Fatal Isles Page 19

  That matches what Jaap Kloes and the others said, Karen notes. If Susanne’s most fervent wish was to fit in, it can’t have been easy to be a Lindgren.

  ‘And her mum died far too young,’ Wenche continues, ‘so I feel bad saying this, but I know Susanne was ashamed of her.’

  ‘Ashamed? How come?’

  Apparently, Karl sounds too eager, because Wenche Hellevik’s voice is dry and faintly sarcastic when she replies.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any juicy scandals for you. I think it was simply because Susanne’s mother was the kind of person who attracted attention and didn’t give a damn about convention; she dressed differently from the other mothers, did yoga and healing and things like that. And Susanne probably wanted the kind of mother everyone else had. Not one people talked about. But that’s really all I know,’ she adds.

  Her smile is apologetic, but the authority in her voice signals firmly that Wenche Hellevik has nothing more to say about Susanne’s childhood. Karen decides to change the subject.

  ‘From what I’m told, the Lindgrens supported themselves by selling off their land,’ she says. ‘Apparently, they’d inherited extensive property from one of Susanne’s mother’s relatives.’

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of that, but Susanne didn’t know anything about that back then, I’m sure she didn’t. She probably thought they lived off old Gråå’s savings. But he had nothing in the bank, I’ve since learnt; his entire wealth was tied up in land.’

  She pauses for a sip of tea before continuing.

  ‘She obviously knew she had roots on the island, and that her mother had inherited from her grandfather who had a lot of property. But that the inheritance was sold off piece by piece to pay their way, that she didn’t find out until much later. I actually don’t think it became clear to her until her father passed away. I didn’t find out for many years, when my brother mentioned it to me in conjunction with his divorce.’

  ‘So Jounas knew before Susanne . . .?’

  Wenche Hellevik looks uncomfortable.

  ‘I think so. Because Dad bought large tracts of the Lindgrens’ land. I’m ashamed to say he didn’t pay a fair price for it either. Susanne’s father was no businessman and probably figured he could trust a relative by marriage. And when he died, Jounas inherited the land.’

  ‘Jounas inherited, you say. What about you?’

  ‘Of course, but the inheritance was divided; Jounas got most of the land and I took over Dad’s companies. As a police officer, Jounas has neither the time nor the inclination to run the businesses, whereas Magnus and I do.’

  Karen ponders the implications of what Wenche just told them. That means old Axel Smeed must have continued to buy land from his daughter-in-law’s father while Susanne and Jounas were married. Systematically buying up Susanne’s inheritance so he could give it to his son. Had Jounas, contrary to Wenche’s claims, known this all along? Or had Axel gone behind his son’s back, too?

  As though she can read Karen’s mind, Wenche catches her gaze and holds it.

  ‘Dad was a hard man,’ she says. ‘He couldn’t stand “tinkers, people from Frisel and other scum”, as he put it, and he always assumed his children would walk in his footsteps and share his values. Jounas was the one who rebelled, not me. It was hard on Dad when his only son enrolled in the police academy instead of going into the family business he’d built. And when Jounas married Susanne, with her background and eccentric family, I think he gave up on him. Instead, he transferred all his hopes to the next generation. Magnus and I never had children; Sigrid is his only grandchild.’

  ‘So he wasn’t looking out for his son so much as his granddaughter,’ Karen says thoughtfully.

  ‘Exactly, I think he realised the land would, in case of a divorce, be safer in Jounas’s hands than in Susanne’s. She was a gold-digger, he’d say, and the daughter of Swedish rabble who didn’t understand the value of money. I think he assumed they would get divorced and prepared accordingly. And he was right.’

  And they did have a prenup; Axel Smeed had made sure of it. It had been his condition for helping his son and pregnant daughter-in-law with accommodation, according to Jounas. It all fits with Axel Smeed’s reputation; harsh and willing to go to any length to make a good deal. He hadn’t even flinched at going behind his daughter-in-law’s back, buying her future inheritance for a pittance and handing it to his disappointment of a son for safekeeping, to make sure it would eventually end up where he wanted. In Sigrid’s possession, his only grandchild, his heir.

