The Dead Of Summer

SATURDAY, 15 JULY

KNUTAS WOKE UP alone in the big double bed in his house on Bokströmsgatan, which was located just outside Visby’s ring wall. The rays of the sun were shining right in his eyes. He always slept with the window open, in both summer and winter, but right now that wasn’t helping matters much. It was hotter outside than in the house. He got up and went out on to the patio. The grass needed mowing, and the garden furniture was looking shabby; the white paint was chipping off, and he’d promised himself to do something about it this summer. But so far, nothing had come of his good intentions. He didn’t even dare think about everything else that needed attention out at their summer house in Lickershamn.

Until the murder of Peter Bovide was solved, he probably wouldn’t have time to go out there.

He took a shower and got dressed. In the kitchen he put on the coffee and then went to get the morning newspaper from the letterbox.

It was strange to be home alone; that hardly ever happened. Lina had two more weeks of her summer holiday, so she and the kids had gone out to the summer house. Although they weren’t really kids any more. In the autumn they would be starting college. Knutas couldn’t understand how time had flown by so fast.

For the past six months Nisse, as his son now insisted on being called, had had a steady girlfriend, and their relationship seemed both sweet and grounded. Knutas had dreaded the conversation he realized he would be forced to have with his son. Of course, both he and Lina had previously talked to their children about the birds and the bees and how babies were made, but when Nisse began staying over at Gabriella’s house, Knutas could see they were going to need to have a more serious talk. Even though he was reluctant to bring up the subject, the conversation had actually gone better than he’d anticipated. Nisse had promised to be careful and always use a condom, and afterwards he gave his father a hug. Knutas was both astonished and pleased by his son’s reaction. It was as if the boy appreciated the concern behind his father’s clumsy attempt at a man-to-man talk.

Unlike her twin brother, Petra hadn’t yet focused her affections on any particular person, which, naturally, didn’t make her parents feel any more secure. Knutas tried not to worry too much. Fortunately, Lina and Petra were very close, and Lina talked about everything with her in the same open and easy way as always.

He made himself a sandwich for breakfast and sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the Gotlands Allehanda. It was still only six thirty, since Knutas was an early riser. He didn’t need much sleep, and he appreciated both the late-night hours and the early morning.

The murder was no longer a front-page story as nothing new had surfaced over the past few days. He suddenly pictured Karin’s face. He thought about how the investigation had been run while he was away. He couldn’t see that any outright mistakes had been made, but Karin was new at taking charge, and this was the first homicide investigation she’d had to initiate. He was extremely aware of how crucial the preliminary stage was in this type of investigation; everything had to be done right from the very beginning. The time aspect was often decisive in terms of whether the killer would be caught or not. By now almost a week had passed, and they were getting nowhere. The perp already had a big head start, and if nothing new happened soon, there was a risk that he might get away. It was unlikely that he was still on the island.

Knutas leafed distractedly through the newspaper and downed the last of his coffee. He was ready to leave for the office and go through all the material in peace and quiet.

He didn’t have far to go to work, just a fifteen-minute walk, but after only a few yards he was soaked with sweat. Even though it was still so early in the day, it was already very hot. He rang Lina, but she didn’t answer. She and the kids were probably still asleep. Sometimes he forgot that not everybody was a morning person like he was.

Knutas was deeply immersed in the ME’s report when Jacobsson stuck her head round the door.

‘Good morning. How’s it going?’

‘Morning – good, thanks,’ he replied. ‘How about you?’

‘So so. I didn’t sleep well last night.’

‘No?’

‘I just kept going over everything in my mind about the investigation.’

Jacobsson sighed as she ran her fingers through her short dark hair, and then dropped on to the visitor’s chair in Knutas’s office.

‘Have you made it all the way through yet?’ she asked, casting a glance at the papers piled up on his desk.

‘Yup, I’m just about finished.’

Knutas took his pipe out of the desk drawer and begin filling it with tobacco.

