The Dead Of Summer

SUNDAY, 16 JULY

THE INVESTIGATION INTO the murder of Peter Bovide plodded on; the longed-for breakthrough hadn’t occurred. The perpetrator was still on the loose.

The fraud division’s examination of the finances of Slite Construction showed that Peter Bovide had taken on far more jobs than could be handled by his employees. This reinforced the suspicion that he had been using illegal workers. Currently the company had several projects under way: the biggest included a new house on Furillen, another in Stenkyrkehuk and the remodelling of a restaurant at Åminne campsite.

On Sunday, Knutas decided to go out and have a look at all three sites, if he had the time. He hoped to find a worker who was willing to talk. Since he wasn’t in any hurry and didn’t want to attract attention, he took his own car, the old Mercedes. The vehicle should really have been junked long ago, but Knutas couldn’t bear to part with it, no matter how much Lina urged him to do so. In the end, she had simply gone out and bought her own car. He had been surprised to find the brand-new Toyota parked in their garage when he came home from work one evening, but he couldn’t really blame her. There was a limit; even Knutas could understand that.

The lovely weather was still hanging on, much to the delight of the tourists. The sun seemed to have parked itself over Gotland for the foreseeable future, and the beaches were crowded with sunbathers.

In no time, Knutas was out of the city, and he was still able to appreciate the idyllic Gotland countryside as he drove through it. Well-nourished livestock grazed in the pastures of the farms he passed, and the road was lined with bright red poppies and blue chicory. Now and then he caught a glimpse of the sea along the way. Billowing fields of grain and chalk-white churches. He loved this island that he called home, and he couldn’t imagine moving anywhere else. Knutas had lived on Gotland all his life. He was lucky that Lina had agreed to move here; if he was perfectly honest with himself, he doubted he would have done the same for her.

On his way to Slite he rang the hospital to find out how Vendela Bovide was doing. The doctor thought she would need to stay a few more days. The broken rib was giving her a lot of pain, but otherwise her injuries were largely superficial. The men who had beaten her had apparently meant only to scare her. It made Knutas sick to recall how she had looked when they found her. He had never understood how men could be capable of beating up women.

He decided to start with the house on Furillen. He didn’t really think that anyone would be there on a Sunday, but you never knew.

Furillen was a rough-hewn and isolated island encompassing five hundred hectares, located at the tip of Gotland’s north-eastern coast. It had a diverse landscape, combining dense forest with sandy and stone-covered beaches, hills, boulders, sea-stacks and moors. In the past there had been a large limestone quarry on the island, and the vestiges from those times were still visible in the form of old factory buildings.

The factory had been transformed into a hotel and restaurant by several enthusiasts from Göteborg. The defence ministry also had a few buildings at its disposal, but otherwise Furillen was mostly uninhabited. A long bridge went from Gotland out to the island. From looking at the map, Knutas had determined that the construction site was right across from the old factory. He drove along the gravel road, dusty with limestone, past the factory buildings. Not a soul in sight.

When he came to the top of the hill behind the hotel, he had a splendid view of the sea, and of Kyllaj, the last outpost on Gotland, in the distance. A lonely village on the shore of Valleviken that had previously subsisted on seafaring and the stone quarry but was now occupied almost solely by tourists.

He found the job site without any trouble. On an open plot of land with a view of the water and the nearby islets stood a newly built house that looked almost finished. An expensive, fancy two-storey house with panoramic windows facing south. A two-car garage stood next to the house, and a curved stone staircase with pillars on either side framed the front entrance. The whole place had a nouveau riche air about it, as if the owner wanted to show that he could afford to be ostentatious. Knutas parked outside. No one was around. At the back, he saw a huge patio made of wood, built on several levels, with a swimming pool and an unobstructed view of the sea.

