In the Heat of the Moment (Sandhamn Murders Book 5)

by Viveca Sten

  It was still warm—positively Mediterranean, in fact. Adrian longed for a cool shower, but it would be quite a while before his shift ended.

  A middle-aged couple with a dog on a leash approached.

  “Excuse me,” said the woman, who had short blond hair. She had a worried look in her eyes, which were surrounded by a network of fine laughter lines. The man next to her was gazing at something farther away.

  “How can I help?” Adrian said.

  “See that girl over there?” The woman pointed in the direction the man was staring. “She seems to be unwell. We’re a little concerned.”

  Adrian followed her finger and soon saw what she meant.

  A young girl in a pink top was on the ground right next to the wooden quay that ran alongside the promenade. She was crouching down, with her arms wrapped around her thin body.

  “Maybe you could take a look at her?” the woman went on. “We came across her about an hour ago and asked if she was OK, but she just ran off. Then we saw her again on our way back. We’ve been taking Tequila for her evening walk.”

  She smiled down at the stylish golden retriever, who was tugging at the leash. The woman was having some difficulty keeping her in check.

  “Tequila, sit! Sit!” she said firmly, and after a couple more exhortations, the dog obediently sat down beside her. “Good girl! You’re such a good girl!”

  Adrian looked at the teenager in the evening sunlight. There was something about her posture that caught his attention; it was as if she were in her own little bubble, cut off from everything around her. He had seen enough people under the influence to recognize the signs.

  Nobody was taking any notice of her, in spite of the crowd. He couldn’t see any friends or a boyfriend nearby.

  She was all alone.

  “We’ll take a look,” he assured the couple. “Thanks for letting us know.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious,” the woman said, patting the dog. “She’s very young. I’ve got sons of my own around her age. You don’t want anything to go wrong, especially on a night like this.”

  Adrian nodded to Anna, and they set off toward the girl. When they were a few yards away, she collapsed. It was a protracted, unreal movement, like a film running too slowly. Her body lost any semblance of stability, and she tipped over onto her side, her legs outstretched.

  A drunk guy who happened to be passing by tripped over her foot, then kept on going.

  The girl remained lying there by the wooden quay, her left cheek resting on the sand and her blond hair spread around her head like an angel’s ragged halo.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sunday

  Nora turned over in bed; something had woken her. She reached out for Jonas, but he wasn’t there. Through the gap between the roller blind and the windowsill, she could see that it was dark outside.

  She glanced at the old clock radio on the bedside table. The digital display glowed white; it was one fifteen. Wilma was supposed to be home by now.

  She closed her eyes and listened. Had Wilma come back? She couldn’t hear any voices. After a few minutes, she sat up and grabbed her robe, then padded barefoot to the top of the stairs and listened again.

  Nothing.

  The door of Simon’s room was ajar, and she peeked in. She could hear him breathing softly. As usual, his teddy bear was firmly tucked under one arm. She could just make out his round cheeks; he would be nine in October.

  She peeped into Adam’s room. He, too, was fast asleep, lying on his back with the covers pushed down to his stomach. He no longer wore pajamas and slept in his underpants instead.

  The guest room was opposite Adam’s, but even before she looked in, she knew it would be empty.

  Nora went downstairs and glanced into the kitchen, but there was no one there. She found Jonas in one of the wicker chairs on the veranda, staring out to sea with his chin resting on one hand. She could just see the outline of a cloudbank on the horizon and, far away, the regular, reassuring flash of the Getholmen lighthouse.

  She stopped in the doorway and pulled her robe more tightly around her. “Are you OK?” she said.

  “Wilma hasn’t come home.”

  Nora went over and knelt beside him. She gently put her hand on his arm. “Maybe she hasn’t noticed the time. It’s easy to do when you’re having fun.”

  Jonas rubbed the back of his neck. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She caught the smell of him, and she thought back to the time they had spent together earlier that evening.

  “She was supposed to be back by now,” he said, and Nora could see the tension in his face.

  “Have you tried calling her?”

  “There’s no answer. I’ve tried at least five times.”

  “She might have left her cell phone somewhere.”

  “Wilma doesn’t move one single step without her phone.”

  “Maybe it’s dead?”

  Nora knew exactly how she sounded, and she also knew how Jonas was feeling. If it had been Adam, she would have been equally worried.

  “And it just happens to need charging tonight?” Jonas slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. “This is not OK, and I’ll make that very clear to her when she does come home.”

  Nora was getting pins and needles in her legs and straightened up. The night air made her shiver.

  “Shall I make us both a cup of tea? I’m sure she’s on her way.”

  “Go back to bed.” His voice softened. “You don’t need to sit up while I wait for my recalcitrant daughter.”

  Nora stroked his cheek. “No problem. I’ll stay here with you. I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”

  CHAPTER 8

  From a distance, the crowd in the harbor billowed back and forth like a shapeless amoeba. It would spread out from time to time, then immediately contract, as if the component parts couldn’t bear to be separated for long.

  It was significantly colder now, a reminder that it was still early summer. The air was chilly and damp. Thin veils of mist could be seen in the beam of the Sailors Hotel’s floodlights.

