The Dead Of Summer

HAMBURG, 15 JULY 1985

FIVE MORE HOURS before the plane left for Sweden. They were up early to pack, and Vera suspected that her father hadn’t slept a wink all night. By six o’clock she could hear him pottering about in the kitchen. Neatly lined up on her bed were piles of clothes ready to be packed.

‘Keep in mind that you don’t need to take a lot of clothes along. And nothing fancy,’ called Oleg from the kitchen. ‘We’re going to be living outdoors – far away from civilization!’

Vera studied the piles: knickers, bras, bikinis, shorts, blouses, a few skirts and dresses, jeans and a heavy sweater.

That should be enough, she decided as she began stuffing items into her rucksack.

‘What are you taking along?’

Tanya stuck her head into her big sister’s room.

Her hair was pinned up in an untidy knot, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were shining. Tanya was at least as ecstatic as their father about this trip. She was nineteen and had never been out of Germany before.

‘All of this.’

Vera gestured towards the bed. Tanya looked at the piles, checked the contents of the rucksack and took out a couple of articles of clothing.

‘That’s all?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘But don’t you think we’ll have a chance to go out dancing a few times, you and I? At least in Stockholm or Visby?’

She gave her sister a poke in the side.

‘I’d like to have some fun with those luscious Swedes. We can’t miss out on the opportunity, since we’re there anyway. They’re supposed to be the cutest guys in the world, you know!’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘My god, haven’t you seen the pictures? And the Swedish girls are world-famous – so why shouldn’t the men look just as beautiful?’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Vera with a laugh as she opened her wardrobe. ‘Of course we should take along something cute. And of course we’ll go out. I could do with a little fun too.’

A week ago Gotthard had suddenly broken up with her. He’d met somebody else while he was on holiday in Portugal. And to make matters worse, it was a Swedish girl.

Unlike her younger sister, she never had any luck with boys. And she really didn’t understand why. She and her sister were very much alike, except that they had different temperaments. Vera was more serious and pensive. She lacked her sister’s spontaneity. Sometimes she wished she could be more like her little sister, more open, happier, more outgoing. Especially when she saw how Tanya stole all the attention, even from their parents. But that wasn’t just because of her personality. Vera was well aware of the reason, but it still hurt. Tanya had been diagnosed with leukaemia when she was thirteen, and she’d been seriously ill for a long time. Their parents had been numb with shock and despair, and they had devoted all their time to Tanya. Vera had been forced to fend for herself as best she could. And she’d had to cope alone with her own sorrow and distress about her sister.

But everything had turned out well in the end. Tanya had undergone an intensive treatment and her body was now free of cancer. Slowly but surely she had returned to her old self, becoming even stronger and more energetic than she’d been before. Of course Vera was thrilled that Tanya had pulled through; at the same time, their parents’ love and concern for her sister had increased even more after her illness.

Occasionally, when their father talked and laughed with Tanya while Vera was also in the room, he would cast a glance at his older daughter, as if he’d suddenly noticed her and was surprised that she was there too. Then he would sometimes look shamefaced, as if he’d been caught out. That was almost worse.

Strangely enough, Vera harboured no grudge towards her sister for this great imbalance that existed between them. Not any more. It had been worse when they were younger; back then she would secretly pinch her little sister and make nasty comments, just to get back at her a little. Now that they were both practically grown up, she had accepted the situation. At least she thought so. She refused to fight with Tanya, whether it had to do with the attention that she received from their parents or from men, so she might as well give up and be satisfied with who she was. She needed to stop comparing herself to Tanya. It just made her depressed.

Right now she looked at her sister, whose eagerness and enthusiasm for the trip was contagious. Vera truly loved Tanya; it wasn’t her fault that things had ended up this way.

‘The problem is, you’re going to take all the guys,’ she said with a sigh as Tanya showed her one top after another, each one more attractive than the last.

‘No, I won’t. You’re super-cute! Come on, we’ll pack some nicer things too. Forget about what Pappa says.’

‘OK.’

Oleg was rushing about the flat, whistling and dancing as he packed, grabbing hold of Sabine and swinging her around so she laughed out loud. Vera had never seen her father so elated. Ever since they were kids he’d talked about Gotska Sandön, about how beautiful it was supposed to be, about all the unusual birds, the seals, the plants. And the fact that his great-grandfather had died when his ship went down off a beach called Franska Cove; he was buried there, and three cannons that had been salvaged from the vessel were still on the island. Since receiving permission to make the trip there, he’d hardly talked about anything else.

