Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1) (11 page)

C
HAPTER
25

After almost ten hours of door-to-door inquiries, Thomas came by on Monday evening to see how Nora was doing.

He had decided to stay on the island and spend the night at the local station, which meant he could take the first boat back to Stockholm on Tuesday morning, when the whole team would gather for a meeting.

He opened the door as he knocked and walked straight into the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Nora was busy making dinner.

She greeted him with a wan smile.

Nora and the boys had just waved her in-laws off from the jetty. Henrik wasn’t expected back until later. Thomas was welcome to stay and eat with them as long as he was prepared to listen to a tirade about her mother-in-law. She handed him a cold beer and poured herself a glass of wine. He sat down at the kitchen table as Nora ranted about Monica.

When she had calmed down, she fetched a piece of paper with a long list of names on it. She sat down beside Thomas and explained what she had done.

“I’ve made you a list. I went through the Sandhamn phone book yesterday and looked for subscribers with the initials
G
and
A
—the initials that were on that net needle, the one you didn’t think you’d be able to identify. There are fifty-four people on the list, but only three who have both initials.”

Thomas smiled. “Nora Linde, master detective?”

Nora glared at him. “I’m only trying to help.”

“I’m joking. I need all the help I can get. Margit’s off on a vacation to the west coast, so she’s running the investigation by remote control. Most of the people I need to talk to have already left, and Kalle and Erik have their hands full trying to track down witnesses.”

“I think the problem will be locating them,” Nora said, taking a sip of her wine. “There are no addresses on the island that can be linked to the names.”

Thomas put his hands behind his head and gave the matter some thought. Nora’s list was a good idea. He should have thought of it himself, instead of just dismissing the net needle. Especially now that he had a murder investigation on his hands. The question was how to find the people Nora had identified.

The buildings on Sandhamn were mainly in the village itself, and in Trouville on the southeastern side of the island, where most of the summer cottages lay. But there were also a considerable number of houses dotted around the rest of the island, so you could find residential properties just about anywhere, with no designated street names. There were also plenty of unnamed alleyways and historical indicators such as Mangelbacken or Adolf Square, places that were often named after someone who had lived or worked in a particular place. If you put it all together, it added up to a distinct lack of specific addresses. They could call the numbers on the list but would lose the ability to show the photograph of Kicki.

Thomas finished off his beer. He needed some sustenance before he gave the problem further thought.

A few hours later they were sitting in the garden drinking coffee. They had eaten fresh pasta mixed with grated Parmesan, halved cherry tomatoes, and basil. Homemade focaccia with black olives had tasted deliciously fresh after five minutes in the microwave, and the bottle of Rioja had gone down well.

The boys had fallen asleep right after dinner. Long, sunny days and lots of swimming caught up with them in the evenings. Although they had insisted they weren’t the least bit sleepy, they had dropped off in seconds. The fact that their grandmother had been at them all day might well have contributed to their exhaustion, too.

Thomas had read them a long bedtime story. Adam had been quick to point out that it was only Simon who needed a story. He himself was ten years old and perfectly capable of reading his own story. However, that hadn’t stopped him from listening with great interest.

Since Emily died, Thomas had spent more time than ever with Simon, who was very fond of his godfather. He seemed to understand that Thomas was deeply affected by grief, even if he never talked about it.

“Have you heard from Pernilla lately?” Nora asked tentatively.

“Not much. I got a postcard from Halmstad midsummer, but that’s the only sign of life I’ve had from her in months.”

“Do you miss her?”

Thomas rested his chin on one hand, his eyes fixed on some distant point. It was a little while before he answered. “I miss the life we had together. The company, the feeling that we were a couple. Little things like knowing someone cares if you’re home late from work. Sometimes I feel as if I might as well move in to the police station.” He lifted his cup halfway to his mouth, and a shadow passed across his face. “After all, nobody would even notice if I didn’t come home. Maybe I should get a dog.”

“Do you often think about what happened?” Nora couldn’t stop the tears springing to her eyes. She had taken Emily’s death almost as hard as Thomas. The thought of finding your little girl cold and dead beside you when you woke was unbearable.

She swallowed quickly and drank some of her wine to prevent the tears from falling.

Thomas didn’t appear to have noticed anything. He carried on talking, almost to himself. “Sometimes I wonder what Emily would look like if she were alive today. I can still see her as a baby, but she’d be a little girl now, walking and talking.” He shook his head. “Emily was never meant to grow up.” His voice thickened slightly. He took a sip of his coffee, then another. “I envy you when I see your boys. They’re terrific. Simon’s great.”

Nora placed a consoling hand over his. “You’ll get another chance to have a family of your own. Trust me, you’re a real catch. You’re bound to meet someone new and have children.”

Thomas gave a wry smile, then shrugged. “At the moment it doesn’t seem all that important. I’m happy with my own company. I get by. And you and your family have been a great support for me, just so you know. I really do appreciate it.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Nora said, topping off their glasses with the last of the wine. “So how’s the investigation going?”

