Shadows of Sören

Title

Shadows of Sören

A Crime Novel

_______________

by Nicola Stöhr

Copyright

Shadows of Sören

by Nicola Stöhr

published by: epubli GmbH, Berlin, www.epubli.de

Copyright: © 2013 Nicola Stöhr

ISBN 978-3-8442-4056-6

Content

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

”Tell me now:

is there a difference

Between a shark

And the ghost of a shark

´cause all I have are secrets

And memories of the dark …”

Tom Mcrae

“Ghost of a Shark”

From “Just like blood”

Chapter 1

Clarice entered his peripheral vision from the left. She must have come from the ostrich enclosure behind the house. She loved the ostriches and often spent her time just standing and looking at them.

Sören was standing at his bedroom window overlooking the front of Rettinge Gård and watched Clarice enter her house. The little house which she rented from him. It was one of the two former servant quarters situated a couple of metres in front of the main house, to the left and right of it. Between them ran a long alley leading away from the big house to the main road.

This was the basic setup for what classified a typical Herrgård in Sweden. A Herrgård was the original name for a big country house inhabited by an aristocrat. That would be him, Sören Hellström. Except that in any other country, the country house would have been a little grander and bigger than this one. But this was Sweden after all. The land of modesty, equal opportunities and good fortunes for everyone. Even the Royal family´s summer residence in Borgholm on Öland was only a third of Balmoral or Windsor Castle, or wherever it was the English Royals spent their holidays. His gård was at home on Öland, the little island which was situated just of the east coast of Sweden. Sören had grown up there in the village of Vickleby. Vickleby was an old, picturesque village which stood right at the edge of the Stora Alvaret, that limestone barren plain on the south of the island. The plain distinguished itself through a sparse vegetation of low shrubs interfused with limestone rocks.

Basically Vickleby consisted of one long, well kept street which ran through the middle of the village and was in itself a sight for those looking for genuinely old, idyllic structures. Although in many ways it resembled an old English country village. The houses were often hidden behind rough stonewalls and overgrown with ivy or wild wine. Almost every house had a row of stockroses planted in a straight, narrow line in front of it, in pink or red or dark blue. It was an almost uniform look which nearly every household seemed to conform to. The houses without the stockroses looked almost forlorn and naked. The village regularly won the vote as Öland´s most beautiful village.

Rettinge Gård, like all gårds, stood a little apart from the village and was well set back from the main road. The local council had however some time ago set up a huge sign by the main road pointing the way to Rettinge as one of the local sights of interest. Sören had at the time not really fathomed the point of this sign, since it lead every Tom, Dick and Harriet to his house, touring his grounds like the gård was some kind of amusement park.

The sign had also led Clarice to Rettinge and to his doorstep. She had shown up out of the blue one day, knocked on Sören´s door and asked about the house which was for rent. She had probably read the ad his estate manager had placed in the local paper. Sören had been too stunned by the sheer look of her to give her a straight answer or even form a coherent sentence. Her hair looked like it was on fire. He had really never seen such a shade of red before and she had the greenest eyes.

Strangers didn´t usually approach him directly about anything. For reasons Sören could not really fathom, a lot of people were intimidated by him. Clarice had not been intimidated nor particularly impressed by any of those attributes. Their conversation had been unusually personal and somewhat acrimonious for two people who had never met before. He recalled every word of it, as it was basically the pattern for almost every conversation they had had since then. Without any preamble or any sort of introduction she had immediately entered into question mode.

“Are you the landlord and the owner of that little house over there?”

It had taken him a while to gather his wits and she had just stood there with an expectant and somewhat impatient look on her face. “I am”, he had finally answered.

“And is it for rent?” she had enquired.

“It is.”

“Well can I rent it?”

“It´s not a summer house you know. I´m looking for a long term tenant.”

“Good, perfect.” She had nodded and had looked pleased.

Sören had been a little irked. “Really? Well we´ll see. Who are you, where are you from and why do you want to live in Vickleby of all places?” he had asked and felt some of his self-confidence return.

“What do you mean Vickleby of all places? You live here, don´t you?”

“I was born here, I grew up here.”

“Well that doesn´t mean you have to stay here, if you don´t like it.”

“It doesn´t mean I have to rent a house to you either and I didn´t say I didn´t like it here.”

“Then why shouldn´t I like it?”, Clarice had asked obstinately.

“I don´t know why you shouldn´t like it here, because I don´t know you from Adam. I´ve never met you before and I don´t know who you are, because you have as yet failed to introduce yourself to me!” At that point Sören had taken a deep breath.

