.

  She stared down at the little stick; there was nothing unusual about it. It must be very important, since Mom had asked her to take care of it.

  This was what the person who’d sent the text message wanted; that tall detective had also asked if Mom had given her anything. Alice hadn’t dared to tell him anything, in case the person who’d texted got in touch again. Now she was wondering if that had been the wr
ong decision. If she’d given the police the envelope, maybe they wouldn’t have come after Dad.

  She picked up the USB stick and went back to her room. Sushi had grown tired of waiting for her, and had disappeared.

  Alice’s laptop was on the bed, but when she opened it she realized it needed to be charged. She reached under the bed for the cable and plugged it in. The screen came to life.

  She took a deep breath and inserted the USB stick.

  The phone rang again, but this time she didn’t answer. She couldn’t cope with talking to anybody else. She didn’t really want anyone to know she was home.

  CHAPTER 86

  Michael Thiels looked like a man who had been tormented by his thoughts over the past few days. The lack of sleep was clear from his jerky movements, and he had spilled coffee on his shirt.

  He was alone, with no legal representation.

  It might have been a good idea to bring his lawyer, Thomas thought. That would show that he understood the seriousness of the situation.

  Margit read the obligatory introduction onto the tape, and when she was done, she fixed Thiels in her gaze.

  “You’re here because we have a number of questions about the murder of your ex-wife, Jeanette Thiels.”

  “I realize that.”

  “First of all we’d like to know whether you met up with Jeanette on December 22, then called her and sent her text messages on December 23.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Was he going to say any more? Thomas watched Thiels’s face, determined not to break the silence.

  “She and Alice made their own arrangements,” Thiels said eventually.

  “Do you recognize this phone number?” Thomas showed him the number listed under M in Jeanette’s address book.

  “No.”

  Margit leaned forward.

  “We think you have a second phone, a burner, which you used to communicate with Jeanette. We also believe you sent text messages from that phone asking to see her on Christmas Eve, and that the two of you did meet up.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Thiels protested. “This is the only cell phone I have!” He took a black Ericsson out of his pocket and put it on the table. “You’re welcome to check the number,” he said, returning Margit’s stare.

  “So did you visit your ex-wife on the morning of December 24?” Thomas asked.

  The other man’s face darkened.

  “I guess there’s no point in denying it; you’ve already pushed Alice into telling you I wasn’t home then.” His expression was full of contempt. “You just don’t care how far you go, do you? Waiting until I’m out, then going to my house and interrogating a child. I ought to lodge a complaint.”

  “So you admit that you went to see Jeanette on Christmas Eve?” Margit pushed him.

  “I said so, didn’t I?”

  “Why did you go over there?” Thomas asked.

  “I had my reasons.”

  “Which were?”

  “That’s irrelevant.”

  “I don’t think you understand how serious this is,” Margit said, emphasizing every syllable.

  “I certainly do.”

  “This is a homicide investigation,” Margit went on. “You answer our questions. Or you can sit here until you change your mind.”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Thiels said grimly.

  But you still don’t get it, Thomas thought. If you did, you’d realize you’re in trouble.

  “Who’ll take care of Alice if we keep you here?” he said. “You know we can hold you for three days.”

  That hit the mark.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We can remand you in custody for up to three days if we feel it’s necessary. The next step is that you’ll be arrested.”

  Technically they had to have the prosecutor’s permission in order to remand someone in custody, and they would have to show that he was a credible suspect, but on the other hand they were not obligated to inform Thiels of these finer details. He hadn’t brought his lawyer, so he had only himself to blame.

  The man opposite them seemed to shrink all of a sudden. Maybe the threat of being arrested had made an impression, or maybe he was thinking about his daughter.

  “So are you going to answer our questions?” Margit said.

  “Yes.” Reluctantly.

  “What time did you arrive at Jeanette’s apartment on Christmas Eve?” Thomas said.

  “At about ten in the morning.”

  “And when did you leave?”

  “I was there for half an hour at the most.”

  Margit glanced at Thomas. Perfect—just before the time of the meeting mentioned in the text message.

  “Why did you go to see her on Christmas Eve, of all days?”

  “I wanted to get her to see sense.”

  “About what?”

  “The custody battle, of course.”

  “It’s still an interesting time to choose,” Margit said skeptically. “Could you explain to us why it was so urgent?”

