The Scent of Almonds: A Novella Page 4

  Martin could hear raised voices as he walked down the corridor towards the library. When he entered the room he saw Gustav and Harald. Both men were red in the face, and saliva was flying as they shouted at each other.

  ‘You’re always so conceited! You think you’re better at everything!’ yelled Gustav, shaking his fist at his brother.

  ‘If I’m conceited, it’s because I am better at everything than you are! Name one thing you’ve ever succeeded at – go on, name one thing!’

  The flush on Harald’s face made Martin worry that the man might be on the verge of a heart attack. Apparently Britten had the same thought because she was standing behind her husband, trying to calm him down by pulling on his arm and pleading with him to stop.

  ‘As if you’ve had so much success yourself! I heard why those American suppliers backed out last spring. They considered you to be incompetent and unreliable – you even managed to insult their CEO. So thanks to you we lost a contract that could have generated up to ten per cent of next year’s sales!’

  Harald made a lunge for Gustav, who hastily jumped away. Britten tugged even harder at her husband’s arm, trying to hold him back.

  ‘Harald, please. Stop this. It’s so unnecessary. You’re brothers, after all. And think about your blood pressure …’ But her husband refused to listen to her.

  ‘Well, at least I’m not an embezzler,’ Harald snarled. He turned to Martin. ‘You didn’t know about that, did you? My dear brother has been withdrawing money from the company accounts for over a year. More than five million kronor in total. The auditors just found out about it, and that was probably what Father was referring to at dinner. So if you’re looking for a motive, there it is – five million kronor.’

  Harald pointed triumphantly at Gustav, whose face had turned so white that it seemed almost transparent.

  ‘Ha! What do you have to say for yourself now?’ Harald shook off Britten’s hand and folded his arms. He looked like the proverbial cat who’d swallowed a very plump canary.

  ‘It was … it was a loan,’ stammered Gustav. ‘I was going to pay the money back. On my word of honour. Every single öre. I only borrowed it because … I …’ He turned to look at Vivi who, like Britten, was standing beside her husband. She was staring at him wide-eyed.

  ‘Gustav?’ Again Vivi raised her hand to her throat. ‘What … what is Harald talking about? Five million kronor? Gustav?’

  With a look of despair he stretched out a hand to his wife, who quickly took a step back to avoid his touch.

  ‘Sweetheart … I …’ Gustav turned towards the window, as if trying to find a way out, but the blizzard had not let up in the slightest, and it had effectively cut off all escape routes. Then he sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. In utter silence the others stared at him. Vivi in disbelief, Harald with a triumphant expression, Bernard with obvious glee, and Britten with a certain amount of sympathy.

  ‘What did you do with the money?’ Vivi was the first to break the silence, her voice quavering. When she received no reply, she repeated her question. ‘Gustav, what did you do with the money?’

  First they heard a deep sigh, then came his answer, the words barely intelligible.

  ‘I … gambled it all away.’

  Vivi inhaled sharply. Bernard laughed. Martin saw Miranda give him a sharp jab in the side as she hissed: ‘Stop that!’

  ‘You … gambled the money away?’ Vivi shook her head and seemed unable to comprehend what she’d heard. ‘Gambled on what?’

  Still with his face buried in his hands, Gustav muttered: ‘Horses, Internet poker games – you name it. Anything that would give me that adrenalin rush. And in the beginning I won. I won big time. But then I started losing. I thought that if I kept going for a little while, I’d win it all back. Then I could return the money to the company.’

  ‘What a bloody loser you are,’ said Harald with disgust.

  Gustav abruptly raised his head and glared at his brother with hatred.

  ‘I don’t see why you’re so proud of yourself. You’ve been a total failure as CEO, and Father was ready to sack you. And you know it. What would you have done then? No management job, no money from Father, nothing. You’ve taken advantage of Father’s generosity all your life, and you never had to make it on your own. So if we’re going to talk about motive, that’s a strong motive too!’ Gustav turned to look at Martin as he uttered this last remark. Then he got up and stormed out of the library.

  For a moment the silence almost echoed in the room, until Bernard said cheerfully, ‘Well, the entertainment seems to be over. How about some coffee?’

