Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1) (23 page)

C
HAPTER
53

Thomas finally managed to get ahold of the forensic pathologist in the afternoon; the most likely hypothesis was that Jonny Almhult had fallen overboard from the ferry to Finland on that Sunday evening.

It normally took almost a week for a body that fell into the water to rise to the surface, but in summer, if the water was unusually warm, as it was this year, it could happen after only a few days.

As the body had been found on a Thursday, it was therefore unlikely that Jonny had fallen overboard any later than Sunday, when he was last seen alive. That meant he must have been on the ferry that left from Stadsgården at seven o’clock in the evening.

The
Cinderella
had arrived at Strandvägen from Sandhamn at five; there had been plenty of time for Almhult to cross Skeppsbron and catch the ferry to Finland.

Back at the station that morning Thomas and Margit had gone over the previous day’s interview with Philip Fahlén. They had agreed that it was definitely worth taking a closer look at him; Kalle had contacted the economic crime unit to ask for their help in investigating Fahlén’s affairs. They too were working with a reduced staff but had promised their assistance later in the week. Meanwhile the priority was to track Fahlén’s movements.

Thomas made himself a fresh cup of tea and went back to his office. It was just after four o’clock. He had decided to call Fahlén and ask where he had been between Sunday and Thursday the previous week, the period during which Jonny Almhult had been missing before his body was found.

Fahlén answered immediately, almost as if he had been waiting for the phone to ring. When he heard who it was, his tone became significantly cooler.

“Could you tell me where you were between Sunday and Thursday morning last week?” Thomas said.

“What’s that got to do with the police?” Fahlén snapped.

“You don’t need to know that,” Thomas said. “Answer the question, please.”

“I was here on Sandhamn from Tuesday to Thursday.”

“What about Sunday and Monday?”

“I needed to be in town, so I went over on the morning boat on Sunday.”

“And what did you do when you got here?”

“I was in the office for a while. I had a few things to sort out.”

“How long were you there?”

Fahlén sighed. “I don’t know. A few hours maybe. My secretary can confirm that I was there; she came in to help me even though it was the weekend.”

“What time did you leave the office?”

“About five thirty, if I remember correctly.”

“And what did you do then?”

“Went back to the apartment. Had something to eat. Watched TV.”

“Where’s your apartment?”

“Vasastan.”

“Were you at home all evening?”

“Yes. I didn’t go out.”

“And when did you travel back to Sandhamn?”

“On Monday.”

“Can you remember exactly when you got back?”

“Sometime after lunch, I think.” Fahlén had had enough. “What is this? An interrogation? I told you last time that if you’re going to question me, I want my lawyer present.”

Thomas tried to calm the irate man. “I only have a couple more questions. Isn’t it easier if we deal with this over the phone, rather than bringing you all the way into town?”

Silence. Thomas wondered for a moment whether Fahlén had hung up but decided he probably wouldn’t dare slam the phone down on a police officer.

“One last question,” came the reluctant response.

“Is there anyone who can confirm that you were in your apartment for the whole of Sunday night?”

“No, there isn’t.”

There was a click in Thomas’s ear. Philip Fahlén had hung up.

C
HAPTER
54

Nora was sitting at her desk in the bank.

It was obvious that it was the middle of summer; the open-plan office was deserted. There was no sign of anyone from the legal department, and most computers were switched off.

It was refreshingly quiet on the eighth floor. Nora had placed her now lukewarm latte next to her computer. It had taken less than fifteen minutes to walk to the bank through the sultry heat of the city; the pavement was crowded with eager tourists, snapping away with their cameras.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Philip Fahlén; Thomas had mentioned that they were on their way to see him the previous day. Since she was in town, she might as well take a closer look at his business. The sales could wait.

She logged on and quickly found the number of the local housing office for Värmdö council. A young man answered, wondering how he could help.

“Would you be able to tell me who owns a particular property, if I give you the reference number?” Nora asked.

