And now there was a dead body upstairs.

Thomas nodded briefly to one of the uniformed officers he recognized, then opened the gate in the white-painted fence which enclosed the corner plot. A number of tables and garden chairs sat at the bottom of the steps. Tubs containing blue-and-yellow pansies brought color to the sandy garden, which like the rest of Sandhamn consisted of nothing more than a few feeble tufts of grass.

The main door was open, and Thomas quickly ran up the steps and into the hallway.

From the big room he could hear sobs and agitated voices. He was confronted by the sight of a near-hysterical woman sitting on a chair in one corner. Next to her stood an older woman who was trying to calm her down, in spite of the fact that she, too, was crying. There was another police officer in the room. When Thomas walked in, they all looked up.

“Anna’s the one who found the body.” The older woman pointed dramatically at the sobbing woman on the chair. “When she went in to clean number four.”

Thomas went over to the cleaner, who was rocking back and forth and wringing her hands. It was obvious that she had been crying for some considerable time; her eyes were red and swollen. He wondered how he was going to question her; it would be impossible to get any sense out of her unless she calmed down.

He turned to the other woman, who gave the impression of being more composed.

“Thomas Andreasson, Nacka police. Do you work here?”

The woman nodded as she continued to pat the other woman on the back.

“My name’s Krystyna. I’m the manager.” The strong Eastern European accent came through before her voice broke. Her lower lip trembled, but she took a deep breath and went on in a slightly shrill tone. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Dreadful! How can something like this happen here?” She turned away, her hand covering her mouth.

Thomas took out his notebook and a pen. The cleaner’s sobs subsided a little and became a low mumbling.

“Could you tell me when the body was discovered?” he asked the manager.

She turned back to face him and glanced at the clock on the wall of the bright room. “We called the police immediately,” she said, almost in tears again. “It can’t have been more than thirty or forty minutes ago. Anna had knocked on the door several times so she could go in and clean, but there was no answer, and room four was the only one left to do.”

“Was the door locked?” Thomas asked the woman in the chair.

She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I had to use my own key.”

“Do you have any other guests at the moment?”

The manager nodded. “We’re full, but there’s no one in at the moment. They’re all staying for the weekend. They’ll be back this evening.”

She was wearing a brightly colored striped apron. It looked as if she had been in the middle of making bread, because her arms and apron were covered in flour. Through a half-open door with a heavy, old-fashioned handle at the far end of the room, Thomas could just see the kitchen.

He decided to go upstairs and take a look around before continuing to question either of the women. Might as well get it out of the way. He turned to his colleague, who appeared to be in his thirties. “Could you show me the way to the room?”

The officer led the way up the stairs; the bedrooms were located along a narrow corridor. The door to number four was ajar.

As he walked in he saw the back of a person who was curled up and unnaturally still. There was an unpleasant, sweetish smell in the air—the smell of blood and death that had not yet turned into a stench.

Thomas looked around. The room was decorated in an old-fashioned, romantic style, with pine-clad walls and lace curtains. There was a small vase of flowers on the chest of drawers and a gold-framed painting of a sailboat on the wall.

The sun poured in through the window.

The contrast between the B&B and the dead woman on the bed could not have been starker.

He went over to the body and noticed that there was a large swelling above the right temple; the skin was heavily discolored with blue-and-red lines. There was a small amount of dried blood above the ear and in her hair. He moved around the bed to look closer at the face.

Suddenly he realized who it was.

Kicki Berggren, Krister Berggren’s cousin, was lying dead in front of him.

He bent down. Her unseeing eyes stared up at him. She wore only a pair of red panties. Her slack breasts rested on the mattress. The covers had been pushed aside, and her clothes were strewn around the room. There was no sign that anyone else had stayed or even been in the room.

In a denim purse on the floor he found a wallet containing a driver’s license, which confirmed the woman’s identity as Kicki Berggren. He quickly took out his cell phone and called the station.

“It’s Thomas. I’ve looked at the body, and forensics has to give this top priority. We also need to reconsider Krister Berggren’s death. The victim is his cousin, and she was badly beaten.”

It was midday by the time the investigative team arrived at the Mission House. In the meantime, the area had been cordoned off. Thomas had obtained a list of all the other guests from Krystyna and had even managed to conduct brief interviews with some of them. None had had anything significant to tell him.

The manager had been less than happy when she was informed that the whole building was now regarded as a crime scene and would be subject to a thorough examination. She was not allowed to touch anything, and the room where Kicki Berggren had been found was definitely not to be cleaned.

Since then, the day had passed at breakneck speed. The investigative team had done their best to secure as much biological evidence as possible. Since the door had been locked with the body inside and there were no signs of a struggle inside the room, there were many questions. Among other things, this could mean that Kicki Berggren had been murdered elsewhere, but Thomas always tried not to draw hasty conclusions.

He had spoken to the officer in charge of the local station and arranged to set up a temporary office there. It was obvious they needed a base on Sandhamn at this point. The investigation had moved into a completely different phase.

CHAPTER 18

Fuck, fuck, fuck, thought Jonny Almhult. The persistent knocking on his front door just wouldn’t stop. His head felt like a brick, and he could have used his tongue to sand down his mother’s skiff.

He was lying on his bed wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Lifting his head from the pillow was agony. He had no idea what time it was. He barely even knew where he was.

As he reached out and fumbled for the alarm clock, he knocked over a half-full bottle of beer. The yellowish-brown liquid poured out onto the floor and was quickly absorbed by the rug. He swore again and flopped back on the pillow.

The knocking continued.

“OK, OK. I’m coming.” The words came out as a croak.

“Jonny, Jonny.” His mother’s voice penetrated as far as the bedroom. “Are you there, Jonny?”

“Calm down, Mom. I’m coming.”

With a groan he sat up, got to his feet unsteadily, and staggered to the door. When he opened it, he was met by his mother’s searching gaze. Unable to stop himself, he ran a hand over his stubble, feeling embarrassed.