The Dead Of Summer

FÅRÖSUND, 18 JULY 1985

VERA WAS SEIZED by a feeling of unreality as the bus from Visby turned and then headed towards the Fårö ferry dock. The sea was spread out before them, with the island of Fårö across the channel. Car ferries shuttled back and forth between the two islands, and a long queue of cars was winding its way down to the harbour.

The boat to Gotska Sandön was expected on one side of the dock, where a crowd had already gathered. Before joining the group, Vera and her family dashed into the ICA supermarket to buy some last-minute provisions. There were no shops on the island, and they had to bring with them everything they wanted to eat and drink. Oleg ran enthusiastically up and down the aisles while the girls’ mother, Sabine, walked around consulting her grocery list and ticking off what they needed to buy.

‘Do you want anything else, girls?’ Oleg asked. ‘We won’t have to carry everything, because somebody’s going to pick up what we’ve bought, so it’s OK if you want to buy a little extra. Go ahead and choose whatever you feel like eating.’

He reached for a package of chocolate cakes, and in the next instant exclaimed: ‘Cheese and crackers would be the perfect snack for tonight! We already have red wine. And didn’t we pack some candles?’

Down on the dock, more and more people had gathered to wait for the boat. Rucksacks, coolers and bags of food were stacked up in heaps. There were families with children, couples and birdwatchers. Real fanatics, thought Vera as she looked at their binoculars and other sophisticated outdoor gear. Many looked as if they were used to spending time in the woods and fields. Everyone was wearing heavy boots or had a pair fastened to their rucksack along with flasks and all sorts of other things.

An air of anticipation hovered over the crowd.

‘Look! There it is!’

Oleg had his binoculars raised to his eyes to survey the sea, and he had just caught sight of the ferry. The next second, everyone could see the white boat approaching. It wasn’t especially big. A young man came out on the foredeck to cast out a line. Slowly and steadily the captain manoeuvred the boat close to the dock. The passengers on board had formed a chain and began transferring all the bags off the boat. Rucksacks, suitcases and rolled-up tents were passed from hand to hand until they eventually ended up on shore, where two older, sinewy men then lined them all up on the dock. Oleg eagerly lent a hand.

When everything was ready and they were finally allowed on board, Vera and Tanya hurried to find seats on deck in the stern so they’d be able to soak up as much sun as possible during the two-hour crossing.

They leaned back comfortably as they watched the little village of Fårösund fade into the distance on one side while Fårö disappeared on the other.

They were soon out on the open sea.

Vera listened to the thudding motor, the cries of the seagulls and the chatter of the other passengers. She was looking forward to their stay on the island.

KNUTAS WAS NOT pleased with the Regional News report on TV that evening. His face took on a resigned expression as he and Jacobsson sat in the staff room watching the news programme.

Johan Berg appeared to be standing at a construction site somewhere on Gotland, but it was impossible to tell exactly where he was. Then he began filing his story: ‘This is one of the projects that Peter Bovide’s company, Slite Construction, is working on. Behind me a classic limestone house is being built very close to the sea. Working at the site are some of the temporary employees hired by the company. And according to information obtained by Regional News, it’s the workers from Poland and the Baltics who are dissatisfied with both their wages and the working conditions. Several independent sources have told Regional News that Bovide had received threats on more than one occasion over the past six months, and that these threats have been linked to his temporary workers. According to co-workers at the company, it was the murder victim who was responsible for paying the wages. No one else at Slite Construction has received similar threats. The police refuse to discuss how this lead in the investigation is being handled.’

Then a close-up of Lars Norrby appeared on the screen, with police headquarters in the background.

‘Of course we’re investigating several different leads in the case, but I can’t say whether one is of greater interest than the others. We’re taking a broad approach, without any preconceptions. We don’t want to be locked into any one theory.’

‘But what do you think about the information that threats had been directed against Peter Bovide?’

‘That’s not something I can comment on at the moment. As I said, we’re working on a broad front. This is just one lead among many.’

KNUTAS SWITCHED OFF the TV angrily when the report was finished.

‘How the hell did they get hold of that information?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘And that part about Bovide being threatened by construction workers from the Baltics who are unhappy about their wages – that’s more than we’ve been able to find out! Why didn’t Norrby say anything to us about it? That’s a really interesting lead. I also wonder how much this is going to damage the investigation. Now the perp is probably going to take off running.’

‘Sure, if he happens to be one of the construction workers. But we don’t actually know that,’ said Jacobsson acerbicly. ‘And I heard that Johan didn’t talk to Norrby about all this until an hour ago. So Lars really hasn’t had time to report to us. You forget that he’s a single father with two sons to take care of. And this information isn’t something that we can rush off and do something about tonight. Don’t you agree?’

Ever since Knutas had cut short his holiday to come back to work, Jacobsson had been having trouble deciding how to deal with her boss. On the one hand, she was happy to see him again, but on the other, she would have liked to handle the investigation on her own. By coming back home, he had robbed her of that challenge. She wondered if he realized this.

‘By the way, how’s it going with the examination of the company’s books? You’re keeping tabs on that, right?’ he asked urgently.

‘It’s not something that can be done overnight,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure that the fraud division is working overtime on it.’

Thomas Wittberg came into the room. They could tell from his expression that something had happened.

‘Hi, I’ve got a damn good tip,’ he said urgently. ‘One of Vendela Bovide’s friends who works at the same beauty salon has contacted us. She said that Peter Bovide had been threatened by some men who came to the house, and she thinks they were illegal workers from the Baltics. The last time was just a week before the murder.’

‘How does she know about this?’

‘Vendela told her.’

Jacobsson and Knutas exchanged glances.

‘In the interview she repeatedly denied any such thing. We’re going to need to bring her in again,’ said Knutas.

He looked at Wittberg.

‘Great that you turned up just at this moment. Now we know, at any rate, where the TV reporters got their information. We definitely need to have a talk with that woman.’