‘So what do you think? Have I made a total mess of things?’ Jacobsson gave him a crooked smile. She had on a white linen summer dress with polka dots.

‘I can’t believe you’re wearing a dress. You hardly ever do.’

‘I just felt like it today, since it’s so hot – OK? And why are you focusing on what I’m wearing when I’m trying to discuss the investigation? Talk about changing the subject…’

‘That wasn’t what I intended to do.’

‘But seriously – do you think I made any major mistakes during the first twenty-four hours, while you were away?’

‘Absolutely not. On the contrary. It looks like you handled everything in an exemplary manner.’

‘Does that surprise you?’

‘No. I know that you’re perfectly capable of leading a murder investigation on your own.’

‘Then why did you rush back here?’

Her question made Knutas uncomfortable. He fidgeted with his unlit pipe and then starting plucking at the tobacco in it.

‘I’m sorry, Karin. Did that upset you? If so, that certainly wasn’t my intention. How stupid of me. I should have called you first.’

‘My dear Anders, of course you don’t have to ask my permission to interrupt your holiday. But I’d like to know why you did it.’

Red blotches had appeared on her throat. A sure sign that she was upset.

‘It had nothing to do with you or your capabilities. I just couldn’t stay away. It’s such an unusual murder investigation.’

Karin sighed and looked at her boss with resignation. ‘Are you ever going to be able to give this job up?’

‘Yes, sure, of course I’ll be able to one day. You know I will. It just might take some time.’

‘I dread the day you retire. You’ll be ringing up headquarters every other day and trying to meddle.’

‘Hey, slow down a bit. I’m not even fifty-three yet.’

‘Sorry,’ she said with a grin. ‘It’s actually great to have you back. If only you’ll let me handle some of the work on my own.’

‘Of course I will.’

The last thing Anders wanted was to have a falling-out with Karin.

‘Getting back to the investigation, I went to see Peter Bovide’s parents yesterday.’

‘Oh, that’s right. How did it go?’

‘Good. They gave me a lot of valuable information.’

He quickly told her about Bovide’s epilepsy and depression.

‘If he was taking anti-depressants, he must have had a doctor who prescribed them.’

‘That’s right. His name is Torsten Ahlberg, but he’s out of town at the moment, on holiday in Italy. He’ll be back next week. I’ll go and talk to him myself.’

‘How were his parents, by the way?’

‘The father seemed really out of control. In the end he got so riled up that he kicked me out.’

‘Wow. What exactly did he do?’

Knutas waved his hand dismissively.

‘It was nothing really. A typical reaction from someone who’s in shock.’

The phone began ringing in Jacobsson’s office. Before she left the room, she put her hand on Knutas’s shoulder and said in a low voice, ‘I really am glad you’re back, Anders. At the same time, it makes me furious.’

Knutas got up and went to stand at the window. He looked out at the idyllic summer scene, or at least as much of it as was visible on either side of the big customer car park at Östercentrum outside the Co-op Forum.

His thoughts were focused on Peter Bovide’s construction company. He hadn’t personally been out to the victim’s place of business, or to his house either. Others had handled that part of the investigation. Maybe a visit would be productive, give him some new ideas. It was unlikely that anyone would be working on a Saturday, but he could at least take a peek at the office. Knutas looked at his watch. Nine fifteen. Would it be all right to ring a woman who had just lost her husband so early? Probably. She had young children, after all. Vendela Bovide should be up by now. He punched in the phone number. It rang and rang, and he was just thinking about giving up when someone picked up. At first he heard only silence, then a boy’s high-pitched voice.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes, hello, this is Anders Knutas from the police. Who am I talking to?’

‘William.’

‘Is your mother there?’

‘No. Mamma can’t talk right now. She’s sleeping.’

‘Sleeping? Are you the only one awake?’

‘No. Mikaela is here too. We’re hungry. But Mamma just keeps sleeping. She won’t wake up.’

