Closed Circles (Sandhamn Murders Book 2) (3 page)

C
HAPTER
5

“What is wrong with the people on that island?”

Göran Persson, the head of the criminal unit of the Nacka police, couldn’t keep his anger under control.

It was six thirty on Sunday evening. Thomas had gone back to the mainland, and now his younger colleagues Kalle Lidwall and Erik Blom joined him at the station. They’d been called in for a meeting. Carina Persson, the chief’s daughter, sat beside them. For the past two years, she’d worked as their administrative assistant while trying to get into the police academy. She’d finally been admitted this fall.

“Last summer that crazy old lady killed people right and left because of some old house. This summer somebody shot a sailor on the high seas. The journalists are going nuts. Do you have any idea how many calls we’re getting?”

Persson’s face was red and his forehead sweaty. His body looked too large for his desk chair. A thunderstorm rumbled in the distance, and dark-gray clouds covered the sky.

“Another summer gone straight to hell because some trigger-happy idiot can’t control himself.”

It’s not your summer going to hell,
Detective Inspector Margit Grankvist thought. She sipped her coffee, which tasted like stale grounds, even though it was fresh from the machine.

Last summer’s aborted vacation weighed on her mind. She’d had to leave her husband and daughters on the west coast while she took part in the investigation of the Sandhamn murders.

This year, she’d been wise enough to rent a cabin on Djurö, just three quarters of an hour away from the police station in Nacka. Keeping her daughters away from the moped gang they’d met down in the province of Halland certainly played a part in her decision.

She’d been on vacation for three weeks already. A healthy tan softened her narrow features. Years of police work and irregular working hours had left their mark. Her deep eyes were always on alert. Planning her vacation better this year was a small consolation.

“Thomas, you were at the scene of the crime. What can you tell us?” Persson asked.

Thomas lifted his gaze from his notebook and looked around.

He was also tan, his hair almost white blond around his temples. The lines at the corners of his eyes were lighter. He wore a light-blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves. The back pocket of his jeans showed the imprint of his wallet, a mark made by years of use. Although the murder had transformed a relaxing day on the water into intensive police work, he appeared fresh and rested.

He stretched and then tried to summarize what had happened earlier that day.

Half the day had passed by the time they’d gotten the
Emerald Gin
docked and called in doctors and criminal technicians. Oscar Juliander’s body had been transported to the forensic laboratory in Solna for an autopsy and further tests. The vessel remained in the Sandhamn harbor, waiting to be moved to the police shipyard for a more thorough examination.

Thomas and Peter had secured a conference room at the hotel. There they interviewed a number of eyewitnesses who had been on board the
Emerald Gin
.

“Nobody seems to have seen or heard much. According to Fredrik Winbergh, the crewmember who was standing closest to Juliander, everything happened extremely quickly. One second everyone was focused on crossing the starting line first, and the next moment the victim collapsed right in front of their eyes.”

“Can Winbergh be the killer?” asked Margit.

“We can’t exclude anyone at this time,” Thomas said. “At least fifteen people were on board, and many of them were close to the cockpit.”

“It’s hardly possible that one of them could draw a pistol and shoot him in front of the others,” Margit said, answering her own question.

“It would have been smarter to wait until nightfall, or until they’d gone ashore,” Erik added. “Why make it harder?”

“We’ve collected all the clothes from the crew of the
Emerald Gin
. We’ll be looking for powder stains and other evidence of a pistol firing at close range,” Thomas said.

“What are the alternatives?” Margit asked. “Was the killer on another boat? Perhaps one of the other racers?”

Thomas nodded.

“Well,” she said. “That’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Thomas had nothing to say to that. It was physically impossible to check each and every boat in the area. There were hundreds, and the perpetrator could have fired from any one of them.

He looked down at his notebook.

“Winbergh first thought Juliander might have had a stroke,” he said. “Until he saw the blood. Even then, he didn’t realize the man had been shot.”

“What about the boats not in the race?” Margit asked. “Did anyone see what happened?”

Thomas shook his head.

