Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1) (27 page)

C
HAPTER
66

Thomas answered. He was sitting at his desk in the police station, surrounded by papers strewn all over. There was a mug of cold tea in front of him. Caller ID told him it was Nora.

“Guess what Mom told me,” she said. “The rat poison we had at home when I was little actually came from Sandhamn. She bought it in the old general store that used to be where the Divers Bar is now.”

“OK. So the poison we think killed Kicki Berggren used to be available on Sandhamn.”

“Exactly. The shop closed at the end of the seventies. Mom also said she still uses the same stuff if they ever get mice.”

“So that means the poison is still effective after more than twenty-five years.” Thomas leaned back in his chair, frowning. “Is that possible?”

“I’ve no idea. You should probably ask someone from Anticimex, but Mom says it works.”

Thomas tried to put his thoughts into words. “So if we assume the murderer bought the poison on Sandhamn, that could mean he’s had a house on the island for at least twenty-five years. He fell silent for a moment, then went on. “On the other hand, he could have gotten the poison just about anywhere. It must have been on sale everywhere.”

Fahlén had owned a house on Sandhamn for about fifteen years. Before that he had rented a place in Trouville for a long time. It had to be at least twenty-five years altogether. On the other hand, he was now in the hospital, possibly due to warfarin poisoning. But it was definitely worth following up.

He slid his notebook closer and jotted down a few notes.

“Thanks for calling, Nora. I’ll get someone to go through the property register again. It might be worth checking who’s owned a house on Sandhamn for more than twenty-five years; we might just come up with something interesting.”

He ended the call and went straight to Carina’s office. It looked considerably more personal than his own. A vase of blue-and-yellow summer flowers stood on the desk, with a big photograph of the family dog beside it. A selection of funny cartoons was pinned up on the bulletin board.

A feeling of loss came over Thomas, a longing for something cozy and homey instead of his own impersonal environment, where he barely left an impression.

He quickly explained why he was there and asked her to start as soon as she could.

She looked at him and hesitated. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Could we have lunch together?”

“Lunch?”

“It’s a meal people usually have in the middle of the day,” she said, half-serious, half-joking. “At around twelve o’clock, which is now. I thought we could go out.” She smiled. The pleading tone of voice gave her away, and she looked nervous. This wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment suggestion.

Thomas was surprised; he didn’t really know what to say. He gave a slightly embarrassed laugh and looked at his watch. But then he suddenly felt almost lighthearted. Why not? It sounded like a really nice idea. “I’d like that. I just need to speak to Margit about something, then I’ll come back. Shall we say fifteen minutes?”

He got a beaming smile in return. “Great! We could go to Restaurant J. I think we deserve a good meal after all our hard work. What do you think? And it is Friday after all, so we ought to do something a little special.”

Thomas caught himself whistling as he walked down the hallway. He hadn’t done that for a long time.

They had decided that Margit would catch the afternoon train back to the west coast so she could spend the weekend with her family. She would rejoin the team on Monday morning.

The hospital had made it clear that there was no chance of speaking to Fahlén today. He was still unconscious following a major operation during the night. He had suffered a serious brain hemorrhage, and it was currently impossible to say what might have caused it. The police were welcome to call again in the evening but would have to be patient until then.

A brief call to Fahlén’s wife hadn’t made things any clearer. Sylvia had found him on the kitchen floor, but by then he had been unable to talk and had soon lost consciousness. She would come to the police station for a longer conversation as soon as she was able to leave the hospital.

Thomas quickly told Margit about Nora’s phone call. “If this leads anywhere, it would give us a significantly smaller circle of possible perpetrators. Someone who’s had a house on Sandhamn since the seventies, in which case they must be at least middle-aged.”

“Unless of course the murderer bought a house where the former owner had left some rat poison behind. Like Pieter Graaf, for example,” said Margit with a certain amount of skepticism. She wasn’t completely convinced by Thomas’s theory.

“Philip Fahlén fits the age profile,” Thomas said, “and he’s been spending summers on Sandhamn for over thirty years.”

“But right now he’s in the hospital, possibly because he’s also been poisoned.”

“True,” Thomas said. “But at the moment we don’t actually know what caused his brain hemorrhage.”

“He could have had a stroke due entirely to natural causes.”

“We can’t take anything for granted at this stage, but it’s still an avenue worth exploring.” He stretched, his joints creaking. “By the way, what happened with those teenagers from the ferry to Finland? You were going to talk to them.”

“The girl isn’t answering her cell phone, and there’s no reply on the landline. I’ll try to get a number for someone else in the family. Her boyfriend didn’t know where she could be contacted. He thought she was visiting some relatives in northern Norway this week.”

“And what did he have to say?”

