The Scent of Almonds: A Novella (8 page)

‘What do we do now?” she asked, again putting her hand over Harald’s.

‘We leave them alone for a while. Later, once we’re off this island, we’ll find some sort of solution. It’ll all work out.’

They drank their coffee in silence. There was nothing more to say.

Martin gave a start as another rumble of thunder sounded overhead. He’d always been afraid of thunder. It was embarrassing, now that he was a grown man, but there was something about the flash of lightning that illuminated everything with its horrible glare, and then the waiting … the waiting for the boom that he knew would follow. Silently he began counting after the lightning lit up the kitchen. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three … ‘Pow!’ Martin flinched. Bernard had sneaked up behind him and was now smiling at him with that nasty expression of his. ‘Sorry. Did I scare you?’ He laughed. The real thunder rumbled, sounding more distant.

‘Not at all,’ said Martin dismissively.

‘When’s lunch?’ asked Bernard, turning to Kerstin and Börje. He made the question sound as though he was speaking to servants.

‘In half an hour,’ replied Kerstin, before going back to her work preparing the food.

‘Good. That means we have time to talk.’ Bernard motioned to Martin, who reluctantly followed him out of the kitchen. No matter how unpleasant Martin found the man, he had to admit that Bernard did possess a great deal of authority. It would be hard not to obey Bernard Liljecrona.

‘What’s this about?’ asked Martin in an attempt to regain control.

Bernard cast a glance at Harald and Britten, who were sitting at the far end of the dining room, but he didn’t reply. With long strides he headed for the office, and for a moment Martin thought that Bernard was intending to sit down behind the desk and start interrogating him. Fortunately, he sat down in the visitor’s chair instead, giving Martin a challenging look.

Against his will, Martin found his curiosity piqued. He took his seat behind the desk and raised his eyebrows, signalling for Bernard to tell him what was on his mind.

‘You saw what just happened,’ said Bernard, his voice dry and matter-of-fact.

‘You mean the … fight between you and Matte?’ Martin wondered where this conversation was headed. He had his suspicions.

‘Yes. You saw how Matte attacked me. And it was more or less unprovoked.’

Martin questioned how ‘unprovoked’ it had really been, but he remained silent, waiting for Bernard to continue.

‘This is nothing new. Matte has had certain … problems.’ Bernard paused for a moment, then went on. ‘Harald and Britten have done their best to keep it under control, to hide it – and Ruben did his part, too. But the truth is, Matte has always been unstable. He’s even been locked up a few times … And, well … If I were looking for the most likely murderer in this group of people …’ He threw out his hands.

Martin sighed. He’d been hoping that Bernard would give him something more substantial. The fact that Matte had psychological problems was not news, and it did nothing to move the investigation forward.

‘Do you have anything more concrete to tell me?’ said Martin wearily.

‘What do you mean, “more concrete”? He tried to strangle me! What could be more concrete than that? It was attempted murder, goddamnit!’

‘I’d say that calling it “attempted murder” is going a bit far. And even if it were, there’s nothing to link this incident to Ruben’s death. Besides, everyone has said that Ruben and Matte were very close. So why would he want to kill him?’

Another crash of thunder. Bernard and Martin both flinched.

Bernard grunted. ‘You can talk all you want about motive, but who can understand the workings of a sick mind? The fact that they were so close just makes it more plausible. Don’t you agree?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Martin, though he couldn’t muster much enthusiasm.

‘Love can so easily turn to hate. An unstable person like Matte can easily start imagining things, and who knows what he might have been thinking about Grandpa.’

‘Hmm … Doesn’t sound very convincing, in my opinion,’ said Martin, shaking his head. ‘I’ve made a note of what you’ve told me, but I’ll need proof before I put Matte’s name at the top of the list of suspects.’

‘All right, but I’m thinking of filing a formal complaint as soon as we get off this island. He can’t attack me like that and get off scot-free.’ Bernard leaned forward to glare at Martin.

‘You’re fully within your rights to do that,’ he replied, standing up to indicate that the conversation was over.

Bernard’s response was drowned out by another loud clap of thunder, and this time it sounded much closer.

