“Jonny.” He held out his hand for a second, then changed his mind and nodded instead.

“What do you do?” Kicki asked.

“This and that. I’m a carpenter, but I do a bit of painting as well. I do all kinds of jobs for the summer visitors.”

He took a swig of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As he put the glass down some of the liquid spilled over onto the table, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“What kind of things do you paint?” Kicki was interested. She needed a diversion for a little while, and she was curious about life on the island.

“All kinds of things. Mostly nature.” He gave an embarrassed laugh, then took a pencil out of his back pocket and reached for a napkin that was lying on the table. With rapid strokes he drew Kicki in profile. It was no more than a few lines, yet the likeness was striking. He had managed to capture both her features and her expression in seconds.

He pushed the drawing over to her.

“There you go.”

“Impressive,” Kicki said. “Do you do this all the time?”

“Not exactly. I spend most of my time doing carpentry in the summer. There’s always something that needs fixing, and when people are on vacation, they don’t want to do it themselves. They also pay well—cash, of course, but that’s fine. Nobody needs to bother with a receipt, do they?” He underlined his words with a wry smile.

A blond waitress arrived with Kicki’s food. She put the plate down on the table and handed over a knife and fork wrapped in a napkin. The food looked delicious, with a fried egg on the side and a generous serving of beetroot. The waitress picked up Kicki’s glass with a practiced movement and smiled at them.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Kicki looked at her companion. He seemed nice. A bit shy, but interesting. There was something puppyish about him, which appealed to her.

She leaned forward, pushing back a strand of hair as she winked at him. “How about buying me a beer? Then you can tell me what people get up to on Sandhamn on a Friday night in the middle of summer. This is my first visit.”

CHAPTER 15

This was what Nora called a perfect Sandhamn evening.

From the gardens, all around they could hear the sound of their neighbors also enjoying dinner outside. In the distance, Dinah Washington was singing “Mad about the Boy.” The air was so still that the buzzing of the bees was clearly audible, and the swallows were flying high—a sure sign of continuing high pressure. It was almost nine o’clock, but the air was still warm. The perch fillets had been delicious, and everyone was enjoying themselves.

As dessert was served, the conversation turned to the dead man on the shore.

“How’s the investigation going?” Henrik asked.

“Well,” Thomas said, “there are no signs of foul play. An accident, probably. He might have fallen overboard from one of the ferries to Finland; I mean, they do pass here every night.” He took some rhubarb crumble before he went on. “He was a lonely person. No immediate family, no parents still alive, no friends as far as we can tell. The only relative he had was a cousin, a woman he seemed to be fairly close to. But he had a pretty tragic life, so to speak.” As he uttered the words, he regretted them. The parallel with his own life was all too clear. No family, no children; he was approaching forty and lived in a two-room apartment just like the dead man. Who was he to call Krister Berggren’s life tragic?

“What makes you think he died of natural causes?” Henrik asked as he passed around the pitcher of vanilla sauce.

The question brought Thomas back to reality. He pulled himself together with some difficulty. “There’s nothing to suggest anything else. He drowned. The only strange thing is that he had a rope around his waist. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything; sometimes there just isn’t an explanation.”

“A rope?”

“Yes, a kind of loop that had been passed over the body. It looked like ordinary rope. We haven’t been able to trace it because there was nothing unusual about it.”

“Was there any reason for him to take his own life?” Henrik asked.

Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think so. We haven’t found a suicide note. But it’s hard to say for certain.”

“Do you know any more about the fishing net?” Nora asked.

“No, nothing. There was a long net needle woven through one corner, but that doesn’t tell us much. Besides, the body probably drifted into the net after the man died. It’s hardly surprising; so many people lay their nets around the islands.”

Henrik leaned forward, clearly interested. He swallowed his food as quickly as he could and went on. “What did it say on the needle?”

“There were just two letters: GA. Hard to draw any conclusions from that.”

Nora tried to think. “Do we know anyone with those initials?”

Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s all that important. I mean, the net could belong to just about anyone who fishes in this part of the archipelago. Most indications still suggest that we’re looking at an accident.”

“What does that mean?” Nora asked.

“The case will be closed. There are no suspicious circumstances, so we’ll wrap up the investigation.”

“So will you get to take a vacation?” Nora asked as she poured the last of the wine.

Thomas nodded. “Very soon, I’m happy to say. I just have to finish this off next week, then I’ll be heading straight for Harö.”

“Are your parents there?”

“Of course. They went over at the end of April. Since they retired I think they spend more time on the island than in town.” Thomas’s face lit up at the thought of his parents. “They keep nagging me to take my vacation earlier, but I enjoy being there as the high season comes to an end. I’ll be there when it suits me.”

He raised his glass to Nora in a gesture of appreciation.

“Thank you for a wonderful dinner.”

SATURDAY, THE SECOND WEEK

CHAPTER 16

The evening had been a success, Nora thought as she made coffee. They had all been in good form and seemed to have enjoyed themselves. They had sat outside until midnight without feeling cold.

Since it was Saturday, they had a blessed reprieve from swimming lessons. They had even managed to sleep in, as much as possible with a lively six-year-old in the family.

“Come on, boys,” she called to Adam and Simon, who were playing in the garden. “Let’s go down to the jetty to surprise Daddy.”

Henrik had gone down to sort out the fishing nets, a task that could take quite some time, so a cup of coffee would no doubt be appreciated.

She and the boys had spent almost fifteen minutes in line to buy cakes. It seemed as if half the population of Stockholm had decided to head out to the islands to make the most of this beautiful summer’s day.