  An image of Sigrid, bristling on the sofa, tattooed and pierced, flashes before Karen’s eyes. Hardly the picture of an heiress of the entire Smeed fortune. Probably not the grandchild Axel Smeed would’ve wished for. And hardly the daughter either Jounas or Susanne had hoped for when they signed her up for riding and ballet lessons.

  I wonder what it feels like to be such a disappointment?

  ‘Do you see Sigrid at all?’ she asks.

  ‘Not for a long time now. She basically cut all ties with her parents the moment she moved out. All ties to her family in general, really.’

  ‘And why was that?’

  Wenche Hellevik hesitates for a few moments.

  ‘My brother’s not always easy to deal with,’ she says finally. ‘He can be callous and unyielding; he certainly was to Susanne. And she was bitter and combative. It was constant conflict and they used Sigrid as a go-between, pushing her to take sides. In the end, she saw no other way than to distance herself from both of them, running away from the whole situation.’

  Just like Susanne did, Karen notes. They both left their parents’ house as soon as they were able. At least they had that in common.

  ‘Jumping ahead a little,’ Karl says. ‘Did you and Susanne remain friends?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Wenche Hellevik says with something like relief in her voice, as though she’s only too happy to change the subject. ‘We didn’t fall out or anything like that, but I went to the US to study and we simply lost touch. We did see each other sometimes when I was back for breaks, but it became increasingly obvious we were growing apart.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, for me, higher education was always a given, while Susanne went to work straight out of high school. She just took the first thing that came along, with no real direction, I suppose. She actually even had a few gigs as a model, since she was both beautiful and tall.’

  ‘Really,’ Karen says with surprise. ‘A model?’

  ‘Well, they weren’t big jobs, but a few fashion shoots and some advertisements, I think. Not enough to live on, unfortunately, but she clung to the dream; maybe that’s why she never bothered to get an education. But Doggerland’s not exactly overflowing with modelling gigs, so she had to take various other jobs to make ends meet.’

  ‘And when you moved back for good, did you continue seeing her?’ Karl asks.

  ‘From time to time, especially when neither one of us had a boyfriend. There were a few years in our mid-twenties when we hung out in various clubs and went to parties. It was fun, sure, but to be honest, I always felt she wanted to be seen more than I did. And then I met Magnus and had less time for both Susanne and my other friends, infatuated as I was. She was pretty upset, as I recall.’

  ‘How did that manifest itself?’

  Once more, Wenche looks absent, as though she’s being transported back in time.

  ‘I think that’s when my impression of Susanne began to change in earnest,’ she says contemplatively. ‘She made me feel uneasy, almost guilty, every time we met up; talked a lot about how I had everything and she had nothing. There were some harsh words said about how I acted like she wasn’t good enough anymore. Her modelling jobs had dried up almost completely at that point as well; she probably felt all the doors were closing for her while I kept moving forward.’

  ‘Did you stop seeing each other?’

  ‘No, I did feel a bit guilty about allowing Magnus to monopolise my time, so I made s
ure to invite her to parties and to go for a drink with her from time to time. I guess I was eager to prove to Susanne that I didn’t think myself above her. And a year or so later, Magnus proposed and of course we invited her to the wedding. Jounas might have told you our wedding was actually where he met Susanne?’

  ‘Yes,’ Karen replies, ‘he did tell us that. And apparently she accidentally became pregnant just a few months into the relationship.’

  Wenche emits a snorting laugh that seems out of step with her otherwise kind and restrained nature. After a moment, she stands up and smooths out some invisible wrinkles in her skirt.

  ‘Accidentally,’ she says drily. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  She walks over to a sideboard where bottles and crystal decanters jostle for space. She turns to Karen and Karl, eyebrows raised; they shake their heads.

