The Scent of Almonds: A Novella Read Free Page B

delivering the coup de grâce.
    He was legally obligated to leave to them a certain amount from his estate, but once the sums that he’d already given them were subtracted, there would be very little left for each family member. Was it possible that they might even end up owing money? And she was up to her ears in debt as things stood! Miranda could feel the air getting harder to breathe. Angrily she glared at the murdered man in the wheelchair.
    The rest of the evening proceeded as if in a fog. Initially Martin’s pronouncement caused a deafening silence to descend upon the room. A moment later it unleashed a cacophony of objections. No one wanted to believe him, so Martin had calmly explained that the scent of bitter almonds was a strong indication that cyanide had been present. Moreover Ruben’s seizure matched the effects of that extremely potent poison.
    He asked Börje for a paper sack in which he carefully placed Ruben’s water glass so that it could be sent to the lab for analysis. Martin was mortified that he’d handled the glass without a second thought, possibly destroying fingerprints that could be valuable to the investigation.
    ‘We need to get this over to the mainland,’ Martin told Börje in an authoritative voice. In his mind he’d already started making a list of what measures needed to be taken. Notify his colleagues at the police station. Gather evidence. Ensure that the victim’s body was sent to the pathology lab. And, most importantly, begin interviewing the witnesses. If only they could return to the mainland quickly, the whole process of finding the killer could get underway.
    ‘That won’t be possible,’ said Börje quietly, indicating the storm raging outside the windows. The snow was now coming down so hard that they seemed to be looking at a wall of white.
    ‘What do you mean it “won’t be possible”?’ asked Martin, frustrated. ‘We need to get back to the mainland.’
    ‘Not in this weather. That’s not going to happen.’ Börje threw out his hands helplessly.
    ‘But it’s not that far.’ Martin could hear how annoyed he sounded, so he told himself to calm down. He, more than anyone else, needed to keep his composure.
    ‘Börje’s right,’ said his wife. ‘A boat would never make it across. The wind is blowing towards the dock, and in a gale of this force, we wouldn’t stand a chance. No, we’re just going to have to wait for the storm to subside.’
    ‘Then we must ring the coastguard,’ said Martin resolutely.
    ‘The phone’s not working.’ replied Bernard. His tone of voice clearly signalled that he considered Martin to be an idiot.
    ‘But we’ve got mobile phones.’ Martin pulled his mobile out of his pocket, but his heart sank when he saw there wasn’t even one bar on the display. No reception.
    ‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted. It took all the self-control he could muster to keep from hurling his phone against the wall.
    ‘I told you so,’ remarked Bernard with a barely concealed grin that made Martin want to punch him.
    ‘Do you mean we’re all stuck here?’ Miranda whined as she clung to Matte’s arm. He didn’t seem to notice her. His eyes were filled with tears as he stared at the dead man slumped over the table.
    For the first time it struck Martin that Matte was the only person seated at the table who had not been subjected to the old man’s demeaning questions. He was also the only one who now showed any sign of grief. As if to confirm what Martin was thinking, Matte got up and went over to the old man. He lifted Ruben’s face from the plate and began wiping it with a cloth napkin. Everyone stared at Matte as if hypnotized, but nobody made any attempt to help. When Ruben’s face was clean, Matte gently leaned his body back in the wheelchair and straightened the blanket that covered his lap.
    ‘Thank you, Matte,’ said Britten, giving her son a warm glance.
    ‘We need to put him somewhere cold,’ said Martin, trying to avoid looking