ALSO BY VIVECA STEN IN THE SANDHAMN MURDERS SERIES
Still Waters
Closed Circles
Guiltless
Tonight You’re Dead
In the Heat of the Moment
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2013 by Viveca Sten
Translation copyright © 2018 by Marlaine Delargy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Previously published as I farans riktning by Forum in 2013 in Sweden. Translated from Swedish by Marlaine Delargy. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2018.
Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542040150
ISBN-10: 1542040159
Cover design by Kimberly Glyder
In memory of
Sascha Birkhahn
1912–2012
CONTENTS
MAP
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHAPTER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
CHAPTER 89
CHAPTER 90
CHAPTER 91
CHAPTER 92
CHAPTER 93
CHAPTER 94
CHAPTER 95
CHAPTER 96
CHAPTER 97
CHAPTER 98
CHAPTER 99
CHAPTER 100
CHAPTER 101
CHAPTER 102
CHAPTER 103
CHAPTER 104
CHAPTER 105
CHAPTER 106
CHAPTER 107
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
CHAPTER 1
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
If she could just make it to Sandhamn, everything would be fine. She felt safer out in the archipelago than anywhere else.
Jeanette Thiels repeated the words like a mantra as she drove through the slush on the freeway. She had to keep blinking back the tears so that she could see properly. She almost went into a skid on the bridge over Skurusundet.
She drove past the golf course by Fågelbro and the Strömma Canal. The boat was due to leave in a few minutes, at quarter to three. It was the last crossing of the day—she had to catch it!
After what seemed like an eternity, the harbor at Stavsnäs opened out in front of her, and she turned into the half-full parking lot. She fumbled with her keys, but eventually managed to lock the Ford.
The icy wind bit into her cheeks; the temperature had dropped considerably, down to fourteen degrees. A short distance away, the pull lines clanged on an empty flagpole, and beyond the inlet the waves were tipped with white.
A slight feeling of nausea rose in her throat, but she didn’t have time to worry about that now.
Head down, she hurried toward the quayside where the ferry was waiting in the gray gloom. She was the last to board; the gangway was drawn up, and within seconds the boat began to pull away. She couldn’t help looking back to see if anyone was there.
Jeanette curled up in a corner toward the stern and pulled her hood far down so that her face was barely visible. She knew she ought to eat something, but she was too tired to go to the cafeteria on the upper deck. Instead she sank into a kind of half doze as the engines throbbed in the background. The steady beat was somehow calming.
Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, and she automatically reached for it but immediately withdrew her hand. She didn’t want to know who was trying to reach her.
“Next stop, Sandhamn,” came the announcement from a crackling loudspeaker. “The captain and crew wish you all a very happy Christmas.”
The image of Alice came into Jeanette’s mind, and she struggled to hold back the tears. By this time, no doubt, she and Michael would be busy with the final preparations. The presents lay under the tree, beautifully wrapped, and the kitchen was filled with the aroma of ham and meatballs. Soon Michael’s parents would arrive, laden with packages.
Alice had begged her to celebrate Christmas with them. That was the last thing she’d said before she left.
“Please, Mom. Just for a little while—a couple of hours, maybe?”
Jeanette had shaken her head and tried to kiss Alice’s cheek, but Alice had turned away, and Jeanette’s lips had barely brushed against her hair.
She felt a stab of guilt. Why did things always go so wrong?
They had almost reached Sandhamn; she stood up and made her way to the restroom.
When she opened the door, she recoiled at the sight of the deathly pale apparition in the mirror. It took a few seconds before she realized she was looking at her own face. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her skin had a grayish tinge. Deep furrows ran from her nose to her mouth.
I look like an old woman, she thought. Where did the time go?
She kept her eyes downcast as she washed her hands.
The throb of the engines grew fainter, which meant that the captain was slowing down as the ferry entered the Sound leading to Sandhamn.
She picked up her purse from the dirty, wet floor and slipped the strap over her should
er. There weren’t many people on board, but she lingered and made sure she was the last to disembark.
“Merry Christmas,” said the crewmember as Jeanette handed over her ticket. She did her best to respond with a smile.
The other passengers had already disappeared from the jetty; it was too cold to hang around unnecessarily. However, Jeanette put down her case and looked around the familiar surroundings.