  It never ceased to amaze him how self-destructive they were. To think that his father had actually been enterprising enough to embezzle five million kronor – and then gamble all the money away! Bernard could scarcely believe it. He chuckled to himself as he took a cinnamon bun. He supposed he ought to feel sorry for the old man, but he’d never had much time for empathy. It was a constant marvel to him that someone as decisive and strong as he was could have come from such pitiful parents. There must be some truth in the theory of environment versus genetics.

  He sat down at a table where his sister was sitting alone, listlessly stirring her coffee.

  ‘Don’t you want anything sweet with your coffee?’ he asked, pointing behind him to the platter that was piled high with baked goods.

  ‘No. I’m on a diet,’ she told him in a tone of voice that indicated this was a standard phrase of hers.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Bernard took a big bite of a cinnamon bun.

  ‘I don’t understand how you can eat so many pastries and never get fat,’ said Miranda, looking at him with disgust.

  ‘Good genes,’ he said, grinning as he patted his flat stomach.

  ‘I guess you won the lottery in that respect,’ grumbled Miranda. ‘You got Mum and Dad’s good genes, while I got … Who the hell knows?’ And she laughed.

  ‘That’s probably the only good thing I got from them,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘I know.’ Miranda sighed. It was not the first time they had discussed this topic and concluded that neither of them had much in common with their parents.

  ‘So what do you think about all this?’ Bernard asked, taking another bite of the bun.

  ‘All this? Hmm …’ said Miranda.

  ‘Are you thinking the same thing I am?’ whispered Bernard.

  ‘That maybe he already changed his will?’ whispered Miranda in reply. ‘Yes, the thought did occur to me.’

  ‘Even so, there’s no reason to panic. We can always contest the will. I’m certain we can find witnesses who will testify that the old man was not in his right mind at the end.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Miranda, looking sceptical. She was still aimlessly stirring her coffee, but now she stopped. ‘Who do you think killed him?’ she whispered, glancing around the room.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Bernard. ‘Absolutely no idea.’ He stuffed the last bite of cinnamon bun in his mouth.

  Martin felt a numbing fatigue come over him, the result of consuming far too many biscuits and pastries. He knew he should search Ruben’s room to see if he could find anything that might propel the investigation forward, but first he decided to lie down and rest for a while. He needed a break so he could think everything through. To his annoyance, Lisette accompanied him up to their room. Instead of having some peace and quiet, he found himself lying on the bed next to her, listening to her babble.

  ‘I think it’s terrible that Uncle Gustav embezzled money from Grandpa’s company. And yet he has the gall to say such awful things about my father … How could anyone suggest that … that my father would … Oh, poor Pappa. You know, I’ve never been very fond of Uncle Gustav and Aunt Vivi. I have to admit that.’

  Martin sighed. In the early days he had found Lisette and her bubbly chatter so charming, but now, as if with the speed of lightning, she had ceased to be attractive to him. He knew now that their relationship ha
d been a summer love affair that should have gone no further. Why did he always choose the wrong girlfriends? Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever find anyone to share his life. At the moment, it seemed highly unlikely. On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly ancient, so he still had time. But first he needed to untangle himself from this terrible blunder that he’d made.

  ‘I simply can’t understand how Gustav could be Bernard’s father. My cousin is such a handsome and stylish guy,’ Lisette was saying. ‘Vivi was pretty when she was younger. I’ve seen pictures of her. So maybe that’s where he gets his good looks. And Miranda is beautiful. Don’t you think so, Martin?’

  From Lisette’s tone of voice Martin sensed that he was stepping into a minefield, and the best policy would be to ignore the question entirely. So he feigned a snore and hoped that Lisette would be fooled into thinking that he’d dozed off. Thank God, it must have worked, because she didn’t repeat the question.

  A moment later he fell asleep for real.

  Martin sat up with a jolt and quickly realized that he’d slept for over an hour. He cursed as he tossed aside the blanket. The other side of the bed was empty and cold, so Lisette must have left quite a while ago. Annoyed, he ran his hand through his tousled hair and stepped out into the corridor. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed two shadows hurriedly disappearing at the sound of his door opening. He dashed after them, but when he reached the stairs, they were gone. He wondered who had been so eager to avoid him, and why.

