by Viveca Sten
Mattias pushed her toward one of the beds; her legs gave way, and she ended up on her back with his full weight on top of her, his fingers groping inside her panties.
She was close to tears. It had all gone wrong. She felt dizzy and nauseated from the red wine but didn’t dare say no. Mattias pressed his mouth to hers, forcing her lips apart. When his tongue touched hers, she felt even more sick.
“No,” she said. “No, I don’t want to. I need to go home. Stop, Mattias.”
He ignored her, pushing down her bra with one hand and squeezing her breasts again.
“Stop, I said.”
She tried desperately to break free, but he was too heavy, and she couldn’t get away.
“Come on,” he mumbled, and kept on kissing her. He tasted of beer and cigarettes, and it was all too much for her.
“I’m going to be sick,” she said, and just managed to turn her head before a flood of red vomit cascaded over the side of the bed.
“For fuck’s sake!” Mattias yelled, leaping to his feet. “Look what you’ve done, you stupid bitch!”
Some of the foul-smelling liquid had splashed on him, but most of it had landed on Wilma’s clothes and the floor.
“How the fuck am I supposed to explain this?” Mattias shouted.
Wilma stared at him, paralyzed for a few seconds; then she grabbed her clothes and flung open the door. She staggered outside and looked around. She had to get away. Now.
She ran toward the trees as fast as she could. Please, please don’t let him follow. She tripped over a root and almost fell, but regained her balance and continued into the forest, gasping for breath. Her chest was burning; she couldn’t go much farther. After a short distance, she collapsed and began to sob uncontrollably. She felt so stupid, so naïve. What had she been thinking?
A sound made her jump. Was it Mattias? She panicked, but there was no one there.
She started to shiver. She pulled on her clothes, even though they stank. Then she must have passed out because when she opened her eyes, it was dark. She didn’t know where she was; she felt so sick that she couldn’t move or answer her phone.
She lay there all night, all by herself.
She woke at dawn and crept back to the village.
Jonas was with Nora. Wilma approached the Brand villa but didn’t dare go in. She knew her father would realize what had happened, and she was so ashamed of herself. She couldn’t turn up looking like this, especially not when Nora was around.
Instead she tried to get into their own house, but the door was locked, and she didn’t have a key. Her teeth chattered with the cold; where could she go?
That was when she thought of the boathouse.
CHAPTER 73
Wilma hid her face in her hands.
“I feel so stupid,” she sobbed.
“What a piece of shit,” Jonas said, trying to control himself. He was so angry that he could hardly breathe. “If I get ahold of that boy, I’ll wring his neck!” he exclaimed.
“I thought I was in love with him. I thought he really liked me.” Wilma’s voice was breaking.
He had to calm down; the most important thing right now was to take care of his daughter. Jonas forced himself to lower his voice. “Sweetheart,” he said, pulling her close.
How could he make her understand that Mattias was a drunk, horny teenager who needed a punch in the nose? He ought to be reported to the cops; Wilma was only fourteen. He had assaulted a minor. Jonas couldn’t bear to think what could have happened if Wilma hadn’t thrown up and run away.
“It wasn’t your fault, none of this was your fault,” he reassured her.
If they reported Mattias, he knew that Wilma would be subjected to intrusive questioning. It would be her word against his, and she would end up feeling even more embarrassed and ashamed.
There was no way he was going to put her through that, but Wilma had to understand that she wasn’t responsible for what had happened. Mattias was an asshole, but that had nothing to do with her.
“Forget that idiot. If he ever comes near me he’ll . . .” He broke off. “He’ll regret it, I can promise you that,” he said eventually.
He was sitting in an awkward position, and his back was starting to ache. He stood up and stretched. “How about you have a shower and get dressed while I tidy up and air out your room? We could eat at the Värdshuset Restaurant tonight, just you and me.”
“Without Nora?”
Jonas sighed quietly. “Without Nora.”