Piles of snow lay along the plowed promenade that ran from the steamboat jetty to the Sailors Hotel. On the broad strip of sand, dozens of boats had been taken out of the water for the winter, and now were hidden beneath snow-covered tarpaulins.
Over at the western end of the harbor, Jeanette could see the yellow façade of the Sailors Hotel, adorned with twinkling fairy lights that almost moved her to tears once more. She picked up her case and set off.
The scent of hyacinths inside the hotel was overwhelming. Behind the reception desk stood a blond girl wearing a Santa hat. Jeanette introduced herself.
“I called and booked a room this morning.”
The girl gave her a warm smile, and Jeanette couldn’t help noticing how badly her pink lipstick clashed with the bright-red hat.
“Welcome! You’re in one of the apartments behind the pool. I hope you’re not scared of the dark?” She smiled again, as if she’d said something funny. “Unfortunately the main hotel is full over the holiday; we only have the apartments left.”
Before Jeanette could speak, she went on: “Dinner is served starting at seven this evening; you’ll need to make a reservation. How would eight o’clock suit you?”
“Fine.”
“We offer an excellent Christmas buffet,” the receptionist said. “Everything you could possibly wish for, including fifteen varieties of marinated herring. And of course Santa Claus will be along to see all the children who’ve been good!”
She winked at Jeanette, seemingly unaware that a middle-aged woman on her own might not be very interested in Santa’s visit.
“Do you need any help with your luggage?” she asked. “It’s not very far—no more than a hundred and fifty yards. You go down the main steps, then head to the right. Follow the path past the minigolf course, then you take a right again where the pool area starts. Your building is the second one down.”
“I’m sure I can manage,” Jeanette mumbled. There was a rushing sound in her ears as she bent down to pick up her case.
“I hope you enjoy Christmas Eve with us. There’s an early service in the chapel in Sandhamn at seven o’clock tomorrow morning—I don’t know if that’s something that might appeal to you? It’s usually very atmospheric.”
At last she handed over the key card. Jeanette was about to set off, but hesitated.
“Am I the only one staying in the apartments?” she asked.
“Let me just check.” The receptionist turned to her screen, Santa hat swinging. She frowned before looking up to meet Jeanette’s gaze.
“Yes, you’re all by yourself over there.”
CHAPTER 2
Detective Inspector Thomas Andreasson smiled as he watched his daughter prodding at the packages beneath the three-foot-high Christmas tree.
Elin was only nine months old, but almost all the presents were for her. He and Pernilla had agreed to cut back on Christmas gifts this year, given how much the renovations to the house on Harö had cost them back in the fall. Judging by the size of the pile, though, neither of them had managed to stick to the plan. Grandma and Grandpa were celebrating with Thomas’s brother and his family this year, but had brought over a huge bag of goodies in advance. Pernilla’s mother was visiting her sister in the US, which meant the little family would be alone for the holidays.
Not that Thomas minded. A serious assault case around the feast of St. Lucia, December 13, had filled his time over the past ten days, and now he was looking forward to relaxing with his wife and daughter. The harsh reality of his work was sometimes more draining than he liked to admit. It’d be nice to shut it out of his mind for a change.
He looked out the window; the two lanterns he had put down by the jetty earlier that afternoon shone through the darkness. Heavy snow had enveloped the rocks and skerries of the archipelago in a soft white blanket. By the time they had traveled over from the mainland this year, the cold had transformed the bare trees on the island into shimmering trunks topped by branches glittering with rime frost.
The already-frozen sea reached far out into the inlet. If these temperatures continued like years gone by, when the ice got thick enough, people could travel between islands by kick-sled well into the spring.
Come to think of it, where was the old kick-sled? With a bit of luck it would still be at his parents’ house. Their shed was full to bursting with all kinds of stuff accumulated over decades, waiting for the day when it might come in handy.
Elin interrupted his train of thought. She rocked back and forth on her bottom and lifted her arms. He picked her up, and she contentedly rested her head against his chest.
Pernilla was busy putting away the remains of their Christmas feast. The ham, sausage, and herring were already in the refrigerator, and she was warming mulled wine and making coffee before they opened their presents.
