Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1) (10 page)

C
HAPTER
22

The placards outside the newspaper kiosk sent shivers down Nora’s spine.

“Sex Killing on Sandhamn—Naked Woman Found Dead,” they said in thick black letters.

Usually the placards were advertising articles on how to improve your tan or get a flatter stomach for those bikini days, but this afternoon there was only room for sensational headlines. The evening tabloids had quickly translated the body of a dead woman into sex attacks in paradise, ecstatic at having found something to fill their summer editions, which under normal circumstances were seriously lacking in news. This story was an absolute gift for an editor who was on the ball and wanted to boost his sales figures.

Nora wondered whether she should refrain from buying the evening papers, but she just couldn’t help herself. She almost felt ashamed as she picked up both.

She walked home with the papers under her arm, then made herself a cup of tea and went to sit in the garden. She picked a few mint leaves and dropped them into her cup; she liked the taste with the hot tea.

She could hear the boys laughing in Signe’s garden. They were good at begging for a glass of Signe’s black currant juice and homemade buns, and she always obliged when they scampered over, their expressions like that of a pleading cocker spaniel. Signe also baked incomparable jam tarts, which the boys loved, especially Adam.

However hard Nora tried, she just couldn’t bake as well as Signe. Perhaps you had to be born before the war, she had thought with a sigh the last time her efforts hadn’t found favor with Adam.

“It’s not that they don’t taste nice,” he had said, gazing at her with those blue eyes, “it’s just that they’re not as nice as Auntie Signe’s. But I still love you, Mommy,” he had said with a wet kiss.

Picking up her cup, she opened the first newspaper and began to read. Two double-page spreads were devoted to the murder. There was an article about the unfortunate cleaner who had found the body and an almost frenzied interview that went into minute detail. The appearance of the half-naked body when it was discovered was greedily described, along with the reaction of the cleaner. They had also included speculation by the manager on the victim’s life and why she had come to Sandhamn.

They had dug out an old photograph from Kicki Berggren’s driver’s license, in which she stared straight into the camera with a stiff expression and a dated hairstyle. Nora wondered why everyone looked so terrible in driver’s license photos.

There was also a fact box giving information about the increase in violent crimes of a sexual nature in Sweden and information on attacks that had taken place in other parts of the country in recent months. The newspaper hinted that the police were unable to guarantee the safety of women. A politician had been interviewed and made authoritative statements about the importance of women being able to feel safe everywhere, particularly in the summer.

Nora was astonished by the description of Sandhamn. There was no way this could be the place where she had spent every summer since she was a child. Suddenly her beloved island had morphed into a locale for danger, for violence against women.

The second newspaper concentrated on the link to the Royal Swedish Yacht Club and all the famous sailing competitions that took place around Sandhamn.

“King Celebrates at Murder Scene,” the headline screamed. A picture of His Majesty on board a boat in front of the Yacht Club restaurant dominated an entire page. The article gave a detailed account of various regattas with royal connections, before eventually moving on to a description of the crime itself.

Many of the Yacht Club’s board members were well-known public figures; the newspaper had somehow managed to obtain a meaningless comment from several of them. They all expressed serious concern about what had happened.

All men, of course.

Nora sat there with the newspaper open in front of her. She thought about the connection between the deaths of Kicki Berggren and her cousin. Why would someone kill the two of them, and why on Sandhamn? She remembered the net needle Thomas had mentioned; it had been marked with the initials
GA
.

On an impulse she went into the kitchen and found the Sandhamn telephone book; it was produced by the Friends of Sandhamn and distributed only to its members. She started to go through the last names beginning with
A
. There were approximately thirty, and she carefully checked each one to see if anyone had a first name beginning with
G
. Then she did the same with those whose last names began with
G
. There were slightly fewer of these, and she searched for people whose first names began with
A
.

After a while she had a list of people whose initials were either
GA
or
AG
: a total of fifty-four people had a last name involving
G
or
A
.

She looked at the list. She knew many of them, or at least she knew of them. Sandhamn wasn’t that big. As soon as she saw Thomas again, she would give him the list. He probably hadn’t realized there was a special phone book that only covered Sandhamn.

Nora went back to the papers and their speculations. She was so absorbed in one of the articles that she didn’t hear Henrik’s footsteps when he came back from his run. She gave a start as he sat down opposite her.

“Are you reading that garbage?”

“I couldn’t help it. It’s so awful.” She held out one of the papers so he could look. “It’s like reading about a different world.”

Henrik leaned forward and studied the articles. He shook his head. His T-shirt was striped with sweat, and his dark hair was damp. He wiped his forehead with the towel draped around his neck, then he pulled off his T-shirt and hung it over the white fence to dry.