  The music from the club reverberated through the summer night, the bass notes pulsating and the whole area throbbing with the harsh beat. A long line of hopefuls waited to get in, with two grim-faced doormen keeping a close eye on the situation.

  Adrian and Anna had been on duty for over fifteen hours. They had taken the young girl to the police outreach center and handed her over to a woman from Moms on the Move, then set off into the chaos once more.

  The police were patrolling in twos. Adrian and Anna had spent the last few hours walking up and down the promenade, between the Värdshuset Restaurant and the Royal Swedish Yacht Club. Their presence seemed to have a calming effect, and they covered the five-hundred-yard stretch over and over again.

  Adrian stopped and adjusted the heavy belt. His body was suffering from the long shift, and his hips were aching.

  Anna couldn’t help noticing. “Are you OK?”

  “Mmm.”

  He let go of the belt, and they set off toward the restaurant once more. They were constantly accosted by teenagers asking questions: What time’s the last ferry? Are you sure there’s an extra sailing at two o’clock? Where are the toilets?

  They had just reached the kiosk by the steamboat jetty when their earpieces crackled. Adrian glanced back at the hotel and turned around.

  “There’s trouble between two boats,” he said, even though Anna had heard the same message. “By the first Yacht Club pontoon.”

  They began to run.

  They were still some distance away when Adrian picked up the sound of loud voices that seemed to be coming from two boats moored next to each other on the western side of the long jetty. A group of youngsters was partying in the stern of an impressive launch with an outboard motor; on the boat next door was a gang of bikers with shaved heads and black leather jackets.

  Music was pulsating from the loudspeakers on both boats, and swear words were raining down. When Adrian g
ot closer, he saw two men standing eyeball-to-eyeball on the jetty.

  “You stupid fucker!” yelled one of them, a shirtless thirty-year-old in ripped jeans. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail.

  His opponent was significantly younger—around twenty, if that. His legs were planted wide apart, both fists up as if he were used to boxing. His body was tensed in a defensive posture.

  As Adrian reached the jetty, the agitated voice of a girl cut through the noise. “Stop it, both of you—please! Listen to me. Stop it!”

  A crowd was gathering, suddenly barring the path of the two officers. At that point, the twenty-year-old made his move. With icy precision, he feinted with his left fist; just as it seemed he was about to deliver a blow, his right elbow shot forward instead.

  The unexpected move took the older man by surprise, and the elbow made contact with his chin. He went down like a felled tree, hitting the concrete with such force that the pontoon bobbed up and down.

  “Now will you shut your fucking mouth?”

  The twenty-year-old turned and gave the anxious girl a smug grin. He raised a triumphant fist to his friends, who cheered loudly. “Fucking losers,” he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

  The other man was still lying motionless, facedown on the ground. Then he managed to haul himself to his knees. He shook his head, as if to clear his vision, then spat out a glob of bloody mucus; despite the chill in the air, his skin was shiny with sweat.

  A second later, he was holding a knife. Without attempting to get to his feet, he swiped wildly at the younger man. Before the boy had time to react, the blade had sliced through his jeans, and in a second, the white denim was stained red.

  He turned around with a surprised look on his face, as if he didn’t really understand what was going on.

  Adrian felt his muscles contract.

  “Police! Drop your weapon!” he roared at the top of his voice, pushing people out of the way. He drew his gun even though he was in the middle of the crowd, then elbowed a tall man who refused to move.

  The guy with the knife launched a fresh attack on the twenty-year-old’s left arm. The sharp blade sliced through the air and found its mark just where the sleeve of his T-shirt ended. The younger man stared at his arm, instinctively pressing his hand against the wound to stanch the flow of blood, but it trickled between his fingers, and dark droplets spattered the ground.

  As Adrian reached the front of the crowd, the man with the ponytail raised the knife again. Adrian hurled himself forward and grabbed the man’s shoulder with his free hand.

  “Drop the knife!” he yelled. “Police! Drop the knife right now!”

  He pressed the barrel of his gun to the man’s bare shoulder and felt the sweat break out on his upper lip.

  “Drop the knife!” he shouted in the man’s ear, squeezing the grip of his pistol.

  One second passed, two; then he heard the sound of metal hitting the concrete. Anna appeared, and between them, they managed to push the man down until he lay with his arms and legs pressed against the damp jetty. Adrian secured his wrists behind his back with a pair of handcuffs.

  “Are you OK?” Anna asked quietly.

  Adrian nodded, although he did feel a little dizzy and breathless. No more than a few minutes had passed since the call came over the radio, but it seemed like much longer. He straightened up and went over to the young man who’d been stabbed; his face had taken on a greenish tinge, and his whole body was shaking.

  “Sit down so you don’t pass out,” Adrian said. “And keep your arm up.”

  The boy nodded without speaking; at close quarters, he looked even younger.

  Several more officers had arrived and were shining their powerful flashlights on the people on board the two boats. Adrian wanted to get the perpetrator out of there before any of his friends decided to get involved. Biker gangs were not to be underestimated; one of them could easily try to finish what his buddy had started.

