Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1) (8 page)

C
HAPTER
18

Fuck, fuck, fuck,
thought Jonny Almhult. The persistent knocking on his front door just wouldn’t stop. His head felt like a brick, and he could have used his tongue to sand down his mother’s skiff.

He was lying on his bed wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Lifting his head from the pillow was agony. He had no idea what time it was. He barely even knew where he was.

As he reached out and fumbled for the alarm clock, he knocked over a half-full bottle of beer. The yellowish-brown liquid poured out onto the floor and was quickly absorbed by the rug. He swore again and flopped back on the pillow.

The knocking continued.

“OK, OK. I’m coming.” The words came out as a croak.

“Jonny, Jonny.” His mother’s voice penetrated as far as the bedroom. “Are you there, Jonny?”

“Calm down, Mom. I’m coming.”

With a groan he sat up, got to his feet unsteadily, and staggered to the door. When he opened it, he was met by his mother’s searching gaze. Unable to stop himself, he ran a hand over his stubble, feeling embarrassed.

“Why didn’t you open the door? I’ve been knocking forever!”

Before Jonny had time to respond, she went on. “Do you have any idea what time it is? It’s past two! I don’t know how you can sleep at a time like this. The whole island is in an uproar!”

Jonny stared at her. He didn’t know what she was talking about. He just wanted to go back to bed.

Ellen Almhult went on, extremely agitated. “Haven’t you heard? They found another body. A woman, in the Mission House.”

Jonny swallowed. If only his head hadn’t been pounding like this. He leaned on the doorframe to stop himself from swaying and felt the sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

“What did she look like?” His voice was rough and hoarse.

“I had a word with Krystyna, that new woman who took over last spring. She didn’t know what to do with herself.”

Jonny grabbed his mother’s arm with unexpected strength. “I asked you what she looked like.”

“Calm down. There’s no need to behave like that. She was nearly fifty; she turned up yesterday afternoon, according to Krystyna. Long blond hair. I suppose she looked like most people.”

Jonny groaned inwardly.
Oh God.

“Listen, Mom, I’m not feeling too good. I need to go back to bed.”

“You’re just like your father.” Ellen’s disapproval was clear as she compressed her lips into a thin line.

Jonny knew that expression well. He had seen it ever since he was a little boy, every time he or his father did something she didn’t like. His father had spent his entire life living in the shadow of her disappointment. A disappointment Jonny couldn’t handle right now.

“I’ll speak to you later,” he said.

“I just don’t understand you,” Ellen said. “Not at all.”

“Please, Mom. I just need to be left in peace for a while.”

“Alcohol will be the death of you, you know.” She pointed a finger at him. He saw her lips begin to move and braced himself for the stream of words that he knew was bound to come.

Suddenly he couldn’t bear it any longer. “I asked you to leave. I’ll talk to you later.”

He practically pushed her out and closed the door.

Jonny slumped to the floor. He could smell and taste his own breath. Rancid, stale beer. Too many cigarettes. The clump of fear stuck in his throat. His tongue felt like a swollen mass in his mouth. He needed a drink to calm him down and help him gather his thoughts.

He went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a beer. Standing by the sink, he knocked back the whole can and then grimaced as he dropped it in the trash. He tried hard to remember last night. The images were vague and unclear.

He had met that woman in the bar. They’d had a few beers together after he’d sat down at her table. After a while, he asked if she wanted to come back with him for a couple of drinks. They picked up their jackets and paid. The sun had gone down, but it wasn’t really dark outside.

They went back to his place, which was no more than ten minutes’ walk from the bar. He opened the front door and let her in. She looked around and said something about his plants. He fetched a couple beers from the kitchen, and they sat down on the sofa in the TV room. She lit a cigarette and asked if he wanted one.

She chain-smoked, complaining that she had a pain in her stomach. She moaned so much his ears had practically started bleeding.

Both of them got pretty drunk.

After a while he moved closer to her on the sofa and realized that she understood him.

If only she had listened to him, everything would have been fine. It would have been so easy to do what he wanted. So damn easy.