‘The taxi’s here!’ shouted their mother from the kitchen.

They took one last look around the flat before they closed the door behind them.

KARIN JACOBSSON AND Martin Kihlgård slipped out to the pizzeria around the corner for a quick dinner. They expected to be working all evening. Since they hadn’t seen each other in quite a while, it was great to have some time to themselves. They’d worked together on a number of cases over the past few years, and they enjoyed each other’s company.

While they waited for their food to be served, they discussed what motives might have compelled the murderer to kill Peter Bovide.

As he talked, Kihlgård munched on his salad, which was soaked with dressing and mixed with croutons.

‘One possible motive, of course, is jealousy – some sort of love triangle. How faithful was Bovide? Maybe he was having an affair on the side.’

‘The MO really indicates revenge,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Why else fire a whole clip of shots into his stomach when they were obviously unnecessary? He died from the first bullet, after all.’

‘How do you know that?’ muttered Kihlgård, continuing to chew.

‘The ME phoned right before we left.’

‘Is that right? What’d he say?’

‘He was able to determine the time of the murder. Peter Bovide died at approximately six a.m., and it was the first shot that killed him. They found seven bullets in his stomach and one in his head. The slugs have already been sent over to SCL, and the lab has promised to put a rush on it. They’ve semi-promised me a report on the type of ammunition and hopefully the type of gun by tomorrow morning. The ME also told me that the entry wound indicates that the bullet was fired from an oblique angle above the victim. Which means that Bovide was probably sitting down or kneeling when the bullet struck his forehead.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, unless the perp was up on a ladder when he fired the gun, but that’s not very likely. When Bovide took the shots to the abdomen, he was lying down. So Sohlman’s theory about the sequence of events was correct. First he was shot in the forehead, then he fell to the ground and finally the rest of the rounds were fired into his torso.’

Kihlgård looked thoughtful.

‘But that’s a little odd, don’t you think? Why would he be sitting down? He was out running, right?’

‘Maybe they started to talk and sat down on the beach. How would I know?’ Jacobsson shrugged. ‘I have a hard time imagining that he was killed by accident. Maybe they’d even made arrangements to meet.’

Their food arrived, and for a while they ate in silence.

‘It certainly doesn’t sound like it was a madman who killed somebody at random,’ said Kihlgård pensively.

‘But do you really think it was someone who was staying at the campsite?’ asked Jacobsson, sounding doubtful. ‘Wouldn’t it be a little crazy to murder someone staying at the same campsite? Surely the killer must have realized that he would be interviewed and thoroughly scrutinized.’

‘Sure, but if the murder wasn’t premeditated or if it was the result of a fit of rage, then it’s possible. Although it could also be somebody from that cottage community nearby. That’s actually closer to the crime scene than the campsite. Or else it’s someone from outside.’

‘Right,’ said Jacobsson. She was chewing absentmindedly on the same slice of capricciosa pizza, taking tiny bites of it. Kihlgård had already finished most of his calzone.

‘But I still think we have to assume that the murder was planned and carried out with a specific purpose in mind. The fact that the victim thought he was being shadowed, plus the anonymous phone calls, are important pieces of the puzzle,’ said Kihlgård.

Jacobsson opened her mouth to say something, but her colleague waved his hand dismissively.

‘OK, OK, I know that he was regarded as slightly depressed and vulnerable psychologically. But that doesn’t rule out the possibility that somebody might have been tailing him, does it? So we need to ask ourselves: who was Peter Bovide? What was he spending his time on? What sort of people did he meet? How did he live?’

‘Those covert threats, or whatever they were, might have had something to do with payments made under the table,’ said Jacobsson. ‘I mean, using illegal workers is such a widespread practice in the construction business. It’s going to be damned interesting to see what the financial investigation of his company turns up. The worst part is that it takes such a long time.’

She shoved her plate away even though half of her pizza was still untouched.

‘And then there’s the fact that he was clearly a troublemaker as a youth,’ said Kihlgård. ‘I’m thinking about the charge of assault and battery. That sort of thing isn’t usually an isolated event. The motive for the murder may lie in the past. Maybe Peter Bovide was mixed up in some big-time deals when he was younger, and then it all finally caught up with him. It’s happened before.’

