Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1) (25 page)

C
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60

Call Marcus Björk at the ferry company,
said the note on Thomas’s desk when he got back to the station after catching the eleven o’clock boat back to the mainland.

I ought to get a season ticket for the Waxholmsbolaget ferries,
he thought. It was such a nuisance keeping track of all the receipts that had to be handed in when he was claiming his expenses. Occasionally he managed to hitch a ride with the maritime police, but their schedule didn’t usually fit in with his, and they had fewer and fewer boats these days.

A phone number was written on the note; he called Margit, and they sat down at his desk. Margit dialed the number and switched to speakerphone so they could both follow the conversation.

“Marcus Björk, how may I help you?” The voice sounded youthful and enthusiastic. Thomas pictured an ambitious, apple-cheeked young man.

“This is Margit Grankvist from Nacka police. My colleague Thomas Andreasson is also listening to this conversation. I believe you called us earlier?”

“Absolutely. Thanks for calling back. I work in the admin department of the ferry company; we supplied you with passenger lists for our ferries from Stockholm to Helsinki yesterday. I’m sorry it took such a long time, but we got them to you as soon as we could. We had a computer glitch that caused us all kinds of hassle.”

“I understand.”

“I’ve now spoken to the captain who was on duty on the Sunday you asked about, almost two weeks ago. He told me a couple of teenagers did actually report seeing someone fall overboard on that particular evening. However, they didn’t report it until they were just about to disembark the following day, and there was nothing else to suggest anything had happened. It also appeared that the teenagers had been quite drunk the previous evening, so the captain made a judgment call and decided nothing had happened.” Marcus Björk laughed nervously.

“So what happened next?” Margit asked.

“Not much, unfortunately. It was difficult to take these teenagers seriously. I can’t tell you how many people claim all kinds of things that never happened.” The last comment sounded rather anxious, as if Marcus Björk was afraid that someone might have made a huge mistake. “But as you’d asked for the passenger lists, I thought you’d want to know that something had actually been reported relating to that particular evening.”

Thomas and Margit looked at one another; Margit gave Thomas a thumbs-up.

“Names?” she mouthed to Thomas.

Thomas leaned closer to the telephone. “Do you have the names of the two teenagers?”

“Yes, we have their names and addresses. The captain made a note of where they lived, just to be on the safe side. Thank goodness.” Marcus Björk no longer sounded quite so enthusiastic; anxiety was taking over.

“Excellent,” said Thomas, nodding at Margit. “Could you e-mail me the information as soon as possible?”

“Of course.” There was a brief silence. “Please let us know if we can be of assistance with anything else,” Marcus Björk said.

“Do you have CCTV cameras on board?” Margit asked.

“We do indeed, all over the ship.”

“In that case we would very much like the tapes from the Sunday before last. Monday to Wednesday as well, if you don’t mind. As soon as possible.”

“Absolutely; I’ll sort it out as soon as the ship gets back.”

Margit looked at the clock and sighed. “And when will that be?”

“Let’s see . . .” Judging from the sounds in the background, Marcus Björk was leafing through piles of paper.

“Surely he ought to know this off the top of his head,” Thomas muttered to Margit.

“Late this afternoon. She’s due out again at seven this evening.”

Margit twirled a pen between her fingers as Thomas ended the conversation.

“Could we possibly be lucky enough to find that the CCTV cameras caught Jonny Almhult and his killer?” Margit said. She tore off the sheet of paper on which she had been doodling, crumpled it up, and threw it with deadly accuracy into the trash can in the far corner. Then she gave Thomas a skeptical look. “Or would that be too much to hope for?”

He leafed through his notebook, where he had jotted down a reminder about tapping Viking Strindberg’s phone. “What did the prosecutor say about that phone tap we discussed?”

Margit rolled her eyes. “She didn’t like it, of course. They never do. But I just had to quote the relevant section from the Code of Judicial Procedure, chapter twenty-seven.” Margit knew it by heart. “Covert telephone surveillance may be used during a preliminary investigation into crimes that would incur a custodial sentence of no less than six months.” She looked very pleased with herself. “If someone’s smuggling booze worth millions from Systemet, then selling it tax-free to various restaurants, I think he’d go down for more than six months, don’t you?”

Thomas smiled to himself as he thought about Charlotte Öhman’s reluctance to give permission for the phone tap. The procedure didn’t sit well with many people’s perception of where the boundaries lay in a democratic society, but it was a powerful tool in a police investigation and often provided key pieces of evidence.

