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

by Viveca Sten

  She couldn’t help wondering why he was being so unpleasant, bordering on rude. Even if he was embarrassed because his daughter had gotten drunk and been picked up by the police, there were worse things to worry about. He could try putting himself in the Ekengreens’ shoes, for example. Then again, maybe this was his way of dealing with the shock.

  He had barely exchanged two words with Nora, and he certainly hadn’t wasted any effort on small talk while they were waiting for Felicia’s interview to be over. Now he was hustling his wife and daughter along, desperate to get away as quickly as possible. Ebba’s mother, Lena Halvorsen, was much nicer.

  “I don’t know how we can ever repay you,” she said as they were leaving. “I’m so grateful that you took care of my daughter when she needed it. You’re a wonderful person.”

  Nora managed a wan smile. It was impossible to tell the truth, however tempting it might be. Instead, the white lies came tripping out of her mouth.

  “It was nothing. I have a teenage son of my own. I’m just happy I was able to help. Let’s hope both girls can get some rest now; it’s a lot to deal with at their age.”

  She reached out her hand to say good-bye, but Lena leaned forward and gave her a warm hug.

  “We must find a way to thank you, I insist. But we’ll come back to that.”

  “There’s really no need,” Nora reiterated. She turned to Ebba and hugged her. “Bye, Ebba. You take care of yourself.”

  Ebba tugged at her mother’s sleeve. “My stuff’s still on the boat. We need to collect it before we leave.”

  “Do we have time?” Lena asked.

  Nora looked at her watch. Almost four. There was a ferry at five and another at five thirty.

  “It depends which crossing you were aiming for, but there’s one almost every hour today.”

  “Please,” Ebba begged, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. “Can we at least check if Tobbe and Christoffer are still in the harbor?”

  CHAPTER 40

  Thomas and Margit had left the Brand villa and returned to the police outreach center. The yellow building was empty when they arrived, and it was a relief to sit down in a quiet space after the clamor of angry voices at Nora’s.

  Before they left, Jochen Grimstad had once again criticized them for deliberately withholding the information about Victor’s death, as he put it. There was no doubt that he was looking for someone to take out his frustration on, but Thomas couldn’t help being annoyed.

  He felt drained and nodded in the direction of the kitchenette.

  “Coffee?”

  For once Margit said no. “We don’t have much to go on,” she said pensively, taking out her notebook and a ballpoint pen, which she shook before clicking the button. “Either Victor met the killer while his girlfriend was out of it, in which case he was probably already dead and hidden under the tree when she woke up. When she couldn’t find him, she panicked and made her way back to the harbor without realizing her boyfriend was only a few feet away.”

  She drew a tree, a circle, and an arrow.

  “Or he came back later and encountered his killer,” Thomas said. “Maybe he was looking for Felicia? They could have missed each other.”

  “I’m wondering if Felicia’s lying,” Margit said. “Do you think she might have made the whole thing up because she’s mixed up in this?”

  Thomas frowned. “She would never have managed to drag him under that tree. She’s barely strong enough to carry a heavy bag. If that’s the case, she must have had help.”

  “Ebba?” Margit speculated.

  “You mean they’re both involved?” Thomas found it difficult to imagine that the girls would be so cunning.

  “What if Felicia’s story is partly true?” Margit went on. “She went with Victor to try and make up, but instead they fought, and it all went wrong.”

  “So Ebba saw her best friend fighting with her boyfriend and tried to help her?”

  “Something like that. Victor was too strong, and in the end, one of the girls picked up a stone and hit him. I’m sure they didn’t intend to kill him, but when they realized what they’d done, they got scared and hid him as best they could.”

  Margit stood up, went over to the window, and opened it. It was good to feel fresh air pouring into the warm room. “Felicia left the beach just as she said—but later, after Victor’s death. She just switched the time around.”

  “And Ebba?”

  “What did Ebba do?” Margit sat down again. “She wandered around in a state of shock, just like Felicia. They somehow lost each other, and after a while, she got desperate. She went to the police, which also provided her with an alibi.”

  “Is it possible to be so calculating at that age?”

  “We’ve seen worse,” Margit said dryly.

  Thomas knew she was right. It didn’t happen very often, but there were examples of teenage killers who had committed terrible crimes.

  “So where do the boys fit in?” he asked. “Let’s think about them for a moment.”

  “The Hökström brothers? You were the one who interviewed them.”

  “They provide each other with an alibi,” Thomas said. He remembered how shattered the younger brother had seemed. Had he just been playing to the gallery? Harry Anjou had had his suspicions about the boy almost immediately.

  Where had that bruise on Tobbe’s cheek really come from?

  “Would a young kid kill his best friend?” Thomas said.

  “It happens. Too much booze, an argument about some girl. Ebba said the boys were partying way too much. So did Felicia.”

  Margit put down her pen and scratched the back of her neck. “It could be a similar scenario,” she went on. “What if it was Tobbe who found Victor and Felicia fighting? He tried to stop his friend and went too far.”

  Tobbe had seemed deeply shaken when Thomas told him that Victor was dead, but was that because he hadn’t known or because he suddenly realized the gravity of what he’d done?