  ‘Well, I for one feel a need for a stiff drink.’

  She pours a couple of fingers from one of the bottles and takes a sip before returning to the bone-white sofa. By the time she sits back down, her warm smile has returned. She takes another small sip and puts the glass down on the coffee table.

  ‘So you don’t think Susanne’s pregnancy was an accident?’ Karen picks the conversation back up.

  ‘I don’t think anyone did. You’ll have to excuse me if I seem upset, but the fact is it felt like . . . well, like some kind of violation, as though she deliberately insinuated herself into our family.’

  ‘So you don’t believe she and Jounas were genuinely in love?’

  Wenche Hellevik shrugs again and sighs.

  ‘Jounas was attracted to her, naturally, but I hardly think he would have agreed to marry her under any other circumstances. And as far as Susanne’s concerned, I’m inclined to agree with my father; I believe it was primarily our family’s fortune and status that attracted her. She may have been in love with Jounas, but there was never any real chemistry between them. Never any visible spark, no spontaneous kisses, no loving looks. And yet, she somehow seemed content with the situation. Never missed an opportunity to talk about how we were going to be sisters.’

  ‘And after the wedding; how would you describe their marriage?’

  ‘I think the first two years were relatively harmonious, not least thanks to little Sigrid, whom they both loved, of course. But when Jounas quit law school and returned to the police authority, things fell apart. Dad was livid, Susanne somewhat hysterical and Jounas stubborn and unreasonable. It affected us all, almost tore the family apart. Nothing was ever the same after that. We saw each other on high holidays and birthdays, of course, but aside from those occasions, Jounas and Susanne were isolated from the rest of the family. Dad withdrew all financial support and they had to leave their posh flat on Freyagate. I think I only visited them once in their two-bed in Odinswalla; Susanne was a completely different person then.’

  ‘In what respect?’ Karen asks.

  ‘Bitter, disappointed. Those tendencies had always been there, but now it was like they’d taken over completely, making her dejected in a way I’d never seen before. I almost felt sorry for her. And to be frank, Jounas behaved like a right prick. I understand he wanted to go his own way and not march to the beat of Dad’s drum and whatever, but he didn’t think of anyone else, didn’t consult anyone, not even his wife. Ironically, his behaviour made it clear he and Dad were peas in a pod; completely ruthless and willing to do whatever it takes to get their way.’

  *

  Back in the car, Karen and Karl are both deep in thought. At length, Karl breaks the silence.

  ‘You don’t think . . . I mean, how sure can we really be he was at home when Susanne was killed?’

  ‘Not sure enough.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Karen takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

  ‘All right,’ she says, ‘but I want this to stay between us. Jounas spent the night at the Strand after Oistra.’

  Karl turns to face her so suddenly the car lurks.

  ‘What the fuck, Eiken, why didn’t you say so before? You told the team he went home.’

  ‘I know exactly what I said, and you’re right. He really did walk home, but not until the next morning.’

  ‘You lied to us.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you the whole truth, but I was very careful not to lie to you outright.’

  ‘Oh, I see, not outright. That’s decent of you . . . really.’

  Karl’s voice is dripping with sarcasm; she shoots him a quick glance. He’s staring at the road, but his clenched jaw is a clear sign he’s angry.

  ‘Listen to me, Karl,’ she says. ‘I didn’t want to tell the whole team our boss spent the night in a hotel with a woman. But I checked when he left with the hotel. He would have had at most forty-five minutes to walk over to city hall to pick up his car, drive to Langevik and kill Susanne. How probable does that sound to you?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  They sit in silence for another couple of miles. Karl is once more the person to break the silence.

  ‘But not impossible,’ he adds.

  35

  Karen is standing by the window, looking down at the car park diagonally opposite. The large trees in Holländar Park are swaying in the wind, and more and more yellow leaves are joining the conkers on the ground. It’s almost seven and completely dark, but the light of the street lamps reveals the pavement is slick with rain.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Karen mutters, leaning closer to the glass.