“Of course, that’s no problem. Where’s the property?”

“On Sandhamn.”

“One moment please.”

There was a brief silence; Nora took a sip of her coffee, which had gone cold.

“The property is owned by a limited company.”

Nora raised her eyebrows. Was it indeed! Philip Fahlén had let his company pick up the tab for his impressive house. She wondered whether he was paying the market rent to the company for the privilege of using the house in high season, as current tax regulations dictated he must.

“What’s the name of the company?”

“Fahlén & Co. Ltd.”

The company Philip Fahlén owned.

“Do you have a registration number for the company?”

“Certainly.”

Nora was given a ten-digit number, which she carefully wrote down. Now she could find out lots of interesting information. First, she went into the Companies Registration Office website, where every Swedish company was listed. The bank was a subscriber and had access to their database, so she could get to all public information, including proof of registration and annual accounts.

Quickly she typed in the number she had been given, and within a second the latest available annual accounts appeared on the screen. She pressed “Print,” then repeated this for the previous nine years. To be on the safe side she also printed out the company’s annual registration certificate so she could see who had been on the board and access their personal details. This certificate also enabled her to see data on the company’s activities.

She then logged into UC, the credit information service, to which the bank also subscribed. The site also provided details of any financial matters investigated by the police. UC registered everything about everyone, both companies and private individuals. It was an invaluable source for anyone who wanted to determine whether a business was creditworthy. Little could be hidden from someone who had access to UC’s database.

Fahlén & Co. appeared to have behaved itself when it came to finances. There were no negative comments, no financial irregularities. The company’s credit rating was good, because its liquidity was high and its debts low. Things were obviously going well.

As soon as Nora had gathered the information she wanted, which amounted to a substantial pile of documents, she put it in a blue folder and slipped it into her bag. Then she shut down the computer. It was time she made her way over to Strandvägen if she were going to catch the next ferry back to Sandhamn.

C
HAPTER
55

As usual, the
Cinderella
was packed with people on their way to the archipelago, but as this was an evening boat mainly intended for commuters and late visitors, Nora had no difficulty finding a table on her own in a quiet corner where she could spread out all her papers.

She took out the blue folder and began to scrutinize the accounts Fahlén & Co. had submitted over the past ten years. As a legal adviser with the bank, she was used to reading accounts and balance sheets in a variety of contexts, and she had always found dealing with figures easy. She had also brought her trusty calculator.

Nora decided to start with the turnover for the past five years. Then she would look at the costs so she could get an idea of the company’s profit margins. She was well aware that the catering industry was not known for its high profit margins; perhaps it was reasonable to assume that this also applied to their suppliers.

Quickly and methodically, she worked through the results for each year. Her fingers flew over the buttons, and her notepad was soon covered in calculations.

After about an hour she decided it was time for a reward, so she went to the cafeteria and bought a cold beer. She nodded to one or two acquaintances from Sandhamn and chatted for a couple of minutes to the man in the ticket office. He couldn’t help commenting on the murders. They were still on everyone’s mind.

She went back to her table and carried on with her analysis. A pattern was beginning to emerge, and with every calculation it was becoming clearer. She had to tell Thomas about this.

She took out her cell phone and called him.

“Hi, Nora.”

“Thomas, I think I’ve found out something extremely interesting about Philip Fahlén’s company. You need to see this as soon as possible.”

“Where are you?”

“On board the
Cinderella
. I’ll be there in about half an hour. What are your plans for this evening?”

“I was going to stay in town,” Thomas said. “On the other hand, it would be nice to get away from this suffocating heat.”

“Dinner on me at the bistro in the Yacht Club restaurant?” Nora offered, trying to tempt him. She had more to talk about than Fahlén’s company; she wanted to take the opportunity to discuss her meeting with Rutger Sandelin. She needed a male perspective on the whole thing before she tackled Henrik. “You really do need to see this. I can’t explain over the phone—it’s far too complicated.”

