Closed Circles (Sandhamn Murders Book 2) (14 page)

“A toast for the newly engaged couple!” his father exclaimed as he poured fat glasses of cognac for the men at the party. Then he took out a Cohiba, his favorite cigar, and waved it around.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother grimace. She wasn’t fond of the cigar smoke that would spread throughout the apartment by morning, but she would never dream of mentioning this to her husband.

The bride-to-be chatted with her mother and future mother-in-law in the corner. After all, they discussed one of the season’s most important weddings. When his fiancée noticed him looking at her, she gave him a playful smile. Was he imagining things, or did she seem proud to claim him?

His father strolled over.

“Believe me, this is a wonderful match. She’s not just a sweet, young girl. She also comes from an excellent family. She will certainly bring wealth and status to your marriage. Her father and I have already discussed it. And, of course, there’s more where that came from!” His father laughed, satisfied.

Deep down he already knew he was making a mistake. But there seemed no way out now. It was too late.

He hardly knew how he’d gotten to this point. It had started so innocently. He had been part of a large group of friends who went to parties together. He had a certain charm, pleasing to the ladies, and was always a popular dance partner. She was his classmate’s little sister, always hanging around. Whenever he was at an event, she was there, too. She was not prudish. In fact, she often took the initiative.

One evening, they’d been at her house while her parents were gone and the servants had the night off. She had looked at him with her blue eyes.

“You know, it’s time for us to get married,” she said. “We can’t keep sneaking around. What if someone discovers what we’ve been up to? My parents would never forgive me.”

She took him by complete surprise.

Marriage? He hadn’t even thought of it. They were so different. And so young. She was from a wealthy family, true, but not exactly the wife he’d imagined. She was beautiful and spoiled, and now she wanted him.

Just like that.

He didn’t know how to get out of the situation. Before he had the chance to realize what was going on, they’d declared their engagement.

Both families were pleased. His father had shaken his hand and congratulated him. His mother had shed a tear.

They were a delightful couple.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

His bride-to-be approached him with a charming smile. She was, without a doubt, the cutest girl in the room. He smiled back.

“I’m thinking of you, naturally!” he said. “And how lucky I am!”

T
UESDAY, THE SECOND WEEK

C
HAPTER
35

They had waited twenty-four hours for the enlarged photograph from the DVD to arrive. Now it lay on the conference room table.
It was worth it,
Thomas thought.

Thomas had drawn in the longitudes and latitudes and had reproduced Fredrik Winbergh’s markings from the sea chart.

Margit leaned over the finished product. It wasn’t bad. They could probably identify the boats that had been within range of the shot.

“This looks good,” she told Thomas. “Have you taken a course in blueprint drawing?”

Thomas grinned without interrupting his inspection of the photograph.

“If Winbergh is right, there are approximately twenty-eight boats within shooting range. I’m including Bjärring’s Storebro, which we already knew about,” he said.

“A golden triangle, you think?”

“Look over here,” Thomas said. “Even if we enlarge the area, to be on the safe side, we only have seven more boats to check. Thirty-five, that’s a reasonable number.”

Margit studied the layout more closely. The sea spread from the starting line. The closest island was far away.

“What are the odds the shot came from a cockpit bench?” Margit asked. She reached for the magnifying glass.

“What do you mean?”

Margit pointed to a motorboat with several people sitting in the open stern.

Thomas realized what she was thinking.

“Fairly small, I’d think.”

He walked around the table to look at the picture from another angle.

“If you want to shoot somebody without being discovered, you’d certainly pick a boat with a covered cabin,” he said.

Margit put down the magnifying glass and pointed to eight of the smaller boats in the picture.

“If my theory is correct, we can eliminate all open motorboats from the investigation.”

Thomas saw no objection to her reasoning. He walked around the table and back to Margit.

“That leaves us with twenty-seven boats,” he said.

“Twenty-seven. Well, then, how do we identify them?”

“Keep on doing what we’re doing. Look for clues.”

Thomas brought the magnifying glass as close to one of the boats as he could.

“You can see a logo on the hull of this one. We have to write down every identifiable characteristic and then try and track each boat down.”

He took out a marker and wrote a letter by each boat.

“Here they are,” he said. “Let’s identify them one at a time.”

“This will take days, if not weeks.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

All the evidence pointed to the shot coming from one of these boats. The report from the technical team showed no trace of a shot being fired on the
Emerald Gin
. Thomas knew they would find the killer on one of the boats in this enlargement.

But which one?

Margit took out her notebook and made a list matching Thomas’s alphabetical order.

“By the way, I talked to Winbergh again,” Margit said.

“Did he know anything about the sale of Juliander’s old boat?”

“He said it would not have sold for more than three to four million, and, in fact, Juliander only owned half the boat. He shared ownership with another guy in the RSYC.”

“So he didn’t have enough money to buy a new Swan on his own.”

“Right.”

“So where’d he get the money for it? Did Winbergh have any ideas?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“We have to look into that.”

That morning, Nora received another phone call from Monica Linde.

When Nora found out that Henrik had discussed selling the Brand house with his mother once again, she lost it.

“
Why
are you talking about the Brand house with your mother?” she yelled. “She needs to stay out of it! Do you hear me? It’s none of her
business
!”

They were on the second floor, near the bathroom.

Henrik seemed more surprised than anything. “Calm down,” he said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Can’t you keep your mother out of our lives? She’s driving me crazy!”

“Cut it out, Nora. Don’t get so hysterical.”

“I’m not hysterical. I’m just sick and tired of Monica always butting in where she has no right!”

Now Henrik got angry.