CHAPTER 74
Johan Ekengreen was sitting in the library. He had sent his apologies to the board members for missing the meeting and had driven home, then shut himself in with a bottle of scotch.
It had been a while since he’d been sober, but he had no difficulty thinking clearly. He kept going over that short telephone call, the information that had turned his world upside down. He still didn’t want to believe it, but his former comrade had been sure of his facts: Tobbe was suspected of having murdered Victor.
He felt a lump in his throat as he thought about the betrayal his family had suffered.
A memory surfaced: the skiing trip to Chamonix. They had taken Tobbe with them. The boys had been difficult and restless all week, and Victor in particular had been irritable and unable or unwilling to concentrate on anything for long. One evening, they’d gone off to a disco, and the following day neither of them had wanted to ski.
He’d told Madeleine they’d picked up some kind of stomach bug, but Johan was convinced they were hungover. At the time, he’d smiled to himself at the two boys who couldn’t handle their booze. Typical teenagers.
Now he knew better. They’d been taking drugs. How could he have missed it? He’d been so blind, understood so little. And Tobbe had been Victor’s best friend; he was just a kid.
The doorbell rang and he heard Ellinor answer it. A faint murmur of voices, then a cautious tap on the library door.
“Dad, Tobbe’s father is here. He wants to talk to you.”
It took a few seconds for the information to sink in. “Arthur?” Johan said, totally at a loss.
Ellinor nodded and stepped aside. Arthur Hökström walked in, dressed in a suit, which suggested he’d come straight from work at his law firm.
“Johan,” he said, holding out his right hand.
Operating on autopilot, Johan stood up and shook it.
“May I sit down?” Arthur said. Without waiting for a response, he perched on the armchair opposite. “My condolences. We were all very fond of Victor.”
The banal phrases were hard to bear. Johan could feel his revulsion beginning to grow. What the hell was Arthur doing here—Arthur, whose son was still alive?
Arthur held up a bag he’d brought with him. “Victor’s things. They were on the boat.”
“They’re no use to us,” Johan snapped. “Victor’s dead.” He couldn’t hold back the bitterness.
Arthur didn’t know what to do. It was as if he’d rehearsed what he was going to say, and now Johan had failed to follow the script. He tried again. “I wanted to talk to you about Tobbe.”
“Why?” Johan picked up his glass. His visitor seemed to be having some difficulty finding the right words.
“He was questioned by the police today.”
“I see.” I know, he wanted to say. I know everything.
“It was . . . difficult.”
Arthur broke off and loosened his tie; his forehead was beaded with sweat. “They said Tobbe was on the shore where Victor was found. Apparently Felicia saw him there earlier in the evening, before Victor died. She’s been interviewed, too.”
Was that why the police were convinced that Tobbe had murdered Victor? Because of Felicia’s testimony? The revelation made Johan feel sick, but he was determined not to let Arthur know.
“The police think Tobbe did it. They think Tobbe killed Victor. They’ve even searched our house, taken away the clothes he was wearing. It’s ridiculous, of course.” Arthur wiped his shiny forehea
d with his hand. “Tobbe and Victor have been best friends since day care. My boy would never, ever harm your son. You have to believe me.” Arthur’s voice rose to a falsetto. “Please, Johan, you have to tell the police they’re on the wrong track, that the boys were best friends. He’s innocent.”
The sound of light summer rain could be heard through the open window. When Victor was little, he used to love jumping in the puddles. Johan remembered how he used to run outside and splash around until he was soaking wet and his Wellingtons were full of water.
“God knows I’ve made mistakes,” Arthur went on quietly. “The last few years haven’t been easy for any of us. I know I haven’t been a good father, I haven’t taken responsibility for my boys. But I’m only human . . . and now Tobbe’s being punished . . .”
He lowered his head, as if the realization was more than he could bear. “It’s terrible that Victor’s dead, but my son being branded a murderer won’t bring him back. Tobbe had nothing to do with this. We both know that.”
