The Scent of Almonds: A Novella (7 page)

‘Help yourself,’ said Kerstin. She was slicing a loaf of rye bread.

Martin poured himself a cup. With his back to the doorway, he peered out of the window. The storm showed no sign of letting up.

‘It’s certainly looking lively out there,’ said Börje. He was taking drinks out of the fridge, the bottles clinking.

‘You can say that again.’ Martin took a sip of his coffee but it almost burned his lips. He’d have to wait for it to cool off a bit.

‘So …’ Kerstin had turned to face Martin but seemed reluctant to go on. ‘So … We were wondering if you could possibly fetch the roast beef. It needs to thaw out before we can make dinner.’

At first Martin couldn’t understand why they wanted him to take care of this household chore. Then he realized it was because Ruben’s body was in the cold-storage room.

He set down his coffee cup and said, ‘Of course. No problem.’

Kerstin and Börje both looked relieved.

In spite of his cheerful tone of voice, Martin hesitated before pressing down the handle. Because he was a police officer, the couple undoubtedly assumed that he was accustomed to seeing corpses. And that may have been the case if he’d been part of an inner-city police district. But thus far in his career he had seen only two dead bodies – one was the victim of a car accident north of Tanumshede, the other a drunken tourist who had drowned.

He stepped inside the cold-storage room. And there lay Ruben. Martin was surprised that the sight didn’t make him feel sick. Somehow the space seemed quite peaceful.

Ruben lay on his back on the table where they’d placed him the night before. It was strange that less than twenty-four hours had passed since that dramatic dinner. The claustrophobic atmosphere in the hotel made it seem that they’d all been shut inside for weeks, months, an eternity.

Martin cautiously walked past the table towards the freezer. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something move, but then realized he was imagining things. Ruben’s body was perfectly motionless.

The lid of the freezer was stuck, so he had to yank on it with all his might. A cold gust swept over him and he took a step back. The roast beef was lying on top, neatly labelled with a woman’s handwriting. The large packet was so cold that it burned his hands. Martin hurried past Ruben. When the door closed behind him, he felt a great sense of relief, even though he hadn’t found it unpleasant to be inside with the dead man.

‘How did it go?’ asked Kerstin. Judging by her tone of voice, you’d have thought he’d skied all the way to the North Pole instead of simply fetching a roast from the freezer.

‘Fine,’ said Martin, gratefully putting down the ice-cold packet. He rubbed his hands to get the circulation moving and then reached for his coffee cup, which now felt pleasantly warm.

‘What do you think about this situation? Have you made any progress?’ asked Börje, nodding towards the cold-storage room.

Martin felt his heart sink. He could only tell them the truth.

‘No, I can’t say that I have. No one saw anything. No one knows anything. And there seems to be no motive. Yet they’re constantly bickering, like a bunch of cats and dogs.’

Börje chuckled. ‘I heard this was going to be your first encounter with them. That you were invited here to meet the family. What a hell of an introduction!’

Kerstin jabbed her elbow into her husband’s side. ‘Börje, what a thing to say!’

Martin laughed. ‘That’s okay. You’re absolutely right. It’s been hell!’

All three laughed, and Martin felt the pressure in his chest ease.

Hatred continued to pump through his body. He’d been forced to escape, otherwise the hatred would have taken over, conquered him, and made him do things that he would regret. Matte rhythmically clenched and unclenched his fists as he sat in his room with his back to the door. Only with the door closed and locked could he feel secure. He never felt safe unless he was alone. Other people represented a danger, a threat. They might be full of good intentions, or even love, but they were still basically dangerous and deceitful. The only person he’d ever felt safe with was his grandfather. In Ruben’s company, Matte had been able to relax and be himself. He could tell the old man all the thoughts that kept racing through his mind, moving every which way, constantly searching for cracks in the wall. Looking for somewhere to hide. Grandpa had understood. He’d never questioned him. Never yelled at him the way Pappa did, or cried the way Mamma did, or stared at him with that scornful expression that Lisette gave him. Grandpa had never taunted him as Bernard often did.