  Still groggy, Martin went downstairs. Hearing voices in the library, he headed in that direction. The storm didn’t seem to have diminished. If anything, it was worse. The strain of being trapped indoors under these circumstances was evident in the pallid faces and tense expressions of the assembled family members. Martin glanced around the room suspiciously, hoping to spot the two people who’d run away from him upstairs, but no one looked particularly nervous or out of breath.

  ‘So, the sleeper awakes,’ bellowed Harald. ‘Nice to see how my tax money is put to use. The officer in charge lies in bed snoring while there’s a murderer on the loose.’ He chuckled as Britten gave him a jab in the side. Apparently she found his humour in poor taste.

  ‘I’d like to continue with the interviews.’ Martin could hear how irritable he sounded, so he added in a calmer tone: ‘Bernard, would you mind …’

  Bernard didn’t deign to answer. He merely raised one eyebrow, nonchalantly set down his glass, and then followed Martin out of the room.

  ‘Were you upstairs a moment ago?’ Martin asked, trying to sound casual while intently studying the man seated on the other side of the desk.

  ‘Upstairs? No, I was in the library. You saw me there, didn’t you?’ replied Bernard, crossing his legs in that annoying way of his.

  Martin wasn’t sure that he believed him, but he persisted, ‘Did you see anyone else come down the stairs a few minutes ago?’

  ‘Hmm … No. Everybody was in the library. I thought this interview was supposed to be about what happened last night. About who killed dear Grandpa Ruben, whose body is now resting in the cold-storage room.’

  ‘Yes, let’s talk about last night. Your grandfather certainly had harsh words for you at the dinner table. What was he referring to? Who are the “sources” that he mentioned, and what did they have to say about the business that you’re involved in?’

  Bernard plucked a few invisible pieces of lint from his immaculately pressed trousers. Then he looked Martin in the eye, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It seemed to Martin that everything about this man radiated contempt, a sense of superiority towards everyone else.

  ‘As I’m sure you heard me say at dinner, I have no idea what Grandpa was talking about. My company is flourishing. In fact, we’ve recently gone public, and as far as Grandpa’s sources are concerned … well, all I can say is the old man wasn’t in the game any more. His so-called sources are a bunch of has-beens. They’ve ceased to be players, so they spend their time spreading malicious rumours.’

  ‘I didn’t get the impression that your grandfather was a has-been. On the contrary.’

  Bernard snorted. He plucked away more invisible lint before replying.

  ‘Grandpa Ruben put my father and Harald in two of the most important positions in his company. Does that strike you as a sound and intelligent commercial decision?’

  Martin could see what he meant. Maybe it was true that the old man had no longer been fully cognizant of what he was doing.

  ‘There seems to have been a pattern among members of the Liljecrona family of asking Ruben for various … infusions of cash. Did you make use of the family assets in the same way?’

  ‘What if I did? We were going to inherit his money sooner or later. It was better for the old man to help us out while he was still alive. Then he could hear us thank him for his generosity. And share in our success …’

  ‘How much?’ asked Martin coldly.

  ‘How much what?’ Bernard pretended not to understand the question.

  ‘How much did you get Ruben to invest in your company?’

  For a moment Bernard seemed to lose his composure. He paused before replying:

  ‘Twenty million.’

  ‘Twenty million?’ repeated Martin in disbelief. The sum made him dizzy.

  ‘He was going to get it all back, and with interest. As soon as the IPO went through.’

  ‘Then what was the problem he mentioned last night? It sounded as though your grandfather had misgivings about his investment.’

  ‘As I said before, I have no idea what he was talking about! The IPO will go through in a couple of weeks, and then he would have received his twenty million back, along with a whole sack of money in interest!’ Bernard’s unflappable composure seemed to be showing a few cracks. He ran his hand over his slicked-back hair.

  ‘So if I ask the fraud squad to check out your company when we get back to civilization, they’re not going to find anything amiss?’

  Again Bernard ran his hand over his gelled hair. Martin felt great satisfaction when he noticed him shift his glance away for a moment.

  ‘How many times do I have to say it? I have no idea what Grandpa was talking about,’ he muttered through clenched teeth.

  ‘So you maintain that you had no motive for killing him. What about the others? Is there anyone in the family who could have done it?’

