by Viveca Sten
Arthur would be there, too, but Tobbe didn’t want to travel with him and Eva. Somehow it felt better to be with Mom and Christoffer.
Would people be staring at him, thinking he was a murderer?
Had the word spread about the police’s suspicions? Did everyone know his house had been searched?
He curled up on the bed.
It was impossible to avoid thinking about the coffin, with Victor beneath the heavy lid. How could he be lying there, all alone in the dark?
The lump in his throat grew, and his head was pounding.
The craving for cocaine had vanished. Never again, he promised himself. No booze, no drugs. It was all his fault. He was the one who’d gotten Victor hooked.
He’d bought coke for the first time through a friend of Christoffer’s, just before the autumn break. They’d been hanging out at Victor’s place when Tobbe took out the thin envelope and showed it to Victor. He emptied the contents onto a pocket mirror: a small pile of white powder. They’d smoked marijuana a few times, but this was something new.
Tobbe remembered shaping half the powder into a line with his pocket knife, then leaning forward and snorting in with a soft inhalation.
It was the most amazing thing he’d ever done in his whole life.
Victor had stared at him. “Dad will kill me if he ever finds out about this,” he’d said.
Tobbe recalled his answer, which seemed to come from a different world.
“So what,” he’d responded with a carefree grin. “This is so cool. You have to give it a try. You can’t back down now.”
CHAPTER 92
Thursday
Thomas had picked up Margit in the morning. The boat to Utö left from Årsta Havsbad at eight thirty.
Mattias Wassberg might be the closest thing to an eyewitness they had. If it was Harry Anjou whom Wilma had caught a glimpse of that evening, then maybe Wassberg had seen what had happened afterward—and if anyone else had come along later.
The timing matched perfectly.
Anjou had already been brought in; Internal Affairs had taken immediate action.
In the distance, Thomas saw a white boat approaching the jetty. The Vaxholm Ferry Company served this route, and they could easily have been on the way to Sandhamn. Same kind of boat, same kind of people waiting in line. Thomas and Margit were behind a young family with a stroller and a group of German tourists with bicycles.
During the drive, Thomas had described his visit to Anjou.
“What if he’s lying?” Margit said out of nowhere as they stood on the jetty. The sun was shining, but the morning air was still damp.
“Sorry?”
“Harry. What if he’s lying?” She broke off and sneezed loudly. She wiped her nose with a handkerchief, then went on: “Maybe it’s true that Victor stumbled and hit his head, but Harry might have decided it was best to finish the job so he wouldn’t get caught. Our suspicions of Tobbe could be entirely misplaced.”
“We might get an answer today.” Thomas had high hopes for Mattias Wassberg.
“Are you two coming?” a crew member shouted from the gangplank. Everyone else had gone aboard while they were talking.
“Yes!” Thomas called back.
The journey to Utö took just under an hour. Once upon a time, iron mines had dominated the island, but in the nineteenth century, a wealthy businessman had bought the whole place and transformed Utö into a summer paradise for artists and well-heeled visitors from Stockholm.
It reminded Thomas of Sandhamn in many ways, but the landscape was greener, the vegetation less sparse than in the outer archipelago. Utö was also significantly larger, with both cars and decent roads.
According to Mattias’s mother, they were to disembark at Gruvbyn, which was where his friends had their summer cottage.
Thomas looked at his watch: almost nine thirty. At that moment, a voice from a crackling loudspeaker informed them that the boat would shortly be arriving at Gruvbyn and that its next destination would be Spränga.
Thomas and Margit stepped ashore on the wide quayside, which was surrounded by red boathouses with black roofs. There were leisure craft moored on both sides of the concrete jetty, and a red building opposite them bore a white-lettered sign that informed them that they had arrived at “Utö Guest Harbor.”
A T-junction ahead led to a steep hill and the Utö Värdshus Hotel.
“Do you have the directions?” Thomas asked Margit.
She took a piece of paper out of her pocket. “Let’s see . . . OK, we take the road on the right, past the bakery. The house is on the left. It can’t be far.”
Thomas looked to the right and saw a sign with the word Bakery on a building that looked like a barn, and they set off.
The house was so well hidden behind a tall lilac hedge that they almost missed it.
“Is this it?” Margit said dubiously, contemplating the white wooden building with gray eaves. “Talk about greenery.”
Thomas opened the gate and walked up the gravel path leading to the front door. There was no bell, so he knocked instead. When no one answered, he knocked again, harder this time. Suddenly an upstairs window flew open.
“Hello?” said the voice of someone who’d obviously just woken up. A girl with tousled blond hair stuck her head out. “What do you want?”
“We’re looking for Mattias Wassberg,” Thomas shouted up to her.
“He’s not here, he’s probably on the boat.” The window slammed shut.
Thomas pulled a face and hammered on the door again.
The window opened. “I told you, he’s not here.”
“Police! Open this door.”
After a few seconds, they heard the sound of a key turning. The girl stood there in a mint-green T-shirt that ended at her white panties. Her eyes were puffy, and her cheeks still bore the marks of the pillow.