Thomas laughed. “OK, you win. But I’ll have to catch the last boat. It leaves from Stavsnäs at seven thirty, so it’ll have to be a late dinner.”

“No problem,” Nora said. “I’ll be waiting by the steps at eight thirty.”

C
HAPTER
56

The bistro was the result of an extension to the original clubhouse, which had dominated the harbor for more than a century. The Falu-red creation with its turret housed both the offices of the Royal Swedish Yacht Club and its harbor administration, along with a number of restaurants. Countless sailors had passed through this building over the past hundred years or so. If the walls could talk, they would have had plenty of spicy stories involving kings and gentlemen. The Sailors Restaurant had seen many innkeepers come and go, from the legendary Åke Kristersson in the seventies and eighties to the notorious drug dealer Fleming Broman.

Nora was waiting by the steps leading up to the bistro when Thomas approached from the pier. She recognized his determined stride from some distance away, and as always she was struck by how good he looked. In spite of the fact that he had no interest in clothes, he always pulled off whatever he wore. Tonight it was a pale-blue polo shirt and faded jeans with a pair of aviators.

Nora saw a couple of giggling girls in their twenties turn around to watch him as he passed; Thomas, of course, was totally oblivious. He broke into a broad smile as he reached Nora and got a big hug in return.

“How are you? Are you tired? What do you want to eat?” Nora said, ignoring the fact that she had just fired off three questions without waiting for an answer. She patted her stomach. “I’m absolutely starving. Let’s go up.” Without waiting, she turned and led the way.

A hostess dressed in black showed them to a table with a view of the harbor; she handed each of them a menu and left.

Nora looked at the list of dishes. There was plenty of fish, of course, but there were also some tempting meat courses. “What are you going to have?” she asked. “And remember this is on me; a promise is a promise.”

“I know exactly what I want. There’s really only one thing to choose here.”

“And what might that be?” Nora smiled at him, well aware of what he had in mind.

“Sailor’s toast, of course.”

The classic dish known as
Seglartoast
had been served in the restaurant for as long as anyone could remember. It consisted of a large fillet steak on a piece of toast with a decent scoop of Béarnaise sauce, accompanied by a generous portion of fries.

“It doesn’t exactly come under the heading of healthy eating,” Nora pointed out.

“But it’s damn delicious,” Thomas said. “If you’ll excuse my language.”

When the waitress had taken their order and poured them each a glass of a dark-red Australian Merlot chosen by Nora, Thomas could no longer suppress his impatience.

“Right, so what have you found out about Philip Fahlén’s business?”

Nora took out the blue folder and the pad with all her calculations. She quickly explained how she had gone about it and what she had examined more closely. “Look at this,” she said, showing him a sheet of paper with lists of figures. “For a long time, the company had roughly the same turnover and the same profit margin; no real variation from one year to the next. But five years ago, the turnover rose sharply, and at the same time the profit margin increased by over three hundred percent.”

She pointed to the number 300 to underline what she had just said.

“And what does that mean?” Thomas asked.

“It means the company is suddenly achieving a far greater income with no increase in expenditure.” Nora took a sip of water and went on. “When companies boost their income, most experience an equivalent rise in costs. It usually goes hand in hand. Even if they can take on a certain amount of extra business within the margin, it’s highly unusual to see a dramatic rise in income with no effect on costs. After all, the company has to supply something, which would normally involve more expenditure. But Philip Fahlén has done the exact opposite.”

She produced another sheet of paper with different figures.

“You can see for yourself: suddenly the income is much higher than the expenditure. And I can’t find a reasonable explanation. As far as I can tell from the annual accounts, he hasn’t bought another company or signed some major contract. There are no sales profits to explain the upturn, nor any other income outside the norm. It’s as if a fairy has suddenly waved her magic wand so he’s making a lot more money than he was before.”

Nora stopped and took a mouthful of her paella; she had been so eager to talk about her discoveries that she’d hardly touched it since it had arrived.