‘Has she moved at all?’

‘No. She’s not moving. And her face looks really strange.’

KNUTAS IMMEDIATELY PUNCHED in the emergency number, 112.

‘Send an ambulance over there fast. A woman is lying unconscious, and her two young children are home alone with her.’

After ordering a vehicle from the city police force, which was used to responding swiftly, he slammed down the phone, grabbed his service revolver and called for Jacobsson. Two minutes later they were in a car on their way toward Slite, sirens wailing. If only we can get there in time, thought Knutas as they drove north-east. If only she’s not dead.

‘What’s going on?’ muttered Jacobsson through clenched teeth. ‘What’s happening with this family?’

‘If Vendela Bovide is still alive, maybe we’ll have an answer to that question very soon.’

Jacobsson said a silent prayer that Vendela would still be alive. She rang Peter Bovide’s parents and asked them to drive over to the house. The children needed to be taken care of by someone they trusted.

When they turned on to the drive in front of the Bovide family home, police cars and an ambulance were already there. The door was wide open, and they rushed inside. Shocked, they came to an abrupt halt. The whole house had been turned upside down. Drawers had been pulled out, cupboards stood open, papers, dishes and pillows had been tossed to the floor. In the bedroom, two medics were lifting Vendela on to a gurney. The children were sitting on a sofa in the living room, staring wide-eyed at all the police officers. They had a packet of biscuits between them. The TV was on, showing a cartoon programme.

‘We didn’t make the mess,’ said William.

‘No, of course you didn’t,’ said Knutas. He stood in the doorway between the bedroom and living room, looking with dismay at Vendela. Her face was bruised, and one eye was badly swollen. She seemed to be in a deep sleep.

THE INVESTIGATIVE TEAM met on Saturday afternoon to discuss the assault on Vendela Bovide. Knutas had called the meeting, and he started as soon as everyone was seated around the table. He briefly explained what had happened.

‘Vendela Bovide was assaulted, subjected to kicks and punches, both to her face and the rest of her body. She has bruises and contusions, but the injuries appear to be superficial. According to the doctors, her life is not in danger, and she has no internal injuries other than a broken rib. She was probably given some sort of sedative or other drug, since she was sleeping so soundly. They had a tough time at the hospital getting her to wake up. Somebody obviously searched the house, maybe looking for money – who knows? The place was in utter chaos when we arrived. Right now, the techs are gathering evidence.’

‘When do the doctors think the assault occurred?’ asked Wittberg.

‘Presumably late last night or in the early morning hours. It’s a miracle that the kids didn’t wake up, but they do sleep at the other end of the house. This morning they found their mother in bed, but she didn’t respond when they tried to wake her. They knew their grandparents were supposed to come over later, so they decided to watch TV and wait. It was pure luck that I happened to ring so early.’

‘When was that?’

‘Just after nine o’clock.’

‘What the hell does this mean?’ Kihlgård tossed out the question.

‘As we all know, threats and assaults are not uncommon in the construction business,’ said Knutas. ‘Especially if illegal workers are involved.’

‘Russians,’ retorted Kihlgård. ‘The gun was Russian.’

‘I know. Although that doesn’t necessarily mean that Bovide was killed by a Russian. Anybody could have bought a Russian gun.’

‘Maybe the murder of Peter Bovide was not well planned, after all,’ interjected Jacobsson. ‘Suppose that he owed money to some illegal workers, and for some reason he wasn’t paying them. It’s possible that they hadn’t planned to kill him; maybe they just wanted to scare him. But something went wrong, and one of them may have lost control and shot him without thinking. And later, after killing him, they come and demand money from his widow instead. The question is why they didn’t approach his business partner, Johnny Ekwall. That would have been easier.’

‘You may think so, but if we’re to believe what he said, he had nothing to do with the company finances or paying out wages,’ interjected Wittberg. ‘They probably assumed that Bovide had a safe or something like that at home. Many CEOs do, especially abroad.’