“No luck so far,” Thomas said. “It seems so strange. Two people turning up dead within a few weeks. It’s as if one of those English detective TV series has suddenly become a reality. The only thing missing is an English inspector with a pipe.” Thomas laughed but quickly became serious again. “We don’t actually know if both of them were murdered. Kicki Berggren was killed by another person, but the only thing we know about her cousin is that he drowned. We can’t jump to conclusions.”

“There has to be a connection. The question is, why should someone want to murder two cousins? They must have been mixed up in something illegal, don’t you think?” Nora waved her spoon to underline her point. “And I can’t stop thinking about the fishing net. How does that fit in?”

“No idea. It might have been sheer coincidence. There isn’t even a guarantee that the net belonged to someone on Sandhamn. It could belong to someone from one of the other islands.”

Nora nodded. “What did it look like, by the way?”

“Torn—a mess. But it had been in the water for months, so that’s hardly surprising.”

“What if it was old? Nets can be used for years, if you look after them and mend them when they tear,” Nora said. “It could be a really old net, one that belonged to a different generation.” She was struck by a sudden thought and leaned eagerly toward Thomas. “There was actually someone on Sandhamn who had the initials
GA
. Someone I didn’t put on the list. Do you remember Georg Almhult, Jonny’s father? Jonny lives on the island—he’s a carpenter, and he also paints pictures. He helped us out the other week when the fence needed mending. Jonny’s father’s initials were
GA
. What if it was his dad’s net, even though he’s dead?”

“You mean Jonny might have had something to do with Krister Berggren’s death?”

Nora waved the question aside. “I’ve no idea, but if you could trace the net, it would at least be a start. It’s worth looking into, isn’t it?”

She gazed at him and leaned back in the white garden chair, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. There was definitely an evening chill in the air, and a cool breeze blew in off the sea.

Nora pictured Jonny Almhult.

When Nora was twelve years old, Jonny was one of the cool teenagers who hung out down by the harbor. He was a talented artist, and in seconds he could produce a pencil sketch that bore an almost creepy resemblance to his subject. He had been painting watercolors for years and had probably dreamed of going to art school in the city. There was a long-standing artistic tradition on Sandhamn; both Bruno Liljefors and Anders Zorn had spent time on the island, and Axel Sjöberg had been a permanent resident.

But Jonny never did get away. He remained on Sandhamn with his parents. As the years went by, he got stuck in a rut. Like many other lonely bachelors, he drank too much and never managed to find a steady girlfriend. He made a living as a carpenter and general handyman, working for the summer visitors, and from time to time he sold the odd picture, featuring an archipelago motif. Nora remembered Georg, his father, clearly. He had been Sandhamn’s stonemason. He had looked exactly like his son: wiry build, medium height, not particularly striking.

He had been fond of the bottle, too.

When he died, his widow, Ellen, had only Jonny left. There was an older sister, but she had left the island long ago. She was married to an American and lived overseas, if Nora remembered correctly.

Thomas interrupted her train of thought. He had also met Jonny over the years. “I find it difficult to imagine Jonny as the brains behind some sort of criminal enterprise,” he said.

“But as somebody else’s sidekick?” Nora asked. “Someone who needed a hand to deal with a person who was causing problems? A person who needed frightening into keeping their mouth shut, for instance?”

“I think you might have watched one too many crime shows.”

“Seriously,” Nora insisted. “Everyone knows he has a problem with booze. Maybe he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to get money. What if there’s some kind of link? Surely it’s worth having a word with him, isn’t it? And at least you know where he lives.”

Thomas thought for a moment, then he looked at his watch. “Time I made a move. I’ll go to Jonny’s. If I leave now, I can be there before it’s too late.” He gave Nora a brief hug. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll call you.”

C
HAPTER
26

Jonny Almhult’s house was dark and deserted. Thomas decided to knock on Ellen’s door; she lived in a larger house right next door. It wasn’t uncommon in the archipelago to build more houses on the same plot as the family increased.

Jonny’s mother opened the door wearing a fleecy pink robe. She looked surprised to see him.

“Good evening, Ellen, do you remember me? Thomas Andreasson. I’m with the Nacka police now,” he said.

She stared at him.

“Sorry to disturb you at this late hour. I need to talk to Jonny, but he doesn’t seem to be home.”

Ellen still looked surprised but not quite so alarmed. “He might be at the bar,” she said. “Or asleep. He’s not that easy to wake. Would you like me to go and see?”

“That would be great, since I’m here.”

Ellen picked up a key, and they went over to the smaller house.

Thomas looked around. The compact house was painted Falu red, like so many in the archipelago. White eaves and wooden cladding. There was a pile of unused wood in the garden, along with several defunct boat engines.

Two tubs of glorious pelargoniums stood by the door, and a pot containing a big lilac petunia was hanging in a birch tree.

“Do you do the gardening?” Thomas asked.

“No, that’s Jonny’s job,” Ellen said. “He’s got green fingers, believe it or not. He even reads those gardening magazines. He’s all grown up now.”

She shook her head. Thomas couldn’t work out whether she was proud of her son or worried about him.

Ellen opened the door and went inside. “Jonny,” she shouted. “Jonny, are you home?”

