Hidden in Memories (The Åre Murders), page 22
Ida spreads her hands apologetically. “It would be tricky with Alice.”
“I was just kidding.” Gustav laughs, showing his white teeth, then grows serious. “Those hotel murders are a terrible thing—is your partner working on the case?”
The fact that he has asked feels wrong; Ida doesn’t want to talk about that.
Or about Daniel.
“Do they have a suspect yet?” Gustav continues.
“It looks as if it’s the same killer,” Ida murmurs, hoping he will drop it.
Gustav has pushed back the sleeves of his moss-green undershirt revealing a tattoo on one forearm—strange letters that she doesn’t recognize.
“What does that say?” she asks, changing the subject.
“It’s Nepalese and it means snow. I had it done in a little place in Katmandu.”
“Wow—you’ve been to Nepal?”
“Just before the pandemic hit. Sometimes you have to get away. A group of us went traveling around Asia in the fall of 2019. We also went to Bhutan. It’s fantastic—you should go.”
Ida nods, although she knows it’s never going to happen. Gustav’s enthusiasm is infectious, and she is impressed both by his visit to the Himalayas and his tattoo.
She can’t imagine Daniel having anything written on his body. He is way too wholesome for that.
“I had to choose between that and ‘addicted to snow,’” Gustav explains. “But this feels more authentic.”
“It’s really cool,” Ida says, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke his skin.
“Great minds think alike,” he replies with a grin.
They both burst out laughing, and Ida remembers how much fun they used to have. He is almost always in a good mood, doesn’t take life too seriously. She was the same when they worked together.
He is the direct opposite of Daniel.
She pushes away thoughts of her partner, ashamed at comparing Gustav to him.
“Fantastic skiing the other day,” Gustav adds. “Amazing snow—and you’re an amazing skier.”
“Seriously—with your skills?”
Ida tries to keep her tone light, even though the tension between them is so strong she can almost touch it. She can’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss him. It would be so easy, it would only take a second. They’ve already done it, long before she met Daniel—back when she could be a little bit drunk, a little bit crazy, and life was a game.
Gustav might have been interested in something more all those years ago, but Ida didn’t have time for a relationship.
What would her life look like now if she’d taken that chance?
Alice wouldn’t exist.
The thought is almost physically painful. Ida can’t imagine life without her. She takes a bite of her sandwich to hide her confusion. They’re just chatting over a coffee, she tells herself yet again. Gustav will be leaving in half an hour, and she will go back to the apartment and give Alice her lunch.
This evening Daniel will come home and they will have dinner together.
Then everything will be back to normal.
71
The core team has gathered in the conference room: Daniel, Hanna, Raffe, and Anton. Daniel only just managed to grab a coffee this morning, but for the first time in an eternity he didn’t have any bad dreams.
Thanks to Jovanka, no doubt.
The first topic of the day is Paul Lehto. Hanna has just passed on the information about when he used the staff entrance on Sunday.
“Okay, so let’s start with checking his alibi,” Daniel says. “Then dig into his background to give us a clearer picture. I’ve nothing against questioning him again—he can bring the lawyer he insisted on.”
Hanna nods. “We also need to speak to his wife. I tried to call her both yesterday and this morning, but she didn’t pick up.”
“Have we heard anything about the autopsy on Aada Kuus?” Raffe asks.
“It’s Good Friday,” Anton points out.
“I don’t think they’ll get around to it until next week at the earliest—the Easter break is slowing everything down,” Daniel agrees.
Hanna is clearly frustrated. “I don’t get why everybody else can have time off while we’re sitting here working.”
Daniel sighs. “You know how it is.”
He shares her view, but it is what it is. Most of their colleagues, those who are not part of the investigating team or are on call, work office hours or a strictly laid-out roster. It’s difficult to demand overtime from other units, even when it feels as if the four of them are working round the clock.
Anton raps his knuckles on the desk. “Moving on . . . I’ve gone through the interviews with the employees who have rooms in the staff-accommodation block.”
“Anything interesting?”
“There’s a girl from Ljungbyhed who works as a waitress at the hotel. She says she heard the sound of a snow scooter outside the block shortly after midnight on Wednesday.”
“A snow scooter,” Daniel repeats, rubbing a hand over his beard. He remembers the tracks they found on Wednesday when they were searching with Molly the dog for the weapon that killed Charlotte Wretlind. The clear impressions in the snow, indicating that a scooter had been parked on the edge of the forest.
Now it seems as if the same type of vehicle was also involved in the second killing.
“Aada Kuus should have been on her way home after her late shift at that time,” Raffe says.
“That’s right,” Anton confirms. “And we have evidence to suggest that Charlotte’s murderer made his escape by scooter on Sunday. It could be a coincidence . . .”
“Or not,” Daniel says dryly.
Paul Lehto could easily have driven home in his car on Wednesday, exactly as he said, then come back on his scooter to strangle an eyewitness who constituted a threat to him.
Hanna’s phone buzzes.
“Look what Nadim has found,” she says, holding up the screen. “Guess whose IP address is the source of the aggressive comments on Facebook?”
