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

by Viveca Sten

  “Victor,” she tried again. “What’s happening? You’ve been drinking every single day since we got here.”

  They were staying at an all-inclusive hotel, which meant it was easy to pick up a drink in any of the bars. But was there something else? She thought she’d smelled something kind of sweet the other day.

  “Have you been smoking weed, too?” She knew she sounded exactly like their mother. “You’re only fifteen!”

  “Sixteen in a month,” came the muffled response.

  “Do you do this when you’re in school?” She softened her tone. “I’m worried about you, Victor.”

  “Won’t do it anymore.”

  In that moment, he sounded sincere. He obviously felt terrible; he could hardly articulate the words.

  “Gonna be sick.” He jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. A second later, loud retching could be heard from behind the door.

  When he came back, Ellinor was sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up to her chin. She watched him as he lay down.

  “Are you having problems in school? Have you and Felicia split up, or is it something else?”

  “I’m just so fucking tired of everything.”

  “Why?”

  No reply.

  “Victor.”

  “What do you want to know?” he muttered after a lengthy pause. “That Mom and Dad are always busy with some crap or other? That they only care about my grades and couldn’t give a fuck about the rest? You have no idea how I feel.” He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll never be as good as you. There’s only one person in our family who lives up to their expectations.”

  “Oh, Victor . . .”

  Ellinor was horrified at the bitterness that had come pouring out. She had never heard her brother talk like this. His jaw was rigid, and he looked as if he wanted to punch someone.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she exclaimed. “Why are you so angry?”

  They were interrupted by the hotel phone on the bedside table. Ellinor picked up the receiver and listened for a few seconds before hanging up. “That was Mom. We’re having brunch at the golf club at two. You need to shower. We’re meeting in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”

  Victor avoided her for the rest of the trip.

  She never got the chance to talk to him again.

  CHAPTER 77

  “I’ve never seen him drink like that,” Ellinor said. “I don’t know if he was using cocaine, but I’m pretty sure he was smoking marijuana when we were in Mexico.”

  She ran a hand over her forehead. “I just don’t understand why you and Mom didn’t notice anything. I mean, he was drunk nearly every night.”

  Her words stabbed Johan in the heart. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.

  Her look of resignation gave him the answer: You wouldn’t have listened. Without another word, she got up and left the room.

  You’re so like Victor, Johan thought. Same hair color, same blue eyes. My beautiful boy. Taken away from me by Tobbe Hökström.

  Grief overwhelmed him once more, but he fought to suppress it and focused on his anger instead. He stood up and went over to the antique desk by the window. He had acquired the desk at an auction several years ago. Most visitors assumed it was a family heirloom, and it amused him not to correct them.

  He took his address book out of the top drawer; he knew exactly who he wanted to speak to. Carl Tarras, head of security at the company where Johan had been managing director, a former soldier who had opted for a change of career when the military was drastically cut back. He now ran a successful consultancy working with everything from security solutions to personal protection for leading figures.

  Tarras had contacts in every part of society. Johan picked up his cell phone; his hand felt as heavy as lead as he keyed in the number. He ended the call before the signal even rang out.

  Everything was such a mess. He needed to think.

  He fetched another bottle of scotch and slowly unscrewed the green cap. He poured himself a drink, then topped it off with water from the jug on the table. He sat down in the armchair again, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Once again, he went through the telephone conversation in the car.

  Word by word, sentence by sentence.

  His informant had been absolutely certain: everything pointed to Tobbe Hökström. Arthur himself had told Johan that Felicia had seen Tobbe on the shore—the place where Victor had died.

  The drugs were at the root of the problem, but it was Tobbe who’d gotten Victor hooked on cocaine.

  Tobbe was both the cause and the effect.

  It was only a matter of time before the police arrested Tobbe—a technicality, according to the chief of police. Then he would be out of reach. He would probably be given a custodial sentence in a youth offenders’ institution for a year or two at most. He’d be out in no time, free to get on with his life.

  While Victor was gone forever.

  The memory of Victor’s dead face came to Johan’s mind again. The body lying there on the gurney in that little chalet on Sandhamn. The shifting shadows in the dim hallway when he had to identify his son.

  Madeleine’s heartrending sobs.

  They hadn’t been there for Victor when he was alive. Johan would have to live with that for the rest of his days, but he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing now.

  There was a debt to be paid.

  Arthur Hökström had begged for his help, and Johan had wanted to punch him in the face.

  The rage that flooded his body was more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. It throbbed through his veins and pounded in his head.

  How the hell could Hökström possibly believe that Johan would lift a finger to help his son? Why should Tobbe live when Victor was dead?

  CHAPTER 78

  Thomas was just about to pass Mölnvik when his phone rang. He had exactly twenty minutes to catch the last boat from Stavsnäs. It was unlikely that Elin would still be awake when he got home, but at least he would see her, and Pernilla wouldn’t have to spend another evening alone.

  Staffan Nilsson’s name showed up on the display; they had missed calls from each other in the afternoon.

  “What’s happening with the vests?” Nilsson said without preamble.