A fishing boat was on its way towards Kyllaj, followed by a flock of shrieking gulls which kept diving at the deck. Knutas perched on a saw horse near the construction site and filled his pipe. Then he lit it and began puffing away. Images of Peter Bovide’s lacerated body and of his injured wife filled Knutas’s thoughts. Was this what it was all about? The fact that Bovide owed money to some illegal workers? It had to involve more than 300,000 kronor, at any rate. But to murder the person who owed the money seemed completely idiotic. And then assaulting his widow afterwards didn’t seem to indicate any sort of careful planning. Maybe it’s about something else entirely, thought Knutas as he studied the house.

He got up to peer through the windows, admiring the stone fireplace, the floor paved with pebbles, a tiled bathroom and an ultra-modern kitchen with all the appliances in place. Mosaic, tile and brick everywhere.

The silence was suddenly shattered by the sound of an approaching engine.

Knutas walked over to the very edge of the plateau and looked down the slope. On the road below he saw a large delivery van which turned in at the hotel and then continued past, on its way up towards the building site.

Suddenly Knutas felt uneasy. He had come out here to talk to the workers, but at the same time it was possible that one of them might be the killer. He was here all alone, without his service revolver, and he wouldn’t have a chance if the situation turned hostile. He cursed himself for not asking someone to come with him. The smartest thing to do now would be to hide and then wait to see who or what appeared on the scene. He looked around. Did he have time to move the car out of sight? He yanked open the door and put the key in the ignition. The road continued on past the property.

He’d just managed to drive around the curve before the front of the delivery van appeared in his rearview mirror. When he had driven safely out of sight, he turned off the engine and rolled down the window to listen to what was happening. The van doors slammed, and he could hear voices speaking a foreign language. It sounded like Finnish, except softer. Maybe it was Estonian. A witness had seen a car with Estonian plates outside Vendela Bovide’s house. Had her attackers arrived? Knutas’s nerves were on high alert.

Cautiously, he opened the car door and got out. He kept to the edge of the woods as he made his way back and then stopped behind some trees and bushes where he had a good view.

Two young men came out of the house carrying something that looked like a washing machine. A third man was waiting next to the van and helped them load it inside. Then they went back into the house and returned with a full-size stainless-steel refrigerator. Good God, thought Knutas. They’re going to empty the house of all the appliances. Nervously, he fumbled in his pocket for his mobile and punched in Jacobsson’s number. He swore when he heard her voicemail start up. He tried Wittberg. The same result. What bad luck. Was everybody unavailable just because it was Sunday? The day of the week shouldn’t matter, since the whole investigative team was still supposed to be working. He punched in the number for the criminal division. Kihlgård answered in his usual hearty manner, although it was obvious that he was eating something and his mouth was full.

‘Kihlgård.’

‘Hi, it’s me, Knutas.’

‘Hi, Knutie.’

‘I’m out at one of the job sites that Peter Bovide’s company is working on. They’ve built a luxury home on Furillen, and right now there’s a gang out here taking away all the appliances.’

‘Why are you whispering?’

‘Because I’m standing only a few yards away.’

‘OK. Are you alone?’

‘Yes, unfortunately. And I don’t have my gun with me, so I don’t dare intervene.’

‘No, don’t do that, for God’s sake. Who exactly is out there?’

‘Three young guys with earrings and tattoos. I think they might be Finns, or possibly from the Baltics.’

‘Where did you say this house is?’

‘It’s on Furillen, right across from the old factory that’s now a hotel.’

‘Furillen – what sort of place is that?’

‘An island, damn it,’ Knutas hissed. ‘I’m not planning to draw you a road map. Talk to the others, but you’ve got to get out here, and be bloody quick about it.’

‘Sure. Stay where you are, and we’ll leave right away.’

‘Do that, but use unmarked cars and no sirens. And ring me when you’re driving across the bridge to the island. You have to wait for my go-ahead before you can drive past the hotel, because they’ll be able to see you from there. The building site is right across the road.’

‘OK. We’re leaving now. Did you say how many there are? And do you think they’re armed?’

‘Shit!’

‘What is it, Knutie?’

‘Someone’s coming. I’ll ring you later.’

