Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1) (17 page)

C
HAPTER
40

The dancing began after dinner. The same band had been playing at the Yacht Club for the past eighteen years. Nora had been a teenager when they’d first started, and the boys in the band just a few years older. At the time she had thought the guitarist was the best-looking boy she had ever seen.

Not anymore.

Henrik asked Nora to dance as the band struck up with “Lady in Red.” She had always thought they danced well together; they both had rhythm and found it easy to keep the beat. Nora felt much better about everything now. And things were bound to work out with the job in Malmö. If she got it. She ran her fingers down Henrik’s spine and breathed in the scent of him. She could never remember the name of his aftershave, but she would recognize it anywhere. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the music, feeling the melody all through her body.

After one more dance they went out onto the veranda to get some fresh air and cool down. The packed dance floor created an almost sauna-like heat.

Outside, it was pleasantly warm, with hundreds of masts silhouetted against the dark-blue sky. One or two boats were still flying their ensigns, in spite of the ancient custom that dictated that all flags should be lowered at nine o’clock in the evening in the summer. Many sailors were still on board, enjoying the beautiful evening.

Over by the pool, they could see motorboats whose owners had gathered to celebrate this Saturday evening, untroubled by the dramatic events of recent weeks.

The biggest motorboats, the
Storebro
and the
Princess
, lay side by side at the Via Mare jetty. There was a fine line between what constituted a boat and what was actually a floating summer cottage. Some of the boats were so enormous they could only berth in Sandhamn or Högböte, the harbor that was home to the Royal Motorboat Club.

Nora had once asked one of Henrik’s sailing friends how much a vessel like the
Storebro
would cost. He had given her a look and said, “Don’t worry about what the boat costs—worry about what it costs to fill her up!” She hadn’t asked any more questions after that.

Henrik interrupted Nora’s thoughts. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

He put his arm around her shoulders as she shivered in the evening breeze.

“I did. Johan is easy to talk to, even if his account of the qualities of your new mainsail did take up most of the main course.” Nora smiled at him. “But it’s lovely to have a pleasant evening together for a change. I’ve missed this.” She snuggled a little closer and gently stroked his cheek. “Have you given any more thought to the idea of moving to Malmö? It all sounds very exciting, doesn’t it? It would be a terrific opportunity for me.” The sense of pride at having been asked to apply for the post gave her a warm feeling. She gazed up at her husband, smiling.

Henrik looked back at her, surprise written all over his face. “I thought we’d finished talking about this. We can’t move the entire family to Malmö just because somebody offers you a job there.”

Nora was shocked. “What do you mean? Why can’t we move to Malmö just because somebody offers me a job there?”

“I can’t move, and I have no desire to do so. I’m very happy at the hospital in Danderyd. I have absolutely no wish to start again somewhere else.” He half turned and waved to a passing acquaintance. “Shall we go back inside? The others will be wondering where we’ve gone.”

Nora was at a loss for words. Then she furiously shook off his arm. The happy atmosphere was gone in a second; suddenly the gala and all those people laughing and dancing seemed a long way off.

“How can you possibly say we’ve finished talking about this? We haven’t even discussed it properly!” She pushed a strand of hair back from her face and continued. “Have you even heard what I’ve been trying to tell you?” To her surprise, her voice was shaking. “I thought we had a modern relationship, an equal marriage, where both our jobs were important, not just yours.”

“Calm down,” Henrik said. “Let’s not get carried away. I just meant that you need to be a little more realistic about the future. After all, I’m the main breadwinner. Our family and friends are in Stockholm. And I’ve got the boat here, of course.” He took a step back and looked at her. “There’s no need to be so melodramatic when I don’t agree with you.”

Henrik sounded exactly like the clinical practitioner he was. His voice was cool and distant, and he was looking at her as if she were a small child.

“I’m not being melodramatic.”

Nora blinked away a tear, even more angry because she was starting to cry. The injustice of it all took her breath away. She swallowed, partly to get rid of the lump in her throat and partly to prevent the tears from falling.

