Closed Circles (Sandhamn Murders Book 2) (27 page)

C
HAPTER
78

“Am I under arrest?”

Ingmar von Hahne’s question surprised Thomas. Though it was normal under the circumstances, he hadn’t expected the man to be so direct.

“No, we just need to ask you some additional questions.”

“I want a lawyer anyway.”

Margit and Thomas exchanged looks. Waiting for a lawyer would cost them time and also limit what they could ask.

“Do you have anyone specific to call?” Thomas asked.

Ingmar von Hahne looked unsure of himself, as if he’d expected more resistance.

“You mean I can choose?”

“Absolutely.” Thomas kept his expression neutral.

Von Hahne punched a number into his phone. A few minutes later, he turned it off.

“Nobody picked up.”

“You can decide how we proceed from here,” Margit said.

The man seemed indecisive. He looked at his watch.

“Are you in a hurry?” Thomas asked.

“No. Yes. Well, I have a meeting in an hour.”

“You decide,” Margit said again.

“You might as well ask your questions, then,” von Hahne said.

He appeared much more collected than the last time they’d seen him. His hair was neatly combed, and he wore a dark-blue club blazer with the RSYC logo on the right lapel. His signet ring broadcast his nobility to the world.

Von Hahne’s elegant appearance irritated Thomas.
You can’t touch me
is the message he sent.
People like us always land on our feet, no matter what you try. I’m a better kind of person than you.

How had aristocratic privilege so quickly replaced the panic they’d seen from von Hahne earlier? A strong urge to crack the art dealer’s elegant façade gripped Thomas.

“Why did Martin Nyrén send you regular text messages?”

“We’re both members of the RSYC Board. As you know, I’m the secretary there.”

“There were a great many . . .”

“We have many things to discuss.” The reply was quick.

“Do you text all the members of the board?”

“When it’s needed.”

“Did you communicate with Oscar Juliander by text message as well?”

“If it was necessary.”

“How often?”

“Now and then.”

“Would you mind if we looked at those texts?”

Ingmar von Hahne hesitated a moment.

“I’m sorry. I erased them. I don’t save those kinds of routine messages.”

“Have you ever been to Martin Nyrén’s home?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I once went to give him some paperwork.”

“You never had reason to go there again?”

“I must have had a drink or two with him over the years.”

“But you have storage space across the street. Didn’t you ever meet for lunch or something?” Margit asked.

“It’s possible.”

Von Hahne hid behind short sentences, Thomas thought. He kept answers brief to avoid long, convoluted sentences that might contradict each other.

He was on guard. That was obvious.

“You must realize you are in a difficult position,” Thomas said. “Martin Nyrén’s murderer shot him from the window of your rented room. According to our list of telephone calls, the two of you were in constant contact.”

“I had nothing to do with Martin’s murder.”

Ingmar von Hahne sounded bitter. But he remained composed. Thomas held back and let Margit try a new tactic.

“Do you have any theories about why both Martin Nyrén and Oscar Juliander are dead?”

“No.”

“But you must have thought about it.”

“No.”

“Were you enemies?”

“No.”

“So you never argued with Martin Nyrén?”

“No.”

“Are you positive about that?”

“Yes. I said no.”

A muscle twitched in his temple. Von Hahne’s calm was starting to break.

“You might be next,” Margit said. “Especially if you don’t help us.”

“I’ve thought about that.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

Ingmar von Hahne looked back at them with a flash of emotion in his eyes that Thomas could not place. Resignation, or perhaps weariness. As if he found their questions tiring rather than threatening and could hardly make himself care anymore.

“Would you give us your fingerprints?” asked Thomas.

“Do I have to?”

“We believe it could be valuable in our investigation.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Finally Ingmar von Hahne said, “I would like to speak to my lawyer before I answer any more questions.”

C
HAPTER
79

Nora grabbed the keys and walked with determination to the Brand house.

When she saw the beautiful roses covering the southern wall, she almost teared up. Signe cared about her roses as if they were animate beings. But no matter how much Nora tried, she did not have Signe’s green thumb. If she hadn’t called in one of Sandhamn’s own rose experts for help, who knew what would have happened to this beautiful climber?

