Closed Circles (Sandhamn Murders Book 2) (6 page)

C
HAPTER
11

Cognac spilled slowly from the heavy Martell bottle into the crystal glass. Martin Nyrén placed the bottle back in the bar cabinet. After a day filled with telephone calls to RSYC colleagues and acquaintances, he deserved a strong drink.

As the head of the Facilities Committee, it was his job to call each member of the committee to inform them of Oscar Juliander’s death. Thanks to the media, the news did not come as a surprise. Still, a personal call was good form.

Martin Nyrén shivered.
What kind of sick mind would dream up something like this? Who would shoot someone to death in his happiest moment?

Now he regretted not taking his vacation on July 1, like most of his colleagues. He’d thought it would be pleasant to remain a few more weeks after the tumult had quieted down. Plus, it was always best to have someone from the board on hand until the middle of July. Not much happened at the National Board of Trade during the summer, but you never knew . . .

At any rate, it was now too late.

His sailboat, a stylish Omega 36 with a white hull, waited for him at Bullandö Marina. The boat was the apple of his eye, and he would be able to get it soon. He would sail it alone if no friends or relatives wanted to keep him company.

He took a hefty swig of cognac. The warm amber liquid spread through his body, and he started to relax.

Holding the cognac, he walked into his home office—more of an alcove by the bedroom—and turned on his computer. He’d purchased this three-room apartment in the Birkastaden District in the early nineties, and he liked it. Real-estate prices had been low then, so even a government bureaucrat could afford to buy an apartment in the center of the capital.

He swiveled the glass between his hands as he thought about Juliander. He didn’t have much to do with Oscar, except for the board meetings, of course. The Facilities Committee was not as glamorous as Juliander’s Offshore Racing Committee.

Nyrén’s duties involved managing the club’s various properties and making sure they were properly kept up. His committee oversaw the maintenance of the docks and the buildings. It wasn’t very exciting work, but it suited him.

The computer screen blinked on, and Martin Nyrén made a few quick keystrokes to check his mail. As a government employee, he was careful to not receive private e-mail at work, since all incoming mail was considered an official document. Because of his relationship with Indi, he’d installed an extra security screen on his private computer.

He took a quick glance at his in-box. He found nothing but ads, except for a message from his brother wondering when they’d get together for a week of sailing. He also read an official memo from the government office telling employees about Oscar’s death.

He shivered as he thought about the gunshot.

Dreadful.

He scrolled down the list of messages. Nothing from Indi today either. Most likely the family was in the country. Not so easy to send a message to a secret lover, Nyrén realized. Still, he was disappointed. Even a short message would please him. He considered sending a text message, but it was late and a text might draw too much attention. Someone else might see it. Someone who had to be kept in the dark. No matter what.

That had been the one condition of the affair. Nonnegotiable.

If their love were revealed, the consequences would be unimaginable. Indi was vigilant. The family must not be affected. The children came first.

Martin turned off his computer and sighed. He hated these weeks of vacation when everyone else spent time with relatives and friends. Vacation meant a long string of barbecues no one truly wanted to attend. Half of the couples at these events politely lifted their glasses to one another while thinking about someone they were seeing on the side.

After observing all these seemingly happy couples, he was glad he’d never married. He’d rather be single for the rest of his life than live a lie. It was better to wait for an honest e-mail than to participate in a hypocritical marriage.

He downed his cognac and went to pour himself another glass.

T
UESDAY, THE FIRST WEEK

C
HAPTER
12

As soon as his eyes opened, Thomas was wide awake. He lay on the edge of the double bed that dominated the corner of Carina’s small studio apartment in Jarlaberg, not far from the Nacka police station.

Carina was rolled up in a tight ball on the left side of the bed. Her dark hair covered half of her face. Her dimples were invisible when she slept. She looked more like a teenager than a twenty-five-year-old woman.

They were fourteen years apart in age, a gap that seemed much greater at times. The youth and enthusiasm that had first drawn him to her now made him feel old. He was closer to forty than to thirty. Before long, he’d be middle aged.