  Both alternatives were possible.

  Thomas knew that, according to all the statistics, the victim and the killer usually knew each other. An unknown attacker was highly unusual.

  “What else have we got?” he said.

  “Not much at the moment.”

  Margit pulled a face. The striking color of her hair intensified rather than softened the sharp lines between her nose and mouth. Her deep-set eyes were troubled. “A sixteen-year-old boy is dead. We haven’t a clue what happened. I can’t even decide which is harder to believe: the idea of an unknown perpetrator or the suggestion that one of his friends is responsible.”

  The air in the room suddenly felt oppressive, despite the open window.

  CHAPTER 41

  Nora was sitting on the veranda. She ought to go upstairs and talk to Jonas now that the house was finally empty; he was still in the bedroom.

  If only she could find the strength to get to her feet.

  If I can just stay here for five minutes, she thought, I’ll go and see him. Five minutes.

  She rested her head on the wall and took several deep breaths. The two painkillers she had taken hadn’t helped much; there was still a dull ache behind her temples.

  We have to find Wilma. Nothing else matters right now.

  Her phone buzzed, and she took it out of her back pocket.

  Hope everything went OK with the Grimstads. Mom sends best

  wishes from Ingarö—she’s still there! H

  Henrik. She had completely forgotten about Monica during the course of the day; evidently he’d managed to talk her out of coming over to Sandhamn.

  Thank God for Henrik.

  Had she really just thought that? It must have been the first time in months she had felt something positive toward her ex-husband. She pictured his familiar face, his dark hair and the classic profile she had once loved so much.

  It was strange to regard him as an ally.

  As they walked toward the Royal Swedish Yacht Club marina, Ebba im
agined how Tobbe would react when he saw her. First of all, he would be surprised, then she would see the gratitude in his eyes.

  She’d come back.

  He would be so relieved when he realized she was prepared to forget about that business with Tessan. Victor’s death brought a different perspective. Everything was terrible, horrific, but they would be able to console each other.

  Victor had been Tobbe’s best friend. Now Tobbe would be able to give way to his sorrow with Ebba. They would grieve together. She would be there for him. Who else did he have? Not his father, who had dumped both Tobbe and his brother.

  Ebba wanted to curl up in Tobbe’s arms. She was ready to forgive him everything.

  So much had changed.

  “The boat’s over there, Mom.”

  Ebba pointed to a Sunseeker still moored at one of the Yacht Club’s jetties. By this time, the marina was less than half full, with big gaps along the pontoons and the wooden quayside.

  A couple of workers in red jackets were busy emptying the trash cans.

  Is Tobbe still on board? Ebba wondered. Does he even know that Victor is dead?

  It hadn’t occurred to her to ask the police, but surely he must know the truth by now?

  “Wait here, Mom. I won’t be long.”

  Before Lena had the chance to say anything, Ebba ran along the pontoon to the boat she had left in such despair the previous day.

  A discarded sweater was on the sofa in the stern, but there was no sign of Tobbe or Christoffer. Suddenly the idea of slipping on board unannounced didn’t feel right.

  “Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  Still no response.

  She looked around, then climbed aboard. She could see Christoffer through the half-open door of the cabin; he was sitting on the sofa with a white mug in front of him and didn’t seem to have heard her.

  She poked her head around the door. “Hi,” she said tentatively. “Did you hear what happened?”

  She didn’t know what else to say, but Christoffer nodded. “It’s terrible. I don’t understand . . .”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, and Ebba couldn’t decide whether or not he was trying to suppress a sob. He sounded so lost. Yesterday he had been in such a good mood, the supercool older brother who was always happy to have Tobbe and his friends around. Now he seemed to have lost his grip.

  “I’ve just come to pick up my stuff,” Ebba said quickly, moving toward the place where she’d left her bag.

  “Ebba.”

  Christoffer’s voice was strained, and Ebba stopped. “Yes?”

  “Does Felicia know about Victor? I haven’t seen her since she took off yesterday.” He couldn’t look at her. “You both left. Does she know . . .” He swallowed. “Does she know Victor’s dead?”

  Ebba nodded; she wasn’t sure her voice would hold if she tried to speak. Instead she went and fetched both Felicia’s bag and her own.

  “Felicia’s parents have collected her,” she managed eventually. “I promised to collect her things.”

  She held out Felicia’s yellow bag as if to prove that she wasn’t making it up. She looked around; where was Tobbe? The door to the forepeak was closed; was he in there? If so, why didn’t he come out?

  “How long are you staying in Sandhamn?” she asked, playing for time.

  Christoffer leaned back. “Not long, but the police want to question us again. They just called and asked me to come in. We’ll go home as soon as we’re allowed.”

  Make or break. Ebba put down the bags on the pale carpet.

  “Where’s Tobbe?”

  “He went ashore for a while.”

  “Right.”

  Christoffer ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair, so like Tobbe’s, yet different.

  “The thing is,” he went on, “he might be with that girl, Tessan. She was here asking about him not long ago. Do you want me to give him a message?”

  Ebba lowered her head so that he wouldn’t see her face crumple. She forced out the words. “No, it’s fine.”

