The Long Shadow (15 page)

That’s the one. Annika fired off a few last shots.

A group picture of the four stars, casual clothes and sunglasses, and the quote: ‘If everyone was like Sebastian, the world would look very different.’

She’d done it.

‘Thanks very much,’ she said, and walked back towards Carita.

‘I recognize him,’ the interpreter said, pointing at the ice-hockey star. ‘Isn’t he—’

‘Yes,’ Annika said, putting her hand over Carita’s finger. ‘Let’s just wait until the minute’s silence is over, then we can go.’

Suddenly a man with thick white hair and a bulging stomach was standing in front of her, smiling enthusiastically. ‘Annika Bengtzon?’ he asked. There was no mistaking the Gothenburg accent.

‘Rickard Marmén?’ Annika said. ‘How nice to be able to put a face to the voice.’

They shook hands warmly and he air-kissed Carita’s cheek.

‘Listen,’ Annika said, pulling him a few steps in the direction of the car park. ‘There’s a couple of things I’d like to ask you. Did you know the Söderström family?’

‘I’m not sure I’d say I really knew them, but I knew who they were.’

‘Did Sebastian Söderström owe people a load of money?’

Rickard Marmén smiled. ‘Quite possibly. But only people who could afford it.’

‘I’m sorry if I’m being blunt, but it seems a lot of people are angry with him. Have they any reason to be?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘In general, people have far too little to do down here. Which means they have a tendency to get hung up on details.’

‘Did you have any dealings with him?’

Rickard Marmén laughed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Certainly not. I don’t have that sort of money.’

Annika gazed intently at the man standing in front of her. His face was leathery; his eyes were small and bright blue. He had a week’s worth of chalk-white stubble. His hair stood out like a halo. ‘You’ve been down here for a while now, haven’t you?’

‘Since my twenty-third birthday.’

‘Did you know that Sebastian had another child? A teenage daughter called Suzette?’

‘She was here sometimes. Why?’

‘When was she last around, do you know?’

Rickard Marmén stroked his beard. ‘She used to go riding with Vibeke at the Cancelada Club,’ he said.
‘I think she was supposed to help out up there.’

Annika moved a bit closer to him and lowered her voice. ‘So she was here recently?’

Rickard Marmén scratched his nose. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s probably best that you talk to Vibeke.’ He saw the questioning look on her face and went on: ‘Vibeke Jensen – she owns the club. They’ve got a house just above it. It’s—’

‘I know where the Cancelada Club is,’ Carita said, stepping up to Annika. ‘I can show you the way. It’s not far. It’s just on the other side of that mountain over there.’

The murmuring around them died away. There weren’t many people sitting on the terrace now. A man in a black jacket and pale trousers, who was standing at the top of the steps leading down to the artificial lake, began to speak.

‘Dear members, dear guests. We’re gathered here today to honour the memory of a good friend and dear colleague, a man who was an example to us all …’

‘Who’s that?’ Annika whispered to Rickard Marmén.

‘The new owner. He got here on Saturday, I doubt he ever even met Sebastian.’

Annika took a few pictures of the gathering. She would have to crop them later to make it look as if there were more people than there actually were.

The minute’s silence began. The ducks went on swimming on the lake. A motorbike roared past the roundabout outside the club. The television cameras rolled. People glanced at each other and tried to look sad.

Annika glanced at her watch. After forty seconds the new owner had had enough and clapped his hands. ‘Well, thank you, guests, members and representatives
of the media,’ here he actually waved at the television cameras, ‘I’d just like to point out that the restaurant is open until …’

‘Let’s go,’ Annika said. She thanked Rickard Marmén and headed towards the exit.

The road wound up the mountainside like a fat snake. It was lined with broad pavements and ornate lampposts, and every so often there was an electrical junction box or some other small building. Occasionally side-roads would slice off into the greenery of the valley.

Otherwise there was nothing but overgrown bushes and big thistles.

‘Where are all the houses?’ Annika asked, staring up at the mountain in fascination.

‘This is one of the developments that never got going,’ Carita said. ‘They had grand plans, and the view’s amazing, but everything ground to a halt. They never got further than building the roads. Be careful.’

Annika braked.

Ahead of her half the road had slid into the chasm below. The area around the landslide was cordoned off with a few cones and a bit of red and white tape.

‘Bloody hell,’ Annika said. ‘Is it really safe to drive here?’