He eyed Jacobsson’s plate greedily.

‘Help yourself,’ she said.

‘It’d be a shame to throw out good food.’

He swiftly traded his empty plate for his colleague’s.

Just as Jacobsson was about to oppose Kihlgård’s theory, her mobile rang. It was Knutas.

‘What, can’t you resist phoning me?’ she teased him. ‘Don’t you think I can handle the investigation on my own, or what? Just relax, Anders – you’re on holiday.’

‘Not any more.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just walked in the door of police headquarters. I came straight from the airport.’

‘What?’

‘I couldn’t stay away. After I heard about the murder I couldn’t relax, since I was so close to home. So I decided I might as well come back. My family is still in Denmark, but I caught the first plane home.’

Kihlgård saw Jacobsson’s disappointed expression.

‘I see,’ she said.

‘You don’t sound especially happy about it,’ said Knutas, a little annoyed.

‘Sure I am. Of course I’m glad you’re back. You know that.’

EMMA HAD JUST raised her wine glass to her lips when she caught sight of Johan above all the heads in Donner’s Bar. How typical that he should be here too, she thought, now that she had finally decided to go out, for a change.

She took several small sips, keeping her eyes fixed on him. He hadn’t noticed her as he stood there chatting merrily with Pia Lilja and a man who looked familiar, although she couldn’t place him. Closest to Johan stood a woman that Emma didn’t recognize. Her appearance was disturbing, to say the least. She was everything that Emma was not: petite, dark-haired, mysterious, voluptuous. Like a soft, cuddly cat, she was laughing and affectionately nudging Johan, who presumably reciprocated in his usual playful way. His hair seemed abnormally long and curly, he was unshaven, and he looked pale among all the suntanned tourists. What’s he been up to, anyway? Emma thought, annoyed. Partying all night long and then sleeping through half the day? And why doesn’t he have any colour in his face when he tans so easily? She hadn’t noticed it the day before when they met at Almedalen. At the time she was just thinking how cute he looked.

She studied him, feeling upset. The father of her youngest child stood over there, on the other side of the outdoor bar, holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, carefree and flirting, without giving a thought to her or Elin.

It was true that he’d phoned her several times on her mobile and left messages. She hadn’t bothered to call back. Whenever she was uncertain how to handle a situation, her response was to flee. Emma was aware of this, but felt incapable of breaking the pattern.

Her relationship with Johan had come to a standstill, and she couldn’t see any way out. He was going to be on Gotland all summer, working, and in her mind Emma had planned out how they could divide up taking care of Elin. That was as far as she dared think.

Now she needed to find a way to leave the restaurant without running into him. Just as she was wondering how to do this, he caught sight of her. She saw how startled he looked, and she quickly turned her head, pretending she hadn’t seen him. It took ten seconds for him to appear at her side.

‘Hi, Emma.’

A wave of heat filled her stomach when he said her name. She gazed into his dark-brown eyes, then looked away so as not to drown in his gaze. He made her feel weak, down to her very marrow.

‘Hi,’ she calmly replied.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘We just finished working, Pia and I, and Peter and Madeleine; they work for the national news division. The murder case on Fårö, you know.’

‘Oh, that’s right.’ She nodded. So that’s who they were – colleagues from work.

‘How’s Elin?’

‘Fine, just fine.’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘Mamma and Pappa are babysitting her tonight.’

‘OK.’ Johan nodded and glanced over at the others.

Emma felt ill at ease.

‘Shouldn’t you be going back to join your colleagues?’ she said, giving the last word a sarcastic emphasis.

The girlfriend she’d come with had disappeared in the crowd. Too bad she wasn’t here with a guy.

Johan turned towards her again.

‘You know, I rang you several times today. Why didn’t you call me back?’

For a microsecond she relented, wanting to sink into his arms and shut out the whole world. Instead she said, ‘I’ve been really busy. And by the way, I’ve got to go.’

She pretended to wave to somebody over by the door and strode off. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Johan’s expression, but when she cast a glance at the bar before she stepped out on to the street, he had rejoined the others and was chatting easily with the brunette. Emma felt a pang of bitterness. Without knowing why, she felt humiliated. She couldn’t understand why she was reacting so strongly.

It felt as if her relationship with Johan had definitely come to an end. For good.