‘We need to talk to Vendela Bovide as soon as possible,’ said Knutas. ‘I’m hoping she’ll have a lot to tell us.’

BOTH KNUTAS AND Jacobsson flinched at the sight of Vendela Bovide when they arrived at Visby hospital an hour later. She was barely recognizable. Her face was swollen and badly bruised, her upper lip deformed. They had to make a real effort to act normally.

Vendela lay in the bed with her eyes closed and her hands resting limply on top of the covers.

‘Hi, Vendela. We’re here again, from the police,’ said Jacobsson softly. ‘It’s me, Karin Jacobsson. I came to see you before. And this is Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas. He’s in charge of the investigation.’

No reaction. The woman in the bed didn’t move, and her eyes remained closed.

‘Do you feel up to talking to us, just for a little while? We need to find out who did this to you.’

Slowly she turned towards the two officers and opened her eyes, squinting up at them.

‘Could you draw the curtains?’

‘Of course.’

Jacobsson got up and did as the patient asked. The light dimmed in the room. She helped Vendela to sit up in bed. The woman groaned a bit and grimaced with pain.

‘Can you tell us what happened?’

Vendela licked her lips as if she were parched. Jacobsson picked up the glass of water from the night stand and handed it to the woman. She took several sips before she began to talk.

‘It was early in the morning and someone rang the doorbell. When I opened the door, two men were standing outside. At first I thought it was a robbery, but they told me that Peter owed them money and, now that he was dead, I had to pay his debts.’

Bovide’s widow paused to gather her strength. She kept her eyes shut as she talked, and her breathing was strained, as if every breath hurt. Jacobsson listened attentively.

‘I asked them how much Peter owed them, and they said 300,000 kronor. I told them the truth, that I didn’t have that much money and had no idea how to get it.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘They didn’t believe me. They started threatening me, saying that if I didn’t pay up, I was going to get hurt.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I tried to make them understand that we didn’t have any money in the house, that all our money was in the bank.’

‘How did they react?’

‘You can see for yourselves.’

Vendela shuddered, as if to shake off the memory.

‘What did they look like?’

‘One was really tall and thin, about six feet, blond with a pierced tongue. The other was shorter, maybe five ten, and heavier, more muscular and with dark hair.’

‘How old?’

‘Twenty or twenty-five. Both of them.’

‘What were they wearing?’

‘Jeans and T-shirts. One had on black shoes; I think the other man was wearing trainers. One had tattoos all over his arms. And they weren’t Swedish. They spoke broken English.’

‘Have you ever seen them before?’

‘I think so.’

‘When was that?’

‘They came to the house one night and talked to Peter. That was just a few days before we drove up to Fårö.’

‘What did they say?’

‘I don’t know. They stayed outside, in the front garden. Peter was upset when he came back in. It was something about the fact that they were working illegally for him and they wanted money that he didn’t have.’

‘You said that they spoke broken English. Do you know where they were from?’

‘I think they spoke Finnish or some Baltic language.’

THEY DIDN’T FIND out much more from their interview with Vendela Bovide. They asked her to look at a collection of photos of known criminals, but she didn’t recognize any of them. The investigative team spent the rest of Saturday working on the assault on the widow and how this might be connected to her husband’s murder. By knocking on doors in the neighbourhood they found a witness who had seen a car with Estonian plates drive past in the morning; the tip was considered of major interest.

Yet by late afternoon Knutas felt as if he’d run out of steam. He was sitting in his office, sucking on his unlit pipe, as thoughts raced through his mind like a roller coaster. He pondered the unusual MO. What could that tell him? On the one hand, it testified to a cold-blooded murderer devoid of any emotions who had shot his victim at close range without batting an eye. On the other hand, the reckless shooting of the victim in the stomach indicated that the perp had lost control, a murderer overcome by emotion. If they followed that line of thought, then they could rule out a hired gunman. The perp had probably known the victim and had some type of emotional bond with him. The fact that Peter Bovide had been shot in the forehead reinforced this hypothesis.