C
HAPTER
19

Could there be a better way to spend a beautiful Saturday evening in the middle of summer than sitting in a meeting in a police station that was closed for the weekend?
Thomas wondered.

He stared at his notes and came to the conclusion that the weekend was probably a lost cause. While the crime scene was being examined, he had called Margit to inform her of the latest developments. She hadn’t appreciated the news.

DCI Persson had decided they should meet at seven o’clock on Saturday evening. That had given Thomas enough time to finish on Sandhamn and get back to the mainland. He was now sitting at one end of the conference table. Margit was on his right, with Carina next to her. Two younger officers, Kalle Lidwall and Erik Blom, had also had to give up their weekend.

Persson summarized the situation. “OK, so we have one victim who appears to have died as a result of a violent blow to the head. She is the cousin of the dead man whose body washed up on Sandhamn a couple of weeks ago. We still can’t be sure, but there is nothing to indicate that Krister Berggren was intending to take his own life. Nor have we found anything to suggest that he was deliberately killed. It will be a few days before we know the exact cause of Kicki Berggren’s death; the pathologists have promised to do their best, but they’re short-staffed right now.”

“Do the cousins have any connection to Sandhamn?” Margit asked. “Was it somewhere they used to go in the summer?”

It was obvious that she needed a vacation. She looked tired, and so far the summer sun hadn’t made much of an impression on her face. She exuded an aura of impatience, as if she didn’t really care about the fact that they had two unexplained deaths to investigate. All she wanted was for everything to be sorted out quickly, so she could begin her much-longed-for annual leave.

Thomas ran his hand through his short hair. “Not as far as I know. At the moment there’s no clear link between Krister and Kicki Berggren and Sandhamn. But it’s a bit of a coincidence for two cousins to be found dead on the same island within such a short period. We need to go through every possible connection. We’ll see what we find in Kicki Berggren’s apartment. Nothing we know about Krister Berggren links him to the island.”

Persson cleared his throat. “We have one murder investigation on our hands at any rate. Margit, you’re leading this one. Thomas, you’re supporting Margit. Erik and Kalle will provide additional resources; Carina, help out wherever needed.”

Carina turned to Thomas. “You only have to say the word, you know that.” She pushed back her hair with a coquettish gesture. She was the only person in the room who was smiling.

Margit sighed; her expression was grim. “I’m supposed to be starting my vacation on Monday—have you forgotten that? We’ve rented a house on the west coast.”

“Margit, we have two deaths and at least one is almost certainly murder.”

Margit was on the warpath. She rarely gave in right away. Now she was fighting for her vacation as if it were a matter of life and death, rather than four weeks in July in a country where the temperature reached seventy degrees at best in the summer.

“And I also have a husband and two teenage daughters who I am responsible for. Have you ever heard the expression ‘work-life balance’? I need this vacation. I’ve worked damn hard all year, you know that.”

She stared at Persson, waving her pen around. He stared back, equally determined.

“May I make a suggestion?” Thomas said.

Persson and Margit paused their battle of wills and looked at him.

“If Margit would make herself available by phone, I could at least start on the investigation. If things take a turn for the worse, she can always get in the car and drive up, can’t she? I know Sandhamn very well, and I can easily postpone my vacation for a week or two if necessary.”

Margit raised her eyebrows at Persson, who sighed before responding.

“When I joined the police there was none of this garbage about work-life balance. You worked until the case was solved—that was all there was to it.” He pondered for a moment, then capitulated in the face of the light of battle shining in Margit’s eyes. “Very well. Margit, you can go, but you have to come back should it become necessary. And the final responsibility is yours. Until then, you and Thomas can talk by phone.”

Margit looked relieved. “Of course. Thomas, you can call me anytime. I’ll give you my husband’s cell phone number as well, just to be on the safe side. Come to my office, and we’ll go over what needs to be done.” She gave him a grateful wink as she gathered up her papers and got to her feet. “This will work out perfectly,” she said. The comment was clearly addressed to Persson as she turned and left the room.