She unlocked the front door and went to the old veranda facing the sea. She sat in one of the tidy wicker armchairs and drew her legs up beneath her. She smiled at the sound of a moped driving by. She could hear the motor through the transom windows.

How would it feel to live here?

Nora closed her eyes and tried to imagine it. Each boy would have his own room upstairs. They would have to make do with the bathroom, even though it needed renovation. The kitchen was old-fashioned but functional. Some color and a new stove would work wonders. Perhaps she’d even be able to afford a dishwasher.

The beautiful furniture in the dining room would stay. So would the wicker furniture on the veranda, and Signe’s white lace curtains. The room next to the dining room could become a TV room. And she could probably wallpaper the guest bathroom herself—small flowers in light gold, like a summer meadow.

Not exactly luxurious renovations, but they would do.

She opened her eyes and gazed across the water where gray clouds loomed over the horizon.

From the corner of her eye, she could see a neighbor watering his pots of geraniums.

So many times she’d sat right here chatting with Signe while her loyal Kajsa had slept on the striped rag rug. They’d drunk so many cups of coffee together from Signe’s brown Höganäs mugs.

I wonder what Signe was thinking that last evening?
Nora wondered. The thought made her sad.
Did she have regrets, or did she feel she was doing the right thing? As if taking her own life could make up for her past actions?

Nora never imagined she would miss Signe so much. But when she returned to Sandhamn and was standing in front of this silent, empty house, her grief nearly took her breath away.

She’d been close to Signe ever since she was a little girl. She couldn’t fathom not seeing her again. Signe, who’d listened and comforted her through all kinds of problems, from a torn Optimist sail to a lost teenage love.

Aunt Signe, who had knitted tiny blue socks for both Adam and Simon. Summer after summer, she’d baked raspberry muffins for the boys.

Nora’s eyes filled as she recalled how thoughtful Signe was, even as she contemplated her own death. She suddenly understood how important it was to respect Signe’s last wish.

She made her decision.

Why did he never leave her?

He asked himself that question many times. Turned it over and over in his mind. Analyzed the consequences.

The children. It always came back to the children.

In spite of the fact that their mother had driven a wedge between them, he could not leave his children. He would not force them through a divorce with all the gossip, the loose talk, the condemning looks, and the well-intended comments from friends and acquaintances.

He wasn’t an ideal husband. Far from it. Over the years, he’d had affairs. But he’d always been discreet about them. Always discreet.

His wife probably did the same.

At least that wouldn’t have surprised him. They hadn’t been sexual with each other for so long. She’d likely gone elsewhere to fulfill her needs, but she would also be discreet and follow the unspoken rules.

Truth be told, he didn’t care one way or another about her affairs.

With his newest love, however, everything had been different. It brought out something in him, something he’d thought long dead. He felt young and alive again, filled with energy and enthusiasm. He began to hope for another kind of life.

Perhaps he could have a second chance. Should he leave her?

T
HURSDAY, THE FIFTH WEEK

C
HAPTER
80

The run-through had to be short. It was past five, and everyone in the room looked exhausted.

It had been a hectic week with no solution in sight. Two murders and no murderer in custody. The situation was stressful, to say the least.

Persson cleared his throat and silence fell, stifling small talk.

Thomas played with his pen, unable to concentrate.
Martin Nyrén.
He scribbled the name over and over.
Oscar Juliander. General Mind.
He soon filled his entire page.

“So what do we do with von Hahne?” asked Persson.

Margit sighed deeply.

“Not enough to hold him on yet,” she said. “And now he’s giving us the cold shoulder. He won’t volunteer anything.”

“Any technical evidence?”

“We confronted him with the phone lists, and he’s provided a logical explanation for the calls and messages. The only light at the end of the tunnel now is gaining access to Nyrén’s computer. That should happen tomorrow. That could lead to something.”

“What about Nyrén’s phone? Did it get fixed?”

“No. The fall broke it completely. It’s dead.”

Thomas drew in a breath. So simple and yet so hard to see. He started writing again.

Persson gave him an irritated look. “Are you too busy to listen to what we’re saying?” he said to Thomas. “Or perhaps you have something to share?”

Thomas looked up.

“It’s an anagram.”

“What?” Persson said.

“What do you have?” Margit asked him abruptly.