Henrik was expressionless. He took a few steps toward the door. “Yes, you are. Now pull yourself together so we can go back inside.” He took another step.

Nora clenched her fists in rage. Every time Henrik wanted to go away for a competition, the family simply had to make it work. His training sessions and sailing competitions already took up most weekends during the spring and autumn, and their entire summer vacation was arranged according to the various regattas. But when her job happened to be in the spotlight for once, she was being melodramatic.

Henrik was leaning impatiently against the doorframe. “Come on, Nora. Surely you don’t have to make a scene tonight of all nights. Can’t we just go back inside and enjoy ourselves? Is that too much to ask?”

Nora glared at him. “Yes,” she said. “It is.” She dashed away another tear. “I’m going home. This evening is over as far as I’m concerned.” She ran down the steps. The night was ruined. Henrik could come up with some explanation for his friends—she really didn’t care.

It had been a terrible week. Perhaps it was only fitting that it had ended with a terrible evening.

S
UNDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK

C
HAPTER
41

The attempt to clear his mind by going over to Harö hadn’t exactly been a success. By the time Thomas got there on Saturday afternoon he was far too pumped up on adrenaline to unwind completely. Instead he had gone out for a long run, followed by a refreshing dip from the jetty.

He had gone to bed early to try to catch up on the sleep he had lost during the week, but it had been a waste of time. He found it impossible to stop his mind from dwelling on the case. Fragments of conversations with potential witnesses and disjointed images of the victims whirled around in his head.

At about two o’clock in the morning he gave up, grabbed a beer, and went to sit on the jetty. The sun had already begun to rise; it didn’t stay below the horizon for very long at this time of year.

Thomas sat there thinking about the murders, and eventually he nodded off in his chair. His mother woke him when she came down for her morning swim.

“Have you been out here all night?” she asked, looking puzzled.

Thomas blinked at her, still only half-awake. “I couldn’t get to sleep, so I came down here.”

He sat up and ran his hands through his hair, then stretched to ease the muscles in his back, stiff from sitting in an awkward position in the chair.

It was a beautiful, still morning, with gentle ripples on the surface of the water. A little family of eider ducks with three ducklings came swimming along; one little ball of fluff almost got tangled up in a piece of floating yellow seaweed.

His mother shook her head, looking concerned. “You need to take things easy. You sleep badly and you eat badly. I’m going to make you a proper breakfast after my swim.”

Thomas smiled at her. He knew that his parents worried about him. Emily’s death had hit them hard. They had so looked forward to their first grandchild and had been utterly devastated by what had happened.

It suddenly struck him that they were both over seventy. Two living, healthy parents was no longer something he could take for granted.

He got up and gave his mother a great big bear hug. She almost disappeared in his embrace.

“Breakfast would be fantastic. I’m starving.”

After lunch, he abandoned the attempt to think of anything other than the investigation. He took out his laptop and logged on. He spread out all the relevant documents on the kitchen table, including information from the general public and the various reports that had been handed in during the week. Methodically he went through it all.

It was clear that few people had noticed Kicki Berggren’s visit to Sandhamn. Among the crowds of summer visitors, sailors, and tourists, hardly anyone had noticed a lonely woman of about fifty.

In spite of the fact that they had knocked on every single door in Sandhamn—more than once in some cases—their inquiries had produced little. Thomas rubbed his eyes and yawned. The only point of interest was a statement Erik had handed in. He had spoken to a woman who lived in the older part of the village who thought she remembered Kicki Berggren walking past the bakery heading toward Fläskberget—going west, in other words. The woman had noticed her because she had been wearing such high heels and had had some difficulty walking on the sand.

“These are much better,” the old lady had said, pointing to her white sneakers, the laces tied in a neat bow.

According to the report, Kicki Berggren had been looking around as if she didn’t really know where she was going.

The woman had also noticed that Kicki had spoken to someone, but she couldn’t remember who it was. She couldn’t for the life of her come up with any distinguishing features about the person Kicki had been talking to. She couldn’t even recall whether it was a man or a woman, let alone the person’s age or appearance. Just that Kicki seemed to be asking questions.