  “The vests?” Thomas repeated. He drove by the last speed camera and put his foot down.

  “You were supposed to be collecting the high-visibility vests from the team working on Sandhamn over the weekend. We talked about it this morning.”

  “Oh yes. I asked Harry Anjou to take care of it. I assumed you’d have them by now.”

  “Not yet.” Nilsson sounded annoyed. “The thing is, there are quite a lot of other fibers on the body that need to be examined, so it would be good if we could clear this up as soon as possible.”

  “Of course. I’ll check with Anjou first thing in the morning. Is that OK?”

  “I suppose it’ll have to be.”

  “You haven’t found anything else? How about Tobbe Hökström’s clothing?”

  “That’s what we’re working on at the moment. As you know, it takes a while. I’ll be in touch.”

  There was a click, and Thomas realized that Nilsson had ended the call. He increased his speed as much as he dared on the winding road by Värmdö Golf Club and past Fågelbro.

  The digital clock on the dashboard was showing 7:23 when the road narrowed and the Strömma channel came into view. A few sailboats were waiting to be let through, but the red barriers hadn’t yet come down.

  The warning signal announcing that the bridge was about to go up sounded as Thomas drove across. At least he was on the right side now; it would take him no more than ten minutes to reach Stavsnäs.

  His phone rang again, and this time he answered without looking at the display.

  “Hi, Thomas, it’s Jonas Sköld.”

  Jonas. Why was he calling? Thomas hadn’t even realized that Jonas had his number.

  “Hi,�
�� he said after a second’s hesitation.

  “I got your number from Nora,” Jonas explained, as if he’d read Thomas’s mind. “It’s about Wilma.”

  A pang of guilt. Thomas hadn’t even thought about Wilma lately; there had been too much going on. He should have contacted Nora, but it hadn’t happened.

  “How’s she feeling now?”

  “Not too bad,” Jonas said, clearing his throat. “That’s partly why I’m calling.”

  Thomas would be in Stavsnäs at any minute, with very little time left to park the car. “What’s this about?”

  “Wilma told me she was in Skärkarlshamn with a group of friends on Saturday evening. I thought you ought to know, under the circumstances. I read in the paper that you were looking for witnesses.”

  “I understand.” Thomas thought fast. The taxi boat to Harö continued to Sandhamn. If he went there instead of going straight home, he could talk to Wilma right away. Then maybe Nora would run him back to Harö. Pernilla wouldn’t be happy, but it shouldn’t take too long. It was worth the effort. “I’m on my way over; can I have a chat with her tonight?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “The boat should be in at around eight thirty; I’ll come straight to you.”

  “OK. By the way, we’re in our own place—Nora’s old house.”

  Hadn’t he been staying in the Brand villa? Come to think of it, Jonas didn’t sound too happy. However, Thomas didn’t want to ask personal questions. He ended the call, not much wiser.

  He pulled into the parking lot in Stavsnäs, grabbed a ticket, and stuck it on the inside of the windshield. Then he ran for the boat. The skipper was just about to cast off.

  “You were lucky,” he said to Thomas with a grin. “That was close!”

  Thomas nodded breathlessly and hurried on board. He had no problems finding an empty seat in the lounge as the boat backed away from the quayside. It was nice to have a bit of peace and quiet for a while. It had been another long day. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, then realized he had to let Pernilla know he was going to be late. It would also be a good idea to check with Nora and make sure she could run him over to Harö after he’d spoken to Wilma. He sent her a text and received an answer only a minute or so later.

  Didn’t know you were coming but happy to take you home. N

  Strange that Jonas didn’t mention my visit, Thomas thought. He called Pernilla, hoping she’d understand.

  CHAPTER 79

  Jonas met Thomas on the steps. His hair was wet, as if he’d just showered. They went into Nora’s old kitchen; it looked the same as it always had, and yet it didn’t. Jonas had replaced all the old tea towels and pot holders with colorful red and green ones; there were bottles of different kinds of olive oil on the countertop and pots of basil and rosemary on a round tray on the table.

  “Coffee?” Jonas said. “Or would you prefer a cold beer?”

  Technically he wasn’t off duty, and he wanted to speak to Wilma first. “A beer would be good, but can it wait until I’ve seen your daughter?”

  “No problem.” Jonas went over to the stairs. “Wilma, Thomas is here. Could you come down, please?”

  It didn’t take long for Wilma to appear. She was wearing a long-sleeved sweater over blue shorts and was barefoot, like her dad.

  “Hi,” she said, looking a little embarrassed.

  “Hi,” Thomas said, holding out his hand. “Thank you for seeing me this evening.” He turned to Jonas. “Shall we sit down here?”

  “Up to you. We can go into the living room if you prefer.”

  “The kitchen’s fine by me.” Thomas had always liked Nora’s spacious kitchen, where the evening sun shone in through the window.

  Wilma pulled out one of the white chairs. She tucked one foot under her body, drew up her other knee, and rested her chin on it; then she wrapped both arms around her leg.