“So when you said “Vickleby of all places” that was just a manner of speech? Well how should I know that, I don´t know you either. You know you should really restrain yourself from using idiosyncratic speech patterns like that when addressing perfect strangers.”

Sören had been completely flummoxed. Was he really having this conversation with a woman he had never met before on his doorstep? Or had he maybe had one Single Malt too many the night before? But a small childish part of him was actually enjoying the dialogue, plus the young woman was really stunning to look at. But stunning or not an introduction was definetely called for here.

“Your name, please, if I may?”, Sören had asked rather sternly.

She had conceded, “My name is Clarice Carter. I am a theoretical physicist and currently employed by the university of Kalmar.”

He had noticed that she hadn´t mentioned where she was from and something had kept him from asking again. And what the hell was a theoretical physicist? After almost nine months he still didn´t know where she was born, but she had an American accent, maybe Canadian, he couldn´t tell the difference. So his best guess was that she had been born somewhere in North America.

“Currently employed?” he had enquired. “This is a limited contract? I told you I want a long term tenant.”

“That was just a manner of speech! I meant employed full stop.”

“Okay, look”, Sören had said judiciously, “I actually have an estate manager who deals with rent and tenants and all that and as far as I know he already has a couple of prospective tenants who are coming to look at the place on Saturday. You may feel free to join them.”

“Ok, now you look, I don´t have time till Saturday, it´s too long. I need something right now.”

Sören had stopped short. “Why? Don´t tell me you´re living on the street. Are you homeless or something?”

Clarice had smiled in spite of his harsh tone of voice, “I almost wish. No, I am right now living in a student dormitory, since the university has failed to provide more adequate living arrangements for me and these Swedish students are driving me nuts. They disturb my sleep, they disturb my work and if there were another important aspect to my life, I´m sure they would be disturbing that too. I have to get out of there and soon. I need peace and tranquility. I have no time to waste. So can I rent the place or not?”

“Don´t you want to look at it first?” Sören had asked.

“I´m not fussy and it looks fine from here.”

“So you´re a bit of a strange one, aren´t you?”

“I´m actually the most boring person in the world. I have no husband, boyfriend, kids or social life to mention. All I do is eat, sleep and work. If that´s strange, then yes, I´m strange, but not serial killer strange, just boring strange.”

Sören had considered her answer.

“If you work in Kalmar, wouldn´t you want to live closer to the university? Like in Kalmar for example?”he had asked sarcastically.

“No.”

“What´s wrong with Kalmar?”

“Nothing, I just don´t want to live there. I like the idea of living on an island.”

Sören could relate to that. “I´ll need a proof of salary and a downpayment of two months rent in advance.”

“Fine, no problem”.

“Fine. After that feel free to move in whenever you want.”

And that had been that. She had moved in two days later with a suitcase and a laptop. No boxes and not a single item of furniture. The house was furnished anyway, but most people usually brought a few personal items like pictures, commodes, side tables or books. Clarice brought nothing but herself, a laptop, a scuffed, beige coloured suitcase and her dark red New Beetle convertible. He had not learned any more about her past. Not for lack of asking on his part but for lack of forthcoming information from her. He had stopped asking, because he understood that she really, really didn´t want to talk about her past. Instead he tried to find out more about her by watching her and listening astutely to everything she said. He was mentally compiling a “things I know about Clarice” list. After almost nine months it was still pretty empty. She knew about wine. He had once opened a bottle of one of his better wines from his cellar, a 2003 Sancerre which was only compatible with a vintage white burgundy or the quality Blanc Fumés of the world. She had expressed her surprise and commented favourably on it, showing an impressive knowledge about aroma, taste, regions and vintages. He mentally added “Clarice knows about wine” to his list. His estate manager Magnus had not been happy about being sidelined by Sören on the matter of finding a new tenant for the house. He had indeed already made arrangements for a viewing of the premises with several people, which he had then be forced to cancel at rather short notice. But it was nothing that a good bottle of wine from Sören´s graciously stocked wine cellar could not quickly mend. A bottle of booze could do wonders in Sweden. Sören had often wondered himself why he had so quickly agreed to letting the house to Clarice. Even though he was Swedish, he could be impulsive and drawn to making spontaneous decisions if his mood called for it, but renting a house to a person he had only known for a few minutes had been more than impulsive and spontaneuous. Clarice had simply overwhelmed him and he remained overwhelmed. Did Clarice entering his life indicate a turning point in his comfortable and stable existence?

