She went back to her table and carried on with her analysis. A pattern was beginning to emerge, and with every calculation it was becoming clearer. She had to tell Thomas about this.
She took out her cell phone and called him.
“Hi, Nora.”
“Thomas, I think I’ve found out something extremely interesting about Philip Fahlén’s company. You need to see this as soon as possible.”
“Where are you?”
“On board the Cinderella. I’ll be there in about half an hour. What are your plans for this evening?”
“I was going to stay in town,” Thomas said. “On the other hand, it would be nice to get away from this suffocating heat.”
“Dinner on me at the bistro in the Yacht Club restaurant?” Nora offered, trying to tempt him. She had more to talk about than Fahlén’s company; she wanted to take the opportunity to discuss her meeting with Rutger Sandelin. She needed a male perspective on the whole thing before she tackled Henrik. “You really do need to see this. I can’t explain over the phone—it’s far too complicated.”
Thomas laughed. “OK, you win. But I’ll have to catch the last boat. It leaves from Stavsnäs at seven thirty, so it’ll have to be a late dinner.”
“No problem,” Nora said. “I’ll be waiting by the steps at eight thirty.”
CHAPTER 56
The bistro was the result of an extension to the original clubhouse, which had dominated the harbor for more than a century. The Falu-red creation with its turret housed both the offices of the Royal Swedish Yacht Club and its harbor administration, along with a number of restaurants. Countless sailors had passed through this building over the past hundred years or so. If the walls could talk, they would have had plenty of spicy stories involving kings and gentlemen. The Sailors Restaurant had seen many innkeepers come and go, from the legendary Åke Kristersson in the seventies and eighties to the notorious drug dealer Fleming Broman.
Nora was waiting by the steps leading up to the bistro when Thomas approached from the pier. She recognized his determined stride from some distance away, and as always she was struck by how good he looked. In spite of the fact that he had no interest in clothes, he always pulled off whatever he wore. Tonight it was a pale-blue polo shirt and faded jeans with a pair of aviators.
Nora saw a couple of giggling girls in their twenties turn around to watch him as he passed; Thomas, of course, was totally oblivious. He broke into a broad smile as he reached Nora and got a big hug in return.
“How are you? Are you tired? What do you want to eat?” Nora said, ignoring the fact that she had just fired off three questions without waiting for an answer. She patted her stomach. “I’m absolutely starving. Let’s go up.” Without waiting, she turned and led the way.
A hostess dressed in black showed them to a table with a view of the harbor; she handed each of them a menu and left.
Nora looked at the list of dishes. There was plenty of fish, of course, but there were also some tempting meat courses. “What are you going to have?” she asked. “And remember this is on me; a promise is a promise.”
“I know exactly what I want. There’s really only one thing to choose here.”
“And what might that be?” Nora smiled at him, well aware of what he had in mind.
“Sailor’s toast, of course.”
The classic dish known as Seglartoast had been served in the restaurant for as long as anyone could remember. It consisted of a large fillet steak on a piece of toast with a decent scoop of Béarnaise sauce, accompanied by a generous portion of fries.
“It doesn’t exactly come under the heading of healthy eating,” Nora pointed out.
“But it’s damn delicious,” Thomas said. “If you’ll excuse my language.”
When the waitress had taken their order and poured them each a glass of a dark-red Australian Merlot chosen by Nora, Thomas could no longer suppress his impatience.
“Right, so what have you found out about Philip Fahlén’s business?”
Nora took out the blue folder and the pad with all her calculations. She quickly explained how she had gone about it and what she had examined more closely. “Look at this,” she said, showing him a sheet of paper with lists of figures. “For a long time, the company had roughly the same turnover and the same profit margin; no real variation from one year to the next. But five years ago, the turnover rose sharply, and at the same time the profit margin increased by over three hundred percent.”
She pointed to the number 300 to underline what she had just said.
“And what does that mean?” Thomas asked.
“It means the company is suddenly achieving a far greater income with no increase in expenditure.” Nora took a sip of water and went on. “When companies boost their income, most experience an equivalent rise in costs. It usually goes hand in hand. Even if they can take on a certain amount of extra business within the margin, it’s highly unusual to see a dramatic rise in income with no effect on costs. After all, the company has to supply something, which would normally involve more expenditure. But Philip Fahlén has done the exact opposite.”
She produced another sheet of paper with different figures.
“You can see for yourself: suddenly the income is much higher than the expenditure. And I can’t find a reasonable explanation. As far as I can tell from the annual accounts, he hasn’t bought another company or signed some major contract. There are no sales profits to explain the upturn, nor any other income outside the norm. It’s as if a fairy has suddenly waved her magic wand so he’s making a lot more money than he was before.”
Nora stopped and took a mouthful of her paella; she had been so eager to talk about her discoveries that she’d hardly touched it since it had arrived.
Thomas was looking at her with an expression of intense concentration.
“On top of that, the dividends paid out to the owner have also increased—and the owner is Philip Fahlén, of course. In the past, he took out quite modest amounts, but now he’s starting to take significant sums of money every year. Which in itself is fine, because the profits have gone up so much.”
“And what’s the explanation for all this?”
“This is my theory. What if he’s supplying his clients in the restaurant trade with something else, alongside his normal deliveries?”
“Like illicit booze,” Thomas said.
Nora nodded. “Possibly. If that’s the case, he can hardly put down the costs involved in generating the income, i.e., the amount he pays for the booze.”
Thomas nodded as he shoveled down the last of his fries. His plate was almost clinically clean; there wasn’t a drop of sauce left. “I can understand that. It would be pretty difficult to explain that particular deduction to the tax office.” He smiled.
“Exactly. But at the same time, he needs the money to show up within the company so it becomes legitimate. It’s not practical to have a bunch of random cash floating around. Where are you going to hide it so the tax officials don’t catch you? All banks have an obligation to report company balances. He has to find a way of dealing with the part of his operation that handles this additional income.”