The others didn’t know. They didn’t understand why he hated Bernard with all his heart. Matte had tried to restrain himself, tried to sweep his memories under the rug. Tried to behave properly. The way they wanted him to do. But his memories were impossible to escape. They surfaced as soon as he let down his guard. He and Bernard had attended the same school. They weren’t in the same class, but only a few years apart. And Bernard had tormented him the whole time. He’d taken the lead and the other pupils had followed his example, pummelling Matte with taunts and punches, laughing at him, ridiculing him. Always there. Always smiling. Always looking for new ways to hurt him. The situation improved as they got older. They hadn’t attended the same secondary school, and by that time Bernard had in any case grown tired of devising new outlets for his malicious energy. But the antagonism would reappear whenever they happened to meet. And that smile. Bernard had seen through Matte; he knew exactly which buttons to press in order to crush him.

It was the only thing that Matte had never told Grandpa. He knew that on some level Ruben saw Bernard for the bully that he was, but not entirely. He still had hope that Bernard might change. And Matte hadn’t wanted to take that hope away. That was why he’d never said a word when Ruben talked about Bernard. He’d held his tongue when his grandfather said things like: ‘He’ll make something of himself one day. You’ll see. He just needs some time to play. But he’s a good person at heart.’ Matte could only look at Ruben in amazement and wonder, did he truly believe what he was saying? Didn’t he see past the mask? The evil sneering behind Bernard’s beautiful, perfect smile? Maybe, maybe not. No matter what, Matte decided early on that he didn’t want to be the one who robbed Grandpa Ruben of hope. With time, everything was bound to work out.

But now there was no more time left. Grandpa was dead. Matte’s only friend in the world was gone. The one person he’d ever felt safe with. Gone. And Bernard’s jeering smile provoked him. Signalling that Bernard was the one who had triumphed.

Suddenly a great crashing sound rattled all the windows. The snowstorm had brought thunder! At that moment Matte realized what he had to do. But first he needed to rest for a while. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. After only a few breaths, he fell asleep.

‘Well, that’s what I call drama.’ Gustav Liljecrona and the rest of the family were sitting on the white sofa and matching armchairs. From the kitchen marvellous aromas came wafting into the library, and Gustav’s stomach growled loudly.

‘I’m looking forward to lunch,’ he said with forced merriment as he took a sip of cognac, which had already begun to flow freely. On a weekend like this, all conventions had to be set aside.

No one replied to his attempt at small talk. Bernard rubbed his throat and muttered, ‘God damn it, I’m probably going to have a huge fucking bruise. And how am I supposed to explain that at work? I leave to spend the weekend with my family and come back looking like somebody tried to strangle me.’

‘Matte’s always been unstable. I don’t understand why they didn’t realize that long ago. He’s a serious danger to everyone.’ Gustav shook his head as he swirled the cognac in his glass.

‘Do you think that …?’ Miranda hesitated but then went on. ‘Do you think that Matte was the one who …’ She couldn’t make herself finish what she had planned to say, but she didn’t need to. A glint appeared in everyone else’s eyes.

‘Of course!’ said Bernard, now looking considerably happier. He sat up straight on the sofa and continued eagerly. ‘My God. Of course it was Matte! He’s always had something wrong with him, mentally. And you saw how he attacked me.’

‘But … he and Ruben were so close,’ said Vivi. Her objection was dismissed by Gustav, who also suddenly had a zealous look in his eye.

‘Maybe that’s why. It makes it even more plausible that Matte would have killed him. Who knows how he perceives things in that brain of his. Isn’t it true that people are most often murdered by someone they know?’

Bernard and Gustav nodded at each other with satisfaction. Miranda still looked uncertain. She didn’t seem convinced, even though she was the one who had first broached the idea.

‘But …’ she began, looking for support from her mother before she went on. ‘But … what motive could he have?’

‘Money, revenge, imagined offences. Who can tell?’ snorted Bernard.

‘I don’t know,’ said Miranda, plucking at a sofa cushion. ‘I’m not sure …’

‘But I am,’ said Bernard, standing up. ‘I’m going to have a talk with Lisette’s policeman. He needs to have a clearer picture of how things stand. It wouldn’t surprise me if he turns out to be rather interested in this particular theory.’

‘But …’ said Miranda again. She was about to say more, but Bernard was already on his way out the door.