She pauses for effect.
“Bengt Hedin’s work computer.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Anton says. “There was something very unpleasant about that guy—online hate posts are just about his level.”
“A search warrant would be useful so we can access his computer,” Raffe suggests.
“It’s too soon,” Anton objects.
Hanna begins to gather up her papers. “Can you guys take care of that? Daniel—we need to leave now if we’re going to get to Storlien on time.”
Daniel realizes she is right. They’ve arranged to visit the mountain hotel, and are meeting the site supervisor. In view of Charlotte’s commitment to the project and the hate-filled outpourings on the Facebook page, they want to see the place for themselves.
Hanna has never been there, and Daniel isn’t particularly familiar with the location.
“Look out for the evil spirits,” Raffe says, half joking and half serious. “They say the old hotel is haunted.”
Daniel is taken aback. “What do you mean by that?”
“Surely you know about all the old stories?”
Daniel shakes his head. He doesn’t have time for this kind of nonsense.
But Anton, who grew up in Åre, has a wary expression on his face. “It’s true. That place gives me the creeps.”
72
It’s a lovely drive, Hanna thinks as she gazes at the snow-covered forest lining the road to Storlien. It takes about forty-five minutes to travel from the police station along the E14, which continues to the Norwegian border just a few hundred yards farther on.
But Hanna has bad memories from this place.
They recently passed Lake Gev and Tångböle, where the murdered skier Johan Andersson was found by the roadside just over a year ago. The investigation was difficult and upsetting, and ended in tragedy. Hanna still finds it difficult to sleep sometimes because of the outcome, when the fatal shot was fired right in front of her before she could intervene.
It was that incident that made her realize how she felt about Daniel. In the midst of her despair he became her rock. He was there and he didn’t let go, in spite of all her tears.
Her phone rings, interrupting her melancholy train of thought. When she checks the display, she sees that Filip Wretlind is calling.
“Hi, Filip—how’s it going?”
“Not so good.”
She hears him inhale sharply, as if he is suppressing a sob. His voice is shaky.
“Have you seen the article about Mom?”
Hanna doesn’t know whether to deny or admit that she has read the wretched piece. She would prefer to say no in order to spare his feelings, but at the same time she doesn’t want to lie.
“I have, yes.”
“Are they allowed to do that?” He is clearly on the verge of tears. “That woman, the journalist, she twisted everything I said. I didn’t put it like that at all, but she’s made it sound as if Mom and I fought about my studies all the time—as if Mom didn’t care about me. She absolutely did, I know she loved me. It was just that she had too much to do, because she was always working.”
Hanna hears a car start up in the background. Filip must be outdoors, maybe he’s in the square outside Åregården?
“I wish I’d never agreed to the interview. And I’m not a spoiled brat, as she puts it. I’ve never been given everything I asked for. I just wanted to tell people how generous Mom was, so they wouldn’t think she was only interested in making money.” He breaks off with another sob.
“I understand, Filip.”
Hanna doesn’t know what to say. Daniel is driving fast, the landscape is whizzing by. They have just passed Enafors. The turning for Handöl and Snasahögarna is coming up on the left. They will reach their destination in fifteen minutes.
“I wish there was something I could do,” she continues; she can hear how pathetic it sounds. “Unfortunately it’s not illegal to write an article like that, even if it is pure crap.”
Filip has just lost his mother, and now this.
She tries to think of something that might make him feel better. There is no point in saying that he could report the newspaper to the press ombudsman; at best he would receive a judgment in six to twelve months.
She makes an attempt to console him. “I’m sure not that many people have seen it. Hardly anyone reads the evening papers these days.”
“Yes, they do.” There is anger in his voice now; he seems less crushed. “Everyone here at Åregården has read it. Lots of people recognize me and come over to comment on the article. Or they’re curious and want me to talk about the murder, tell them how I’m feeling.”
Hanna has no idea how she can help him. She mumbles a few meaningless phrases, promises to see if there are any measures that can be taken.
“You can always call me if you need to talk,” she reminds him before they end the call.
It’s been a long time since she felt so inadequate.
73
Shortly afterward Daniel leaves the E14 and negotiates the first roundabout. They have reached Storlien.
To the left lies the huge shopping center that the Norwegians love. They come over to make the most of the exchange rate and differing taxation, spending thousands of kronor on cheap food and drink. There is also a gigantic candy store where the customers use buckets as bags.
“That must be the mountain hotel,” Hanna says, pointing to a dark-red building part way up the slope.
Daniel drives toward it. He has never been inside, although he has been here with Ida a few times to go cross-country skiing. He parks outside the entrance, which is in a whitewashed annex.
The whole place looks undeniably dead and abandoned.
Haunted, just like Raffe said.
“Isn’t it strange that so many dreams and turbulent emotions are linked to this hotel?” Hanna says from the passenger seat.
Daniel contemplates the building in front of them. It exudes an unexpected air of melancholy, with an unmistakable aura of its long-gone glory days. It doesn’t look as if it is waiting to be woken from its slumbers like Sleeping Beauty, but more as if it will never come back to life.