  She picked up the bags and fled.

  CHAPTER 42

  Simon flattened his face against the bottom pane of the veranda door; his distorted features reminded Nora of the Hall of Mirrors at a fairground.

  He knocked loudly on the glass.

  “Simon, stop messing around and come inside,” Nora called out.

  First he pulled an even more terrifying face, but then he did as she asked. Nora held out her arms and gave him a big hug. What if it had been Adam or Simon lying dead in Skärkarlshamn? Her eyes grew shiny, and she tightened her grip on her youngest son.

  “Are you upset?” he asked. “Have you been fighting with Dad?”

  Was that the boys’ impression of her relationship with their father? If she was tearful, they must have been arguing again? Yet another reason to feel guilty. She had so many.

  Nora shook her head. “No, sweetheart, it’s not that at all. In fact, Dad’s been really kind; he helped me out with something this morning.”

  Simon beamed at her. “So you’re friends now?” he said, his voice full of hope.

  Nora knew he wanted nothing more than for them to get back together.

  “Yes, we are, but not in that way.”

  The smile disappeared, but he stayed on her lap and rested his head on her shoulder. He would soon be too big for this. The back of his neck smelled of sunshine and swimming. Nora nuzzled his soft skin and wished they could sit here for hours, so that she wouldn’t have to get up and deal with everything.

  “Mom?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Why is Wilma in the boathouse?”

  He spoke so quietly that Nora didn’t quite hear what he said. Then she raised her head and looked at him.

  “What did you say?”

  “Why is Wilma in the boathouse?”

  Simon’s expression was both innocent and expectant, as if he knew she was going to react to his question.

  “For God’s sake, Simon!” Nora exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me right away? We’ve been searching for her all day. Jonas has been so worried!” She set him down and looked him in the eye. “Is she really there?”

  “Yes!” Simon scowled. “I don’t know why you’re so mad. I wish I hadn’t said anything.”

  Nora dropped to her knees in front of him. “Sweetheart, I’m so glad you told me, I really am.”

  “You’re mad at me.”

  “I promise I’m not.” She gave him a hug to underline her words. “You just took me by surprise. When did you find her?”

  “A little while ago, when me and Fabian went to get our fishing rods. She’s sitting on the floor, and she’s really upset.”

  Thomas opened the door of the outreach center to let Christoffer Hökström in. He was above average height but shorter than Thomas.

  “Thanks for coming.” Thomas pointed to Margit, who got up to shake hands. “This is my colleague, Detective Margit Grankvist. She’ll be sitting in on the interview.”

  Christoffer looked suspiciously at Margit. “Interview?”

  “It’s just a formality. You’re being questioned in pursuit of relevant information.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Of course you have the right to legal representation if you feel it’s necessary, but you’re not suspected of anything,” Margit said. “We just want to ask you about a few points. Wouldn’t it be easier to get it done now while you’re on Sandhamn, rather than having to come into the station in Nacka later in the week?”

  Christoffer seemed to see the logic and sat down.

  “Would you like a drink before we start?” Margit asked.

  He shook his head.

  Thomas studied the twenty-year-old; this morning he’d been hungover, maybe still a little drunk, and obviously in shock. Now he was showered and clean-shaven and had put on a fresh polo shirt. A pair of light-brown chinos with a plaited leather belt comp
leted the outfit. He was still affected by what had happened but was considerably more together.

  His eyes were thoughtful; he appeared to be more serious than his brother.

  Who looked after you when you were little?

  The thought came from nowhere. Thomas remembered what Ebba had said about the absentee father.

  “Can you tell us how you spent yesterday?” Margit began.

  Christoffer folded his arms. “What do you want to know?”

  “As much as possible. How come you were on Sandhamn with your brother and his friends?”

  “I’ve always taken care of Tobbe,” Christoffer said without hesitation. “Ever since we were kids.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “You could say that.” Christoffer looked away.

  CHRISTOFFER

  The squad car parked outside the house was one of Christoffer’s earliest childhood memories; he must have been almost four years old. They had gone out to the country to celebrate Midsummer. Johanna was two and a half. A neighbor’s daughter was supposed to be looking after them while Mom and Dad went to do some shopping for the weekend.

  For some reason, Christoffer didn’t want to stay home; he mouthed off until they agreed to take him with them. The babysitter and her friend took Johanna to the beach.

  They never came back.

  Christoffer saw the police officers through the kitchen window. He could still remember how excited he’d been when they rang the bell; he’d run to the front door, desperate to get there first.

  He no longer recalled what his little sister had looked like. There were no photographs on display.

  Tobbe was born just over a year later. His parents never let him out of their sight, but Tobbe didn’t let that stand in his way. It was as if he were trying to live both his own life and Johanna’s. He learned to walk at nine months and was crazy from the get-go, and he was constantly having to have bandages applied to his knees and elbows.

  When he was seven years old, he broke his arm after climbing a tree to steal apples from the neighbor, even though their own garden was full of apple trees. He once broke a toe and had to use crutches for a while. At a sailing camp, the boom hit him on the forehead, and he had to be airlifted to the hospital; the following year, he split open his eyebrow at the same camp.