Chapter 2

What was he doing here standing at his bedroom window reminiscing about Clarice and their very recent past together? He had an important meeting with a new client to attend to that morning. He owned one of the biggest consulting and accounting firms in Sweden, based in Kalmar. His company provided tax and specialist advice to businesses and their owners. And he had a personal meeting with a client who wanted to expand her ecological clothing business to Kalmar. He looked at his watch. It was earlier than he thought and he still had a good hour before he had to leave for the meeting. Then he remembered that Clarice had asked him whether he had a manual for the heat pump which Sören had installed in her house. He had found the manual the day before and then forgot about it. But Clarice was home now and he conveniently had an hour to spare before leaving for the office. So he could go over and give her the manual now. No harm in that was there? She had asked for the instruction booklet, though Sören was unsure as to why she wanted it. Those heat pumps were sensitive pieces of advanced technology and they usually readjusted themselves according to the outside temperature. He hoped she wouldn´t start fiddling around with it and mess up the whole system. Although she semed to have some competence regarding technical equipment. Tilda, the young woman who rented the second of the smaller houses across the driveway from Clarice, had told him that Clarice had connected and installed Tilda´s new television set plus the receiver and the satellite dish two weeks ago, when the TV man had not shown up as promised. And everything worked like a dream. So it would probably be alright.

Sören walked over the twenty metres or so to Clarice´s house holding the instruction manual. He waved it in her face when she opened the door.

“I found the manual which you asked for.”

Clarice seemed happy about that, “Hey that´s great. I´ll read through it tonight.”

“Are you sure your nervous system can take that much excitement? You might have trouble falling asleep tonight.”

She laughed.

“Is there a problem with the heating system?”Sören inquired.

“No, not yet, but I heard that they sometimes don´t adjust too well once the temperature drops to five below. So I´d like to be prepared. Because I hate being cold.”

“Doesn´t everyone?” Sören wondered.

“Yeah, I guess. I´ve just made a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

“With pleasure.”

“Well then come on in.”

Sören did so promptly. He followed her from the tiny hall to the living room. The “stugan”, really a summer house according to modern standards, had only four rooms and that included the bathroom. The kitchen and living room were open and merged into each other and then there was one bedroom and a tiny laundry room. Sören looked around while Clarice poured his coffee and rooted around in her kitchen cabinets for some biscuits. She hadn´t changed anything about the interior design of the house. Sören had furnished the houses with leftovers from the main house when he had taken it over eight years ago. So most of the furniture was antique. His parents hadn´t much appreciated modern design and furnishings. Sören had a combined mix of both in his house now. The first thing he had thrown out were the horrid pictures depicting hunting scenes, which had adorned the walls of his father´s library. He had hung them in the house which Clarice now occupied. She had even left those hanging. She didn´t seem to care. Strange really, he thought, because she did like pretty trendy clothes and she also drove a spiffy little new beetle convertible in a darker reddish colour with white leather seats. Not exactly the most inconspicuous car he had ever seen. He sensed that there was a story behind this car, but he was reluctant to ask, since she hated being questioned about anything even vaguely connected to her past. Sören did however notice that she had acquired a load of very expensive cooking ware. A mass of stainless steel and copper pots and pans in different shapes and sizes and electrical gadgets in a simple but expensive looking design adorned her kitchen counters and shelves. The shelves in the kitchen were also overflowing with high quality olive oil, vinegars, spices and herbs. Many of the latter obviously bought at Sören´s own herb boutique on the gård.

The hoardes of tourists which flocked to Vickleby and inevitably to his gård in the summer had hugely annoyed Sören in the beginning and then it had occurred to him that he could actually work this influx of summer visitors to his advantage and he had set up a retail establishment, namely the herb boutique, right at the entrance of the gård. It had worked like a dream right from the start. So he had gladly settled his dispute with the members of the village council, of which he was also a member, about the sign leading to Rettinge.

So Clarice liked to cook Sören mentally added to his list. Then why the hell hadn´t she yet invited him over to dinner? The cooking ware and her assortment of oils and other ingredients obviously indicated that she cooked on a somewhat elaborate level. Weren´t those artichokes in that hanging basket? To cook only for yourself was in Sören´s opinion boring and depressing, but that was what she apparently did, since Sören hadn´t noticed any guests coming or going from her house since Clarice had lived there.

He looked at her when she sat down across from him and asked “So how are my ostriches today?”

“Well, I didn´t ask them for a health certificate or anything, but they seem happy enough to me.”

“Oh good. Happy birds make for happy meat.”

Clarice winced and then tried to compose herself quickly before Sören noticed. But he had caught the movement. He smiled at her tenderly, “Clarice”, he said carefully, “You do know that I sell their meat? You didn´t think I kept them as pets, did you?”

“No,” she said quickly, “Of course not. I knew that. I just don´t like to think about it.”

