He sounded stressed. He could obviously hear it for himself because he took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself.
“It’s been a long time, Embla. But Nisse told me you and the boy were coming up this week, and I know you’re a police officer. You investigate homicides, don’t you? Well, something’s happened. One of our guests has been murdered during the night. We found him this morning,” he said, making an effort to remain calm.
It was hard to imagine people killing one another in the peaceful surroundings of Herremark, but after her years with the Västra Götaland County Bureau of Investigation’s Mobile Unit, known as VGM, Embla was well aware that violent crimes were committed even in the most idyllic pastoral settings. But she was still taken by surprise.
“Murdered? No chance it could be suicide?” she asked quietly so that Elliot wouldn’t hear. It was an unnecessary precaution; a boring phone call didn’t interest him at all. He was busy outlining his strategy for the hunt, while Nisse nodded in agreement.
“He’s lying in his bed. Shot in the head,” Harald informed her, his voice shaking.
Embla remained silent for a moment, thinking fast. Murder, suicide, sometimes it was difficult to establish which it was. Shooting oneself in the head was often a preferred method for those who’d decided to end their life using a gun.
“Where is he?”
“In one of the cottages we rent out.”
Then she asked the most obvious question.
“Have you called the police?”
“Yes, but because it’s Saturday, only the police in Åmål are on duty, and they’re busy with another murder that happened last night—just a few kilometers from here, in fact. A young lad was stabbed at the indoor bandy club’s party.”
“Okay, but the police in Bengtsfors . . .” Embla ventured.
“As I said, the police station isn’t open on the weekends. I’ve heard they’re closing it down for good. That’s what Monika told me.”
A violent coughing fit interrupted Harald’s account. “The Åmål cops said it would be a while before they can get over here,” he continued. “So I was wondering if you could come and take a look? It would make us feel better.”
Embla glanced at Elliot. He was so excited, his eyes shone with anticipation. Postponing the hunt wasn’t an option. He’d been talking about nothing else since they arrived at Nisse’s the previous weekend.
“Listen, can I call you back in a few minutes? I just need to have a word with Nisse. We’ve made a promise to Elliot, and Nisse’s going to have to take over if I come to Herremark.” She hung up, her eyes fixed on Elliot. “You go—I’ll take the boy out,” Nisse said before she had a chance to explain. “I’m sure we can manage to shoot a fox on our own.”
He winked at Elliot, who responded with a beaming smile.
The strong wind had packed the snow into solid drifts, and at any moment a swirl of fine snow, known as “snow smoke,” could hide the way ahead completely. Luckily the 172 had been cleared pretty well, so it didn’t take Embla very long to cover the thirty kilometers. When she saw a sign for Herremark Guesthouse, she turned off the main road, following the arrow. It wasn’t easy to cover the last few hundred meters, even though her car had good winter tires. She had borrowed a Kia Sportage from her friend Bella, who’d gone to New York to spend a year working for a bank. Embla’s own vintage Volvo 245 was due for a tune-up at some point during the spring.
As she slid to a halt in front of the guesthouse, the carved double doors opened and Harald and Monika came out to greet her.
“Embla—thank you so much for coming! This is just dreadful!” Monika exclaimed. She was shaking as she took Embla’s outstretched hand between her own. Her grip was unexpectedly firm, as if she were clinging to a life buoy. Harald’s anxiety showed itself in his inability to stand still. He kept shifting from one foot to the other, which made him sway slightly.
Monika was small and neat, with thick steel-gray hair cut into a short bob. She was wearing black pants and a pretty traditional Norwegian sweater in shades of blue. Harald was tall and had grown a little rotund over the years. Like Nisse, he’d lost most of his hair, and, also like his cousin, he’d chosen to shave off the few remaining strands. When they were young, Harald, Nisse, and Embla’s mother, Sonja, had all had flaming dark-red hair. Only Embla and her youngest brother, Kolbjörn, had inherited the family color; the two older brothers had dark hair like their father.
Harald was wearing a red checked flannel shirt and dark-blue chinos with a pair of neon-green Crocs. In spite of the cold, his forehead and upper lip were beaded with sweat.
Before Embla left, Nisse had told her something about the history of the guesthouse. It dated from the mid-nineteenth century, a prosperous manor house with plenty of agricultural land and forest. Unfortunately, subsequent generations had failed to manage the property responsibly. The last impoverished owner had sold the whole lot to Monika and Harald, and together they had built up the business over the past forty years. Today they were able to offer their guests five-star food in a restaurant with an excellent reputation, along with comfortable overnight accommodation. Behind the main guesthouse a field sloped down toward a large lake, and this was where Harald had had a number of cabins built, all expertly finished. Many visitors returned year after year, booking several weeks during the summer, when renting canoes to explore the region’s rivers and lakes was a popular activity.
The place was usually fully booked in the winter, too. Only a few kilometers away there was a slalom run with a drag lift, which families with children enjoyed, but most people came for the outstanding cross-country skiing. The tracks were well marked and maintained throughout the season. The restaurant was also highly regarded; you had to make a reservation weeks in advance. The specialty was game, often provided by Harald himself. Monika ran the kitchen, and had managed to attract a number of skilled chefs.
The couple were approaching retirement age now, and Nisse had told Embla that they were already negotiating with a possible successor. It was clear that the discovery of a body in one of their cabins had shocked them, and of course there were also implications for the guesthouse’s reputation.
“Come on in—you’ll freeze to death out here,” Monika said, drawing Embla inside. Only then did she release her grip on Embla’s hand. She gave her a warm hug, and Embla realized Monika’s cheek was damp with tears. Embla hugged her warmly in return as Harald followed them in and closed the heavy doors. The small lobby was welcoming, with several armchairs arranged around a crackling open fire.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Harald said, leading the way to a door marked private. He held it open politely for the two ladies. Embla took off her boots and hung up her jacket on one of the hand-forged iron hooks in the hallway. Then they headed up the stairs, Harald bringing up the rear with a heavy tread. The large, airy room was lined with bookshelves. The windows provided a fantastic view of the lake. There was a cane sofa and chairs with soft blue-and-white-striped cushions, and the rag rug on the floor was perfect, in different shades of blue.