The Dead of Summer (2 page)

After he had finished mixing the batter, he decided to let it sit in the bowl for a while. He picked up his coffee cup and went outside to sit down on the steps. The house stood on a promontory surrounded by the sea at the edge of a little coastal town on the Danish island of Fyn. The sun had shone non-stop ever since they’d arrived. At first Knutas had been only moderately enthusiastic when Lina suggested they go to Denmark for two whole weeks. He would have preferred to spend his holiday lazing about at their own summer place at Lickershamn in the north of Gotland, but Lina had succeeded in persuading him. For once her parents were away, and they would have the house all to themselves. And besides, she was homesick for Denmark. No matter how happy she was living in Sweden, her heart would always belong to her native country.

After a week on Fyn, Knutas was grateful that Lina had stood her ground. He hadn’t felt so relaxed in years. An entire day could pass without him giving a thought to his job. And the weather was fantastic, much better than back home. They swam, fished and gorged themselves on shellfish, which tasted even more delicious here. In the evening they took strolls through the town, sat by the sea, drank wine and played cards on the porch after dark. Their twins, Petra and Nils, were having a blast. The kids had made lots of friends during their many summer visits to their grandparents, and they were gone most of the day. They would soon be sixteen, and spending time with their parents wasn’t exactly a high priority.

At the moment, that was a good thing. Knutas and Lina needed to have some time to themselves. He loved his wife, but during the spring it felt as though their marriage had gone stale. He had felt exhausted and run down after yet another complicated murder investigation; for a long time afterwards, he had been plagued by guilt and spells of brooding, with no energy left whatsoever, not even for Lina.

She complained that he seemed distant and uninterested, which of course was the truth. Both of them had probably been expecting their love life to heat up now that they finally had some time off together, but that hadn’t happened. They just kept plodding along in their familiar routines, and their sex life wasn’t amounting to much; neither of them was particularly interested in taking the initiative.

It wasn’t that he found Lina unattractive; that wasn’t the problem at all. She was just as beautiful as ever with her long, fiery-red hair, freckled complexion and warm eyes. But she had almost become like a piece of furniture, like a marvellous armchair in the house. Serene and secure, comfortable but not especially exciting. Lina was a midwife at the hospital in Visby, and she loved her job. She still told stories about the mothers and their troubles with the same fervent enthusiasm. He’d heard stories like these thousands of times. In the past he’d found them entertaining and interesting, but now he would merely listen politely as he thought about something else. The feelings he had were upsetting him. Maybe he was just in a slump. It wasn’t that he was looking for someone else, not at all. His sex drive had diminished; he just didn’t think it was worth the effort. Sometimes he wondered if it was his age, but he was only fifty-two.

It had been a difficult spring in general. The weather was cold and rainy. At the office he’d had to deal with a ton of paperwork and other administrative tasks, which he detested. He’d felt he would never get it all done. On the other hand, he was pleased that Karin Jacobsson, the colleague he felt closest to, had been named his deputy. And she was definitely putting her best foot forward. She was such a ball of fire that she could make him feel like the least efficient and most slow-witted and lethargic person on earth. But that didn’t bother him. Anders Knutas admired Karin; he had felt that way about her ever since they started working together, more than fifteen years ago.

The surly expressions that appeared when her appointment was announced had finally begun to fade. The only person who still seemed to have a hard time accepting Jacobsson’s promotion was the police spokesman, Lars Norrby, who had considered himself the most likely candidate for the position. Even though they’d been colleagues for many years now, Knutas sometimes wished that Norrby would leave the Visby police department. His attitude towards Jacobsson since she’d become the deputy superintendent was very hard to take.

He hoped that things would go well for Karin while he was away on holiday. Everything had seemed calm when he left. The tourist season was in full swing, of course, but it was the same old story. The biggest problem they had was with the kids from Stockholm who arrived on the ferries in droves, intent on partying in Visby. Every summer their presence meant drunken sprees, fights, drugs and, unfortunately, more rapes. It was unpleasant, but nothing that Karin couldn’t handle.

In a week he would be back on the job. He hoped that nothing major happened while he was away.

AT 9.42 ON Monday morning the call came in to Visby police headquarters. Two young boys had discovered a dead body in the water near Sudersand beach on Fårö. One of the boys had swum right into the body as it floated twenty or so yards from shore.

By the time acting Detective Superintendent Karin Jacobsson and Detective Inspector Thomas Wittberg arrived at the crime scene a crowd had gathered on the beach. After a rainy night, the sun was peeking out. Crime-scene technician Erik Sohlman had managed to get help in cordoning off the area and setting up a white plastic tent over the body to protect it from both the sun and the gawking of curious bystanders. Over by the tent, Sohlman took Jacobsson’s arm.