Lunch was eaten in silence. While Lisette had sullenly re-emerged from her room, Matte remained conspicuously absent. The food that Kerstin and Börje served was both tasty and well-prepared, yet no one seemed in the mood to enjoy it.

Martin wondered what Harald and Britten would say if they knew that Bernard had tried to pin the murder on their son. Not that he was about to tell them. He stole a glance at Lisette, who was seated next to him, her eyes obstinately fixed on her plate. She hadn’t exchanged a single word with him since she’d come downstairs, and he realized once more that they had passed the point where their relationship could be repaired. And that was fine with him. In the meantime, so long as they were stuck on the island, things were bound to be frosty between them.

He leaned towards Harald and Britten who sat across from him and said quietly, ‘Have you spoken to Matte?’

They both shook their heads.

‘No,’ said Britten after a glance at her husband. ‘We wanted to give him some time alone. He usually calms down after a while if he’s left in peace.’

‘Maybe we should go upstairs and look in on him,’ said Harald in a subdued voice.

‘No. Leave him be,’ said Britten, although she didn’t seem convinced. Harald didn’t insist, and everyone continued eating their lunch in strained silence. The only sound was the clinking of forks and knives on the china plates.

Martin felt panic growing inside him. He wanted desperately to get out of this building and away from this island. Above all, he wanted help with the investigation, the assistance of someone more experienced who could advise him on how to proceed and point out leads that he had missed. Right now he had absolutely no idea who had murdered the old man. He was no closer to solving the case than he’d been the day before, and he was beginning to seriously doubt his own competence.

‘I think I’ll take a little afternoon nap after lunch,’ said Harald, patting his paunch.

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ replied Martin, stifling a yawn. There was something about the oppressive mood in the hotel, combined with all the food and drink he’d consumed, that made him feel extremely tired. Even though he’d already taken an hour-long nap.

‘I’m going upstairs to lie down,’ he told Lisette as he got up from the table. She muttered a reply but still refused to look at him.

A short time later, as Martin was lying on the bed, he heard one door after another open and close. The other guests seemed to have decided to follow his example. The last thing he heard before sleep overcame him was the sound of rolling thunder outdoors.

Britten awoke with a strong feeling that something wasn’t right. She tried to shake off her uneasiness, telling herself it must be due to an unpleasant dream, but the feeling remained. She sat up and listened. All she could hear was Harald snoring next to her in the bed and the thunder outside. She’d never known such terrible weather. Every once in a while it looked as if the storm might abate, only for it to get worse. She thought it must have been the thunder that woke her, but she wasn’t sure. She sensed it was something else.

She lay down and tried to go back to sleep. But it was no use. She sat up again.

Harald made a snuffling noise and turned onto his side. When he was sound asleep no storm in the world, no matter how loud, was going to wake him. Britten swung her legs off the bed and set her feet on the floor. She was wearing stockings, but she could still feel how cold the floor was under the soles of her feet.

Worry about Matte suddenly struck her with such force that she almost felt ill. Her concern for her son was a constant in her life. It had started the moment he was born and had never ceased. What Lisette didn’t understand was that Britten felt just as worried for her as for Matte. And just as much love. But her feelings for her daughter had never been given full expression. Matte had required so much more attention than Lisette. And so much more effort.

Britten sighed. Then she stood up and put on her cardigan. She could hear nothing to indicate that anyone else was awake. It was almost eerily quiet.

Slowly she walked over to the door, not sure what she planned to do. Lisette had stretched out on the sofa in the library, and Britten didn’t want to wake her. She didn’t have the energy for any sort of discussion with her at the moment. Not when she was feeling so uneasy.

Out in the corridor she made up her mind to look in on Matte. If he was asleep, she would merely stroke his hair, as she’d done so often when he was a boy. If he was awake, she’d have a brief chat with him, just to make sure that he was all right.

Cautiously she pressed down the door handle to his room. Maybe she should have knocked first, but she was almost hoping to find him asleep. Britten wanted to sit on the edge of his bed and look at his face as he slept peacefully, to see how all the different faces that had come and gone over the years were mirrored in his adult face. Matte as a baby, as an inquisitive five-year-old, as an ever-curious ten-year-old, as a sulky teenager.