  That moment, a tiny white snowflake lands on the window and slides downward as it rapidly melts. Yes, it’s undeniable: sleet. In early October. A month early, at least, even by Doggerland standards.

  She can just make out her Ranger on the left side of the car park; it occurs to her that it’s time to start parking in the shelter of the underground police garage. The unpleasantness of climbing into a freezing car is soon going to outweigh the unpleasantness of the subterranean environment with its fluorescent lights. And it’s free for employees, too.

  It’s getting late, she thinks, I should head home before the weather takes a turn for the worse.

  But she stays where she is. The slushy motorway is about as tempting as her dark, silent home. What she wants to do is hit the nearest bar, enjoy the warmth of strange bodies, listen to the din of their voices and get drunk. She wants to stay in town and get to work early tomorrow morning. Or, in a more likely scenario, get an extra hour of sleep.

  I don’t actually have to go home. The kitchen window’s open a crack and there’s plenty of food and water for the cat; he’ll be fine for one night. Karen immediately realises she shouldn’t be leaving the window open in this weather and that she really ought to go home and install that bloody cat flap. She pushes down a pang of guilt and pulls out her phone. Scrolls down the call list to one of her most frequently dialled numbers.

  The voice that picks up sounds happily surprised.

  ‘Hiya, love! So, you’re alive?’

  ‘Only just barely, I reckon. Are you still in town?’

  ‘Sorry. I’m in the car, almost home. Where are you?’

  ‘Still at work, but I was thinking of calling it a day and was hoping for company.’

  ‘You could have called sooner,’ Marike replies. ‘I don’t think I’m up for driving all the way back in this weather. They’re talking about freezing rain. In October, insane!’

  ‘Really? Well, that makes me even less keen to drive home. Would it be OK if I stayed over in the studio?’

  ‘Go ahead, you have the keys. I’m sure it’s nice and warm; the kilns have been on since yesterday; I only just turned them off when I left. What about Saturday?’

  Two seconds of desperate fumbling through her memory bank before finding something. In a moment of weakness, she invited some friends over to celebrate her last birthday on the right side of fifty.

  ‘Fuck, I’d completely forgotten.’

  ‘Forgotten?’

  ‘I’ve been
busy. You’ve read the papers, right?’

  ‘You know I only read the arts section. But seriously, not even I could miss that some poor woman’s been murdered in Langevik. Are you on the case?’

  ‘Not just on it, I’m in charge of the investigation.’

  Marike whistles.

  ‘Perfect. Then we want to hear all the juicy details on Saturday.’

  Karen doesn’t answer straight away.

  ‘I honestly don’t know if I’ll have time. And it’s hardly something to celebrate. But next year . . .’

  ‘Then consider it a wake. You promised to make your kricklings.’

  ‘I was drunk. Promises made during Oistra don’t count.’

  ‘Speaking of which, Kore said you pulled after I left. Who’s the bloke?’

  ‘No one. It didn’t amount to anything.’

  A tad too quickly, a smidge too harsh to sound convincing.

  ‘Oh really, is that right . . .’

  ‘Whatever, I’m not in the mood to talk about it.’

  ‘So one of your usual tossers. Have you ever considered sleeping with someone you actually like?’

  Before Karen can respond, Marike continues:

  ‘Anyway, my exit’s coming up, so I have to go. We’ll talk more about this some other time. But if you’re serious about changing your mind about Saturday, you should probably call Eirik and Kore; they’ve been looking forward to it.’

  Karen does some quick calculations: she can boil mussels in her sleep and wine she can pick up after work. Unless there’s a break in the case, she should be able to pull it off. Besides, she could use some company.

  ‘No, you’re right,’ she says, ‘of course you should come. But I won’t have time to clean and you’re going to have to bring some bread from town; there’s no decent bakery in Langevik anymore. And if something happens and I have to go back to work, you’re on your own.’

  Forty-nine, she thinks after ending the call. When the fuck did that happen?