There had obviously been a party last night.
“Has something happened?” she said nervously.
“It’s nothing serious,” Margit reassured her. “But we need to ask Mattias a few questions. Where can we find him?”
“Er . . .” The girl scratched her head as she tried to think. “The boat’s by the quayside, down past the kiosk.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s a sailboat. I don’t know what make it is.”
“Can you describe it?”
She shook her head, then said, “Oh, the bottom part is red.”
“Thank you, that’s very helpful,” Thomas said. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”
It took less than ten minutes to get back to the harbor. As they approached the kiosk, Thomas scanned the area. Suddenly he noticed movement on board a boat moored about a hundred yards away. The hull shimmered in a warm color. Could it be described as red?
A young boy appeared on the foredeck and jumped ashore. He glanced over his shoulder, then ran off toward the hill leading to the restaurant. Thomas immediately realized it must be Wassberg.
“Come on!” he said to Margit, and set off after him.
“Why is he trying to get away?” she called out from behind him as she, too, broke into a run. “We only want to talk to him.”
Thomas cut across the grass and ran past the boathouses. Wassberg had a head start, and the hill was pretty steep. Thomas was out of breath within a couple of minutes, but he kept going as fast as he could.
When he reached the white restaurant at the top, the track forked in two different directions. He hesitated; had Wassberg gone straight or to the left?
Several guests were having breakfast on the terrace; one of them must have realized what was going on because he pointed to the east and shouted, “He went that way!”
Thomas set off again just as Margit caught up. They kept going for another hundred yards or so until the buildings petered out. There were high fences on both sides of the track, and behind the fences were large pools surrounded by jagged rock faces. These were the old open-cast mines that had been filled wi
th water.
Thomas stopped and tried to peer through the fence. Water lily leaves covered the surface of the pools, and lush greenery obscured his view, so it was difficult to see what was on the other side.
“Where did he go?” he said to Margit. She screwed up her eyes, trying to spot the boy. The sound of a stone falling into the water broke the silence.
Thomas saw movement by the rock face on the far side.
“There!” he shouted as he ran. “He’s climbed over the fence, and he’s trying to hide!”
CHAPTER 93
The fence was at least six feet high with signs stating that unauthorized persons were not allowed to enter. The barbed wire along the top glinted ominously in the sunlight.
Thomas ran along the perimeter, searching for a place where he could climb over. Eventually he reached a rocky area; if he stood on the biggest rock, he should be able to do it. He clambered up and reached for the top of the fence, doing his best to avoid the barbed wire. He heaved himself up with both arms and jumped down on the other side. His jeans got caught, ripping his back pocket, but he landed on a narrow path only about eighteen inches wide. If he lost his balance, he would end up in the pool.
He set off after Mattias Wassberg, who had now broken cover and was edging along the path by the fence.
They were no more than twenty yards apart now.
“Mattias!” Thomas shouted. “Stop! Police! We only want to talk to you.”
Mattias stopped and looked back; there was no escape.
“Wait!” Thomas yelled. He was almost there when the boy threw himself into the water. He vanished beneath the surface, then reappeared and began to swim to the other side.
Margit, who had been watching from outside the fence, turned and ran in the opposite direction in order to cut him off.
Thomas hesitated, then jumped in. The cold came as a shock, but he ignored it and started swimming. From a distance, the pool hadn’t looked too big; but now he could see it was more of a lake. It must be very deep, he thought as he tried to catch up with the fleeing teenager.
Mattias had almost reached the opposite side, but Thomas wasn’t far behind, and he was a stronger swimmer. He grabbed ahold of the boy. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m a police officer. Now calm down!”
Mattias panicked, hitting Thomas with flailing arms. He hurled himself forward, desperately trying to push Thomas down. Before Thomas had time to react, he was underneath the boy. Cold water flooded into his nostrils as he struggled to free himself. Suddenly Margit was there, pulling at Mattias from behind, and Thomas resurfaced.
Together they managed to get a grip on the teenager and drag him toward a flat rock. They hauled him out, and Thomas pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. Gasping for breath, he secured Mattias’s wrists and sank down beside him.
The boy was breathing heavily but didn’t say a word.
In his peripheral vision, Thomas saw someone fumbling with a lock and opening a gate. A uniformed security guard came hurrying over.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said. “This is a restricted area! Can’t you read the signs?”
“We’re police officers,” Thomas panted, getting to his feet. “We’ve just restrained this young man for violent resistance.”
Margit had also stood up, her clothes dripping. She pointed to Wassberg. “Look, Thomas,” she said quietly.
He turned and followed her gaze. This was the first time he’d seen Wassberg from the front, and he now saw that the boy’s face was covered in cuts and grazes that couldn’t possibly have been caused by their recent struggle. He was wearing a scarf around his neck, but it had come undone, revealing heavy bruising across a wide area. The contusions must have been a few days old; they were already fading to yellow.
It was clear that someone had recently seized Mattias Wassberg by the throat.
CHAPTER 94
Nora’s phone rang just as she got back from the store and opened the door of the Brand villa. She glanced at the display: Henrik.