She pulled open the door and stepped inside. And screamed.

Vivi couldn’t sleep. She’d been lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for almost an hour. Gustav had dozed off in a matter of seconds, as usual. This was how things had always been. He fell asleep at once, while she lay awake for hours, staring into the dark. She hadn’t felt like taking a nap after lunch, but everyone else had disappeared, so she hadn’t had much choice.

Someone was out in the corridor. Vivi propped herself up on her elbows to listen more closely, and after a few seconds she heard a door open. The scream that followed didn’t sound human. It sounded like an animal howling with pain, and the shock made her heart pound in her chest.

‘What? What the hell?’ Gustav jolted awake and sat up to stare wide-eyed around the room. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked, more alert now.

‘I don’t know,’ Vivi told him, jumping out of bed to pull on her dressing gown, which she’d hung on the bedpost. The scream went on and on, rising and falling, broken intermittently by loud sobs.

Vivi opened the door and stepped out into the hall, followed closely by Gustav, clad only in an undershirt and boxer shorts. Doors were opening and everyone else emerged, looking equally dazed.

‘What’s happening?’ said Harald, heading towards them. At that moment he turned to look at Matte’s room and realized where the sound was coming from. He strode over to the door, yanked it open, and then staggered back. On the floor sat his wife with Matte’s head resting on her lap. She was rocking to and fro, screaming non-stop. Her lap was spattered with blood, as were her hands, which were holding Matte’s head. The blood was from a massive hole in his chest. At first Vivi couldn’t take her eyes off that hole and all the blood as she stood in the doorway behind Harald, who began to sway, mute with shock. Then Vivi shifted her gaze to Matte’s face. His eyes were open, and she heard rather than felt herself gasp. Matte was staring straight at her, and for a moment she thought he was alive. But then she realized that there was no sign of life in his eyes. Only emptiness and death.

Harald took a few steps into the room and fell to his knees next to his wife. He too began sobbing as he clumsily stroked Matte’s arm, as if to convince himself that this was really happening. He tried to put his arm around Britten, but she shook it off and continued to rock and utter shrieks that pierced them all to the core. Vivi shuddered, unable to take in what she was seeing.

Someone tried to push past her. It was Martin Molin.

‘What’s going on?’

The same question, asked for a third time, and then he too stopped in mid-stride. But he quickly regained his composure and dropped to his knees beside the dead man. There was no need to feel for a pulse. There could be no doubt that Matte was dead.

‘He’s been shot,’ Martin concluded, and it was only then that everyone understood what had caused the hole in Matte’s chest. Someone gasped for breath. It was Miranda, who had come to stand next to Vivi.

‘Did anyone hear the gunshot?’ asked Martin. No one said a word. But several people shook their head in reply.

‘How is that possible?’ Vivi heard herself say. ‘Why wouldn’t we have heard the shot?’

‘Because of the thunder,’ Miranda told her. ‘The thunder must have drowned out the sound.’

Martin nodded. ‘That sounds plausible. If the shot was fired at the same instant as a loud clap of thunder, it could have masked the noise.’

‘Was it a pistol?’ Miranda asked.

Vivi could feel the young woman shaking as they stood there, shoulder to shoulder. She moved away a few centimetres so they were no longer touching and pulled her robe tighter around her body. Her secret hammered inside of her. She didn’t dare look at Miranda.

Martin got up and began searching the room. He lifted the covers and then bent down to peer under the bed, but found nothing. He straightened up and went over to check inside the fireplace, but there were only charred pieces of wood. Nowhere did he see a gun.

‘The murderer must have taken it,’ he said at last. ‘It’s not here in the room, at any rate.’ Then he turned to the others. ‘I want everybody to keep out of this room.’

Those who were standing in the doorway took a step back. Harald and Britten stayed where they were, sitting on the floor. Britten was now whimpering, and the sound was almost more heart-rending than her screams had been.

Martin squatted down next to Britten and spoke to her in a calm, clear voice, as if talking to a child.