The words were no more than a whisper now. “You’re the only one who can make the police understand what a huge mistake they’ve made. I’ll do anything if you’ll help us.”
The sound of breaking glass took them both by surprise.
Johan stared at the whisky glass he’d managed to shatter in his hand, in spite of it being heavy lead crystal. He looked down at the shards on the deep-red Oriental rug; the liquid had already sunk in. “Your son is alive,” he said in a monotone, “and you come here asking me to defend my son’s killer.” A thin trickle of blood ran down the palm of his hand. His lips were so stiff, he could hardly form the words. He had to force them out, syllable by syllable. “Get out of here,” he said. “Get out.”
CHAPTER 75
Nora turned on the outside faucet and filled the green plastic watering can. The pelargoniums needed a drink; the earth was dry and crumbly. The sky was still cloudy toward the mainland, but it had begun to brighten up over Sandhamn. The weather was often better in the outer archipelago.
As she started to water the plants, she noticed Jonas by the gate. She forced a neutral smile and put the can down on the bottom step. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He didn’t come into the garden. “How’s it going?” he said.
“Fine. Great,” she said cheerfully. “How’s Wilma?”
“OK. She’s slept a lot, but I think she’s feeling better now.”
“Good to know.” Nora pinched a couple of yellowing leaves off the nearest plant. “What happened?” she asked casually.
“A boy. And booze, of course.”
Jonas clenched his fist but didn’t say any more. He obviously didn’t want to go into detail, and Nora didn’t want to seem intrusive.
Silence.
“Would you like a coffee?” she asked, not knowing what else to say.
“Not just now, thanks. Listen, I need to get in touch with Thomas.”
“Why?” The word just slipped out.
“Apparently Wilma and her friends were hanging out in Skärkarlshamn on the evening when that boy was killed. The police ought to know. I read in the paper that they’re looking for witnesses.”
“Right.”
Why did she sound so stupid? She just wanted him to know how much she cared about him. Of course his daughter had to come first. I’ve got my own kids, I know how it feels. But that doesn’t mean you have to shut me out. Why does it have to be one or the other?
She couldn’t say any of that right now. Instead she glanced at his deck shoes and said, “Your laces are undone.”
“What?” Jonas looked down. “Thanks,” he said as he crouched to tie them.
They were standing no more than six feet apart, but it was as if a wall of glass had sprung up between them. It made Nora think about mime artists with their white gloves and black-painted mouths, open palms feeling at walls that didn’t exist. Unreal yet all too real.
Thomas’s phone number. She fumbled for her cell, pressed a couple of buttons, and scrolled through her contacts. She held it up so Jonas could see the display, and he entered the number into his phone.
“I need to get back to Wilma,” he said when he was done. “We’ll have a coffee some other time.”
He reached out as if he wanted to stroke her cheek, but just then Simon came whizzing along on his bike. He screeched to a halt, his wheels leaving deep ruts and spraying gravel all over Jonas. He dropped the bike and slid past Jonas and in through the gate. “Mom, when are we going to eat? I’m starving.”
The moment had passed.
“I need to start on dinner,” Nora said. She went up the steps to the front door without looking back.
CHAPTER 76
“Dad?”
Ellinor opened the door of the library, where Johan Ekengreen had been sitting ever since Arthur Hökström had left. Her eyes were swollen, her silver-blond hair messily pinned back with a barrette, a few stray strands framing her face. Around her wrist she wore a bracelet made of rows of plastic beads.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I’m thinking.” Johan’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to the photograph of Victor on the mantelpiece. Ellinor followed his gaze, then let out a sob. She was clutching a tissue.
“What about dinner?”
“I’m not hungry, sweetheart. You and Mom go ahead and eat.”
“Mom’s asleep.” Ellinor spread her hands helplessly. “And there’s no food in the refrigerator; no one’s done any shopping.”