On this occasion the prosecutor appeared to have given in surprisingly quickly.

“It’s being set up today if our colleagues do as they’ve been told,” Margit said. “I’ve put Kalle on it. He’s also going through all the calls over the past few weeks.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you think he might possibly find the odd call from Viking Strindberg to Philip Fahlén?” She weighed her cell phone in one hand, gazing at it. “I’m always surprised at how lax criminals are when they use their phones. I mean, everyone knows it’s possible to trace calls these days. We can even pinpoint the area where a call was made, more or less. It was easier to commit crimes back in the old days.”

C
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61

Thomas looked suspiciously at his beeping cell phone. He was speaking to Margit on the landline; she had given up for the evening and had gone home for something to eat. She had only just sat down at the table when Thomas called. He had interviewed the captain of the ferry on which Jonny Almhult was thought to have traveled.

“Margit, hang on. I’ve got a text. I’ll just check and see what it is.”

Thomas opened the message:

Philip Fahlén taken to the hospital by helicopter. Critical.

The message had been sent at 6:57, from Carina’s phone.

“What does it say?” Margit asked.

Thomas jumped; he had almost forgotten she was on the other end of the phone. He quickly read her the message.

“Does it say why?” she asked.

“No.” Thomas hesitated. Should he briefly summarize his discussion with the captain of the huge ferry? The man had more or less repeated what Marcus Björk had said. Or should he find out what had happened to Philip Fahlén? He decided on the latter. “Listen, I’ll speak to Carina and call you back.”

He hung up and called Carina.

She answered immediately. “I tried to call you,” she said, “but the line was busy, and I thought you’d want to know this right away.”

“What’s happened?” Thomas asked.

“Fahlén was picked up by the air ambulance on Sandhamn at around four o’clock this afternoon. They flew him to Danderyd hospital, and he’s in intensive care.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I couldn’t get much out of them; you know how sensitive patient confidentiality is.”

Thomas tried to suppress his impatience. “So what did they say?”

“It seems to be a brain hemorrhage. Apparently he was unconscious when the air ambulance picked him up.”

“A brain hemorrhage?” The surprise in Thomas’s voice was unmistakable.

Carina went on. “I’ll call again in an hour and see what I can find out. They should be able to tell me something about his condition, at least.”

Thomas’s thoughts began to wander. Had Fahlén suffered an ordinary stroke? Or had someone managed to get him to ingest enough rat poison to trigger a potentially fatal hemorrhage?

Which was what had happened to Kicki Berggren.

Was a pattern being repeated right before their eyes? And if so, who was responsible? If someone had poisoned Fahlén, then that person must also be behind the three deaths. They had no idea who that person was or where he might be, but it was absolutely essential to track him down.

“Call me as soon as you’ve spoken to them again, whatever time it is,” Thomas said. “And find out when we can go and speak to him.”

Carina sighed. “I’ve already asked, and it didn’t go well. The nurse I spoke to emphasized the fact that he could die; his condition is extremely serious. He might never regain consciousness. She almost told me off for even mentioning it.”

“Ask anyway. If he does come around, it’s absolutely essential that we have the chance to speak to him.”

“OK,” came the subdued response.

There was a brief silence before the connection was broken.

“Before we have another murder on our hands,” Thomas said.

C
HAPTER
62

The fishing trip had been a great success. They had caught big, fat perch in the net, which had been lying in the water for several hours.

Adam was so proud when they got back. He was sitting in the middle of the boat, his whole face beaming, surrounded by the perch net, which was filled with seaweed.

“Look, Mom! Have you ever seen this many fish?”

When they had cleaned as many as they could, there was still a whole bucket of fish left over; they put those in the tank, a holding area that had been built inside one of the stone chests on the jetty. It served as an aquarium where the fish could live for a few days after they’d been caught. It was a very practical feature that had been part of the jetty for as long as Nora could remember.

The grilled perch with new potatoes and chanterelle mushrooms fried in butter made a perfect summer meal. Nora set the table in the garden so they could make the most of the fine evening.

Henrik didn’t want to drink wine as he was going out sailing, but Nora had a glass of golden Chardonnay. They had strawberries and ice cream for dessert.

Now they were sitting over a cup of coffee; it would soon be time for Henrik to make a move. There were still several hours to go before sunset. The pennants that had been fluttering proudly in the breeze earlier in the day were now drooping. The bumblebees were buzzing. The boys had gone over to see their grandparents for a while, so Nora and Henrik were alone.

It was time to talk.

