Closed Circles (Sandhamn Murders Book 2) (10 page)

C
HAPTER
23

“Take a look at this,” Kalle said. He pulled some sheets of paper from the fax machine.

It was almost four in the afternoon, and they were the last people left on the floor. So many had left on vacation or were off working on the Juliander case.

As Erik looked over the pages, he recognized the logo of the National Forensic Laboratory in the top corner.

“So, Linköping sent their autopsy analysis.”

“Yep,” Kalle said.

Erik sat in a chair near Kalle’s desk and quickly read the three-page report.

“I see,” he said. He scratched his head. His dark hair was combed back with a touch of gel, and his white short-sleeved shirt rode up in the back, revealing a patch of suntanned skin above the waist of his jeans.

“Not much doubt about it.” He held out page two.

“Not much.”

“Traces of cocaine in Juliander’s blood.”

“So Winbergh’s suspicions were correct.”

“But does it mean anything?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

“That’s such wonderful news, Nora! Just think how great it will be!”

Monica Linde sounded so excited that Nora had to hold the phone away from her ear for a moment.

“Henrik told me! Now you can buy that big house in Saltsjöbaden. All I can say is congratulations. Something good came out of that woman’s despicable behavior. Every cloud has a silver lining!”

Nora’s snobby and tactless mother-in-law knew exactly how to irritate her daughter-in-law.

Nora had never been fond of Henrik’s mother; Monica tended to boast about all the important friends she’d made during her long stint as a diplomat’s wife, and name-dropping was not one of Nora’s favorite pastimes.

Nora took a deep breath and managed to control herself.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What did Henrik tell you?”

“That you’re selling the Brand house, of course! And you’ve gotten a fantastic offer!”

“That’s what he told you?”

Monica ignored Nora’s chilly tone.

“That town house you have—it always felt so dull. So boxed in. And your neighbors have neither class nor style.”

Monica paused to catch her breath.

“Henrik has always enjoyed spacious living quarters, ever since he was a child. I could never understand how he deals with that little house of yours. It’s absolutely wonderful that you can buy something bigger now.”

“We like where we live just fine,” Nora said.

She wanted to end the call, but she’d hear about it for years if she hung up on her mother-in-law. She considered pretending her battery was dying.

“I’m so upset about Oscar’s death,” Monica continued. “So upset! What’s this world coming to? Have you seen the evening papers?”

“Yes, I have.”

“How can such a handsome man be killed like that? It’s incomprehensible. And the police aren’t doing a thing about it, of course. No matter how much tax money they spend. They’re so incompetent.”

Her son Simon came running through the doorway, and Nora seized her chance to escape.

“Simon wants to say hi to you,” she said. She pushed the phone into her son’s hand without saying good-bye.

After he’d hung up, Nora gave her son a quick peck on the forehead to thank him for being patient with his grandmother. She knew she needed to talk to someone besides Henrik about selling the Brand house, and she needed someone who would understand. Thomas. He knew the whole story of the house and Aunt Signe.

Nora wrote a text message:

Call me when you have a chance to talk.

He responded right away:

On Sandhamn already. Something happen?

Nora smiled. Quick and efficient. Typical Thomas.

How about a beer at the Divers Bar at six?

She clicked “Send.”

The reply was immediate.

OK -T.

C
HAPTER
24

“So, how are things going?” Nora asked.

Thomas set down his beer. He’d drunk half of it in one fell swoop, and now he let out a discreet burp.

“What do you want to know?”

“You know I’m curious! All of Sandhamn is wondering who killed Oscar Juliander! It’s been in all the papers the last few days!”

“You think I’m going to spill the beans about an investigation just because you’re curious?” Thomas smiled halfheartedly. He was tired after interviewing witnesses all day with Margit.

Nora looked better rested than she had for a while. Thomas noticed she wasn’t as thin as she’d been the past winter. A few freckles were sprinkled across her perky nose, and the dark rings under her eyes had mostly vanished. Her slightly longer hairstyle gave her a softer look.

“Come on,” Nora said. “You don’t have to say anything. But Juliander was so well known; why wouldn’t I want to ask about it?”

“Did you know him?” Thomas snacked on some peanuts the waitress set before them. He’d ordered a club sandwich that had not yet arrived. Nora sipped her beer. She’d invited Thomas to eat dinner with her family, but he’d declined. He had to catch the last ferry to Stavsnäs at seven thirty.

“I’ve met him a few times. He was a real bigwig in RSYC. Henrik’s parents knew him.”

“Did you ever work with him?”

“No. But he was well established in the elite Stockholm judicial circles,” she said. “Kalling is a well-known old firm, and Oscar Juliander was one of Sweden’s leading bankruptcy lawyers.”

“Explain to me what a bankruptcy lawyer really does,” Thomas said.

The waitress brought his order. He grabbed the ketchup and poured a healthy portion onto his plate.

“A bankruptcy lawyer,” Nora said as she swiveled her glass between her palms. “He’s the person who takes over the operation when a company declares bankruptcy.”