Knutas couldn’t make everything fit together. There was nothing more he could do, so he decided he might as well go home. Lina and the kids were still out at the summer house. He was looking forward to sitting alone in the garden with a cold beer. Maybe then everything would seem clearer.

When he arrived back home Lina phoned. She sounded happy.

‘We’ve spent the whole day at the beach. It’s so beautiful out here. The water is 73 degrees. Right now Nisse is turning over the salmon steaks. He’s the grillmaster since you’re not here,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’m sipping a glass of cold white wine. You should be here, sweetheart. Can’t you get away?’

Knutas told her about the assault on Vendela Bovide.

‘How awful. Imagine somebody breaking into a woman’s house when she’s all alone, and with children there too. They must be real brutes to do something like that. Do you think they’re the ones who killed her husband?’

‘They’re suspects, of course. But they’ve disappeared, and by this time they could be back in their own country.’

‘Do you know where they’re from?’

‘We think they might be Estonian.’

‘It doesn’t exactly sound like they’re professionals. Shouldn’t they have used fake licence plates on their car?’

‘Yeah, you’d think so. There are so many contradictions in this investigation.’

‘So have you contacted the Estonian police?’

‘Sure, of course. We’re hoping to track down these guys quickly.’

‘OK, sweetie, I can hear that you’ve got your hands full.’

Knutas suddenly realized how much he missed Lina. But he didn’t say anything. He could hear Nisse shouting in the background.

‘I’ve got to go and help Nisse with the salmon. Shall we talk again early tomorrow morning?’

‘Sure. Say hi to the kids.’

‘I will.’

HE MANAGED TO drink two beers before the phone rang again. It was Karin.

‘Hi, Knutie. How are things going?’

In the background Knutas could hear people talking and laughing, and glasses clinking. It was obvious that she was in a restaurant. The only person who ever called Knutas ‘Knutie’ was Kihlgård, and Jacobsson was well aware how much he hated that nickname.

‘Are you drunk?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t it a bit early for that?’

Jacobsson seemed to pay no attention to her boss’s critical tone.

‘Thomas and I are sitting here in Packhuskällaren. We’ve had dinner and quite a lot of wine, actually,’ she said, giggling. ‘Plus a few drinks. We thought we needed it. We’re wondering if you’d like to come and join us, since you’re on your own. Isn’t your family still out at the summer house?’

‘Yes, they are. But I was just planning to cook myself some dinner.’

‘Come over here instead and have some wine with us. We never see you except at work.’

‘Come on over, damn it,’ he heard Wittberg shout.

Knutas debated with himself for a moment.

‘OK. I’ll be right there.’

KNUTAS DECIDED TO cycle to the restaurant. The mood in town was completely different from the mood inside his head. Tourists dressed in their summer best were strolling through the cobblestone streets inside the ring wall, on their way to or from restaurants and bars. Later, the nightclubs would be packed. The heat had held on for the past two weeks, and plenty of people had a good suntan. He glanced at his own arm below the short sleeve of his tennis shirt. Abnormally pale for this time of year. He hadn’t had a chance to spend any time out in the open air. Ever since his summer holiday had been interrupted, there had been no time for either sunbathing or swimming.

There was a festive atmosphere in town, and everyone looked so happy and cheerful that he started feeling better himself. And he couldn’t help looking forward to seeing Karin Jacobsson in an intoxicated state. He couldn’t remember ever having seen that before, even though they’d attended dozens of parties together. Karin was the sort of person who never lost control. Maybe it was her strong sense of integrity that made her reluctant to let loose. And since she was so petite, it wouldn’t take much alcohol to get her drunk.

Karin and Thomas were sitting outside at a corner table, and both of them waved enthusiastically when they saw him approach.

‘Hi! How great that you decided to join us!’