“It’s hard to believe this was a renowned establishment back in the day,” he says. “It’s not even particularly impressive.”
“I guess it used to sparkle and shine.” Hanna undoes her seatbelt. “But now it’s kind of depressing.”
She has put Daniel’s feelings into words. “Not much glamour left,” he says.
“And yet people are furious at the idea that it might disappear. Charlotte definitely stirred up a hornets’ nest when she decided she wanted to pull it down.”
“Mmm.”
Daniel screws up his eyes against the sun. All he can see is a barricaded structure of steel and wood. But two women are dead, and there is a great deal to suggest that this place lies at the heart of the investigation.
How could it mean so much that it led to . . . murder?
74
Anton has spent the morning continuing to go through the interviews with employees who lived in the same block as Aada Kuus.
The matter has top priority.
At the same time, he wants to keep digging into Bengt Hedin’s activities. The information that his IP address is behind the abusive posts on Facebook is damning. However, they need a lot more if they are going to be able to prove that Hedin and Paul Lehto, or another member of the hotel staff, are responsible for the two murders.
After some discussion Raffe and Anton have decided not to confront Hedin yet. The text messages and Facebook posts are serious, but insufficient evidence.
It is better to wait and keep an eye on developments, then go in hard.
Hedin has given his wife as his alibi for Sunday night, but Anton doesn’t set much store by that. He has spoken to her on the phone, and although she confirmed that her husband had come home, she admitted in the same sentence that she was “probably” asleep by then. Then she said the same again with regard to Wednesday evening.
It sounds exactly like Paul Lehto’s statement. He also claimed he was home and that his wife could back him up . . . although she was asleep.
Anton tries to focus on the screen, but his concentration is poor. Forbidden thoughts come creeping in.
Thoughts of Carl.
An idea has begun to take shape.
Maybe he could contact Carl to find out more about Hedin? After all, they work for the same employer, in the same building. With a bit of luck, Carl might have heard or seen something that would help Anton to move forward.
It would be perfectly reasonable for him to contact Carl and ask that question; it wouldn’t be awkward at all.
On some level Anton knows that he is grasping at straws, searching for a reason to call Carl, but it doesn’t matter. As long as he is doing it in the line of duty, no one can say anything. Least of all Carl, who knows that Anton is working on a case that involves the council, since they bumped into each other in Järpen.
Even though Anton suspects that Carl has a boyfriend, he longs for him.
He can allow himself a brief phone call. As long as he doesn’t get his hopes up.
He picks up his phone and scrolls down to Carl’s number. Weighs the phone in his hand, with butterflies in his tummy.
Then he takes a deep breath and makes the call.
75
Hanna opens her car door. “Shall we go in?”
A man in dungarees waves to them as they get out. This must be Leffe, the site supervisor who is going to show them around. He looks as if he’s close to retirement age; gray hair is peeping out from beneath his dark-blue cap, which is pulled well down over his ears.
“Are you from the police?” he calls out.
Hanna nods and Leffe points to a side door with a frosted pane of glass, about fifteen yards from what they had assumed was the entrance.
“We can go in this way. The main door isn’t used anymore, to keep the heat in.”
Leffe leads them into what was once the foyer, and presses a button to switch on the lights. They are standing in front of a wooden staircase with skillfully carved banisters and a dark-red carpet held in place by brass stair rods.
Hanna can almost see the guests from bygone days sweeping past in their beautiful clothes, delicate cocktail glasses in their hands.
“At least it looks better on the inside,” Daniel says quietly in her ear.
Leffe leads them into the dining room on the first floor, then up another staircase to what is known as the Loft. He explains that dances were held here, to live music. There is a podium at one end for the band. In the opposite direction, up a few more steps, is the famous bar with its elegant black counter and tall cane-backed stools. Small groups of chairs made of dark wood with distressed gilding are arranged to make the most of the fantastic view.
“This is where the guests would have their coffee and cognac after dinner,” Leffe tells them nostalgically.
Hanna stops dead in front of the window.
Unlike Åre, which is located on the side of a mountain, giving almost every building a view of the lake, this hotel has the sweeping panorama of the mountains as its focus. The landscape is less steep, with sparse vegetation; it is the white mountain birch that catch the eye, extending all the way to the Norwegian border, which can just be seen to the west.
This is just on the tree line; only a short distance away, the bare mountains await.
“It’s very peaceful,” Daniel says, gesturing toward the view before them.
Hanna agrees. It is easy to let your eyes rest on the gentle slopes, to lose yourself in all the whiteness.
“Are these the old ceiling paintings that everyone seems to be so upset about?” Daniel asks. Like Hanna he has seen the Facebook posts where members express their anger at the fact that the fine works of art will not be preserved if the building is demolished.
Hanna takes a closer look. They really are striking, colorful and imaginative. The ceiling is covered with various animals—reindeer, moose, and dogs. There are also Viking longboats, and native Inuit and Sámi figures in traditional dress.