She suddenly wished that she’d kept her mouth shut. She was actually quite fond of Matte. And he wasn’t nearly as off balance as they made him out to be. Good Lord, practically everyone she knew had suffered some sort of nervous breakdown at one time or another. And taking Prozac or whatever drug had become so commonplace that nobody even raised an eyebrow any more. On the contrary. Plus it wasn’t so strange that Matte had flown at Bernard. She loved her brother, but he could be incredibly aggressive. He had an unerring ability to sniff out people’s weaknesses, and then he took a perverse pleasure in pressing their buttons.

‘What will Harald and Britten say when they hear that Bernard has accused Matte of murdering Ruben?’ asked Vivi anxiously as she fidgeted on the sofa.

‘Who the hell cares what they say?’ replied Gustav, still swirling the cognac in his glass. ‘Matte is clearly an unstable and aggressive individual. It’s not much of a stretch to picture him as the most likely candidate.’

‘But a murderer …’ said Vivi, giving Miranda a pleading look.

‘I have to agree with Mamma,’ Miranda said, to her own surprise. It was rare for her to see eye to eye with Vivi, but for once they seemed to be on the same side. ‘I know that I was the one who planted the seed, but … no. Matte as a cold-blooded killer? That doesn’t feel right at all.’

‘Women!’ snorted Gustav, taking a gulp of the golden liquid before continuing. ‘You’re always so gullible. What do you think a murderer looks like? A crazy man with a big beard and lots of tattoos? Personally, I reckon Matte is more than capable of killing someone.’ With a smug expression, he leaned back in his chair, apparently thinking he’d had the last word.

Miranda and Vivi exchanged a glance. Both sensed that this was not good. Not good at all.

‘Did we make a mistake?’ asked Britten quietly. She and Harald had retreated to the dining room to escape from the rest of the family for a while. Both Matte and Lisette had stormed upstairs to their rooms. Gustav and his family were in the library, no doubt gloating over all the commotion. And out of the corner of her eye Britten could see Martin Molin in the kitchen, talking to the hotel owners. Harald was sitting across from her, his face such an ashen grey colour that she instantly grew concerned.

‘Are you all right?’ she said, placing her hand over Harald’s. He smiled, but it was a strained smile.

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘You know that I can’t help worrying.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Harald smiled again and then pulled his hand back so he could place it on top of hers. He meant the gesture to be reassuring, but it wasn’t.

‘I’ve made some fresh coffee. Help yourselves,’ said Kerstin as she went over to the sideboard to set down a tray holding a thermos jug and cups. Then she returned to the kitchen.

‘Would you like some?’ Britten asked her husband as she stood up and moved towards the sideboard. Harald nodded, so she filled two cups. Black for herself, and milk with two lumps of sugar for Harald. She’d spent years trying to get him to stop putting sugar in his coffee, but in the end she’d realized that it was a battle she couldn’t win.

‘You didn’t forget the sugar, did you?’ asked Harald, giving his coffee a suspicious look.

Britten smiled. ‘No, sweetheart. I didn’t forget the sugar.’ They knew each other so well.

She took a few sips of her coffee and then repeated her initial question. ‘Did we make a mistake?’

‘You mean with Matte?’ Harald stirred his coffee to dissolve the sugar.

‘With Matte and Lisette. She’s right, you know. We’ve neglected her. Matte always got so much attention, whereas she was forever being told to be a good girl and help out. We left her to manage on her own. But she didn’t – manage on her own, I mean. And she still can’t.’

‘What should we have done instead?’ replied Harald wearily, rubbing his face. ‘Matte required more from us. We did the best that we could.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Britten. Her eyes were shiny with tears. ‘Did we really do our best? Couldn’t we have tried harder? Tried to help them both? Given Lisette the time and the attention that she deserved? Now I’m afraid it’s too late.’

Harald fixed his eyes on his coffee as he shook his head. ‘I suppose I could have worked less …’ he said. Britten realized that this was the first time she’d ever heard him mention that possibility. She thought of all the times she’d told him that he didn’t need to work so hard, sometimes pleading with him, sometimes shouting at him in anger. But now that he’d said the words out loud, she realized how unrealistic that would have been. Harald might not be the most brilliant of men – that was a fact she’d accepted long ago. But he loved to work, and to work hard. That was all he knew how to do, and he couldn’t live any other way. So maybe he was right. Maybe they’d done the best they could, in the circumstances.