“Not directly. We spoke to several witnesses. They are RSYC members who were on board a Storebro motor yacht. The vessel was close to the starting line at the time of the shooting. We’ll question them thoroughly tomorrow. We didn’t have time today.” He glanced over his notes. “Juliander’s wife, Sylvia, was on board with them. We weren’t able to speak to her because of her shock. Hans Rosensjöö and his wife were also on board.”

“Isn’t he the chairman of the club?” Persson asked.

“That’s right. He’s a bank director. His wife is Britta. He was watching the sailboats as they approached the starting line, but he was looking at the sails, not the cockpit of Juliander’s boat.”

“Who else was on board?” asked Margit.

“Let’s see,” Thomas said. “Ingmar and Isabelle von Hahne, another married couple.”

“Nobility, of course,” Persson muttered.

“The guy who owns the Storebro is a doctor by the name of Axel Bjärring,” Thomas continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “His wife, Lena, is also a doctor. She was the one who boarded the
Emerald Gin
and determined that Juliander was dead. Their teenage daughter was on board, too. Judging by the wineglasses, not all of the passengers were entirely sober.”

“What more do we know about the victim?” asked Margit. “I’ve seen him on TV a few times. He was quite well known.”

“According to Winbergh, he’d participated in fifteen Round Gotland Races,” Thomas said. “This year, he put all his money into winning and bought this new Swan from a shipyard in Finland. He was a bigwig in the RSYC, active in the sailing world, and a favorite in this race.”

“Did he have enemies?” asked Erik.

“Any lawyer that well known must have a few enemies,” Thomas said. “The question is whether or not one of his enemies did this.”

“It’s still rare that people murder lawyers,” Margit said. “And this was a spectacular way to kill someone, I have to say. What a scene.”

Kalle nodded in agreement.

“Are there any possible motives?” asked Persson.

Thomas shook his head.

“Well, the usual. Love. Hate. Money,” Margit said.

“When will forensics finish the autopsy?” Persson asked.

“We’re in luck.” There was a trace of self-satisfaction in Margit’s voice. “They can look at him on Tuesday.”

She glanced at Thomas, who nodded in appreciation. Margit had
pressured them to look at the victim quickly. Thomas and Margit
had worked seamlessly together since the murders last summer. By now they knew each other well.

Thomas would listen patiently as Margit complained about her two teenage daughters and their constant arguments. In return, Margit kept an eye on Thomas and made sure he didn’t work too many long days in a row.

“We must to talk to Juliander’s wife as soon as she’s ready,” Thomas said. “We also need to question his colleagues at the firm and the leaders of the RSYC. They are all on Sandhamn at the moment because of the race, so we’ll head out there early tomorrow morning.”

He turned to Carina.

“Call Swedish Television and request their film footage from the start of the race. Perhaps we’ll find something useful.”

“Sure, I’ll do it as soon as we’re done here.”

Persson looked thoughtful, as if he’d just made a decision.

“I’m going to ask the county commissioner for a media spokesperson this time around. We need somebody who can handle journalists. Otherwise we’ll never get the space we need to work. This is a big deal. I’m sure you all realize this already.”

Nobody said a word. An unpleasant feeling from last summer settled over them. The black headlines broadcasting every development must have influenced Persson’s decision.

“Are we going to bring in the National Bureau?” asked Margit.

“Let’s keep it all in the family for now,” Persson said. “Here’s what we’ll do. Margit and Thomas, you’re in charge of the investigation. Margit will stay in touch with the prosecutor. I don’t know who’s been awarded that role yet. Kalle and Erik, you’re backup. It worked well last summer.”

Persson’s eyes roamed from Margit to Thomas and back again. He smiled and took a deep breath.

“I’m sure neither of you has a problem delaying your vacation by a few weeks? Just like last year? Another summer investigation at exclusive Sandhamn?”

Margit had booked a dream trip to the Canary Islands at the end of August in addition to the three weeks she’d already taken off. She smiled back at Persson, unconcerned.

C
HAPTER
6

It was already past eight in the evening, and the heat in the room was still oppressive. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Hans Rosensjöö discreetly wiped his forehead with a cotton handkerchief. The back of his polo shirt was damp, even though he’d just showered.

To his left, the chair of the first vice chairman of the board sat glaringly empty.