Karin gave him a big smile, showing the gap between her front teeth. She made room for him on the bench next to her. How can she be so suntanned? thought Knutas. He hadn’t noticed before. He ordered beer and a steak.

While they waited for the food to arrive, Jacobsson lit a cigarette.

‘You’ve started smoking again?’ asked Knutas. ‘So what’s the reason? Are you celebrating something, or is there some sort of problem?’

‘What do you think?’ She gave him a friendly poke in the side. ‘I only smoke when I’m out partying.’

‘Right. That’s what they all say.’

‘Good lord, you sound like an old married couple,’ said Wittberg with a laugh.

Knutas looked at Jacobsson. To his amusement, he noticed that she was blushing.

‘Well, I guess we almost are,’ he said. ‘We’ve been working together for a hell of a lot of years.’

‘Maybe too long.’

‘Not on your life. I hope we’ll always work together. We’re a dream team.’

They drank a toast to that. Knutas relaxed, realizing he hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. This was probably exactly what he needed. Wittberg was in top form. He was a real charmer and very popular with the ladies, and not just because of his surfer looks. Wittberg was one of the funniest people Knutas had ever met. He told one joke after another, making Knutas and Jacobsson howl with laughter.

A couple of hours later, it was time for a last round. The restaurant was about to close.

‘But we can go over to my place,’ said Jacobsson.

Knutas hesitated. He was starting to feel quite drunk, and tomorrow was a work day, even though it was Sunday.

‘Come on. Just one drink, since we’re having such a good time. Good lord, how often do we go out and have fun? We just work, work, work.’

‘OK. But just one drink.’

It was only one a.m., and no one was waiting for him at home.

They left the restaurant and headed towards Mellangatan. Knutas walked alongside his bike. When they had almost reached Jacobsson’s place, Wittberg stopped short.

‘Listen here, I’m going to have to renege on the invitation. The booze has suddenly taken effect, and I’m feeling really drunk. I think it’s best if I go home to bed.’

‘But why? Are you sure?’ said Jacobsson. ‘Don’t you want to come over?’

‘No, I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Jacobsson looked at Knutas. He felt confused. What should he do now?

‘Would you like to come over for a little while at least?’

‘All right,’ he muttered, feeling as embarrassed as a gawky schoolboy. But this was just Karin, his long-time colleague.

They trudged up the four flights of stairs. Outside her door, he held his breath so as not to reveal how out of shape he was. Lately he hadn’t been getting as much exercise as usual.

Knutas had been to Jacobsson’s flat before, but that was a long time ago, when she once gave a small party for her colleagues.

He’d forgotten how attractive her place was. Wide wooden floorboards, a high ceiling, plasterwork on the ceiling, and country-style furniture mixed with modern pieces. Cosy and tasteful. And there was nothing wrong with the view, either, although at the moment the sea was barely visible in the dark.

‘Good morning!’ shouted Vincent enthusiastically when the lights were switched on. Knutas cautiously poked his finger through the bars of the cage where the cockatoo was enthroned in the middle of the living room.

‘I didn’t know you still had the bird,’ Knutas called to Jacobsson, who was out in the kitchen.

‘Yes, well, I don’t think I could live without him.’

She came in holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

‘That looks expensive.’

‘Oh, it’s been in the fridge for a while. We might as well finish it off. I love champagne. What kind of music would you like to listen to?’

‘Have you got anything by the Weeping Willows?’

‘Of course.’ She raised her eyebrows appreciatively. ‘I thought you were going to say Simon and Garfunkel, or something else from the Stone Age.’

Everybody at police headquarters was always teasing Knutas about driving around in his old Mercedes, weeping over ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’.

Jacobsson sat down in an armchair, while Knutas, with his long legs, chose the sofa. She lit a few candles standing on the coffee table and filled their glasses with ice-cold champagne.

‘God, that’s good,’ said Knutas. ‘Really delicious.’

‘Isn’t it? People should drink champagne more often.’

Both of them fell silent.