Knutas cut Kihlgård off. One of the men was heading straight for his hiding place. With his heart in his mouth, Knutas waited to see if he was going to be discovered. The lanky man had a shaved head, and his bare chest was covered with tattoos. A knife was sticking out of the back pocket of his shorts.

Knutas kept his eyes tensely fixed on the young man. If he moved a muscle, his hiding place would be found.

He cast a glance at the others. They were still bringing things out of the house.

The next second, Knutas realized what was about to happen. The man reached inside his trousers, and was obviously about to take a piss, only a couple of yards away. Knutas bowed his head and stared at the ground, silently praying that he wouldn’t be seen.

Then his mobile rang.

EVEN THOUGH JOHAN had felt so awful about sleeping with Madeleine Haga, he had ended up in bed with her again. On Saturday night, the whole group had gone to Munkkällaren restaurant. There he had run into several other journalist colleagues who were on the island, and the evening had ended with a little post-party gathering at Johan’s one-bedroom flat. Madeleine stayed after the others had left. When he opened his eyes the next morning, he had felt even worse than the first time, if that was possible, and all he wanted to do was get out of his flat. He suggested having breakfast at a café on Stora Torget.

They drank lattes, ate croissants and read the morning papers. The conversation was halting and revolved around innocent topics such as the lack of fresh information and how they should go about following up on the story.

‘If nothing new happens today, I’ll be forced to go back home,’ said Madeleine with a sigh. ‘And just when I’m having such a good time here on Gotland.’

She gave Johan a coy look as she rubbed his shin with her sandal.

Johan didn’t know how to respond. He smiled awkwardly and pulled out his mobile to check to see if Knutas had tried to call. Johan had rung the superintendent several times during the weekend, but without result. Normally, Knutas called him back.

As Johan looked at the incoming calls on his mobile, he was surprised to see Emma’s number. She’d rung him at 3.14 in the morning. And someone had picked up, but it wasn’t him. He glanced at Madeleine, who was intently reading the paper. He noticed that she had croissant crumbs at the corner of her mouth.

‘Did you happen to answer my mobile?’

No reply. She kept on reading as if she hadn’t heard him.

‘Hey, Maddie.’ Johan leaned forward and raised his voice. ‘Did you happen to answer a call that came in on my mobile?’

She looked up.

‘What? Oh, right. It rang early this morning while you were in the shower. I forgot to mention it. You were so hot when you came out of the bathroom that I had other things on my mind.’

A crumb fell from her lips and landed in her coffee cup without her noticing.

‘Who was it?’

‘It was Emma. I’m sorry, Johan,’ she said politely. ‘I just forgot.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She wanted to talk to you. I told her that you were in the shower, and then she hung up.’

Johan jumped to his feet.

‘Why didn’t you say anything? It could have been important – maybe Elin’s sick, or something like that.’

‘You don’t have to get so upset,’ she said sullenly. ‘I can’t help it if she hung up on me.’

Without another word, Johan left the table. He was furious. What the hell was Emma going to think? The truth, of course. That he’d been to bed with another woman. He punched in Emma’s number as he stomped off towards Adelsgatan. At the same time, he glanced at his watch. It was eleven fifteen and the sun was shining. No answer on her mobile either. She was probably at the beach with Elin. They both loved going there. Suddenly he felt on the verge of tears. How could he have been such an idiot?

He quickly made up his mind and ran the whole way to the Swedish TV building. That’s where his car was parked.

He jumped in and drove away from Visby, taking the road out to Roma.

KNUTAS PRESSED HIS body against the wall of the house, straining to make sure that his panting wouldn’t be heard.

He’d flung his mobile as far away as possible when the tattooed man had been surprised by the ring tone. It was lucky for Knutas that the guy was already in the middle of taking a leak; that gave him a head start.

The man yelled to his companions, and the three of them immediately spread out to search the woods. Knutas, who was hiding behind a tree, decided the best thing to do would be to head back towards the house. He’d managed to sound the alarm, and his colleagues were on their way. It was just a matter of keeping out of sight until they arrived.