Johan took out his wallet and handed her a five-hundred-kronor note.
“Could you go down to the market and buy something? Whatever you want. It might do you good to get out for a while.” Out of this mausoleum, he thought. Part of him wanted to weep along with Ellinor, but he couldn’t allow himself to give way to his grief. Not yet; there were things he had to take care of first.
Ellinor tucked the note in the back pocket of her pale-blue cropped pants. “Don’t you think you should eat something?” she said, plucking at her bracelet.
“I have no appetite right now, honey.”
“OK.”
She was just about to turn away when Johan stopped her. “Wait—I need to ask you something. I spoke to the police earlier, and I’m wondering . . .”
“What?”
She had no idea what he was talking about, he could see it in her face. Was it possible that even Ellinor hadn’t realized what was going on?
“They claim that Victor was taking drugs,” he went on. “They say there were traces of cocaine in his body when he died.”
Ellinor grabbed the back of the armchair for support. “Oh, Dad . . .”
Johan didn’t take his eyes off her as her face crumpled. “Did you know about this?” he said.
ELLINOR
When Victor woke up on New Year’s Day, Ellinor was perched on the edge of his bed. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail, and she was wearing her new blue bikini. From outside the window came the sound of distant laughter from the pool area; it was already early afternoon.
Victor looked terrible.
“How much did you drink yesterday?” Ellinor asked. She’d never seen her brother as drunk as he’d been the previous evening. Was it just because they weren’t at home in Sweden? Over the past few years, they’d gone away to celebrate Christmas; this time they’d arrived in Mexico in the middle of a heat wave.
“You two are growing up so fast,” their parents had said the first time the subject was raised. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little sunshine instead of this cold?”
Ellinor knew that Victor would have preferred to spend Christmas in Sweden. He’d always loved Christmas Eve; when he was little, he used to race down to the living room, clapping his hands with delight when he saw all the packages under the tree. He would sit there for hours, shaking the presents and turning them this way and that until the rest of the family woke up.
Madeleine would bring a few presents for them to open on the twenty-fourth
, but it was never the same—not like snowy, wintry Sweden.
“You drink too much,” Ellinor informed him now. He wouldn’t protest; he knew she was right.
“It was New Year’s Eve,” he groaned.
“Oh, please.”
There were only twenty months between them, but she’d taken care of him ever since he was tiny. However, she’d hardly been home this fall; school had swallowed up all her time. She’d only managed the odd weekend visit, and even those had been taken up with seeing old friends. She hadn’t had the chance to chill out with her kid brother.
Victor spent far too much time home alone; he often sounded down when she called. It felt as if Mom and Dad were always away. Thank goodness he’d hooked up with Felicia, otherwise Ellinor would have been even more worried. She was a sweet girl, and Victor had some company when their parents were gone.
Felicia had been around on the last weekend when Ellinor came home to visit before the Christmas vacation. She had secretly given her brother the thumbs-up, and when she saw how happy it made him, she had felt terribly guilty. She suspected that he missed her much more than she’d thought. She knew he had to work hard in school and that their father put a lot of pressure on him, but she hadn’t realized just how difficult it was for him.
Now she was shocked at the amount he was drinking.
“When did you start behaving like this?” Ellinor adjusted the strap of her bikini top; it had left a faint white stripe on her tanned skin. Victor was burying his head in the pillow, so she gave him a push.
“Leave me alone,” he mumbled. “I can’t cope with an interrogation.”
“Victor.” Ellinor had no intention of letting this go. “What the hell are you doing? What if Mom and Dad noticed?”
“Mmm.”
Their parents had joined the other families on the trip for dinner, and no one had paid any attention to how “the young people” were ushering in the New Year. Very late that night, Ellinor had caught a glimpse of her father when he went out onto the terrace to smoke a cigarillo; someone who didn’t look like Madeleine had been standing beside him.