By the time Margit and Thomas had finished drawing up their plans for the next stage of the investigation, it was late on Saturday night.

Kalle and Erik would travel over to Sandhamn the following morning to start their inquiries; Thomas would join them later in the day. During the evening they had gone through all the material on the cousins. Carina had checked every possible record on the computer to complete the picture.

Since more than 80 percent of all murders or attempted murders in Sweden were perpetrated by someone the victim already knew, they needed to get a picture of both cousins’ lives and work situations, methodically going through the people around them, listing those the police would need to contact. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle, hoping a picture of someone with a possible motive would gradually emerge.

As soon as the weekend was over they would also request all their relevant financial information. It was surprising how much you could find out by studying the ways in which people used their credit cards.

On Sandhamn, the investigation would focus on mapping Kicki Berggren’s last twenty-four hours: what time she had arrived on the island, where she had gone, whether she had been seen with anyone else.

They had to find out everything they could about the people she had met during her stay. They would also contact the ferry company and the taxi firm that picked up passengers from the boat. A member of the crew might remember when she had traveled or know where she had gone. Every witness statement, however insignificant it might appear, could contribute to solving the case.

But first Thomas wanted to visit Kicki’s apartment.

A home was like a silent witness to the owner’s life. You could find out a great deal about a person’s character, the way she lived, her friends and enemies. Perhaps he would find something that would reveal a connection between Kicki and Sandhamn.

Thomas also needed a better photograph of Kicki than her passport photo, which looked nothing like her. Door-to-door inquiries would start on Sandhamn as soon as possible, and a good likeness was essential.

After some thought, Thomas asked Carina to go with him to the apartment. In a case like this it could be useful to have a woman involved. She would see things he might miss. He was the first to admit that he wasn’t exactly an expert on women.

That was one of the points Pernilla had made painfully clear to him during their last argument before the separation. He had walked into the bathroom to find Pernilla standing there holding a little nappy. It had been left behind when they were clearing away Emily’s things.

“It wasn’t
my
fault,” she had said. Her eyes looked wild, as if she hated him at that moment.

And perhaps she did.

Thomas was thunderstruck. “I never said it was your fault,” he eventually said.

She looked at him wearily, a small muscle twitching at the corner of her mouth. “For six months you haven’t said a single unnecessary word to me. You don’t even touch me anymore. When you do look at me, which is rare, I can see the accusation in your eyes. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on inside your head?” The tears began to fall, and she wiped them away. “It wasn’t my fault,” she repeated. “I wasn’t responsible for what happened.”

The chasm between them was too deep to be bridged with words, and in any case Thomas had no words at his disposal. He had never been the kind of person who was comfortable talking about his feelings, and now his emotions were in lockdown. Even the idea of trying was impossible.

He understood that Pernilla desperately needed reassurance, to know that he didn’t blame her. But every time he opened his mouth to tell her, the words stuck in his throat.

Deep down, he was convinced that someone must have been responsible for Emily’s death. Every time he saw her little body in his mind’s eye, he was consumed by the need to blame someone. And if it wasn’t Pernilla’s fault, then whose fault was it?

The gnawing doubt just wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t stop wondering what would have happened if Pernilla had woken up that night. She was breastfeeding, after all. Shouldn’t she have known instinctively that something was wrong? A part of him was aware that there was no logic to his reasoning, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. Why had she slept on as her child died beside her?

That was the last time they talked about Emily. A few weeks later he had moved out. The divorce had gone through quickly.

Thomas got to his feet abruptly, running his hand over his forehead as if to erase the memories. What was the point of brooding about the past? He had gone over those final hours of Emily’s life so many times, and every time it was just as painful. He had to make a fresh start.

With a sigh he went over to the window and stretched to shake off the stiffness in his back. Through the window he could see one of the police launches setting off from the jetty at Nacka Strand. He caught himself wishing he were standing there at the wheel, with nothing to think about except patrolling the islands.

Then he looked away. He had a murder to investigate.