“The name of the Swan. It’s an anagram. He’s rearranged the letters. If you had any doubt he got the money from that American company, put your minds at ease.” Thomas started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Margit sounded impatient.

“
Emerald Gin
, General Mind. The name of Juliander’s boat was an anagram! He christened his boat after the company that financed it!”

He now chuckled so hard he could barely speak. “What a jokester! What a sense of humor!”

Little by little, the laughter spread around the room. Even the prosecutor smiled.

The laughter brought relief and lightened everyone’s mood.

“So, anything new on a possible connection between Nyrén and Juliander?” Persson asked. He got the discussion back on track.

“Nothing beyond the RSYC,” Thomas said. “No illicit income. Nyrén had few possessions. Just the apartment and the boat. He was a government employee and lived on his salary. An inheritance from his parents paid for his boat.”

“So now where are we?” Persson interlaced his fingers behind his head and looked at the prosecutor.

Charlotte Öhman’s conservative outfit differed from the detectives’ more casual clothes. Her gray jacket and white blouse showed she came from the legal side of law enforcement. But she was a good prosecutor, and not at all formal. She allowed the police do their jobs without interference unless she felt it necessary.

“I think we should go over von Hahne’s house,” Thomas said. “If we toss his place, he might break down a little.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” asked Charlotte Öhman.

“We have no other suspects,” Thomas said. He still believed the aristocrat was hiding something.

“Many things point to him,” Erik said. “Nyrén was shot from his storage room. We have the telephone records. He had a motive for killing Juliander.”

“Becoming chairman of the RSYC is not much of a motive,” Öhman said.

“It’s still possible,” Thomas insisted.

“But he has a good alibi. Have you forgotten?”

Thomas stood up abruptly. He walked to the enlargement of the race’s start still fastened to the wall. How much time had he spent staring at it?

Now he took the magnifying glass as close to the
Emerald Gin
as he could.

Everyone in the room was silent.

“I wonder,” he said. “Did we make a mistake when we eliminated all the passengers on Bjärring’s boat?”

“They gave each other alibis,” Margit said.

“But could the shot have been fired from the Storebro?” Thomas asked. “Could von Hahne have sneaked into the forepeak to shoot with no one else noticing?”

Margit followed his reasoning.

“We’ve taken for granted that the entire company stayed together the whole time. But did the witnesses convince themselves they’d all seen the same thing? Could it be they didn’t notice someone missing for a few seconds?”

“In that case, von Hahne’s alibi could be in doubt.”

Thomas sat down again and leaned back against his chair, still staring at the enlargement.

“We should bring him in,” he said.

“The evidence is still too thin to arrest him,” the prosecutor said. “And please remember that I need three days to file a detention order, especially with so little to go on.”

Almost against his will, Thomas agreed.

If they arrested von Hahne without permission from the court, they’d look like idiots. In addition, the media would go ballistic because the news concerned the future RSYC chairman.

“Could we do a house search at least?” Thomas asked. “I really think this might break him. And we should also question his entire family.”

Charlotte Öhman looked thoughtful for a moment. Then she made up her mind.

“Let’s see what we find on the computer first,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you don’t have enough cause.”

The meeting concluded.

“Svante Severin.”

The real-estate agent picked up on the first ring, possibly because he recognized her phone number. All the Sandhamn numbers started with the same five numbers.

“Nora Linde here.” She didn’t waste any time with small talk. She simply wanted to give him her answer.

“Nice to hear from you,” Svante Severin said.

“I’m calling to tell you the Brand house is not for sale. We are going to keep it.”

“But . . . but . . . ,” Severin stammered.

His disappointment was so apparent that Nora could almost feel it.

“Why did you change your mind?” he asked.

Nora pitied him for a minute. Then she decided to end the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The family couldn’t agree. The house is not for sale now, and it will not be for sale in the future.”

She quickly said good-bye and ended the call.

So easy. She’d stewed over this call so long, anxious about how to make it.

To her surprise, she felt peaceful despite the fact that Henrik would arrive in the evening and she’d not discussed this decision with him.

It had simply become obvious what she should do. The topic was now closed for discussion.

She was going to keep the Brand house whether Henrik agreed or not. That’s what was going to happen.