“I ran past the Mission House. The whole place is cordoned off with blue-and-white police tape. They’ve closed it down until further notice. Not the best timing in the middle of the tourist season. On the other hand, perhaps we won’t get so many tourists if this continues. I imagine people will decide to go somewhere else. I mean, what would you do if you didn’t already live here?”

Henrik carried on flipping through one of the papers. He whistled when he recognized several of the board members from the Yacht Club.

“The Divers is full of reporters, by the way. Cameras everywhere you turn. Perfect for anyone who wants to get their face on TV.”

He got up and turned to go inside for a shower. Nora stopped him. She had been thinking about the phone call from the bank all day and wondering when to mention it to him. She really wanted to know what he thought; hopefully he would be happy for her, in spite of everything.

“Hang on. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Nora told him about her conversation with the HR director and the post they had discussed.

“It sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Imagine working in Malmö! And the terms sound great.”

Henrik looked at her with total incomprehension. The towel was still around his neck, catching the drops of sweat trickling down from his forehead. “But we can’t move to Malmö,” he said. “I mean, I work in Stockholm.”

Nora smiled. “Yes, but you can get another job in Malmö,” she said. “There are lots of good hospitals in the Öresund area. Besides, it’s a terrific opportunity for me.”

“But our life is here. Surely you can’t be thinking of uprooting the entire family?”

He moved toward the house. She recognized the furrow in his brow. It always appeared when he was annoyed.

“We can talk about this later. I need a shower. The competition starts tomorrow, so I’m going down to the harbor to go over a few things with the crew.”

Nora felt terribly disappointed. And upset. She had thought he would sit down and talk things over with her—instead he had simply walked away.

They had lived in Visby for several years because of his job. At the time there had been no question of anything other than finding a solution that worked for both of them. Now she had been offered her dream job, and he didn’t even seem to want to discuss it.

It wasn’t fair.

C
HAPTER
23

The teenage couple was fully occupied with exploring each other’s bodies. They had slipped away behind the lifeboats on the boat deck, and the boy’s hand had found its way beneath the girl’s white top. Her hands were caressing his back, and a subdued giggle was the only thing that gave away their presence.

The sea air was making the girl’s nut-brown hair curl; it was cut in a modern style that framed her tanned face. She was still perspiring after energetically dancing at the club.

“Slow down, Robin,” she said into his hair. “What if someone comes?”

The pink cocktails she had downed during the course of the evening were beginning to make her feel tipsy. She swayed slightly, and the words didn’t come out all that clearly.

The boy didn’t seem to have heard what she said. His hand continued to feel for her breast as he planted a series of little kisses on her throat.

The girl twisted out of his grasp and moved over to the rail.

“Slow down, I said. We’ve got all evening. Come and look at the view.”

He tried to put his arms around her again, but she slipped away.

“Look, Sandhamn. One of my classmates lives there. I went to stay with her last year. There’s lots going on there in the summer, but they did ask for ID to get into the club, even though there were tons of people in there who were obviously underage. Weird!”

The boy wasn’t interested in talking, but the girl carried on gazing toward the shore.

“I wonder if you can see Ebba’s house from the ship. It was in a fantastic spot by the water, right by the beach. Perfect for the summer.”

The boy pulled her close to kiss her again. His hands gently caressed the area around her navel, which was exposed by her cropped top, which didn’t even pretend to cover her stomach. His hands continued their journey upward once more, toward those soft, tempting breasts.

She saw the body falling down the port side of the ship just as his lips approached hers. At first, the sound of the engines prevented her from hearing anything.

The sound of the scream came when the body had already passed them.

“Robin,” she said, struggling to breathe. “Did you see that? Someone fell overboard!” Her eyes were wide open, and tears of shock began to glisten. “Someone just fell into the water. We need to report it!”

The boy looked at her, his expression doubtful. “To who? Are you sure it was a person?”

She stared at him, worried. “We have to report it to someone,” she said. “Anyone. They have to stop the ship and search for him!” She grabbed his hand. “Come on!”

He refused to move. Disbelief was written all over his face. Instead he attempted to pull her close again, trying to kiss her. “Forget it,” he said. “You’re imagining things. I’m sure it was nothing.”

She pulled away. “What if someone pushed him? What if we’ve just witnessed a murder?”

He ignored her protests. “It was probably a bird. Anyway, it’s too late to do anything now.”

His hands stroked her warm skin with even greater enthusiasm. He pressed his throbbing groin against her thigh.

“Come on,” he breathed in her ear. “Relax.”

She struggled halfheartedly for a few seconds more, then her body softened. She turned her mouth to meet his and forgot all about the person who had fallen overboard.

M
ONDAY, THE THIRD WEEK

C
HAPTER
24

The boat from Stockholm was a few minutes late. It should have arrived at eleven o’clock, but there was no sign of it yet. The pier was packed with people in shorts and thin tops. Some had brought carts to transport luggage.

“When will Grandma and Grandpa be here?” Simon asked for the third time.