‘Just not too close to the edge, that’s all,’ Carita said.

The carriageway had been washed away in a couple of other places. It carried on winding over the mountain, sometimes very close to the toll motorway, sometimes several hundred metres above it. The rainy weather had
blown towards the Atlantic, leaving the view clear in all its dizzying glory, the sea a bright blue carpet to the left and the iron-grey Rif mountains of Africa on the horizon.

As they got closer to the riding school the road was surrounded by a half-finished golf course. Diggers, bulldozers and lorries were laying the foundations for the same sweeping grass lawns and artificial lakes as at Los Naranjos.

‘Do rich people really have nothing better to do than walk around a make-believe world trying to hit a static ball with a little metal stick?’ she asked.

‘They don’t walk,’ Carita said. ‘They use a golf buggy.’

She pointed at a sign saying Club Hipico and Annika indicated and turned off to the right. The car park was full of expensive cars. They parked behind a Range Rover Sport and walked towards a low white building with ornate iron railings in front of the windows. The stables were to the left, big open boxes made of dark wood with beautiful green wrought-iron detailing, shaded by huge trees. Girls with blonde ponytails walked among glossy brown thoroughbreds. A stable-lad pushing a wheelbarrow said something to one, who laughed.

Annika stopped short. ‘This can’t be happening,’ she said. ‘I recognize this place. I’ve been here before.’

‘Are you a horsy girl?’ a woman asked in Danish. She had short grey hair and red-rimmed eyes.

Annika looked at her, bewildered. ‘Hööks and Kingsland both do the photography for their summer catalogues here,’ the woman said. She held out her hand. ‘Vibeke Jensen,’ she said.

‘Annika Bengtzon,’ Annika said, tearing her eyes from the backdrop of those fantasy catalogues, the brochures of equestrian equipment and clothing that she and her
friends had stared at endlessly when they went riding every week.

‘I understand that you want to ask me about Suzette,’ Vibeke Jensen said.

Annika saw that she was leaning heavily on a crutch. Not the sort you got from A&E when you have an accident, but a beautiful, if rather worn, one made of dark wood. The woman had been using it for a long time.

‘Do you want me to translate?’ Carita asked.

‘I can handle Danish,’ Annika said. ‘Yes, I understand she used to ride here?’

Vibeke Jensen turned round with jerky movements. ‘We can go into my office,’ she said.

They walked past another block of stables. A skinny girl of about fourteen with long legs and shiny riding boots was leading an Arabian thoroughbred towards where jumps had been set out, at least one and a half metres high. She felt a rush of envy or possibly just sadness at what might have been if things had been different. She’d loved riding. And she’d been very good at it.

‘Can I offer you something?’

Annika asked for a little water, Carita a glass of red wine.

They went into a small room behind a shop-cum-café. Vibeke Jensen sat down heavily, propped her crutch against the desk and stretched her bad leg out in front of her. She looked up and met Annika’s gaze. ‘A riding accident,’ she said. ‘More than forty years ago now. I’ve got used to it, and I can still ride.’

Annika and Carita sat down.

‘Suzette was supposed to have started working here,’ Vibeke Jensen said, folding her hands in front of her on the desk. They were calloused and chapped. ‘But nothing
came of it. In retrospect, of course, it was a blessing that she flew home.’ She looked out at the stables, and her mouth quivered.

‘So Suzette was here very recently, but went back to Sweden?’

Vibeke Jensen nodded. ‘She called last week to say she’d changed her mind. She was going to give school another go. I have to say I thought that was a good idea.’ She put her hands to her mouth. ‘You’ll have to forgive me,’ she said.

‘So you knew the family well?’ Annika asked gently, not bothering to take out her notepad.

The woman’s eyes roamed over the stableyard and the eucalyptus trees beyond. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘My’s pony is here. I don’t know what we’ll do with it. I didn’t know Sebastian or Veronica very well. She used to come riding before she had the children, but after that she was always so busy with work that she never had time for anything else. Astrid, on the other hand …’

She fell silent for a while.

‘I got to know Astrid when I was a little girl. She and my mother used to go off to
juergas
together. She took me on outings. I liked her a lot.’

‘Was it Astrid who arranged for Suzette to work here?’

Vibeke nodded. ‘Astrid was very fond of the girl, and I didn’t have any objections. Suzette’s a decent rider and is good with the horses.’ The phone on the desk rang, and she answered curtly in Spanish.

