The Scent of Almonds: A Novella. Camilla Lackberg

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СКАЧАТЬ a barely concealed grin that made Martin want to punch him.

      ‘Do you mean we’re all stuck here?’ Miranda whined as she clung to Matte’s arm. He didn’t seem to notice her. His eyes were filled with tears as he stared at the dead man slumped over the table.

      For the first time it struck Martin that Matte was the only person seated at the table who had not been subjected to the old man’s demeaning questions. He was also the only one who now showed any sign of grief. As if to confirm what Martin was thinking, Matte got up and went over to the old man. He lifted Ruben’s face from the plate and began wiping it with a cloth napkin. Everyone stared at Matte as if hypnotized, but nobody made any attempt to help. When Ruben’s face was clean, Matte gently leaned his body back in the wheelchair and straightened the blanket that covered his lap.

      ‘Thank you, Matte,’ said Britten, giving her son a warm glance.

      ‘We need to put him somewhere cold,’ said Martin, trying to avoid looking at Matte. ‘If we’re not going to be able to leave, then we have to preserve … the evidence.’ He was expressing himself clumsily, but for the time being he was the only one who could safeguard the investigation and minimize the damage as much as possible. Someone in this house was a killer, and he had no intention of letting that person get away.

      ‘We can put him in the cold-storage room,’ said Börje, stepping forward to help.

      ‘Good,’ replied Martin curtly.

      Transporting the victim was made easier thanks to the wheelchair, and Martin was able to push it all the way inside the cold store.

      ‘Is it possible to lock the door?’ he asked Börje, who nodded and pointed to a padlock hanging on the wall.

      ‘We don’t want to catch our guests swiping any steaks,’ he explained with a wry smile, which quickly faded when Martin did not respond.

      After locking Ruben’s body inside, Martin and Börje returned to the dining room. Everyone was still seated exactly where they had been when Martin left them a few minutes earlier. No one seemed capable of moving.

      ‘Let’s go into the library,’ said Martin, gesturing towards the room at the other end of the hall. ‘Börje, is there any cognac?’ The hotel owner nodded and went to fetch a bottle. ‘Could you please make a fire in the fireplace …’ He searched his memory for the name of Börje’s wife but realized he’d only heard her referred to as ‘the wife’.

      ‘Kerstin. My name is Kerstin,’ she told him. ‘And yes, of course. I’d be happy to do that.’

      She too disappeared, and Martin turned his gaze to the members of the Liljecrona family. Not one person had so much as moved a muscle.

      ‘All right. Let’s go. Come with me.’ He led the way, expecting them to follow.

      One by one they entered the library and sat down. Kerstin was busy lighting the fire, and by the time everyone had taken a seat Börje came running in with a bottle of cognac. He took cognac glasses from a cabinet and poured a generous amount of the liquor in each one.

      ‘Is this standard practice for police in the area? Plying the witnesses with drink?’ asked Gustav in a low voice. But he gratefully accepted the glass that Börje offered him, and a moment later he held it out for a refill.

      ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that,’ replied Martin with a wan smile. ‘But nothing about this situation is standard. We’ll just have to proceed as best we can.’ He wished that Patrik Hedström, his closest colleague at the Tanumshede police station, were present. Martin hadn’t worked with Patrik for very long, but he admired him tremendously. He would have felt more confident if Patrik were here. His colleague would have undoubtedly known what to do. But as things stood, Martin would have to handle the situation on his own. And he had no intention of disappointing Patrik. He told himself it was simply a matter of relying on common sense and taking one thing at a time.

      ‘Since we can’t get to the police station, I’ll have to take your statements here. I want to speak to each of you individually, and I assume that you’re all willing to cooperate so that we can get to the bottom of what just happened.’ He looked at each family member in turn; no one seemed inclined to offer any objections.

      ‘Then I suggest you and I begin.’ Martin nodded at Harald.

      Her hand shook as she held the glass of cognac. With a worried expression she fixed her eyes on her husband’s broad back as he left the library. She was nervous about his health. Nervous about how he’d handle the pressure. Harald looked so strong, so solid, but Britten knew that it was all a facade. Long years of marriage had taught her that her big, boisterous husband was still just a frightened little boy. And she blamed Ruben for that. He’d been too harsh, demanded too much, expected his sons to be made of the same stuff as he was. Neither of them was. Gustav at least looked weak, and so he tended to get off comparatively lightly. Harald, on the other hand, had always given the impression of strength and power by virtue of his size, and no one had ever realized how weak he was inside. Well, maybe Ruben had done, deep in his heart. But he had chosen to close his eyes to the truth, and for that Britten had hated him.

      The job he’d given to Harald was doomed to failure from the very start. And the thought of allowing Gustav and Harald to work together … It was such an absurd idea that she wondered whether Ruben was in his right mind when he proposed the plan. Naturally his sons had taken the bait. They were so eager for approval that their tongues were practically hanging out of their mouths, drooling with the desire to show their father that they were worthy of his trust. All past failures would be wiped away in one fell swoop. This was their chance; finally, after all these years, they would win their father’s respect. Maybe even his love. That was what the two brothers had dared to hope for. Instead, the arrangement had turned out to be a complete disaster. Britten had watched Harald come home from the office, his face turning greyer and greyer each day. Looking more and more defeated. The heart attack he’d suffered a year ago had come as no surprise. Thankfully, Harald had survived. At that point his father should have realized that the job was too much for his son. But he hadn’t. Ruben had sent a bouquet of flowers to Harald’s sickbed and the very next day asked him when he’d be ready to return to work.

      ‘What do you think he’s going to say?’ Gustav whispered to Britten. ‘Do you think he’ll—’

      ‘I don’t know, Gustav,’ she replied tersely. There was something about her brother-in-law’s constant whining and timid manner that made her tense up in irritation.

      ‘I really hope that he doesn’t …’ That plaintive voice again, this time a bit shriller. ‘I really hope that he—’

      ‘Stop it!’ Britten’s tone, more than her words, made him halt mid-sentence. ‘It doesn’t matter what Harald says or doesn’t say. A line has been crossed, and now it’s as well that everything come out.’

      ‘But …’ Gustav ventured, his eyes flitting about nervously.

      Britten, however, had had enough. She turned her back on him and gazed out of the window at the snowstorm. There was nothing more to discuss.

      ‘I understand that you’re the older son.’

      ‘Yes.’ Harald Liljecrona stared straight ahead, his face expressionless. They’d been given permission to borrow the office belonging to Börje and Kerstin, and the two men were now seated on either side of the cluttered desk. Kerstin had helped Martin find an unused notepad and a pen, so he was ready to jot СКАЧАТЬ