He hesitated only a second before he emerged from the woods and ran as fast as he could across the yard. He kept close to the house as he crept further away, the whole time keeping his eyes fixed on the woods. The gravel crunched under his feet. Just a little further. His mouth was dry, and he was trying to slow down his breathing.

He caught sight of a patio door that stood ajar. Swiftly, he slipped inside the living room and then dashed up the stairs in a few bounds to reach the next floor. There he suddenly found himself standing in what looked like a studio, with a high ceiling and an enormous circular window facing the sea. All of a sudden he heard the front door open downstairs. Shit. They were back already.

He didn’t dare move. Frozen in place, he listened to at least two men moving around below. They exchanged a few words in their incomprehensible language. At any moment they might decide to come upstairs. Did the floor creak? His stomach turned over as he lifted one foot with the greatest caution. For several seconds he held it up in the air before he dared set it down again. Keeping his weight evenly distributed, Knutas soundlessly moved towards what looked like the door to a bedroom. He had noticed earlier that it had a balcony, so maybe it would be possible to climb down from there.

Doors opened and slammed below as they searched for him. He wondered how much time had passed since he’d spoken to Kihlgård on the phone. Ten minutes? Fifteen? It would take a while before the police reached the isolated island. He was on his own.

Suddenly he heard someone coming up the stairs. The door to the bedroom was open slightly; two more steps and he was inside. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that he had found a good place to hide and that the room also had a big wardrobe fastened to one wall, with sliding frosted-glass doors. He stepped inside and slid the door shut, hoping that no one would hear him, then waited tensely. A strong smell of paint filled his nostrils. It was stuffy inside the wardrobe, and the heat was almost unbearable. He took short, shallow breaths in order to save on oxygen.

Only a few seconds later he heard quick footsteps approaching. Someone was inside the room now; a man’s voice muttered something, and then there was the sound of the door to the balcony being opened. Footsteps tramped on the wooden deck, shouts to someone who was apparently outside the house, further away.

Thoughts of Lina and the kids flew through Knutas’s mind. A flash of fear raced through his body. Was he a hair’s breadth from death?

That was all Knutas had time to think before the door to the wardrobe slid abruptly open.

THE STREET WAS silent and deserted. It was so hot that the air shimmered. An elderly woman was slowly heading along the road, taking her dog for a walk. Otherwise nothing moved in the idyllic residential area. Johan parked his car outside the house. The garden was resplendent, but the grass was much too high. Last summer he had been the one who mowed the lawn. That was when Elin was a newborn, and he was the happiest man in the world. It felt like so long ago. Like a whole different life.

He quickly walked up the front path. The patio furniture was out, and the hammock was in place, but it didn’t look as if anyone had used it in a while. The house looked empty even though the pram stood on the porch. Perhaps she wasn’t home after all? Maybe she hadn’t taken the pram when they went to the beach.

He rang the bell and listened to it echoing inside. Waited nervously and tried to peer through the kitchen window, but he didn’t see anyone.

He rang the bell again. Now he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps. Slowly, someone turned the deadbolt inside. A fly was making its way up the door jamb. He stared at the painted sign: ‘Home of Emma, Filip, Sara and Elin.’

One name is missing, he thought.

Finally Emma opened the door.

‘Hi,’ he said.

How small she looked, as if she’d shrunk in the wash. She made no motion to let him come in.

‘Where’s Elin?’

He glanced uneasily at the hall behind her.

‘She’s asleep.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘No.’

She folded her arms.

‘Please let me come in. I’ve driven all the way here from town just to see you.’

‘Why? What possible reason could you have for coming to see me?’

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘“What’s the matter?”’ she repeated. ‘There’s nothing in particular going on with me – the question is, what’s going on with you? You’ve got a new girlfriend, right? So what do you and I have to do with each other any more? Nothing.’

‘Take it easy.’

He tried to step inside, but Emma blocked his way. She stared at him with a cold expression, and her voice changed into a snarl.