  Thomas sat down opposite her, while Jonas remained standing, leaning against the drainboard. Jonas smiled at his daughter. “OK, so who did you meet up with on the beach on Saturday?”

  “Do I have to tell him everything?” Wilma said. The reluctance in her voice was unmistakable.

  “All you have to do is say who was there and what you saw during the evening,” Jonas said encouragingly. “It could be important.”

  Wilma glanced at her father when she’d finished, and he gave her a reassuring nod.

  “You’ve been a great help,” Thomas said sincerely. “Thank you so much for talking to me.” He suddenly had access to a group of witnesses he would never have known about otherwise.

  Wilma folded the piece of paper on which she’d written down the names and phone numbers she knew and handed it to Thomas.

  He put it in his pocket and said, “Thanks again.” Then he turned to Jonas. “I’ll have that beer now, if the offer’s still open.”

  “Sure.” Jonas took two cans out of the refrigerator and passed one to Thomas.

  “It’s been difficult to find witnesses on Sandhamn; they haven’t exactly been rushing to pick up the phone,” Thomas said. “Where’s Nora, by the way? She promised to take me back to Harö when we’re done.”

  Jonas looked away. “I think she’s at home.”

  Wilma stood up. “Can I go now?”

  “I think so,” Thomas said, but something else occurred to him just as Wilma was about to leave the kitchen. “Just one last question. That police officer you mentioned, when you and Mattias were about to go into the cottage. Can you remember what he looked like?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “But you’re sure he was alone?”

  She nodded.

  “Did he have dark or fair hair? Was he tall or short, well-built or thin?”

  Wilma hesitated. “It all happened so fast. But Mattias might remember—he saw him more clearly than I did.”

  “And there’s nothing else you can recall?” Thomas tried to keep his tone casual. He didn’t want to put too much pressure on the girl, but it was strange that none of his uniformed colleagues had mentioned that they’d been in Skärkarlshamn during the critical period. It was a routine matter to report something like that under the circumstances. He put down the can of beer. “Do me a favor,” he said to Wilma. “Close your eyes and try to picture the scene.”

  Wilma did as he asked.

  “Think about how you felt when you realized there was a police officer nearby. What can you see?”

  Wilma opened her eyes and looked straight at Thomas. “He was wearing a high-visibility vest.”

  CHAPTER 80

  You’ll find him at Salvatore’s, a pizzeria on the corner of Paradise Square, not far from the train station. He’ll be there at 10:00. You need to bring 10,000 kronor in cash to show you’re serious. He insists you come in person, that’s his insurance.

  The instructions from the former head of security had been very clear.

  Johan could see the train station in Huddinge through the windshield from the back seat of the cab. He’d realized that he’d drunk far too much to take his own car, and he couldn’t risk being stopped for drunk driving.

  Not tonight.

  To be on the safe side, he took a cab to the city center first and paid cash. Then he walked over to the Central Station on Vasagatan and joined the line of people waiting for a cab outside the main entrance. When it was his turn, he chose a car from a different company than the one he’d just used.

  Before leaving home, he’d put on a blue cap and dark glasses. In spite of the warm evening, he was wearing thin gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints.

  It was like something out of a bad movie, he thought, but he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t want to be recognized, and he had no intention of taking any risks.

  He’d gotten in the cab and mumbled, “Huddinge train station,” keeping his head down. It didn’t take long to leave the capital behind. There was very little traffic, and they reached their destination in around fifteen minutes.

  Johan wa
ited by a tree until the car had driven off; then he strode purposefully toward Paradise Square.

  The restaurant was on the opposite side of the street. The grubby white neon sign told him that he’d found the right place. Outside on the sidewalk, a triangular plastic display board listed all the different pizzas on offer.

  In the distance, on the other side of the train tracks, there was a cluster of apartment buildings with cluttered balconies. A woman wearing a shawl scurried past with a child in a stroller, avoiding eye contact with a group of teenagers hanging around with their mopeds by the fast food stall a hundred yards farther on.

  This place was no more than an hour from the leafy residential area where he lived, but everything about it was so alien that he might as well have been in a different country. He felt deeply uncomfortable; he just wanted to get out of there. Why hadn’t he asked the cab driver to wait for him? Then again, that would have increased the risk of the guy remembering him.

  The door of the run-down pizzeria was opened by a tall man who stepped out onto the sidewalk and lit a cigarette, the glow clearly visible in the deepening twilight.

  Johan hesitated, standing there in the shadows. He could still change his mind, turn around and walk to the station, go home to his wife and daughter.

  But once again he saw his son’s damaged face.

  The man finished his cigarette. He tossed it on the ground and crushed it with the heel of his shoe, then went back inside.

  Johan glanced at his watch: five past ten. Time to go in.

  The money was in his pocket. He always kept a certain amount of cash in the built-in safe in the cellar.

  His hand closed around the envelope, which was surprisingly thin given the amount involved. Ten notes, each worth one thousand kronor.

  For the same amount, he could secure protection for himself and his family; that was the going rate if anyone made a threat. It was enough to send a message through the system: don’t touch this family. It was a strange piece of knowledge he shared with many of those in elevated positions.