‘I’d quite like to be heading home,’ Carita whispered in Annika’s ear. ‘It’s Twelfth Night, after all …’

Annika picked up her bag and stood up. She wasn’t going to get any further here.

Vibeke put the phone down.

‘Do you know when Suzette went back to Sweden?’ Annika asked.

She got laboriously to her feet, leaning on her crutch. ‘She called last week, Thursday I think it was. She said she was going home. I assumed she was leaving at once.’

Annika shook her hand. ‘Thanks for taking the time to see us. Is it okay if I use some of your quotes in an article about the family?’

Vibeke nodded.

‘Could I take a picture as well? Outside the office, with the stables in the background?’

Vibeke ran her fingers through her hair and hesitated. ‘With me looking like this?’ she said.

They went outside into the evening sun. The horses and stables were glowing in the slanting light.

Annika took several pictures of the woman leaning heavily on her crutch and looking across the field down towards the road. She thanked her again and turned towards the car. ‘Oh, by the way,’ Annika said, stopping suddenly. ‘You said that Veronica was busy with work. What did she do?’

‘She was a solicitor,’ Vibeke said. ‘She worked in an office in Gibraltar. She was the family breadwinner.’

‘What about Sebastian?’ Annika said, then held her breath.

Vibeke shook her head.

‘She must have earned a lot of money,’ Annika said, thinking of the size of the house.

At that moment her mobile rang. A number she didn’t recognize. She excused herself and answered it.

‘Annika Bengtzon?’ an unfamiliar woman’s voice said. ‘You emailed me. What do you want?’

‘Er,’ Annika said. ‘Who are you?’

‘On Facebook. Lenita.’

Söderström!

‘Yes, of course,’ Annika said, taking a few steps towards the car park. ‘Thanks for getting back to me. I
work on the
Evening Post
, and I was trying to get in touch with you and Suzette to ask a few questions about events in Marbella.’

‘I don’t know anything about it,’ Lenita said. ‘No one tells me anything. You’d think I’d be told, seeing as I was married to the man once upon a time.’

‘It must have come as a terrible shock,’ Annika said sympathetically.

‘God, yes,’ Lenita Söderström said. ‘It’s just lucky that Suzette had come home, or who knows what might have happened?’

‘How has she reacted?’

‘Well,’ Lenita Söderström said, ‘you’d think she could answer her mobile, but apparently that’s too much to ask. I suppose she’s not bothered to charge it, as usual.’

From the corner of her eye, Annika saw the girl with the shiny boots going over a combination jump on her beautiful thoroughbred. ‘You haven’t spoken to your daughter since the deaths?’

‘How am I supposed to do that? She’s in Spain and she’s not answering her mobile. And I haven’t got a number for that Jensen woman.’

Annika looked at the diminutive Dane, who was slowly walking back to her office.

‘Vibeke Jensen?’ she said. ‘What does she have to do with anything?’

‘Suzette lives with her. She couldn’t stand the Witch, that Veronica, so she moved out to go and live with her employer.’

Nothing was making any sense in Annika’s mind. Carita was staring at her intently.

‘So you’re telling me that Suzette is staying with Vibeke Jensen, the Danish woman who owns the Cancelada Club?’

‘She called me the day before New Year’s Eve and said
she was going to be moving in with the woman who owns the riding-school. It doesn’t matter to me where she lives, as long as she looks after herself and doesn’t cause any trouble.’

‘The day before New Year’s Eve,’ Annika said. ‘That was last Thursday, wasn’t it?’

‘I said to her, “If you don’t want to study, you have to get a job.” She can’t go on thinking she can live off me for ever.’

Annika strode back towards the office.

‘Can you hold on a moment?’ she said, to Lenita. ‘There’s someone here I think you should talk to.’

She pulled the office door open, and Vibeke Jensen looked up at her in surprise. ‘Lenita Söderström,’ Annika said, holding out her mobile. ‘She thinks Suzette is living at yours.’

The search parties gathered at dusk. They set out from a dried-up riverbed just behind Las Estrellas de Marbella, where the family had lived. The blue lights of the police cars swept across the wild oleanders and dead olive trees. People moved like shadows between the vehicles, as a man in a reflective jacket held out his arm and directed the silhouettes in different directions.