“It’s not that they don’t taste nice,” he had said, gazing at her with those blue eyes, “it’s just that they’re not as nice as Auntie Signe’s. But I still love you, Mommy,” he had said with a wet kiss.
Picking up her cup, she opened the first newspaper and began to read. Two double-page spreads were devoted to the murder. There was an article about the unfortunate cleaner who had found the body and an almost frenzied interview that went into minute detail. The appearance of the half-naked body when it was discovered was greedily described, along with the reaction of the cleaner. They had also included speculation by the manager on the victim’s life and why she had come to Sandhamn.
They had dug out an old photograph from Kicki Berggren’s driver’s license, in which she stared straight into the camera with a stiff expression and a dated hairstyle. Nora wondered why everyone looked so terrible in driver’s license photos.
There was also a fact box giving information about the increase in violent crimes of a sexual nature in Sweden and information on attacks that had taken place in other parts of the country in recent months. The newspaper hinted that the police were unable to guarantee the safety of women. A politician had been interviewed and made authoritative statements about the importance of women being able to feel safe everywhere, particularly in the summer.
Nora was astonished by the description of Sandhamn. There was no way this could be the place where she had spent every summer since she was a child. Suddenly her beloved island had morphed into a locale for danger, for violence against women.
The second newspaper concentrated on the link to the Royal Swedish Yacht Club and all the famous sailing competitions that took place around Sandhamn.
“King Celebrates at Murder Scene,” the headline screamed. A picture of His Majesty on board a boat in front of the Yacht Club restaurant dominated an entire page. The article gave a detailed account of various regattas with royal connections, before eventually moving on to a description of the crime itself.
Many of the Yacht Club’s board members were well-known public figures; the newspaper had somehow managed to obtain a meaningless comment from several of them. They all expressed serious concern about what had happened.
All men, of course.
Nora sat there with the newspaper open in front of her. She thought about the connection between the deaths of Kicki Berggren and her cousin. Why would someone kill the two of them, and why on Sandhamn? She remembered the net needle Thomas had mentioned; it had been marked with the initials GA.
On an impulse she went into the kitchen and found the Sandhamn telephone book; it was produced by the Friends of Sandhamn and distributed only to its members. She started to go through the last names beginning with A. There were approximately thirty, and she carefully checked each one to see if anyone had a first name beginning with G. Then she did the same with those whose last names began with G. There were slightly fewer of these, and she searched for people whose first names began with A.
After a while she had a list of people whose initials were either GA or AG: a total of fifty-four people had a last name involving G or A.
She looked at the list. She knew many of them, or at least she knew of them. Sandhamn wasn’t that big. As soon as she saw Thomas again, she would give him the list. He probably hadn’t realized there was a special phone book that only covered Sandhamn.
Nora went back to the papers and their speculations. She was so absorbed in one of the articles that she didn’t hear Henrik’s footsteps when he came back from his run. She gave a start as he sat down opposite her.
“Are you reading that garbage?”
“I couldn’t help it. It’s so awful.” She held out one of the papers so he could look. “It’s like reading about a different world.”
Henrik leaned forward and studied the articles. He shook his head. His T-shirt was striped with sweat, and his dark hair was damp. He wiped his forehead with the towel draped around his neck, then he pulled off his T-shirt and hung it over the white fence to dry.
“I ran past the Mission House. The whole place is cordoned off with blue-and-white police tape. They’ve closed it down until further notice. Not the best timing in the middle of the tourist season. On the other hand, perhaps we won’t get so many tourists if this continues. I imagine people will decide to go somewhere else. I mean, what would you do if you didn’t already live here?”
Henrik carried on flipping through one of the papers. He whistled when he recognized several of the board members from the Yacht Club.
“The Divers is full of reporters, by the way. Cameras everywhere you turn. Perfect for anyone who wants to get their face on TV.”
He got up and turned to go inside for a shower. Nora stopped him. She had been thinking about the phone call from the bank all day and wondering when to mention it to him. She really wanted to know what he thought; hopefully he would be happy for her, in spite of everything.
“Hang on. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Nora told him about her conversation with the HR director and the post they had discussed.
“It sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Imagine working in Malmö! And the terms sound great.”
Henrik looked at her with total incomprehension. The towel was still around his neck, catching the drops of sweat trickling down from his forehead. “But we can’t move to Malmö,” he said. “I mean, I work in Stockholm.”
Nora smiled. “Yes, but you can get another job in Malmö,” she said. “There are lots of good hospitals in the Öresund area. Besides, it’s a terrific opportunity for me.”
“But our life is here. Surely you can’t be thinking of uprooting the entire family?”
He moved toward the house. She recognized the furrow in his brow. It always appeared when he was annoyed.
“We can talk about this later. I need a shower. The competition starts tomorrow, so I’m going down to the harbor to go over a few things with the crew.”
Nora felt terribly disappointed. And upset. She had thought he would sit down and talk things over with her—instead he had simply walked away.
They had lived in Visby for several years because of his job. At the time there had been no question of anything other than finding a solution that worked for both of them. Now she had been offered her dream job, and he didn’t even seem to want to discuss it.
It wasn’t fair.
CHAPTER 23
The teenage couple was fully occupied with exploring each other’s bodies. They had slipped away behind the lifeboats on the boat deck, and the boy’s hand had found its way beneath the girl’s white top. Her hands were caressing his back, and a subdued giggle was the only thing that gave away their presence.
The sea air was making the girl’s nut-brown hair curl; it was cut in a modern style that framed her tanned face. She was still perspiring after energetically dancing at the club.
“Slow down, Robin,” she said into his hair. “What if someone comes?”
The pink cocktails she had downed during the course of the evening were beginning to make her feel tipsy. She swayed slightly, and the words didn’t come out all that clearly.