Looking back, he was no longer sure how this relationship with Carina Persson, the boss’s daughter, had begun. He hadn’t chased her. In fact she wasn’t really his type, if he had any type at all.

His ex-wife, Pernilla, had been tall and thin like him. They’d met at a pub one evening while he was out with some friends from the police academy. They’d started hanging out after that. She’d studied at Berghs School of Communication and then taken a job as a project leader at an advertising firm. They’d finished their studies at the same time. They’d moved in together shortly after that and gotten married. The only thing missing had been a child.

They’d tried for years to conceive, deciding finally to join the wait for artificial insemination. Before they’d reached their turn in line, the miracle had happened.

He remembered the magical moment when Pernilla had held a stick with two blue lines in her shaking hand. It had seemed so incomprehensible. Finally, finally—a small life was taking shape in her womb.

Then the catastrophe. They couldn’t deal with it. Everything they’d waited for, everything they’d hoped for—all gone. If Emily hadn’t died from SIDS, perhaps they’d still be married, but grief and guilt had destroyed their marriage. They’d divorced almost two years ago.

For a long time, he couldn’t look at another woman. His long-time friend Nora kept trying to match him up with various single friends, but he had no interest. He felt only indifference.

Carina was always at the police station. She’d had to put in a massive amount of overtime during their murder investigation last summer. She never complained, even when the days were long. She’d worked through endless lists and compilations in their hunt for information.

One day she’d invited him to lunch. After a few lunches, she’d suggested dinner. After that, they’d gone to the movies. One thing led to another, and now he slept at her place several days a week.

Thomas looked over at her.

She didn’t resemble her fat father in the least. She didn’t have his bad moods either. She was cute as a button, petite with dark hair and a nice figure.

Thomas insisted they keep their relationship quiet at the station. He didn’t want his colleagues to know, and certainly not her parents. Carina had gone along with this so far, but she was beginning to question the secrecy. She planned to leave her job at the station soon. Then they would no longer be colleagues.

He felt like an alien in her apartment. It was a feminine place with fluffy, embroidered pillows scattered about and a light-blue sofa, a color he’d never have chosen. It looked more like a girl’s bedroom than an adult’s apartment.

What was he doing here with a woman who was so much younger—not just in body but also in soul?

He didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or flattered that a woman her age wanted him. Perhaps he was unwilling to face the situation—the thrill of infatuation was fading, leaving no deeper feelings behind.

Nora might have understood, but she’d had so much to think about the last year. She’d always known what he felt before he did, like a little sister.

This special friendship with Nora had existed for a long time. Pernilla had never questioned it, unlike Nora’s husband, Henrik. But Thomas and Henrik had never been close.

From the start, Thomas had seen Henrik as a spoiled, upper-class medical student. But Nora had fallen in love with him, and Henrik had reined in his worst behavior. Later, Thomas had figured out how to handle Henrik, but they’d never been comfortable around each other. These days, he often met Nora alone, or together with Simon, Nora’s youngest boy. Simon was also his godson, and Thomas was very fond of him.

Thomas glanced at his alarm clock. It would be twenty minutes before it went off, but it seemed already bright as midday outside. Carina’s white curtains let in more light than they kept out.

As Thomas rolled onto his back, his thoughts turned to the investigation. Obviously Oscar Juliander was a strong, virile man who liked the company of women. This meant that both his wife and his lovers had reason to kill him. Or why not some cuckolded husband? Jealousy was a powerful motive.

On the other hand, why would a wife get rid of the husband who provided everything for her? Apparently she’d put up with his extramarital affairs for years, so why would she take such drastic revenge on this particular day?

Regardless, they needed to talk to his wife as soon as possible. Thomas hoped she’d recovered enough to speak with them. Last Sunday, in Sandhamn, she’d not been capable of dealing with anything, and her doctor had not allowed them to interview her.

Thomas thought about the client list the law firm had provided. They’d handled hundreds of bankruptcies in the past few years. Juliander must have made a fortune. How he’d found the time to juggle work, women, and sailing was another question.