Thomas followed her. It was a typical island bachelor pad. Sand on the floor on the porch, wet-weather gear hanging on the wall. 1950s kitchen. More beautiful pelargoniums on the windowsill. Jonny had a knack for flowers, that much was clear.

A huge television dominated the sitting room; presumably it helped to pass the long, dark winter evenings when the village was deserted and the summer cottages long since closed up. Several attractive watercolors hung on the walls; they were signed
JA
.

A row of empty beer cans were on the table, along with an ashtray full of cigarette butts. Thomas noticed that several bore the marks of lipstick.

The house smelled stale and stuffy. Nobody seemed to have aired the place out for several days. There were beer bottles on the dish rack, and even more cans next to the fridge.

Ellen disappeared into a room beyond the kitchen.

“He’s not in the bedroom,” she said when she came back. “He must be at the bar. That’s where he usually is if he’s not at home. Have you tried his phone?”

“I don’t have the number, but if you could give it to me, that would be great.” Thomas took out his notebook to write down the number. “Have you spoken to him today?”

“No. He hasn’t been very well, so I didn’t want to disturb him.”

It was obvious that Ellen was uncomfortable; she spoke slowly and avoided looking him in the eye.

“What do you mean by ‘not very well’?”

Ellen looked unhappy. She tightened the belt on her robe and pushed her hands into her pockets. She sounded embarrassed as she answered. “He’d been drinking the last time I came over.”

“When was that?”

“Saturday.”

“What time?”

“I can’t remember exactly. In the middle of the day, I think. Around twelve.”

“And he was drunk?”

“Yes, but not very drunk. He’d had a few beers.” Ellen pursed her lips. “I know what men look like when they’ve had a few.”

“Does Jonny have a girlfriend?”

“Not as far as I know. He’s never been that popular with women. He’s shy, just like his dad.” She hesitated. “But he’s kind, very kind. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Thomas glanced at the coat hooks in the hall, where a white denim jacket adorned with sparkling studs hung alongside the wet-weather clothing.

“Is that yours?” he asked, against his better judgment.

“No,” Ellen said. “It’s not exactly suitable for someone my age, is it?”

“Do you know whose it is?”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

Thomas took down the jacket and carefully checked the pockets. In his mind’s eye he could see Kicki Berggren when he went down to reception in the police station to meet her. She had been wearing an identical jacket. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

In one pocket he found a half-empty packet of Princes. The same brand Kicki had had in her handbag, the same brand she had fiddled with throughout their interview. In the breast pocket there was a comb with several long blond strands of hair; more than enough for DNA analysis.

He moved toward the front door, then changed his mind and went back into the sitting room. Something had caught his attention. He looked over the walls. He stared at the sofa, the TV, the stereo.

Then he realized what it was.

There was a radiator under the window, the same kind of ugly gray radiator found in thousands of Swedish homes. Rectangular, with a valve at the bottom to regulate the heat. On one corner he could see something brownish and dried. It looked as if a strand of blond hair was stuck to the brown patch. It wasn’t a big mark, but it was definitely there.

He stopped himself from touching it. “Ellen, I need to bring in a forensics team to go over the house. You mustn’t come back in until they’ve finished.”

Ellen looked terrified. “What do you mean? Why would the police need to go over Jonny’s house?”

Thomas sympathized with her. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, as if to defend herself from something she didn’t want to hear. Her pale lips were barely visible as she clamped her mouth shut, trying to suppress her anxiety.

“I have another question,” Thomas said. “Have you or Jonny kept any of Georg’s nets?”

Ellen didn’t understand the question. “Nets?”

“Fishing nets, I mean, with needles marked
GA
? Have you kept any of those?”

“I suppose so,” Ellen said, “but I don’t remember how many. I’ll have to look in the boathouse.” Her hand flew to her mouth as she was struck by a sudden realization. “You don’t think Jonny had anything to do with the deaths of those two cousins, do you?”

“I’m not at liberty to say at the moment. We’ll have to wait and see. If Jonny comes home or calls you, please ask him to contact me immediately. It’s extremely important.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her gently toward the door.

“I need you to give me your keys to this house. And the boathouse.”

Ellen’s hand was shaking as she passed over the keys.

She looked lonely and frightened. Thomas felt sorry for her, but there wasn’t much he could do. The most important thing was to get a team over as soon as possible, so they could find out if Kicki Berggren had been in Jonny’s house.

He was fairly sure the answer would be yes.

“Do you have any masking tape or something along those lines, so I can seal the door while I’m waiting for backup?”

Ellen nodded. “In the kitchen. My kitchen,” she said as she walked out.

Thomas accompanied her back to the big house. He waited in the hallway while she fetched the tape. Through the door of the sitting room, he could see a tall Mora clock in one corner. The furniture looked dark and old-fashioned.

Thomas yawned. He was exhausted after a long day’s work. The thought of traveling back to town first thing tomorrow morning wasn’t exactly appealing, but he would have to live with it.

“Go to bed, Ellen,” he said when she returned. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

He went out and closed the door behind him, then took out his cell phone to call the station. With a bit of luck they might be able to send a team over right away by helicopter.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a late night, after all.