Both the boys’ bicycles were gone; the house was empty. It was lunchtime, but there was no point in starting to prepare a meal until they got back. She went and sat on the veranda before she answered.
“Hi.”
“How are things over there?” Henrik asked eagerly. “It must be glorious on Sandhamn today.”
Nora was taken aback by his cheerful tone. “It’s great,” she said. “The weather’s fantastic again.”
“I’d much rather be out in the archipelago than sitting here in front of my depressing X-rays!”
“I was actually thinking about going to Alskär for a swim this afternoon,” Nora admitted.
“Alskär.” Henrik repeated the word with genuine longing. “It’s a beautiful place,” he added. There was a brief silence, then he went on: “Listen, I wanted to ask you something about the handover on Friday.”
She hoped Henrik wasn’t about to start messing with her; that was the last thing she needed right now. For the first time in ages, Nora hadn’t been dreading the boys going to stay with their father for two weeks; instead she’d been looking forward to being on her own with Jonas. Now she didn’t know what was going on. Jonas hadn’t been in touch, and she didn’t feel it was up to her to go and ask him.
She couldn’t shake off her disappointment at the way things had gone over the past few days.
“Go on,” she said.
“If you like, I can come over to Sandhamn to pick the boys up,” Henrik said. “I thought it might be less hassle for you.”
That definitely wasn’t what she’d expected. “Sorry?”
“It would save you coming all the way to Saltsjöbaden. I can catch the ferry on Friday afternoon and collect them instead.”
Her suspicions weren’t so easily allayed. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“I’m just being nice, Nora.” He chuckled, and she recognized his old laugh—the one she’d fallen in love with when he was studying medicine and she was a law student. Back when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
“Come on, why do you always assume there’s an ulterior motive?” Henrik said. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
Nora smiled in spite of herself. “That would make life much easier,” she said in a warmer tone.
“Maybe we could have dinner?” Henrik suggested. “The boys would like that. How about the Värdshuset Restaurant? You’ve always liked their fish stew.”
Nora was confused. “What will Marie say about that? Or is she coming with you?”
“We’ve decided to spend our vacation separately this summer,” he said, a slight change in his voice. “I think it’s for the best. We need to press the pause button, so to speak.”
“I see,” Nora said, even though she didn’t see at all.
“So what do you say? Dinner on Friday?”
“Sure. Absolutely.”
Nora was still digesting what she’d just heard as she went into the kitchen to unpack the groceries.
Henrik had been so nice to her; it was an eternity since they’d had such a civilized conversation. The boys would be delighted at the prospect of the four of them having dinner together before they went off to spend two weeks with their father.
Through the window, she saw the door of her former home opening. Jonas came out onto the top step, looking exhausted, his shoulders slumped. He stood there for a few seconds, then set off toward the Brand villa.
CHAPTER 95
Thomas and Margit had asked if they could use a room at the Utö Värdshus Hotel, an impressively showy building opposite the restaurant, and were now sitting on the spacious veranda. The staff had provided them with dry clothing, and their own sodden garments had been placed in plastic bags. Margit had had the presence of mind to leave her cell phone on a rock before she jumped in, but Thomas’s had given up the ghost for good.
In front of them, the sea sparkled in the morning sun. This was the highest point on the island, and the archipelago extended
in all directions. The tall windows were facing west; it would be several hours before the sun reached the veranda, but the door was already ajar to let in the fresh air.
Mattias Wassberg was slumped in a wicker chair with his back to the windows. His hair was still wet and had made the collar of his borrowed polo shirt damp.
The cocky teenager from the pictures on Facebook was gone. His back was bent, and he’d said very little since his misguided attempt to escape.
In the bright sunlight, it was clear that someone had given him a hard time. The impression of the hand that had grasped his throat was horribly vivid. Both the thumb and fingertips had caused serious contusions. There was a significant abrasion on one cheek and several deep scratches on his cheeks and chin.
Margit had a white towel bearing the hotel logo over her shoulders. She rubbed her hair and said, “OK, now we’d like to know exactly what happened on Sandhamn.”
Mattias looked straight at Thomas and Margit with the expression of someone who had given up. “It wasn’t my fault,” he began.
MATTIAS
Fucking bitch. First she threw up all over him, then she took off.
Mattias looked at the mess on the floor. He considered leaving it and letting his aunt wonder what had happened, but she would probably guess who was to blame. She’d actually shown him where the spare keys were; he would be the prime suspect when she got back to the island.
He decided on a compromise. He grabbed a towel and wiped up the vomit as best he could. He’d throw it away in the forest; his aunt wouldn’t miss it. He swore silently at Wilma as he worked.
What a bitch. She’d been coming on to him all evening, offering herself to him on a plate like a fucking whore. And then she’d changed her mind at the last minute.
The room still stank when he’d finished, but at least the floor didn’t look too bad.
He heard loud voices outside the window, and someone screamed. He put down the towel and peered out. Dusk was falling, but it was still light enough to see. Someone was hurrying away; it looked like a cop in uniform.