Thomas decided he’d assign Carina to check Juliander’s bank accounts. Money often revealed motive. He wondered if lawyers were generally honest, or if they simply hid illegal funds better since they knew how to work the system.

Thomas glanced at his alarm clock again. Time to get out of bed and take a shower. First on today’s list: a visit to the Kalling law firm.

C
HAPTER
13

Nora stared at her cell phone. The message in her voice mail was painfully clear, yet she didn’t want to admit what it meant. The man from the Outer Islands Real Estate Agency said he would be in Sandhamn the next day to appraise the property. Would someone be there to meet him on the steamboat landing?

The property had to be the Brand house! Henrik must have gone behind her back and contacted an agent without speaking to her first. She didn’t want to believe that, but who else could have arranged such a meeting?

Nora sank into her wicker chair on the glass-enclosed veranda. The Mårbacka geraniums crowded the windowsill, though the pots were dry. The sun had shined on them all morning, and they needed watering.

How could Henrik do such a thing?

She let her gaze drift out the windows toward the Brand house. The building towered over theirs, standing on the hill just a stone’s throw away. She could almost smell the roses growing along the outer wall. Aunt Signe had loved those roses like children.

Last fall, Nora had declined a dream job in Malmö as the bank’s regional lawyer. Henrik did not want to leave Stockholm.

After what she’d been through last summer, it hadn’t been difficult to refuse the offer. She’d felt fragile and depressed. Henrik had even urged her to keep her old job at the bank’s central law office. “You’re not up to a big change right now,” he’d said. “You need rest first.”

As she slowly began to regain her balance during the winter, she wondered why Henrik assumed his job was more important and that the family should remain in Stockholm. Couldn’t he follow her for once? Why was there so little room for her own ambitions?

If Henrik had been offered an exciting position in another city, moving vans would be pulling up to the door.

Declining the job had left a thorn inside her that wouldn’t go away. It pricked at her. No matter how much she tried to reason with herself, neither facts nor logic eased her discontent. It was difficult to accept remaining at the same job with the same overbearing, incompetent boss—a constant reminder why the job offer in Malmö had made her so happy.

She stood up and plucked a few yellowing leaves from the geraniums. She couldn’t avoid confronting Henrik about this message. She already dreaded asking the question.

She went into the kitchen to prepare lunch for the boys. Swedish cultured sour milk, cornflakes, and cheese sandwiches. She didn’t have the energy to make anything else. Sometimes, it seemed that summer vacation was nothing more than a food preparation marathon. Between making breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks, there was not much time left for her to enjoy vacation.

As usual, Henrik was down at the docks working on his boat, a six-meter class that he raced at every opportunity during the summer. It would be hours before he’d be home.

Nora decided to bring up the question in a quiet moment. They’d already fought a lot this past winter, and she had no desire to start their vacation with another quarrel. She would be neutral, not aggressive. There must be a reasonable explanation. Henrik deserved the chance to explain before she accused him of deception.

She put the thought out of her mind for the moment and walked outside to call the boys in for lunch.

C
HAPTER
14

The entrance door to the fin-de-siècle building at the center of Norrmalm Square opened more easily than Thomas had expected.

The door squeaked a bit as it opened. On the wall inside, a brass plaque informed Thomas and Margit that the Kalling law firm had offices on all floors, but the reception was on the third floor. A red carpet led to the elevator.

From behind an expensive dark-wood reception desk, a cute girl in a modest white blouse and blue skirt greeted them. She asked how she could help them. They explained their business, and a few minutes later a well-dressed woman in her fifties approached them.

“Mr. Hallén, our managing partner, can see you now,” she said. “Please follow me.”

She led them through the hallway to a conference room with a large mahogany table. In the middle sat a row of sparkling waters in several flavors and a tray with coffee cups in blue-and-white Danish porcelain next to a plate of cookies and a bowl of expensive dark chocolate.

“Are they inviting us for coffee?” Margit whispered to Thomas.

The middle-aged man who entered the room matched every one of their prejudices about lawyers.