“I understand that. But what does he
do
?”

“After a bankruptcy, the board or the management has no more access to the operation. They have lost the right to dispose of the assets.”

Thomas looked at Nora, and she saw the fatigue in his eyes. Sometimes lawyers used jargon without realizing it was gibberish to outsiders.

“Can you speak in normal Swedish, please? What did you just say?”

Nora smiled. “The courts kick out the president, and the board puts a lawyer in his place. This lawyer’s job is to close down the company and settle assets and liabilities.”

“How does he manage that?”

“It varies. Sometimes the assets are sold one by one. Sometimes the whole company is sold. Sometimes the former owners buy back the company from the bankruptcy court and start over.”

“Is that allowed?”

“Why not? The goal is to pay back the creditors as much as possible. If you can get a better price by selling to the former owners, so be it. It’s not forbidden, though it may be considered immoral.”

Thomas looked at her. This sounded like something that should be declared illegal. But then, he wasn’t a trained lawyer.

“So Oscar Juliander became a kind of temporary company executive for a number of businesses.”

“Yes, that’s what he did, more or less.”

“Have you ever heard anything unfavorable about him? Something out of line with his public image?”

Nora leaned back in her chair. She thought about all the gossip in Stockholm. He’d definitely been a womanizer. At the Swedish Bar Association parties, he’d always flirt with the young female lawyers. But what else had she heard about Oscar Juliander?

She shook her head.

“Actually, he had a pretty good reputation. And lots of money, I think.”

“You should have seen their house in Saltsjöbaden. Three cars in the driveway.”

“That Swan boat, the
Emerald Gin
, must have cost a small fortune,” Nora continued. “And their place on Ingarö is very nice and not so far from my dear parents-in-law’s place.”

She winked at Thomas. He was well acquainted with Harald and Monica Linde and knew exactly what she meant.

“But I assume lawyers at a firm like Kalling already earn good salaries?” Thomas asked. He stabbed his fork into his French fries. “We met their managing partner, or whatever he’s called. He spoke of making millions. That should go pretty far.”

“Maybe so,” Nora said. “But Juliander must have logged some serious hours to earn so much. Do you know the saying about competitive racing?”

Thomas shook his head. “No. What?”

“Competing in sailing is like standing in the shower and ripping up thousand-krona bills.”

Thomas grinned.

“I heard an air force general came up with that line in the seventies,” Nora explained. “Competitive sailing is incredibly expensive. I know how much money Henrik and his crew put into their six-foot sailing boat, and they only race in Sweden.”

“What kind of money are we talking about?”

“I imagine a Swan like that would cost ten to twelve million kronor. Not to mention the sails, fees, and transportation if you’re competing abroad. Just the Round Gotland Race probably cost a hundred thousand kronor.”

“You’re kidding.”

“And he probably had to hire a few professionals for his crew. Then you have food, matching uniforms embroidered with the name of the boat, the cost of the awards dinner—the skipper pays for everything. That’s the tradition.”

She took a sip of beer and looked out over the harbor.

The orange pilot boat came into the toll dock. Her son Simon had just learned to read and thought it was odd that the word “PILOT” was painted in big letters on the hull. He insisted that a pilot flew an airplane and was not someone who captained a boat. It didn’t help when Nora tried to explain that the word
pilot
was English. He still thought it was ridiculous.

“So, how’s it going with the investigation?” she asked.

Thomas shrugged.

“We haven’t brought the case into home port, so to speak.” He couldn’t help grinning. “We still have too many loose threads and not a single suspect.”

“Did you find anything unusual about his legal work?” Nora asked. “Anything sticking out? Do you know the case he was working on recently?”

“Take a look for yourself. You’re a lawyer.”

Thomas reached for his briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers clipped together. He handed them to Nora. She began to flip through them.

“What about this one?” she asked. She offered him the paper.

“Keep it. If you find anything interesting, give us a call.” He held up his palm defensively. “The answer to your unasked question is yes, we have begun looking into it all, but we don’t have enough personnel. We need more help from the Financial Crimes unit, but it’s the middle of July. You know how things are when it’s vacation time in Sweden.”

He fell silent and hesitated a moment.

“Anything special we should be on the lookout for?” he asked.

Nora picked up the document and studied it more thoroughly.

“Run all the board members against the Swedish Company Registration Office to see if any have been banned from carrying out business under the trading prohibition act, if you haven’t already done so. Do the same with all the CEOs and executives.”

“Good idea,” Thomas said. “Erik will talk to them. He has a contact there.”

Nora looked at her watch.

“Is that it on Juliander?” she asked. “I have to head home soon, and I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

She played with the tiny saltshaker on the table. The old feeling of being disloyal to Henrik came back. She decided to ignore it. She really needed to talk this thing through with someone.

“Henrik wants to sell Aunt Signe’s house. He’s already found a buyer.”

C
HAPTER
25

Silence overwhelmed the office. It had become an empty space that could be filled only by one familiar voice.