Someone had pushed together several smaller tables to form a larger one. Eleven of the fifteen board members were present.
Not bad,
Rosensjöö thought.
Though most of them were already on Sandhamn because of the race.
The Round Gotland Race, their largest, was the most important source of income for the Yacht Club.

As a small boy, Hans Rosensjöö had accompanied his father to Sandhamn to watch the formal awards ceremony. Back in those days, majestic mahogany vessels competed in the Round Gotland Race. They carried dignified names, like
Refanut
,
Barracuda
, and
Beatrice Aurora
. Today, the vessels were named after sponsors:
Eriksson
and
Volvo
and whatnot. Hans sniffed.
What kind of names were those for offshore racing boats?

In the good old days, red velvet covered the sofas in the cabin and the faint aroma of cigars wafted around the skipper. Three-course meals accompanied by glasses of schnapps and good wine were standard fare.

Nowadays,
Hans thought,
racing sailboats are empty shells. There aren’t even bunks for everyone, because the crew work in shifts anyway.

In the modern era, the Round Gotland Race had become an enormous event that brought in millions of Swedish kronor. The first Sunday after Midsummer, the entire sailing world focused on the start of the race in Sandhamn. The spectator area on the southeast of the island was filled with guests of the sponsors, tourists, and other enthusiasts. Exclusive yachts competed for space with small outboards. Whether celebrating with champagne or with a cheese sandwich brought from home, everyone wanted to participate in this racing festival.

Today, Hans thought the word
festival
was nothing but a mockery.

Despite heavy emotions, he had handled the chaos following the unhappy event with character and resolve. The telephone rang constantly. When it wasn’t a journalist asking questions, it was a shocked spectator or some club official checking in.

Rosensjöö was an upright and traditional man who adopted the motto of the old king, “Duty Above All.” He’d attained the rank of lieutenant commander as a reserve officer in the navy and was considered a dependable and honorable person with a high moral code.

He never expected that the cold-blooded murder of his successor would cloud his last months of service as the head of the RSYC.

Never before had he felt so powerless and uneasy at the start of a board meeting. He banged the venerable old gavel on the table, calling the proceedings to order.

To his right sat Ingmar von Hahne, the secretary and second vice chairman. An untouched pad of paper and two sharpened pencils rested in front of him. Ingmar fastened his gaze on the gleaming white paper. A signet ring with his family crest glittered on his left pinkie finger.

Here we have a man whose greatest talent lies in his family background and his social graces,
Rosensjöö thought. At official dinners, no one charmed women or danced as elegantly as Ingmar. He was the queen’s favorite at all the Yacht Club parties. But he was not a man of action, one who could take Oscar’s place.

Hans Rosensjöö’s eyes wandered until they rested on the head of the Facilities Committee, Martin Nyrén, who was drawing tiny figures on his own pad of paper. Next to him sat Arvid Welin, the head of the club committee, a corpulent man well known in the world of finance. Both board members appeared resolute.

Hans Rosensjöö cleared his throat.

“Let us begin with a moment of silence for our departed friend, Oscar Juliander,” he said.

He lowered his head and managed some forty-five seconds. That felt like enough.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he began. “Unfortunately, we are completely unprepared for a situation like this.”

He fell silent as he searched for the right words.

“The first thing we must consider is how to proceed with the race and preserve the good name of the Royal Swedish Yacht Club. There are a few decisions we must make.”

He cleared his throat again.

“Does anyone object to allowing the race to continue? We can honor Oscar by making sure the race goes on.”

Everyone in the room nodded in approval. So far, not a single man in the room had spoken. The silence unnerved Hans, though he did not know why.

“I believe that is what Oscar would have wanted,” he added.

Then he took a deep breath and regarded the board members.

“I hardly need to mention that we must cooperate with the police in every way possible.”

“Mr. Chairman,” Arvid Welin said. His face was sweaty. “Who will we elect as the next chairman of the board at our annual meeting in September? Oscar had been nominated for the position, and you won’t be eligible any longer.”

Hans Rosensjöö felt a wave of irritation rise.
Arvid is such a stickler for formalities! Who cares about the election on a day like this?

“Let’s take things one step at a time,” he said. “We’ll deal with that problem later, one way or another.”