Thomas was looking at her with an expression of intense concentration.

“On top of that, the dividends paid out to the owner have also increased—and the owner is Philip Fahlén, of course. In the past, he took out quite modest amounts, but now he’s starting to take significant sums of money every year. Which in itself is fine, because the profits have gone up so much.”

“And what’s the explanation for all this?”

“This is my theory. What if he’s supplying his clients in the restaurant trade with something else, alongside his normal deliveries?”

“Like illicit booze,” Thomas said.

Nora nodded. “Possibly. If that’s the case, he can hardly put down the costs involved in generating the income, i.e., the amount he pays for the booze.”

Thomas nodded as he shoveled down the last of his fries. His plate was almost clinically clean; there wasn’t a drop of sauce left. “I can understand that. It would be pretty difficult to explain that particular deduction to the tax office.” He smiled.

“Exactly. But at the same time, he needs the money to show up within the company so it becomes legitimate. It’s not practical to have a bunch of random cash floating around. Where are you going to hide it so the tax officials don’t catch you? All banks have an obligation to report company balances. He has to find a way of dealing with the part of his operation that handles this additional income.”

Thomas put down his knife and fork and took a sip of wine. “That sounds logical.”

“I think Philip Fahlén has doctored the invoices he sends out to the restaurants he’s supplying illegally. If we’re talking about alcohol, that is. He raises the price of his legitimate deliveries, which is perfectly legal. This means the restaurant can deduct its costs for the alcohol against a genuine invoice. Fahlén’s company then has a significantly increased income, and therefore higher profits. This profit is then paid out by the company to its owner, and he uses that money to pay the person who is supplying him with illicit booze.” Nora smiled at Thomas and held out another sheet of paper. “And abracadabra, the random cash no longer exists.”

Thomas leaned back on his chair and linked his hands behind his head. It was an interesting theory that sounded plausible. Once again he recalled what Agneta Ahlin had told him: Kicki Berggren had said the money was on Sandhamn. Was she thinking about Fahlén’s money?

Nora was waving yet another piece of paper. “There’s more. The fees paid to board members have also increased significantly.”

“During the same period when all this other stuff was going on?”

Nora nodded. “For a long time the board members received an annual payment of fifty thousand kronor. Four years ago that payment was increased to six hundred thousand kronor a year for each member. The amount has remained the same until now.”

Thomas whistled. Six hundred thousand. That wasn’t bad. Far more than most people could expect to earn in a year. “And who’s on the board?” he asked as he gazed at the piles of documents on the table.

Nora found the registration certificate and passed it over to him. “There are only three members: Philip Fahlén; his father, who must be almost ninety judging by his ID number; and a woman called Marianne Strindberg.”

Thomas took the certificate and studied it closely. He was so absorbed that he barely noticed when the waitress asked him for the second time whether he would like coffee or a dessert. He ordered a double espresso. No dessert. Nora did the same, after sadly concluding that the tempting chocolate mousse wasn’t really suitable for a diabetic.

“Strindberg,” Thomas said. “I recognize the name, but I can’t place it. Apart from the famous playwright, of course,” he said and smiled.

“She joined the board in 2000,” Nora pointed out. “An interesting coincidence, wouldn’t you say? The same year the company increased its profits so dramatically. Before that the board consisted of Philip Fahlén and his father, with his mother as a deputy member.”

Thomas sipped his espresso, which had just arrived, relishing the deep coffee flavor. His face clearly revealed that he had just thought of something. “Viking Strindberg,” he said as he put down his cup. “Krister Berggren’s boss is called Strindberg.”

“What if he’s married to a woman called Marianne?” Nora said, excited.

“He seemed inexplicably nervous when I spoke to him,” Thomas said. “I wonder if this could be a coincidence?” He raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to you, Nora. This is fantastic. I’m glad you persuaded me to come over. You’re a master detective, no doubt!”