‘You’re not welcome to set foot in this house ever again! Do you hear me? And from now on, you can pick Elin up at the day-care centre or at some other neutral location, because you’re not welcome here. I don’t want to have anything more to do with you!’

Anger flashed through Johan’s mind. Everything that he’d had to endure descended on him all at once.

‘Damn it all,’ he snapped as he stepped forward, forcing her to retreat into the hall. ‘Calm down. Is it really so strange that I’d sleep with somebody else? You’ve pushed me away, treated me like I have the plague. And why did you do that, Emma? Why? Because a mentally ill man kidnapped our daughter? Was I the one who took her away? Did I have anything to do with what happened? No, but apparently you think I was to blame for the whole thing! And why do you think that? Oh right, it’s because I was just doing my fucking job! Do you really think, in your wildest imagination, that I would do anything that might harm Elin? Or you, for that matter?’

Looking frightened, Emma backed her way into the kitchen, unprepared for the strength of his reaction. She’d never seen Johan so angry.

‘Well, let me tell you one thing, Emma. I’m sick and tired of longing for you, tired of hoping that everything will turn out all right. I’ve had enough. For three years I’ve done everything in my power to bring us together, but what good has it done? I can’t do it any more. So just go ahead and sit here in this house feeling sorry for yourself.’

Emma couldn’t look at him any more. She sank down on to a chair and turned away. She held her hands over her ears and closed her eyes tight in order to shut him out. She intended to sit there like that until he finished what he was saying and left. The only thing she wanted was for him to disappear. For some strange reason, she felt perfectly calm inside. It was as if all her thoughts had now been confirmed. That it was over between them, it was definitely over. Once and for all. When Johan finally left, slamming the door behind him, she was still sitting in the same position.

And she stayed like that for a very long time.

THE YOUNG MAN stared at him in astonishment.

‘Who are you?’ he asked in English.

‘Wait, wait. I’m a police officer,’ said Knutas, stumbling over his words.

The man standing in front of him suddenly looked nervous.

‘Police?’

He grabbed Knutas by the arm and hauled him out of the wardrobe, calling to his companions.

The next moment, Knutas was surrounded by all three. With trembling hands he pulled out his police ID.

The man with the most tattoos, who seemed to be the leader, studied the ID, then turned it over and looked at the back. He cast a glance at the other two and muttered something incomprehensible.

‘Can I sit down?’ asked Knutas. His legs were shaking.

‘Yes. Come with us.’

They escorted him down the stairs and out to the back of the house to some patio furniture.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked the leader.

‘Just checking on things,’ said Knutas. ‘Purely routine.’

‘On a Sunday?’

All three men regarded him dubiously. Close up, they didn’t seem particularly hostile. Two of them were standing on either side of Knutas, holding on to his arms. They immediately started up a lively discussion in their own language.

‘Where are you from?’ Knutas ventured.

The leader glared at him without replying, and the discussion grew more heated. Suddenly they were in a big hurry. They yanked Knutas to his feet and made him hold out his arms while the leader frisked his pockets. Wallet, car keys, pipe tobacco – he took everything. Then he yelled something to the others, who hustled Knutas back inside the house. He tried to pull himself out of their grasp and resisted as best he could, but he found it impossible to get away. He was terrified at the thought of what lay in store for him.

‘What are you doing?’ he yelled, in English. ‘Let me go! I’m a police officer.’

With resolute expressions, they dragged him towards the front door.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Now Knutas had switched to Swedish. ‘I’m a police officer, damn it!’

Were they going to kidnap him? Kill him? Cut his throat, or shoot him and throw his body off the cliff? Or maybe lock him in the boot of his own car so he’d die of suffocation?

Knutas thought his last hour was near when the leader opened the door to a clothes cupboard in the hall and signalled to his companions to throw him inside.

‘We are very sorry!’ Knutas heard him say before the door slammed shut with a bang.