“Any minute now, sweetheart. As soon as the boat gets in.”

“I want ice cream,” Adam said, looking over at the kiosk where a long, snaking line had formed.

Nora shook her head. “Not now. We’ll be having lunch as soon as Grandma and Grandpa arrive. You’ll spoil your appetite if you have ice cream now.”

“But I want ice cream. Please, Mom.”

Simon joined in. “Me, too. Please. Please, please, please!” He looked at her, his hands joined in prayer.

Nora gazed out across the sound. No sign of the
Cinderella
. She wasn’t often delayed, but when it did happen, it was usually by quite some time. Nora gave in. It would take a while for everyone to disembark anyway.

“OK. But only a small one each. OK?”

Her voice was firm as she took out her wallet and gave Adam a fifty-kronor note.

“Don’t spend more than fifteen kronor. I’ll wait here for you.”

She sat down on a bench next to the bulletin board displaying timetables and looked around. The harbor was full of life. The truck from the Yacht Club restaurant was busy loading goods that had arrived on the morning boat. One of the island’s craftsmen puttered by on his platform moped, every inch crammed with sacks.

The fruit-and-vegetable stall had opened outside Westerberg’s grocery store. The tempting array of sun-ripened tomatoes and other vegetables lying side by side with melons and nectarines reminded Nora of a market in the south of France. At one side of the stall an elderly lady was practically standing on her head in the potato bin, skillfully picking out the smallest and finest new potatoes. She held them up one by one, carefully examining them in the sunlight before setting them in her bag. The girl behind the register rolled her eyes, but the customer ignored her.

A little girl waiting for her mother to finish shopping was gazing at the boxes of raspberries and strawberries packed closely together.

Idyllic,
thought Nora.
If it weren’t for the fact that people were being murdered on this island.

Just as the
Cinderella
docked at the landing stage, the boys came back clutching their ice cream.

Nora’s mother-in-law was elegantly dressed as usual, in white shorts and matching wedge-heeled espadrilles. She was wearing a white straw hat and looked as if she were going out for lunch on the Riviera rather than visiting her grandchildren in the archipelago. Nora’s father-in-law trailed behind, carrying their suitcase.

When Monica saw Nora, she put on an artificial smile. Then she spotted the boys.

“Darlings!” she shouted so loudly that everyone in the vicinity turned around. “Grandma’s sweethearts! My little angels!”

She took a step back and contemplated the ice cream with a critical expression. “Why are you eating ice cream now? I thought we were having lunch shortly? You’ll spoil your appetites. Did Mommy say you could have those?”

Nora suppressed a sigh and went over to greet her mother-in-law.

Monica kissed her on both cheeks in the French manner.
What the hell is wrong with a good old Swedish hug?
Nora thought. She greeted her father-in-law more warmly and offered to take the suitcase.

Lunch was waiting at home: gravlax with new potatoes. Dessert was a bought almond tart; she couldn’t be bothered to spend all morning preparing a meal for guests who had invited themselves. There was no point in making an effort anyway—her mother-in-law would simply tell one of her countless stories about all the dinner parties she had given in various embassies, where everything had been homemade by Monica herself in spite of the fact that she was catering for dozens of guests.

As a diversionary tactic, Nora had invited Signe to lunch. Not even Monica dared to tackle Signe. Those gentle eyes turned to ice-cold steel at the least attempt. Signe couldn’t bear anyone showing off. And she knew exactly why she had been invited; there had been no need for Nora to explain.

Monica looked at her daughter-in-law with curiosity shining in her eyes. She tucked a bony arm through Nora’s.

“I want to know all about these dreadful murders. What’s happening on this island? During all the years I’ve been coming here, I’ve never heard of anyone so much as hurting a fly. Is it some foreigner? I’m sure it is. We all know what they’re like.”

Nora never got used to the way Monica scattered her prejudices around as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Patiently, she tried to explain that she didn’t really know much more than what was in the newspapers. Which Monica had no doubt read from cover to cover.

But Monica wasn’t about to give up that easily. “That stylish friend of yours with the police . . . Torben. I’m sure he knows what’s going on?”

“Thomas,” Nora corrected her.

Monica carried on regardless. “He must be well informed. Do you think there might be some big gang behind it all? You are locking the doors at night, I presume?”

She looked at Simon and Adam, who were busy finishing their ice cream. Adam’s shirt was already stained with chocolate. Nora swallowed her annoyance and decided she’d change his clothes when they got home.

“Is it a good idea to have the boys here when the police haven’t cleared up these murders?” Monica went on. “You need to put the children’s safety first, Nora.”

Without waiting for a response, she adjusted her hat and embarked on a long story about a break-in at a good friend’s house down in Båstad, which the police had failed to solve.

The point of the story was unclear, and Nora was merely required to nod from time to time. It seemed like a small price to pay to avoid an argument.