  Bernard was once again his usual smug self. And he said more or less what his sister had said. ‘Do you really expect me to answer that question?’

  ‘Okay, let’s stop there for the time being,’ said Martin, realizing that he wasn’t going to make any more headway with Bernard. ‘Could you ask Mattias to join me here in the office?’

  ‘No one calls him Mattias. Just Matte. But I’ll pass on your message to my dear cousin.’

  With that Bernard got up and sauntered out of the room. Martin watched with annoyance. There was something about the man that made his hackles rise.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’

  Matte paused politely in the doorway. Martin noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed and realized that he’d shed more tears overnight.

  ‘Yes, come in,’ he said in a friendly tone of voice as he gestured towards the chair in front of the desk.

  Matte obligingly sat down. ‘What a terrible first meeting you’ve had with my family,’ he said with a wan smile.

  ‘You’re right. It must be some kind of record,’ said Martin with a laugh. Then his expression turned serious. ‘How are you doing?’

  Matte shook his head. ‘I can’t believe that Grandpa is gone … And that everyone seems so … indifferent.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Martin. ‘So far you’re the only one I’ve seen cry over Ruben Liljecrona. I assume that the two of you must have been very close, you and your grandfather.’

  ‘We had a ritual, Grandpa and I. Once a week, every Friday afternoon, I would call by his flat for tea. We talked about every subject under the sun. Grandpa was o
ne of the cleverest, most widely read, and most broad-minded people I’ve ever met. It was a privilege to have him in my life.’

  ‘It doesn’t appear that the rest of the family shared your opinion.’

  Matte snorted. ‘The others just got dollar signs in their eyes whenever they thought about Grandpa. Even my father. All they ever cared about was taking more and more money from him. Nobody was interested in getting to know him.’

  ‘So the flat that Bernard mentioned …’

  Matte sighed wearily. ‘Grandpa and I had an agreement. I was allowed to live in a flat that he owned while I was studying at the university. He never signed the property over to me. I leased it from him, that’s all.’

  Martin paused before saying in a low voice, ‘Do you have any idea who might have done this?’

  A few seconds passed before Matte reacted. Then he merely shook his head and said, ‘No. I have no idea.’

  Martin had the feeling that Matte wanted to say more, so he persisted:

  ‘Are you sure? Do you have any suspicions about who might have wanted to kill your grandfather?’

  ‘No. None,’ replied Matte in a firmer voice. ‘It’s true that everyone took advantage of him, but to go from that to murder … No, I can’t imagine anyone doing that.’

  Martin gave him a searching glance before concluding, ‘In that case, I have no more questions at the moment.’

  ‘No more questions?’ said Matte in surprise. ‘But there must be other things that—’

  ‘I do have a number of things I plan to ask all of you in the hope of getting to the bottom of this matter. But right now I’m primarily interested in forming a general picture of how things stood. I’ll get to back to you later.’

  Matte stood up but didn’t immediately leave the office. He paused in the doorway, as if he wanted to say something else. Martin waited, but in the end Matte simply turned around and left.

  Martin wondered what other questions he should have asked.

  Matte felt his legs shaking as he exited the office. There was something in the red-haired police officer’s expression that left him feeling stripped naked. As if he’d been revealed for the fraud that he was. The familiar sense of panic began churning in the pit of his stomach. It started as a tiny rumbling, but he knew that it would only grow in strength if he didn’t stop it. When he was younger, he’d had no choice but to allow the wave of panic to surge through him, faster and faster until it practically suffocated him. Now, he’d learned how to handle it. He had the tools, as the psychologist would have told him. So he took a few more steps over to the wall and leaned his back against it as he slowly sank to the floor in a seated position. He rested his forehead on his knees and closed his eyes. The important thing was to focus on the point in the middle of the darkness. He could make the point grow, and then it would force him to get his breathing under control. In and out. In and out. One calm breath after another. One breath at a time until his pulse no longer threatened to run away with him. The darkness behind his eyelids soothed him. And today he had company in that darkness. Deep inside that point that was growing and growing he saw his grandfather. Ruben was waving to him. Giving him a wink. Showing him that everything was okay. Everything was as it should be.