“As if your parents stay out of our business. They’re always dropping by! We only live two hundred yards away from them!”

“There’s a difference. They don’t interfere the way she does!”

“So there’s a good way to interfere and a bad way?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Yes, you did! My parents do things the wrong way, but yours are perfect. Thanks so much.”

His tone was crushing.

Henrik looked at her as if she were seven years old. Suddenly Nora didn’t have the energy to argue, even though she knew she was right. Her anger turned into resignation.

Why was Henrik so blind to his mother’s shortcomings? Why didn’t he ever take Nora’s side? Just once?

W
EDNESDAY, THE SECOND WEEK

C
HAPTER
36

The chair of the RSYC election committee, Anders Bergenkrantz, had just opened the meeting.

Tradition dictated that the previous chairman of the board should lead the process for selecting the new chairman. The meeting at the Saltsjöbaden clubhouse had been hastily called, though this surprised no one.

The meeting would be short. They had only one item on the agenda.

“We must nominate a new candidate as chairman of the board in time for our annual meeting.” Bergenkrantz stroked his chin, his face heavy with worry.

The only woman in the room watched him with a trace of sympathy in her eyes. She was intelligent and gifted and aware of the implications of their dilemma. They had little time for the normal nomination process, and the usual candidate, the board’s first vice chairman, was no longer available.

With a directness appreciated by the group, she got right to the point.

“Our present chairman is stepping down, and Oscar is dead.” She swept the room with her eyes. “We have only one possible candidate, the second vice chairman. We must ask Ingmar if he will take the job.”

A few members shifted in their chairs.

Ingmar seemed an unlikely successor to Hans Rosensjöö. He was a decent secretary and had been on the board for many years, but he did not have any leadership skills. Though he was well liked and sociable, with a large network of acquaintances, he lacked vision. And he certainly avoided all conflict. Ingmar had never set his foot down about anything. Certainly not in his marriage.

But right now, they had no other alternative.

They’d discreetly asked around to see if another senior board member might want the job, but everyone had declined just as discreetly. The chairmanship took a great deal of time and effort; the person who took it on would need months to prepare and even more time to spare.

A new candidate from outside the board would go against tradition. Nobody would even consider such a suggestion.

“Personally, I doubt that Ingmar is the right person, but who else do we have?” Anders Bergenkrantz said. “At any rate, Ingmar has been on the board for years. He knows all our traditions. He’s one of us.”

My predecessor never had to deal with these kinds of issues,
Bergenkrantz thought.

The female committee member raised her voice again.

“I do have one suggestion. I propose we ask Hans Rosensjöö to remain on the board in an advisory role for twelve more months in order to assist Ingmar. That will create continuity and alleviate some of our concerns at the same time.”

A clever solution,
Bergenkrantz thought.
Probably what we need in this bizarre situation.
He’d never heard of it happening in the history of their organization, but right now they didn’t have much choice.

The other members nodded in approval. At least nobody objected.

“Well, then,” he said. “We have reached a unanimous decision. The nominating committee’s recommendation is to choose Ingmar von Hahne as the next chairman of the Royal Swedish Yacht Club.”

The discussion was closed.

C
HAPTER
37

Strictly speaking, Martin Nyrén had no good reason to visit the marina in the middle of the week. Perhaps it was his longing for the much anticipated summer vacation that drove him—only one and a half weeks to go.

Or perhaps it was the lovely evening that inspired him to head to Bullandö, where his beloved Omega waited.

His sailboat, which brought him such great joy.

He found a spot in the nearly full parking lot by the dock. Most drivers were already out on the water. Many chose this popular marina due to its proximity to the open water. You could easily set sail, and you didn’t have to waste time navigating through the islands of the inner archipelago. Right now, the marina looked abandoned. The wooden piers were mostly empty. A few lone boats bobbed, waiting for their owners.

He intended to go out for only a few hours, hoping to enjoy the pleasant weather and the long summer evening. Many weeks remained before the darker nights of August arrived. He’d packed two beers and a box of sushi bought on the way from his office. It was all part of being out on the water.

He walked along the outer pontoon and saw his Omega tied between two Y-booms with the bow toward the edge of the dock. He’d christened her the
Aurora
, not a very original name, but it fit a sailor who liked to head out in the early morning. The goddess of dawn reminded him of the many peaceful hours when the archipelago had barely awakened and the morning breeze gently caressed the surface of the water.

He’d actually thought about spending the night anchored in a bay and then returning the next day. If he got up early, he could make it back to the office by nine thirty, not too late of an hour during the summer.

He noticed something wrong as he approached. The hull was crooked, and it looked as if the boat were sideways to the dock.

He sped up.

When he got to his boat, he first thought one of the lines had gotten loose. The bow banged against the concrete edge, and a few ugly marks marred the hull’s gel coat.

He swore silently. It would cost thousands to repair the outer hull, even if insurance covered part of it. And he was certain he’d tied her up securely when he’d left the boat last Sunday evening.

Then he came to a complete stop, unable to process what he saw. The entire forward end was painted black. It looked like someone had gone crazy with spray paint. On one side he could see the letter
F
, but then the rest of the word was painted over as if someone had emptied the whole can in a fit of rage.

He couldn’t hold back tears as he took in the damage.

All that horrible black smeared across the beautiful white hull. There were even black splotches on the wooden deck.

He sank to his knees and touched the dried paint. It reminded him of smeared excrement.

After a few minutes, he made his way to the harbor office. He needed to report what had happened and see if anyone had spotted who was behind this.

This might be some kind of prank, but it was not funny at all.