‘So how have things been going for you?’ Knutas asked awkwardly after a moment.

‘What? How are things going? Good, fine, damned good, actually.’

‘Great.’

He took a sip of his champagne. Why did she always have to be so secretive? Especially since he told her practically everything about himself. She was the one person at work he could really talk to, and she knew almost everything about him and Lina. Except for the recent lull in their relationship, which he hadn’t yet mentioned.

On the other hand, he knew very little about Karin. She was almost forty, and he thought she was very attractive, but year after year she had remained single. He never heard about any boyfriends, at any rate. Occasionally he’d asked her personal questions, but she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to talk about herself. Consequently, he’d stopped asking about her private life. Yet she was more than willing to talk about ordinary, trivial matters, such as soccer, which played an important role in her life, and her friends and other activities. But never about how she was feeling or her problems, and definitely not about her love life.

The conversation lagged, as if the fact that the two of them found themselves alone in Karin’s flat in the middle of the night was affecting them more than they had planned when she initially suggested that they go to her place.

‘Would you like something to eat?’

‘Sure. Thanks.’

She got up and went out to the kitchen. How petite she is, and dainty, he thought. Nothing like Lina. She came right back with a bowl of pretzels.

‘This is all I could find. Hope it’s OK.’

She sat down on the sofa next to him. Knutas felt his mouth go dry. He took another sip of champagne. They started up the conversation again, but he could hardly concentrate on what they were saying. The situation felt so odd. He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch.

‘Well, I think it’s about time for me to get going.’

He could have bitten his tongue. How could he sound so stilted? Like an old fogey. Annoyed with himself, he stood up. Maybe a little too quickly.

‘Right. Of course,’ said Jacobsson, brushing back a lock of hair from her forehead. She followed him out to the hall. At the door he leaned forward to give her a hug. Again it occurred to him how petite she was. Before he knew what was happening, she kissed him on the mouth. A quick, warm kiss. And yet.

‘Bye,’ she said, opening the door for him.

‘Bye. See you tomorrow.’

‘Or today, you mean.’

She smiled. There was that gap between her teeth again.

EMMA WAS AWAKENED by her own scream. The nightmare had ended with her falling into a deep abyss.

She sat up with a jolt, breathing hard and staring into the darkness. The bed was as big and hot as a desert. For a moment she sat there without moving, hardly able to think and overcome by a loneliness that seemed without end.

Not a sound came from Elin’s cot. Suddenly Emma had the feeling that something was wrong. She leaped out of bed and went over to look at her daughter. There she lay, clad only in a nappy and white knickers. She had kicked off the thin blanket in the heat.

Emma sank back down on to the bed. She stared vacantly at the ceiling, realizing she was longing for Johan to be with her. Before now, her body had certainly missed him, but her mind had always said no. Had the nightmare made her weak? Couldn’t she think clearly any more?

She decided to phone him right then. It was a little past three in the morning, but maybe he was still awake. He could get a cab and come over. Within an hour he could actually be lying next to her in bed. The thought was so enticing that she got up and dashed out to the hall, picked up the phone and punched in his number before she could change her mind. With her heart pounding, she listened to the ring tone on the other end of the line. One, two, three. Maybe he was asleep after all. Then she heard someone pick up. The next second, a woman’s voice spoke.

‘Hi, this is Maddie, on Johan’s mobile.’

Emma could tell that it was very quiet in the background. At first she was disconcerted and didn’t know what to do. She had been totally unprepared to hear a woman answer the phone. Who the hell was Maddie? Then she remembered – Madeleine Haga, the reporter for the national news who worked at Aktuellt and Rapport. They must be working together in the editorial office. Maybe something new had happened in the murder case. Emma was so relieved she felt dizzy.

‘Hi, this is Emma Winarve. Could I speak to Johan?’

A brief pause before the woman answered.

‘He’s in the shower at the moment. Can I ask him to call you?’

Emma didn’t reply. She had already hung up.