“He said he didn’t know anything. It was his girlfriend who saw the body fall. By the time she shouted out, it was too late. But he wasn’t completely convinced anything had actually happened. It sounded as if he thought she might have been imagining things. They’d also had a fair amount to drink during the course of the evening, which was why she’d insisted he go with her to report the incident the following day. I’ve made a few notes if you want to have a look.”

Thomas noticed that Margit was trying to conceal a yawn. He knew she’d sat up half the night going through material in order to compensate for the fact that she was leaving this afternoon.

“What time’s your train?” he asked.

“In an hour. I’ll be there around six. I’ll take all my notes with me and go through them again on the train.”

“Give me a call if you find anything.”

“Of course. Same goes for you. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“I was thinking of going back to Krister Berggren’s apartment, just to make sure we haven’t missed anything, even though forensics has been there.”

“Sounds like a good idea. You could take Carina with you; sometimes it’s useful to have a second pair of eyes. She’s worked hard over the last few weeks. She’ll be a great police officer if she can just get into the academy.”

Thomas agreed. Carina had been a real asset in the investigation, and he had no objections to Margit’s suggestion.

“After that I’ll probably go back to Harö. I need to think about something else for a few hours, if that’s possible.”

C
HAPTER
67

Restaurant J was packed with suntanned customers in light summer clothes. Boats of all types and sizes were moored at its long guest jetty. The restaurant was popular both with those who worked nearby and those who wanted to show off their flashy boats.

Out toward the edge of the jetty the owner of a large Princess yacht was attempting to maneuver his vessel into a space that was far too small between two motorboats. The man was bellowing order after order to his stressed-out wife, who was scuttling back and forth with a boat hook to prevent collisions. The diners were watching the drama with ill-concealed delight.

The waitresses were dashing between tables, rushing to keep everyone happy. Carina put on her sunglasses and looked at Thomas. “I wonder if we’ll be able to get a table. It looks full.”

“Don’t worry. I can see one over there in the corner. Follow me.”

They sat down under a striped parasol, which offered some shade. At the table next to them was a family with a two-year-old in a high chair and a little girl who looked a few years older. She was clutching a big ice cream cone and running around on the jetty in spite of her mother’s warnings and her father’s reprimands.

“Sweet kids,” Carina said.

Thomas’s smile faltered. A shadow passed across his face, and he simply nodded.

Carina could have bitten her tongue. How could she say such a thing? She quickly started talking about something less personal. “I’ve spoken to the registration authority, and they’ve promised to run a check on the property register as soon as possible. If they don’t have time today, they’ll do it right after the weekend. I stressed how important it was.”

Thomas brightened up. “Excellent. The way things are at the moment, we need to follow up on every lead.” Thomas gazed out across the water, where an enormous cruise ship was passing by. “Particularly now, when there doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the picture except Fahlén.”

“The guy I spoke to promised to send the results across as soon as they come through. Unfortunately I didn’t find anything in the passenger lists from the ferry company, but we might have better luck with the property register.” Carina fell silent and started fiddling with her knife and fork. She was desperately trying to come up with a topic of conversation that wasn’t too personal but would involve more than a work-related discussion of the case. She settled on Thomas’s house on Harö. She knew that he went there as often as he could; his face lit up whenever he talked about the archipelago. “Tell me about your summer place. It must be really beautiful.”

As Thomas described the house and life on Harö, Carina watched him from behind her dark sunglasses.

Thomas was pleasant and easy to get along with in every way, but he shut down as soon as anyone started talking about his private life. She couldn’t remember any occasion on which he had volunteered information about himself since they had become colleagues. He could tirelessly discuss a case down to the last detail, but as soon as someone asked something personal, he clammed up. But the atmosphere between them was relaxed, and he had opened up much more this July than she could ever recall him doing in the past. He also seemed much happier, even though the investigation was taking its toll.

“Can you come with me?”

The question brought Carina back to the moment. She looked at him, surprised. What had she missed? She gave up and smiled at him. Busted. “Sorry, I was thinking about something.”

Thomas laughed. “I said I was thinking of going back to Krister Berggren’s apartment this afternoon. See if there’s something we might have missed when we were there last time. I’d appreciate it if you could come along. Two pairs of eyes are better than one. If you’re going to be able to concentrate, that is.” He wagged a finger at her, teasing.

“Of course I’ll come,” Carina said. She was more than happy to spend a whole afternoon alone with Thomas.

She started on her salad, trying to spear several prawns on her fork. She was excited to be helping out with real police work; it was exactly what she needed before she put in her application to the training academy.

“When are we going?”

“Right after lunch.”