He wore a dark custom-made suit with thin chalk-white stripes. His breast pocket held a light-blue silk handkerchief that matched his tie, and his white shirt had been perfectly pressed.

“What a terrible incident,” Ivar Hallén said. He shook hands with Thomas and Margit. “Absolutely dreadful. Oscar was an esteemed colleague here in our firm. He took our big cases. He was much in demand and generated substantial business.” He gestured to them to take a seat.

“Did Juliander have any conflicts with any clients?” asked Thomas.

Hallén turned the question over in his mind.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said. “He’s a bankruptcy lawyer, so there is little chance of conflict with clients. The company is already insolvent, if you get my drift. The bankruptcy administrator is a neutral party called in once bankruptcy has become a reality.”

“Was Oscar Juliander popular here at the firm?” asked Margit.

Hallén took his time before answering. He pressed his palms together and looked down at the table before he began to speak.

“Popular is probably not the right word. He was respected and valued as a lawyer. Still, he was a bit of a prima donna. He was always happy in the spotlight, no matter what the occasion.”

The lawyer fell silent for a moment before continuing.

“Some people thought he took credit for himself at the expense of the firm. He put in many hours and ruled the associates with an iron fist. His team was always the first in the office and the last to leave.”

“So he earned a great deal of money,” Margit said.

“Yes, he brought in the largest fees.”

“How do you share the profits here?” Thomas asked.

“We have a true partnership.”

“What does that mean?”

“We share everything equally. Once all bills are settled, the profits are split among the partners.”

“Do the partners bring in the same income?” asked Margit.

“Not at all,” Hallén said. “There’s a great deal of difference in the amounts each partner makes.”

“If that’s the case, why do you have an even split?”

Hallén shrugged.

“That’s a good question. The point of a true partnership is that lawyers don’t compete for clients so that they can maximize their personal profit. Instead, the client gets the partner best suited for his case.”

“This wasn’t to Juliander’s advantage?”

“That’s correct.” Hallén took a sip of coffee from one of the blue-and-white cups before he continued. “Oscar was not pleased with our system. To be honest, he strongly objected—he was the one who brought in the most money, so he wanted the greatest share of the profits.”

“What did the other partners think?” asked Margit.

Hallén gazed at a point on the wall above Margit’s head. A few seconds passed before he continued.

“Conflict was in the air. Oscar threatened to leave our firm if he didn’t get his way.”

“How much money are we talking about?” asked Thomas.

“Oscar’s income would have increased by several million kronor.”

Margit knew it was common for people to want more money. But that was not the most important issue here.

“Was this a major problem?” she asked. “Important enough for someone to want to kill Oscar Juliander?”

Hallén twisted in his chair. Experienced lawyer that he was, he appeared to regret sharing this information. All at once, he no longer wanted to talk.

“I would hardly call it a problem, more like a disagreement among the partners. By no means would it have led to violence. Absolutely not.” He shook his head emphatically.

Thomas glanced at Margit as if to indicate it was time to finish this conversation.

“We would like to speak to Oscar Juliander’s secretary, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said.

“Absolutely. Not a problem. Please stay here, and I’ll bring her to you.”

Hallén walked to an intercom and spoke a few short sentences, and then he turned to Thomas and Margit.

“Eva will be right here. Oscar’s secretary’s full name is Eva Timell,” he added. “She’s worked for him for as long as I can remember.”

He’d barely finished when someone knocked on the door.

A dark-haired woman in a dark-blue dress and trim pumps entered. She wore a discreet pearl necklace but no wedding ring. Her eyes were red rimmed, and she held a crumpled handkerchief in her hand, as if she’d been crying.

“I’ll leave you now,” Hallén said. He shook their hands. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything else. The Kalling firm will do its utmost to help your investigation. The person who killed Oscar Juliander must not escape justice.”

Eva Timell sat silently at the other end of the table and looked at Thomas and Margit.

“How long did you work for Oscar Juliander?” Margit asked.

“For more than twenty years,” Eva said. “I started with the firm just as he made partner, near the end of the eighties.”

She tried to hide a sob but was not successful.