  He dragged the man to his feet and walked away from the jetty.

  “I’ll take him to the outreach center,” he said to Anna. The crowd had quickly dispersed, and the area was surprisingly quiet. Adrian stopped in the semidarkness. “There was no fucking need for that, was there?” he said, giving the biker a hard shove.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Where can she be? She’s never been this late before!”

  Jonas’s voice was hoarse with worry as he got up from the wicker chair and went over to the big window overlooking the sea.

  Nora checked her watch yet again. The hands had barely moved since the last time she looked; the minutes were crawling by as the bad feeling grew.

  The sky had lightened, and there was a hint of pink over in the east. The boats moored at the neighbor’s jetty lay motionless on the shining surface of the water.

  “I can’t just sit here. I need to go out and look for her.”

  Jonas ran a hand through his hair. He was usually the epitome of calm, but when he turned away from the window, Nora could see the fear he was trying to hold in.

  “In that case, I’ll come with you. Give me a minute to put on my jeans.”

  Adam and Simon were upstairs; she could leave a thirteen-year-old and an eight-year-old for half an hour. The village was small, and she would be close by—no more than ten minutes away. It wouldn’t take long to search the harbor area.

  Jonas shook his head. “It’s better if you stay here, in case she turns up. Then you can call me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded, and Nora gave in.

  “OK, but don’t forget your own phone.”

  She reached out and stroked his cheek. She was well aware of all the drunk kids hanging around on the island. Most of those who lived on Sandhamn avoided the harbor on this particular night.

  If Wilma had been drinking, she might be incapable of taking care of herself. The same applied to her friends. They were only fourteen, even if they wanted to appear older.

  In order to make both herself and Jonas feel better, she said, “I’m sure she’s on board someone’s boat and has lost track of the time. You know what teenagers are like.”

  She could see that her words had made no difference at all.

  “Do you want to contact the police?” she added quickly. “I can give Thomas a call. He’s only across the water on Harö.”

  “No, it’s the middle of the night. You’re probably right. She’s partying on some boat.”

  He went out into the hallway and grabbed his jacket. Nora heard the front door close, and then there was silence.

  CHAPTER 10

  Adrian adjusted his earpiece as he walked toward the large motor home that served as a mobile police station. It had been set up around the corner of the Sailors Hotel, at the beginning of the walkway running along the promenade. All police work over the Midsummer weekend was coordinated from this vehicle.

  Anna had gone to the toilet; it would be a few minutes before she was back. Adrian hoped there would be some hot coffee ready—anything to give him a lift. He could feel the ache of tiredness behind his eyes, despite the adrenaline from the knife fight that was still in his body. It had taken just under an hour to deal with all the fallout from the incident. He and Anna had delivered the perpetrator to the customs jetty, where a police boat would pick him up to take him to the remand center in the Söder district of the city. Fortunately the medical boat had turned up at the same time, and the crew were busy looking after the boy who’d been stabbed. Two drunken minors had been handed over to social services, and the names and ID details of everyone present had been noted down.

  The number of people willing to make a witness statement was usually pretty low, and on this night in particular, few could even put together a coherent sentence. But at least the police had gathered the necessary information for the forthcoming investigation. The next phase was someone else’s responsibility.

  So far, Adrian could see no sign of the partying dying down. The bar would
n’t close for another fifteen minutes, at two o’clock. The last crossing into town left at the same time, and things tended to get messy when the bar’s clientele came pouring out just as hundreds of drunken youngsters tried to find their way to the ferry.

  After that, it usually calmed down, at least for this year. Thank the Lord it would be another twelve months until next Midsummer.

  Adrian was about to step into the motor home when he heard a voice behind him.

  “Excuse me.”

  He turned around and saw a slim, dark-haired girl of about sixteen standing a few feet away. She was wearing a blue matelassé jacket with shiny lapels, and her arms were folded across her chest, as if she were freezing.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for my friends,” she said hesitantly. “I can’t find them anywhere. Can you help me?”

  Without warning, she burst into tears. She pressed her hand to her mouth as if she were trying to regain control, then managed to stammer, “I’ve been searching for hours. At first, I thought they’d left without me, but they’re not answering their phones, and now my battery’s run out. I’m so worried.”

  Adrian pushed aside his tiredness. “Take it easy,” he said. “Come on in and tell me what’s happened.”

  The girl climbed the steps into the motor home, with Adrian behind her.

  “Sit down,” he said kindly, pointing to the brown leather sofa under the small window.

  It was a functional space—pretty basic but equipped with everything they needed. Opposite the sofa was a desk with two laptops, and on a whiteboard, someone had made a note of the number of arrests made during the course of the evening, plus the number of those detained under the legislation allowing the police to pick up those too intoxicated to take care of themselves. At the moment, the tally was over a dozen.

  Jens Sturup, task force team leader for the weekend, was sitting at the desk, speaking quietly into the phone as he checked an ID number on the screen in front of him. He didn’t look up when Adrian and the girl came in, but he acknowledged them with a brief wave of his right hand.