Eva Timell put her face in her hands and wondered what she would do with herself. Her head ached. It felt like glowing steel had been bent into a crescent moon and pressed along the brow of her eye socket. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see it.

She didn’t want to take her migraine medicine, though it usually reduced the pain enough to get her back on her feet. The throbbing over her eye was still better than the pain she felt over Oscar’s death.

She looked at Oscar’s office door again and again. After so many years, she couldn’t help it. Her head would simply turn in that direction out of habit. Beyond that door was
his
desk, an elegant antique piece from the nineteenth century that he’d found at a Bukowskis auction house. He’d held on to it even when the firm had brought in an expensive interior design company that suggested modern, streamlined furniture. Now it looked as lonely as an abandoned dog.

In the first days after his death, she’d cried more than she’d thought humanly possible. A furious flood of tears ran past her red, swollen eyelids. At night, she pressed her pillow to her face so her neighbors wouldn’t hear her sobs. Her Persian cat, beautiful white Blofeld, had hidden under her bed, frightened by her weeping.

She wondered how Sylvia felt now. Sylvia had all the right in the world to cry in public. The grieving widow, comforted by relatives and friends. At least she still had her children to live for.

Eva Timell’s mouth formed a bitter grimace. Sylvia had everything and Eva nothing. But Eva was the one who’d known Oscar better than anyone else. Eva had planned every moment of his waking life. She’d kept track of his meetings and engagements.

Eva had chosen every single Christmas present Oscar had given Sylvia for the past fifteen years, every bottle of perfume in its luxury packaging. Eva had even kept a list so that there would never be any duplicates.

And what thanks did she get? A life as a single woman, middle aged, without children.

When Eva started as Oscar’s assistant, they’d had a passionate affair. She’d never felt as loved as she had back then. She’d wake up early, wanting only to see Oscar at the office.

She’d often lie in bed and remember their intimate moments together. Sometimes she’d think of small surprises for him. Sometimes she’d buy a card, write a sweet message, and tuck it into his morning mail. Then she’d wait for him to discover it. He’d come out to see her with that special smile.

She waited years for Oscar to get a divorce. Little by little, as the children grew and Oscar’s attention turned elsewhere, she’d realized he would never divorce. His life was far too comfortable.

Sylvia filled the role of wife and mother perfectly. She took care of their home and family and was a major asset to a successful, ambitious man like Oscar. She came from a good family and was part of the social circle in Saltsjöbaden. She didn’t protest when his personal needs came before family life. Instead, she took care of parent-teacher conferences, arranged dinners and spring parties, and turned a blind eye to Oscar’s romantic conquests.

She never questioned him, rarely complained, and was always there.

As time went on, Eva and Sylvia reached an understanding. They divided Oscar between themselves. Sylvia took charge of his family time, and Eva managed everything else. They orbited Oscar like two moons around a single sun.

It pained Eva deeply when their romantic relationship died out, but something new replaced that passion. Eva held his attention in other ways.

She made herself irreplaceable.

While he became one of Sweden’s most famous lawyers, she became an indispensable part of his success. She took care of the stream of incoming clients. At receptions, she made sure he always had a glass in hand. If his shirt became wrinkled, she had a fresh one at hand. If he double-booked himself, she tactfully resolved the issue so that both parties were placated.

At times, she’d played with the idea of starting over, finding another position. She realized working for Oscar would lead only to loneliness. She turned forty and saw her chances of starting her own family shrinking. Still, she never found the will to leave him.

Now, with a sigh, she stood up. She needed to find some water for the little pink pill she would take after all. Her migraine was pounding, and the pain was becoming unbearable.

Eva Timell walked to the kitchen ten yards down the hall to get a mineral water from the refrigerator. She then turned on her computer to address the flow of messages that had come in as the news of Oscar’s murder had spread. She hadn’t had the energy to go to work those first few days, but it was time to pull herself together and sort through the mail.

Going through her personal in-box took some time. Many people who had known Oscar also knew her, and they’d sent their condolences directly to her, perhaps to avoid disturbing Sylvia.

Next she started on Oscar’s in-box. After thirty messages, she came across one different from the rest. The address was a collection of letters and numbers that did not reveal the sender’s identity: [email protected]. No subject. She clicked on it. The text came up on the screen and she scanned the few lines.

Oscar,

You promised the money would be deposited today at the latest. I can’t wait any longer.

Benny

Eva Timell stared at the message. The tone was unusual for communication between lawyers. If it had come from another firm, it would have had the firm’s logo and address.

Of course, it could be from someone involved in Oscar’s latest bankruptcy case. But something was still odd about the message. The last sentence felt like a threat.

She checked when it had been sent. Last Friday, the same day Oscar left for Sandhamn. Two days before he was shot.

She reached for the water bottle. It was empty, so she walked back to the kitchen for another. She considered contacting the police about this message. Could it be harmful to Oscar’s reputation in any way?

She weighed the alternatives and decided to show it to the police. What if the message had come from Oscar’s killer?