C
HAPTER
68

When Thomas and Carina arrived at the apartment block in Bandhagen, there wasn’t a soul in sight. The only sign of life was a black cat with a white tail; it hurried across the road without looking back.

The apartment on the third floor was just as silent and deserted as the last time. The police notice made it clear that no unauthorized persons should attempt to enter. Thomas unlocked the front door and let Carina in. It smelled even more stale than before. They walked through the narrow hallway and into the living room with its scruffy wallpaper. The sparse furnishings and grubby black leather sofa were still just as depressing.

Carina looked around. “It’s miserable.”

“You could say that.”

“Krister Berggren must have been a really lonely person.” She shuddered.

A bullfinch was singing away outside the window, oblivious to whatever might be going on in the buildings around him. The desolation that was so typical of the city at the height of summer was palpable. All those who possibly could have fled the hot tarmac and suffocating air packed their bags and headed for the nearest coastline. The only people left were those who had neither the time nor the energy to get away.

Thomas pointed to the smaller room. “If I take the bedroom, can you do the living room?”

“Of course. Am I looking for anything in particular?”

“No, I just can’t help feeling that we’ve missed something. The key to a safety deposit box where he kept the money from his underhand deals, for example, or something else that links him to Sandhamn.” Thomas shrugged. “I wish I could be more specific.”

Carina took out white latex gloves and passed a pair to Thomas, her expression serious. It was obvious she was trying to behave in a professional manner, but Thomas just thought she looked rather sweet.

Methodically, he began to go through the bedroom once again, tipping every drawer out onto the bed before examining and sorting the contents. Then he turned his attention to the closet, which contained nothing unusual. A few pairs of black pants, several pairs of scruffy jeans, a Windbreaker with Systemet’s logo on the back. He checked the shelves inside the closet and the drawer in the bedside table.

He pulled two beer crates full of porn magazines from under the bed: an assortment of women, mostly blondes, in a variety of poses that left little to the imagination. It was somehow sad rather than titillating.

After an hour, Thomas had examined every single item in the little room. He hadn’t found anything new, but what had he expected? The investigative team had already carried out a forensic search that had led nowhere.

With a sigh, he straightened up and went into the bathroom. There were no surprises in the medicine cabinet, nor in the narrow spaces behind the bathtub and the toilet. He wasn’t surprised. It was very rare, apart from in movies, that secret papers were discovered taped behind a toilet tank.

He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. Then he went to join Carina in the living room. She was sitting on the floor, systematically going through everything that had been in the bookcase. On her knee she had a photo album, one of several from the bottom shelf. She had already checked the videos, which were now piled on the table. The drawers had been removed from the desk and placed on the sofa.

Thomas carefully moved one of them, which contained piles of papers and other bits and pieces, and sat down.

“How’s it going?”

“So-so.”

“How were his finances?”

“I’ve looked at his bills going back several years, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. We’ve already seen his bank statements, and there are no unexplained credits or debits. If he was making money on the side, he definitely wasn’t putting it into his bank account.”

“Exactly. That’s why there ought to be a key to a safety deposit box or something similar that we just haven’t found yet. He was probably bright enough to realize you don’t turn up at the bank with dirty money.”

Carina pointed to a pile of magazines. “I’ve gone through dozens of car magazines and piles of travel brochures, but I haven’t found a thing.”

“So I see.”

Thomas picked up a copy of
Motor Sport
from 2004 and flipped through it.

“I was thinking of going through his photo albums again, just to be on the safe side. Maybe you could take one of them? Unless you want to start on the kitchen?”

Thomas didn’t answer; he simply removed one of the albums from the shelf. The pages were slightly yellowed, and some of the pictures were loose where the glue had dried. The album contained lots of photographs of the woman whose framed portrait stood on top of the chest of drawers. A neatly written caption under each one provided information about who was with her and when the picture had been taken. It must have been put together by Krister’s mother; the handwriting looked like a woman’s, and it was difficult to imagine Krister Berggren as the kind of person who would meticulously sort pictures into an album.

Presumably it had come to him after his mother’s death.

Thomas gently turned the pages. Several photographs had begun to turn yellow. He found Krister and Kicki in an old Volvo Amazon; they were sitting in the back, proud and slightly self-conscious, both with their thumbs up.

Suddenly Thomas noticed that Carina’s attention had been caught by something. She appeared to be trying to get an envelope from behind a large photograph of Krister’s mother, which took up a whole page in the album. She slid it out gently and opened it. She started to read, her brow becoming more furrowed as she went along. After a couple of minutes she looked up, a big smile on her face. “Thomas, I think I’ve found the missing link.”

She had his full attention. “What do you mean?”

She handed over the letter and the envelope.
To my son Krister,
it said on the outside.
To be read after my death.