Following her natural curiosity she was going to ask how they were slaughtered, but then changed her mind. She didn´t really want to know. Instead she asked, “What gave you the idea to breed ostriches in the first place?”

“I read an article a couple of years ago in an agricultural magazine. It sounded like a profitable and interesting venture, an investement that didn´t carry a great risk. But if I had known about the strict quaranteen laws I would have reconsidered.”

“But weren´t you working in London as a hedge fund manager a couple of years ago? Or was that much earlier? When did you actually leave Öland ? And you didn´t come back for the sole purpose of breeding ostriches, did you?”

Sören smiled, “So many questions. Let´s see. After I finished school all I wanted to do was get away from Öland. This is not an uncommon phenomenon. Most young people who grow up here on the island want to get away for at least a while. So I chose to study economics and management in Oxford. My mother was still alive and well at that time and my parents were still able to afford an Oxford education for their only child. So I graduated with a master in economics and management and moved to London and worked for one of the biggest banks as a hedge fund manager.”

“Did you like it? London and your job?”

“I loved it. The noise, the people hurrying all the time, the theater, parks, nightclubs, museums, shops. Everything. It was exhilarating. And I loved my stressful job at the bank and the after hour drinks and happy banter with my colleagues.”

“Did the job involve a lot of risk taking?” Clarice asked. She was genuinely interested.

“Yes, of course. Hedge-fund-managing is a high risk, high-return trading game. And it lures plenty of dreamers, believe you me. Everyone is aware of the galling sums of money hedge-fund managers can pull in. Here´s a popular joke about hedge-fund managers: What´s the difference between a hedge-fund manager and a dove? One sits in a hole and shits on people, the other is a bird.”

Clarice could feel that he had inwardly finished with that part of his life.

I was no dreamer, though,” Sören continued “I made money in my sleep and got out while I was still making money.”

“Why? Why did you get and out and move back here? Not that I blame you. This place is beautiful but since you loved London so much and everything?”

Sören squirmed a little in his chair. “I became a little discontent. I hardly noticed in the beginning, but then this feeling persisted. And then one morning I woke up to find myself homesick. Which I had wanted to avoid under all circumstances but I couldn´t ignore it anymore. I just wanted to go home. I missed the tranquility of Öland. I missed the slow stressless feeling of it and the flatness of the landscape and the view over the Kalmarsund. And I missed Vickleby. And I missed my people. The people here who sometimes take whole minutes to finish a sentence and don´t even know how to spell words like “stress” and “hurry”.”

Clarice smiled at him warmly, “And yet they mysteriously manage to get things done in their own unhurried, slow but efficient way. At least that´s what I´ve noticed, since I´ve been living here.”

“Precisely”, he smiled back.

“So how long were you in England then?”

“About eight years.”

“ Really, that long? I wondered why you speak English with a British accent.”

Sören laughed, “Yes, it did rub off on me.”

“I´ve noticed that most Swedish people speak English with an American accent.”

Sören nodded, “That´s because of all those American programmes on television, of course.”

“What did you mean when you said your parents were still able to afford a good education for you then? Did they lose all their money later?”

“More or less, yeah.” .Sören looked down at the table and didn´t say anything for a little while.

Then he continued“My father was a drunk and a gambler. But my mother had always had a firm grip on his drinking and gambling excesses, but then she got sick. She had breast cancer and she got too sick to manage the affairs of the gård. So my father drank and gambled a lot of it away. When I came back eight years ago, I was appalled by the state of neglect and dilapidation Rettinge had fallen into. My mother died soon after and I tried to keep a firm grip on my father. It was hard though. Then he died about a year after my mother.”

“And then you set about getting the place back into shape? And you started your business in Kalmar?”

Sören looked up, “Yes that´s right. I worked myself to the bone, putting in fifteen to sixteen hour workdays. I established the company in Kalmar and got the gård back on track with the ostrich farm, the sawmill, which was already in place but inoperative and the herb shop, the örtagård. And I succeeded, but it was a tough time.”

Clarice nodded. “That´s very impressive. It really is.”

Sören leaned in a little closer to her, “So now you know almost everything about me, Clarice.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that, Sören , she interrupted him, but he continued unperturbed, “If there´s anything about your past you´d like to share with me, please feel free to do so now or any other time.”

Clarice looked at her watch, “Didn´t you say you have a meeting in Kalmar?”

Sören looked at his own watch and cursed, “Damn, so I have and I´ll be late if I don´t leave right now. Thanks for the coffee and the conversation, Clarice. See you soon, I hope. Hejdo”

“Hejdo”.

Clarice watched him get into his bronze coloured Volvo S60 convertible and speed off, roof down, since the weather permitted it. It was still fairly warm for September in Sweden. Although dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.