This is probably the last year without Santa Claus, Thomas thought. Next year Grandpa will have an important role to play on Christmas Eve, the high point of the Swedish celebration.
“Do you need any help?” he called out.
“I’m fine,” Pernilla said, reaching down for a tray. “You did the cooking, so the least I can do is clear away the dishes.”
They had chopped down the small fir tree on the island and decorated it the previous evening. This morning Elin had managed to knock the whole thing over—bulbs, tinsel, everything. She had cried nonstop until they’d put it all back together. In the end, she had been given her own strand of tinsel that she had played with until it fell apart.
Thomas placed his daughter on the floor and knelt down beside her. He gently kissed her velvet-soft cheek.
The smell of a small child.
In honor of this special day, her blond hair had been brushed into the sweetest little kiss curl. Sensing the festive mood around her, she was beside herself with anticipation.
“So what do you think?” Thomas said. “Shall we open one present, just you and me, while Mommy finishes up in the kitchen?”
CHAPTER 3
When Jeanette opened her eyes, it took a few seconds before she realized she was in the hotel apartment. The nausea hadn’t passed, and a series of cramps came and went in her belly. The bed was soft and wide, yet she had difficulty finding a comfortable position. She felt a sense of dread and couldn’t get warm, in spite of her thick sweater.
How long had she been asleep?
Jeanette looked at her watch; it was almost five to eight. If she wanted something to eat this evening, she would have to make her way over to the restaurant.
Her limbs ached with tiredness; she didn’t know how she was going to get out of bed.
The television was on in the background. As a former reporter, she had automatically switched it on as soon as she had walked in. However, no news was being reported tonight, just nonsense about Christmas celebrations in different parts of the country. As if nothing of importance had happened anywhere in the world on this particular day.
There was a time when this kind of thing would have irritated her, but now it didn’t matter.
She looked around and noticed that someone had tried to evoke the atmosphere of the archipelago through the pictures on the wall—black-and-white photographs of Sandhamn in the early twentieth century. Beautiful sailing boats, women in broad-brimmed hats, men in dark-blue overcoats on the promenade.
Grandma, she thought, a lump forming in her throat as she remembered her childhood summers on the other side of the island. She had been there far too infrequently in recent years, but that was going to change. In the spring, she would bring Alice over and stay for the whole summer
.
Tomorrow she would go to her grandmother’s house. She should be able to think there, make a decision, as she had in the past. It was Grandma she had always turned to, Grandma who supplied hot chocolate and good advice when she needed it most.
Jeanette went into the bathroom and rinsed her face with cold water. The unease was still there; her hands shook as she dried them.
This time last year, she had been in the Middle East, working on a story. Enveloped in a full-length black burka, she had conducted secret interviews with angry and frightened women in Iran. Her visit had led to several lengthy articles about the plight of women in that country; one was picked up by the television evening news. Her editor couldn’t have been more delighted if he’d been the one sneaking around in the narrow alleyways wrapped in that hot, dusty fabric.
I’ve made a difference, she had thought back in her hotel on the night of that broadcast. But like so many times in her career, the job got in the way of family. It had been too late even to call Alice and wish her a merry Christmas.
This was the first time in years that she’d been in Sweden for the holiday.
She’d had no choice.
The memories came flooding back, and her pulse began to race. Jeanette went into the living room for her MacBook. She had to think about something else, get rid of the thoughts whirling around inside her head. Her fingers searched through her case, but she couldn’t find the computer. Her stress level shot up; she threw back the lid and searched again. Nothing. She tipped the contents out onto the armchair: panties, jeans, and bottles of pills all in a heap.
She stared at the mess with something approaching panic. She was sure she’d put it in before she left. She must have, and yet it wasn’t there.
She looked in the case once again, but all she found was an old matchbox stuck in a corner from a trip she’d made to Frankfurt long ago.
Had she left the MacBook in her apartment? Impossible—she always took it with her. Jeanette pushed her hair back from her forehead, which was now sticky with sweat. Where could it be?
Not on the boat; she hadn’t opened her bag on board. And surely she would have noticed if it had fallen out in the car.
But would she have?
She had been so upset when she left, so shocked and confused; she’d simply thrown the absolute essentials into her case and rushed out. She’d only just managed to lock the door behind her.