“Please excuse me,” she said. “I’m all worn out. The phones have been ringing off the hook. Everyone wants to know what happened and how his cases will be handled. And all his colleagues are in shock.”

“How much did you know about Juliander’s caseload?” asked Thomas.

Eva Timell straightened up.

“I was aware of everything Oscar did,” she said.

“Can you describe this a bit more?” asked Margit.

“Oscar often said he’d never make it through the day without me. I had access to his e-mail and correspondence. Not to mention his cell phone, which he was always forgetting.”

“You were his right-hand man, so to speak,” Thomas said.

“I was the one who kept his life in order, both at work and in private.”

“In private?” Margit asked.

“Oscar had too much to do to keep up with his private affairs. He was extremely busy.”

“So you helped him out?”

“Yes, of course, whenever necessary. I bought birthday presents, sent flowers, accepted invitations. You know,” she said, with a look at Margit.

Margit had no idea.
I certainly don’t have anyone helping me buy birthday presents or sending flowers,
she thought.

“Did your boss have conflicts with anyone?” asked Thomas.

Eva Timell considered the question. Then she shook her head.

“Not that I know of. Oscar was a highly respected lawyer. You probably know he was on the board of the Swedish Bar Association.”

“If he had any enemies, you would have known,” Thomas stated.

Eva Timell nodded. “Oscar would have told me.”

Margit walked over to the window. Norrmalm Square spread out before her, alive with tourists and office workers walking among the flower shops and cafés. In one corner of the square, she saw an ice cream shop with a long line.

She turned back to the room and looked at Eva Timell.

“How was his marriage? Did you know his wife?”

Eva’s eyes wavered.

“His marriage . . .” She stopped speaking, as if carefully choosing what she wanted to say.

“Were they happily married?” Margit asked.

Eva Timell sighed and began to speak again.

“Not exactly. It had been quite some time since their marriage was a happy one. But it is possible”—she drew out her words—“that they weren’t altogether unhappy either.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Thomas.

Eva Timell grimaced and then looked at him.

“He was a successful lawyer, and she was a housewife who took care of the children. They had a huge house in Saltsjöbaden and a summerhouse on Ingarö. As long as he could come and go as he pleased, she enjoyed the social status and a standard of living that many would envy. Sylvia wanted for nothing. They had an agreement, you could say. A personal contract.”

“Did he see anyone outside of his marriage?” asked Margit.

The corners of Eva’s mouth lifted slightly, as if the question was funny.

“Did he see anyone? Of course he did. Quite a few, in fact.”

“Are you sure?” asked Margit.

“I sent flowers to various women on his behalf. You surely can’t believe that a man like him would be satisfied with one woman for thirty years?”

“But how did he get away with it?” asked Margit. An image of her own spouse went through her mind. Bertil spent most of his evenings in front of the television. They’d been married for twenty years.

Eva Timell looked at Margit as if she found the question completely naïve.

“Oscar Juliander was rarely home during the week and sometimes not even on the weekends. How could his wife have known if he were in an important meeting at work, having a board meeting with the RSYC, or meeting up with his mistress? What do you think he was doing whenever he was out of town on business trips—watching CNN?”

Eva smiled and shook her head.

“He also raced extensively. Morals go out the window when you make it back to port. Successful men are very attractive, especially if they have gravitas and a fat wallet.”

She looked at her intertwined fingers.

“But he was loyal to Sylvia, as far as I know. He never wanted to embarrass her. He was always very discreet.”

“With your help.”

Margit regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, but she couldn’t help herself.

Eva Timell sank back into her chair. The silence in the room became oppressive. Finally she said, “Oscar was my employer. I made a point of being as effective and loyal as possible.”

“Would you please make a list of the women you know your employer had been involved with?” Thomas asked.

He handed her his card.

“We will likely be back with more questions. If you think of anything before then, we’d be grateful if you contacted us.”

Eva Timell nodded and looked at Thomas with sorrow in her eyes.

“I still can’t believe he’s dead,” she whispered. Then she got up and walked out the door.