“I’m sorry, but it was all so quick. It was just something I saw out of the corner of my eye. I was too busy wondering how she could walk in those shoes,” she had explained when Erik pushed her for more details.

Thomas got up and went to make a cup of coffee. Two spoonfuls of instant coffee, hot water, two sugar lumps, and a little milk. He stirred thoughtfully as the sugar dissolved. Then he opened the cupboard to see if there was anything to eat. There wasn’t much, but he managed to locate an open packet of slightly stale cookies.

He took his coffee and the cookies back to the computer and sat down. He read through Erik’s report one more time as he pondered. If Kicki Berggren was going to visit someone, but didn’t know where that person lived, it was only logical that she would ask the way. The bakery was a natural meeting point on Sandhamn. Everyone who lived on the island went there on a regular basis to buy bread.

The woman had seen Kicki at some point on Friday afternoon. If one assumed that she was intending to visit someone who lived on the island, then she must have asked a resident. A sailor or a tourist probably wouldn’t have been able to help. Therefore, there had to be someone who had spoken to Kicki and who knew what questions she had asked.

The problem was that they had yet to find this unknown person. Nor had anyone come forward.

On the other hand, Thomas was well aware that he or she wasn’t necessarily still on the island. Many families shared the houses they had inherited, which meant that they spent only part of their vacation on Sandhamn. If this mysterious individual had left the island and gone somewhere else, perhaps to a different part of the country or even abroad, that would explain why the police hadn’t managed to track him or her down. There could also be an even simpler explanation: the person might not realize that he or she had spoken to the woman who had later been murdered and that the police would be interested. If this was the case, the chances of finding him or her were probably infinitesimal.

Thomas drank the last of his coffee. If they could find out whom Kicki Berggren had spoken to, it would provide an important piece of the puzzle.

He decided to post Erik at the bakery for the entire next day with a photograph of Kicki. He would ask him to speak to every person who turned up to find out if anyone had seen or spoken to her a week ago.

They also needed to question the bakery staff again. There was no guarantee that the girls who had been working there when the police turned up were the same as when Kicki stopped by. He remembered working in a bakery when he was a teenager; the employees had different shifts, coming and going all the time.

Thomas closed his eyes and tried to visualize the bakery. If you headed west from there, where would you end up?

In his mind’s eye he saw the lane where the red building housing the bakery was located. It led past one of the oldest houses on Sandhamn, a little cottage dating back to the eighteenth century where someone by the name of C. J. Sjöblom had once lived. The name was etched into the rock at the bottom of the steps leading up to the cottage. Apparently another past resident, an old woman, had made a living taking in laundry for the islanders.

The very thought of washing clothes by hand in winter in the ice-cold water made Thomas shudder.

He continued walking through the village in his mind.

If you carried on along the lane, you passed the little hill where children of every age wore out the seat of their pants by sliding down and landing on the sand.

Then came a row of old houses, followed by the marina for small boats to the north, then Kvarnberget.

Eventually you reached Fläskberget, an attractive sandy shore, which many families in the village preferred to the more famous Trouville beach, which was often packed with tourists.

Finally you came to Västerudd, the western point of the island, which consisted mainly of pine forests and low-growing blueberry bushes, with the odd large house and garden dotted around. It was on the beach between Koberget and Västerudd that Krister Berggren’s body had been found, next to a house owned by the Åkermark family. A stretch of sand with virtually no sign of habitation.

Thomas realized that if Kicki Berggren had been on her way to the western side of the island, it meant that the Trouville area could be discounted completely. This in turn meant that the search area was significantly reduced.

A welcome thought under the circumstances.

He decided to spend the following morning concentrating on the area between the bakery and Västerudd. With a bit of luck they would be able to find someone who had seen a blond woman in high heels wandering around last Friday.

Thomas stretched. He had earned a cold beer down by the jetty. At least he felt like he was getting somewhere.