Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1) by Viveca Sten

When they were expecting Emily, full of anticipation and plans for the future. He hadn’t imagined that just a few years later he would be approaching forty and divorced, while all his friends were fully occupied building their families. Or that he would be making regular visits to a small gravestone marking an even smaller grave and wondering what he had done wrong.
    And who was to blame.
    Once again, and for the umpteenth time, he reminded himself that he had to move on, to put the past behind him. He just didn’t know how to go about it.
    Carina gently touched his arm, concern in her eyes. “Come on, let’s go. We’re done here.”
     
    As soon as Thomas met up with Kalle and Erik on Sandhamn, they provided him with a brief update, and the three of them then divided up the necessary tasks.
    While Erik continued knocking on doors, Thomas and Kalle visited all the shops and restaurants, starting at the north end of the island and working toward the Yacht Club. When they reached Värdshuset, the landlord shook his head. He couldn’t say whether Kicki Berggren had been in the bar or not. Both the bartender and the waitress who had been working on Friday evening were temporary staff who only worked weekends. They wouldn’t be back on the island until the next Friday. Thomas took their numbers but realized he would have to go and see them in order to show them the photograph of the dead woman. With a bit of luck they would be in Stockholm and could meet him at the police station.
    He and Kalle carried on talking to staff in the shops and bars in the harbor area. Thomas counted a total of eleven establishments where you could buy or eat something. Not bad for a little island way out in the archipelago.
    Just as they were leaving the Yacht Club’s restaurant it struck him that there was one more place: the old hotel by the harbor that had been renovated a few years ago and reopened under the name the Sands Hotel.
    He turned to Kalle. “Listen, we’ve missed the Sands; we need to go back and talk to them.”
    Kalle bent down and emptied his shoes for at least the tenth time. “How much sand is there on this island?” he said. “Is there no end to it? I thought the Stockholm archipelago was made up of rocks and pine trees. This is a clone of the Sahara.”
    “Stop whining; you could be stuck in a boiling hot police station, and instead you get to enjoy the beautiful archipelago,” Thomas said.
    “Easy for you to say; you’ve spent every summer running up and down the sand dunes.”
    Thomas ignored the comment and set off toward the hotel. “We’ll have coffee when we get there.”
    To be on the safe side, they both had a Danish pastry as well, and then it was time to make a start on the door-to-door inquiries. The routine was always the same. Ring the bell, introduce themselves, show the photo of Kicki Berggren, ask the same question over and over.
    By the time they had visited some thirty houses, Thomas was beginning to lose heart. Nobody recognized Kicki Berggren. It was as if she had never set foot on Sandhamn. A lot of people weren’t home, which was hardly surprising on a beautiful summer day, but that just made the task all the more time-consuming since they had to make a note of the houses they would have to revisit.
    Thomas realized this would take the entire following day. He wished he could call for backup, but the depressing truth was that everyone was on vacation. The moral of the story: try to avoid falling ill or getting yourself murdered in July, he thought. There are no hospital beds and no police officers. All those who could possibly take their annual leave had disappeared. With the possible exception of the press.
    Persson had sent a message to say that they would be holding a press conference on Monday. The district commissioner was showing a vested interest in the case and would be attending. The newspapers were desperate for information; the combination of an idyllic locale and a summer