Nora turned to him. “I’ve got something to tell you. I hope you’ll be pleased, because I think it’s really good.”

She reached out and squeezed his right hand.

Henrik took a sip of his coffee and looked at her with curiosity. “Sounds good. I’m all ears.”

Nora decided to ignore the anxiety in her chest and made an effort to sound as positive as possible. “When I was in town yesterday I took the opportunity to meet up with that recruitment consultant I told you about. We had a really good talk. The job sounds fascinating. Just the kind of challenge I want. And the idea of getting rid of my useless boss . . . no more Ragnar!” A smile crossed her face as she described the meeting and the questions that had come up. As she was talking she waved her hands. She couldn’t help getting excited, and the words came more and more quickly.

Until she noticed that she wasn’t getting any response.

Henrik hadn’t said a word.

When Nora stopped talking, the silence hung heavily between them.

At last Henrik said, “You mean you went and met him behind my back?”

Nora stiffened. Henrik’s voice was ice cold, and he was sitting with his back straight, looking at her as if they hardly knew each other.

“I wanted to meet him first to see if there was any point in bringing it up with you again.”

“Like I said, behind my back.” The words sounded like the crack of a whip.

“There’s no need to take it that way. I decided to meet Rutger Sandelin before I told you. Is that so terrible?” A huge lump was forming in her throat.

This wasn’t Henrik, her husband, sitting opposite her. This was a stranger. A stranger with black eyes and a condemnatory expression.

“I won’t have this,” he said. “If you think you can play fast and loose with this family just to fit in with your career, then you’re mistaken.”

Nora swallowed. Her stomach was contracting, and a quiver of fear slithered through her abdomen and into her throat. She had assumed he would be surprised that she’d met the consultant, but she had been sure they could talk it through. How could he react like this? “You can’t forbid me from seeing anybody I want to see.” The words came out more sharply than she’d intended, like an insolent child.

“I can do whatever I like, since you seem to think you can do whatever you please without a thought for anything other than your fucking job.” Henrik was furious, his lips white. “I want nothing to do with this. I’m incredibly disappointed in you. How selfish can you be? You’ve got two children; have you forgotten that?”

“So have you,” Nora said. “But you can go sailing for hours on end—that’s perfectly all right—while I try to cope with everything else.” She got up so fast that the chair fell over. “How can you say that? You should be proud of me. Pleased that someone’s offered your wife an exciting job.” She took a deep breath and tried to control her voice, which was threatening to crack. “Instead you’re just being nasty.”

“I’m trying to take care of what we have. And look after the best interests of our children. But you’re behaving like a spoiled brat who doesn’t get her way. We’re not your puppets. You can’t pull our strings just because it suits you.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her. The muscles in his arms were tense, his fists clenched.

Nora looked at him in distress. In vain she looked for a shred of understanding on his face. Some sign of the Henrik she loved.

The Henrik who was her husband.

He looked at his watch and got up from the table. “I have to go or I’ll be late.”

Nora couldn’t speak. There were no words. She hated the thought that he was going to leave without them making peace, but she just couldn’t continue the conversation with him. She was torn between her desire to let the anger take over, to scream at him to go to hell, and the realization of how terrible she would feel if he simply left without some kind of reconciliation.

Reason won over rage, with some difficulty. She bit her lip, then took a deep breath. Little more than a whisper came out. “You can’t just leave like this.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get much further. I have to be there on time,” he said with suppressed fury.

“Henrik.” The name came out like a sob. “You have to stay—we have to talk this through.” Her voice was shaking with the effort of keeping it under control. She took another deep breath and smothered the sob that was on its way. All of a sudden it was very important that she didn’t start crying.

The distance between them was terrifying. Impossible to cross.

An empty glance was his only response.

The man who had promised to love her for better and for worse walked into the house. She watched him pick up his things and his life jacket from a hook inside the door. When he came out again he made a point of changing the subject, without looking her in the eye.

“Say good-bye to the boys for me. I’ll be back around midnight tomorrow, if the wind is with us.”

He barely paused; she only registered the words when he had already passed her.

“I have no desire to talk about this matter any further. The discussion is over. You need to pull yourself together, Nora.”

He opened the gate and left the house with rapid, determined steps. As he was walking, he shrugged on his life jacket. His kit bag swung in time with his steps. He didn’t look back.

Nora stood in the garden and watched him go. The tears were building up in her eyes. She dashed them away with the back of her hand.

If the boys hadn’t come running at that very moment, she would have broken down completely.