FORTY MINUTES LATER, Martin Kihlgård and Thomas Wittberg roared up the drive, closely followed by several more police vehicles. There was no one to be seen. The front door of the house stood open.

From inside they could hear a dull pounding. Wittberg was the first to run in. The sound was coming from a room in the hall. A board had been nailed across the door.

He found a crowbar on the ground outside the house and with some effort finally got the door open.

‘What the hell?’ he panted when he peered inside.

They had found Knutas.

JOHAN SAT WITH his head in his hands, staring down at the dust-covered gravel. He was much too upset to drive, so he’d started walking along the road from Emma’s house and continued on towards the football pitch. It was deserted. He sat down on a bench and smoked one cigarette after another until his throat was burning. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there when he noticed a woman with a pram coming closer. His stomach turned over when he saw who it was. There was Emma, with Elin, his daughter. He wanted to rush over and yank the handle of the pram out of her hands, but he restrained himself.

Then she turned her head and glanced in his direction. For several seconds he wondered whether she would come over to him or just keep going, pretending not to have seen him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approach. He froze.

‘Oh, look, here’s Pappa,’ she cooed in a cheerful voice, holding Elin out towards Johan.

Johan raised his head, and all of a sudden his little daughter was so close he could smell the scent of her. Those little brown eyes, that heart-shaped little face, the dimple on her chin. His dimple.

He made an effort to smile at her as he held out his hands. The next moment he was holding her warm, chubby little body close to him. That’s when he fell apart. Johan hugged his daughter tight and wept so that his shoulders shook.

At a loss, Emma sat down next to him without saying a word.

KNUTAS WAS TAKEN to the hospital. He wasn’t injured, but Kihlgård still insisted that he go, if nothing else to talk with somebody about what had just happened. Knutas submitted to a medical examination and then recounted the entire course of events to a kindly doctor in the psychiatric emergency unit he happened to know quite well. Lina and the kids came back from the summer house, and Lina urged him to take it easy and stay home for the rest of the day, but Knutas refused. By two o’clock that afternoon, he was back at police headquarters.

The entire team was on the job, as the investigation had now picked up steam. There was no time to lose.

Knutas had barely sat down at his desk before Jacobsson stuck her head in the door.

‘Hi. How are you doing?’

She came over to give him a quick hug.

‘What a thing to happen. I’m glad it turned out well.’

Knutas smiled wanly.

‘I heard you got locked inside a clothes cupboard, but then what happened?’

‘They went back to emptying the house of everything that wasn’t nailed down. I’d probably been sitting there for half an hour when I heard the van drive off. I wasn’t really worried, since I’d already managed to contact Kihlgård. And it wasn’t more than ten or fifteen minutes later that they showed up.’

‘Could you tell what language those guys were speaking?’

‘I’m not much of a linguist, as you know, but I think it was one of the Baltic languages, probably Estonian.’

‘Do you think they were the same guys who beat up Vendela Bovide?’

‘It seems highly likely.’

‘Have you gone through the book of mug shots?’

‘Yup. That was the first thing I did when I got back from the hospital. I’ve already been debriefed and looked at photos of plenty of ex-cons. Nothing, unfortunately.’

‘How well does Vendela’s description of the men match what you saw?’

‘It seems likely that two of them were the guys who beat her up. But there was also a third guy out on Furillen.’

‘So now everything seems to indicate that the murder of Peter Bovide did have something to do with his illegal workers.’

‘It seems so,’ Knutas agreed. ‘At the same time, I don’t think they were the killer type.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘At first I was scared, of course, thinking they might be the ones who shot Bovide. For a few seconds I really thought it was going to be the end of me. But then what happened? They locked me in a clothes cupboard, and even apologized for doing it.’

‘What?’

‘The last thing I heard them say was “We’re sorry!” Can you believe it?’ Knutas gave her a wry smile.

‘That doesn’t exactly sound like a cold-blooded murderer.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘But if the murder isn’t connected with the illegal workers, what the heck is this all about?’

‘That’s the very question I’ve been asking myself over and over again.’