The Dead Of Summer

THURSDAY, 20 JULY

JOHAN STROLLED THROUGH the streets of Visby. It was early evening, and many of the shops were still open, while the tables in the restaurants were filling up. Down by Stora Torget he went into a bar and sat down to drink a cold beer. Sometimes he really did enjoy being alone, with no one making demands on him; he didn’t need to think about anyone but himself. His thoughts wandered from Emma to Elin to his job.

He finished off his beer and got up to continue on his way through town. The lead that he and Pia had uncovered regarding threats and illegal workers, which had at first seemed so hot, had already gone cold. They simply hadn’t made any headway. It had been leaked to the media that the police were looking for a Russian in connection with the murder. Johan had no idea how the information had got out, but it wasn’t really so strange. Such things happened sooner or later. The head office in Stockholm was no longer particularly interested in the murder; other news had taken priority. It was now ten days since Bovide had been killed, and that was an eternity in the news business. As the murderer hadn’t struck again, the tourists had calmed down and everything had gone back to normal. The campsites were just as full as usual. And it looked as if, this summer, the temperatures would reach record highs, which of course was good for tourism. Many people who came to Gotland decided to do so at the last minute, especially young people. These days it was hard to find a single empty space on the most popular beaches after eleven in the morning.

Both Johan and Pia had made a search for the Russian citizens who lived on Gotland and tried to ferret out what sort of Russian contacts Peter Bovide might have had. The problem was that Grenfors, back in Stockholm, kept interrupting them with new stories that had to be covered, all of them more or less meaningless. This very morning they’d ended up in a major argument when the editor wanted Johan and Pia to drive out to the countryside near Gerum and interview a father whose son had died the previous day from drinking illegal booze. The son had gone to a party and was offered some sort of industrial alcohol. Afterwards he came home and went to bed, never to wake up again. Now his father wanted to talk to the media to issue a warning to others. Johan had tried to make Grenfors understand that, naturally, the father was in shock and incapable of comprehending what consequences there might be if he appeared on TV. It was obvious that all the newspapers and other media would come running, and his home would be besieged by reporters. For Grenfors, it was enough that somebody was willing to speak publicly – he didn’t think his responsibility extended any further. Johan didn’t agree. Over the years they’d had countless clashes over what was ethically or morally defensible for journalists.

Pia had sided with Grenfors and said that of course they should interview the father, since he seemed so adamant about wanting to talk to the media. Everybody else would be reporting the story, she insisted.

Johan lit a cigarette and had hardly managed to take a few puffs before he passed Strandgärdet, outside the ring wall to the north. Judging by the music coming from the loudspeakers, he should have realized what was going on. The Friskis and Svettis gym was holding its daily session outdoors on the big lawn. A hundred people were doing exercises in unison under the open sky. The evening sun shone over the energetic crowd, and Johan felt like a truly bad person as he walked past. He considered putting out his cigarette but decided against it.

He started thinking again about the father who had lost his son; the boy had just turned seventeen. The Russian coal transports that came into the harbour at Slite popped into his mind. They sold illegal booze there. He’d almost forgotten about that lead. And now they knew that Peter Bovide had been shot with a Russian gun. Quickly he punched in Pia’s number on his mobile. She answered immediately.

‘Are you still pissed off?’

‘No, not at all. I know that I’m right, and you’ll feel the same way after you’ve worked in this business long enough,’ he teased her.

‘Super. Why’d you ring?’

‘Do you remember when the next coal transport is due at Slite? Bovide was killed with a Russian gun, and those ships come from Russia. And they also sell illegal booze. That’s a story we’ve never reported before. We can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and hopefully find out more about the murder.’

‘Do you know whether the police are following up on that lead? I haven’t seen or read anything about it.’

‘Me neither, but I’m sure they’re checking it out. It should be of great interest to them.’

‘Have you talked to Knutas?’

‘No, I was thinking of phoning him, but do you know when the next boat is due?’

‘No idea, but I can find out. I have a friend who works at the harbour.’

‘Of course you do.’

Johan began walking home through the botanical garden. All of a sudden, he felt much more cheerful. Pia rang back.

‘We’re in luck. Those boats arrive only a couple of times a month, but the next one is expected here tomorrow.’

‘Fantastic. Now all we need to do is convince Grenfors to let us work on the story.’

He ended the call and rang Max Grenfors in Stockholm. The editor agreed at once.

‘Good thinking. If the transports have nothing to do with the murder, it’s still a story that’s worth reporting. And we’ve never covered this angle before. Russian coal transports, illegal booze – sounds really exciting. But shouldn’t we do the story undercover?’

Johan felt like laughing. Grenfors loved to use police terms. Especially in English.

‘OK, we’ll take along a little camera that we can hide under our clothes. I don’t think we’re going to get any major scoop if we show up down at the harbour carrying a big TV camera.’

‘Good. And then we just have to hope that something related to the murder will come out. It’s been confirmed that Peter Bovide bought booze down there, right?’

‘Yes, we’ve had that information confirmed by several sources,’ said Johan. ‘So you can count on having some sort of story, at any rate.’

‘Fine. Good luck tomorrow night. And be careful.’

‘Your concern is very touching.’