  Thiels’s jaws were working. After a moment he said: “Jeanette had said something to Alice when they met in her apartment the previous day. She told her they’d soon be spending a lot more time together. Alice asked me what she meant, and I understood right away. I already knew she was intending to go for sole custody, and I was afraid she might file the papers between Christmas and New Year’s.”

  “So you went over on Christmas Eve in order to stop her?” Thomas said.

  “I couldn’t risk waiting.” He ran a hand over his forehead in an unexpectedly dispirited gesture. “I’d been awake half the night, wondering what to do. Alice’s words kept on going around and around in my head.”

  “I don’t understand,” Margit said. “Why did it matter so much if she filed the papers? You were in dispute anyway, so the two of you were obviously going to end up in court. What’s more, you’ve had custody for many years, so there’s no guarantee the result would be in Jeanette’s favor.”

  “You just don’t get it.”

  “Then perhaps you’d be kind enough to explain.”

  Thiels coughed. “Could I have some water?”

  “Of course.” Thomas reached for the carafe on the side table. He poured a glass and pushed it across to Thiels, who slowly drank half of it.

  “Jeanette wanted sole custody, and she was prepared to do whatever it took to get her way. You don’t know her like I did.”

  His lips were pale with anger, but his voice was steady. Had he finally decided to put his cards on the table?

  “She was going to tell the court that Alice wasn’t my daughter.”

  Every word as sharp as a needle.

  Some things are unforgivable.

  “I had to persuade her to change her mind. If she’d filed the papers, everything would have become public. Jeanette was a well-known figure; I could see the headlines. Alice would have found out, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

  “Was it true?” Thomas asked.

  Thiels rested his forehead on his hands, but didn’t answer.

  “Was it true?”

  Thiels looked up. “I don’t actually know.” It was clear that he hated having to say that. “It took a long time for Jeanette to become pregnant; we weren’t exactly young when we started trying. Alice doesn’t look like me, but I’ve always believed she was mine. I love her as if she was mine.”

  He closed his eyes as though trying to shut out the truth.

  “Jeanette said she’d slept with another man in order to get pregnant when it didn’t work out for us. She said it was for our sake.”

  He must have hated her for that revelation.

  “So you went over there.” Margit deliberately paused. “To stop her.”

  Michael Thiels nodded.

  “What I don’t understand is why you poisoned her,” Margit went on. “Why go to all that trouble? There must have been an easier way.”

  Thiels stared at her. “What are you talking
about?”

  “Why did you poison Jeanette?”

  “I didn’t!”

  “You’ve just admitted that you went to her apartment on Christmas Eve to stop her from revealing the truth about Alice.”

  “That doesn’t mean I killed her.”

  “What are we supposed to think?” Margit made no attempt to hide her sarcasm. “Are you telling us there was someone else who was even angrier with your ex-wife, so angry that he or she killed her after you left?”

  What are the odds of that? Thomas wondered. Two visitors in the same morning, both with a motive for murder. That was never going to stand up in court.

  “You must have been furious when you heard what Jeanette had to say.”

  “Yes.” Thiels met Thomas’s gaze. “I won’t deny it, but that still doesn’t mean I killed her.”

  Thomas tried to read his face, to see whether he was sitting opposite a full-blown psychopath who’d given his ex-wife poisoned chocolate truffles before going home to celebrate Christmas with their daughter.

  The guy didn’t come across as a madman; however, Mats Larsson had said that the killer was someone who was perfectly capable of functioning normally within society, but who regarded Jeanette as a problem, something that simply had to be dealt with.

  Rational. That was the key word.

  “I swear I didn’t kill Jeanette,” Michael Thiels said, rubbing his hand over his chin. Without warning he pushed his chair back and stood up.

  “Enough,” he said hoarsely. “I want a lawyer before I say another word.”

  You’re going to need one, Thomas thought. At the same time, he realized they were going to be stuck here until God knows what time.

  “That’s your decision,” Margit said. “But I hope you realize it could take several hours to get someone down here.”

  Michael Thiels turned his back on them.

  CHAPTER 87

  It was almost two thirty in the afternoon. The sun had gone down, and the windowpanes were black rectangles of complete winter darkness.

  Thomas and Margit had left Michael Thiels in the interview room and were sitting in Thomas’s office. A lawyer would be there in a few hours, at around five or six o’clock in the best-case scenario.

  By this time he should have been on his way out into the archipelago with Pernilla and Elin. Tomorrow they were invited to Nora’s to celebrate New Year’s on Sandhamn.