‘He was murdered, no doubt about it. And that’s not just a shot in the dark, if you’ll excuse the expression. You need to sound the alarm immediately. After that, I’ll show you.’

Jacobsson took out her mobile to summon more police officers and the dog patrol to Sudersand; she also ordered all cars on the ferries leaving Fårö to be checked. She turned to the officers who were setting up the police tape and shouted, ‘We need to cordon off a much bigger area!’

Jacobsson and Sohlman then went over to look at the body, which was covered with a cotton cloth inside the improvised tent.

‘Are you ready?’

Sohlman cast a glance at his colleague’s pale face. Jacobsson always had difficulty looking at dead bodies. For her to throw up at a murder scene was more the rule than the exception. As the crime-scene tech lifted off the cloth, she pressed a handkerchief to her mouth.

The dead man was about her age. He had a very striking appearance, with deep-set eyes that were an unusually bright blue. Almost nonexistent eyebrows. He had high cheekbones and a slightly protruding jaw. If not for the bullet hole in his forehead, his face would have seemed quite peaceful.

‘The shot was fired from a distance of a few inches, maximum. It’s obvious from the entry wound that the murderer was very close. The guy never had a chance.’

‘How can you be so sure he didn’t do it himself?’ muttered Jacobsson from behind the handkerchief as she struggled to fend off the nausea.

‘There’s more. Prepare yourself.’

Cautiously Sohlman lifted off the rest of the covering. Jacobsson groaned when she saw what was underneath. The man’s stomach was riddled with bullet holes.

‘Shot to hell. I’ve counted seven shots to the abdomen. It’s completely insane.’

Jacobsson turned away and threw up.

JOHAN BERG WAS standing in a cow pasture interviewing a farmer who was complaining about the cutbacks in EU subsidies when the call came through. He had forgotten to switch off his mobile during the interview; it was just the type of stupid mistake that TV reporters were not supposed to make. But the damage was done. His camera person, Pia Lilja, rolled her eyes and threw out her hands, then left the camera on its tripod as she went over to pat a cow while Johan took the call. It was Max Grenfors, the head of Regional News.

‘Have you heard?’

‘No, what is it? I’m in the middle of an interview.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ said Grenfors impatiently, ‘but a man was found shot to death over on Fårö. Right next to the campsite. Sudersand. You know it, right?’

‘Of course. What happened?’

While he talked Johan fixed his eyes on the farmer, who was looking unhappy about the interruption. No doubt he wanted nothing more than to continue his complaints about the bureaucrats down in Brussels.

‘He was found this morning, in the sea near Sudersand beach.’

‘How do you know he didn’t drown?’

‘I’m just reading what it says on the TT wire service. According to their report, the body was in the water, but he’d been shot several times.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘So stop what you’re doing and get over there as fast as you can. Ring me when you’re in the car. I’ll give you the latest news update while you’re on the road.’

Johan quickly said goodbye to the disappointed farmer, explaining that they would have to finish the interview some other time.

Luckily they were in Lärbro in the north of Gotland, not far from Fårösund. Pia Lilja’s face shone with excitement as she stomped on the accelerator, making the car tyres squeal as they took the curves at high speed. Her black hair was sticking out in all directions, as usual. Her eyes, with their heavy coating of mascara, were firmly fixed on the road ahead.

‘Fabulous,’ she exclaimed. ‘Finally something is happening.’

‘Fabulous?’ Johan looked at her in surprise. ‘The fact that a human being has been shot to death?’

‘Come on, you know what I mean. Of course not. But it’s much more exciting to report on a homicide than to film a story about unhappy farmers.’

Pia loved it when things got cracking and stuff was happening. Gotland was really too small a place for someone as news-hungry as Pia Lilja. She was twenty-five and wanted to get out into the world, to accompany one of the TV foreign correspondents and witness wars and famines.

But so far she was considered too young and inexperienced. For the time being she had to settle for documenting more ordinary domestic events, such as disputes about putting in a new road in Burgsvik, or the complaints of students about the poor quality of the food served in the school cafeteria in Hemse, or the drama of the local championship match in throwing the
varpa
, a flat round stone, to get closest to the pin.

But no matter what the news report, she somehow managed to take all sorts of exciting pictures. Pia always did her best. In addition, she had a huge network of contacts that was truly astonishing. She was the youngest of seven siblings, and her extended family was spread all over Gotland. Thanks to them, and her highly developed social skills, she seemed to know absolutely everyone.

In the car on their way over to the Fårösund ferry dock, Johan listened to Grenfors with one ear and to the local radio station with the other, all the while taking notes at lightning speed. The news had come over the TT wire ten minutes earlier. The press was always cautious if there was the slightest suspicion of suicide, but a witness had managed to catch a glimpse of the body and had seen first-hand the bullet hole in the head, as well as the wounds in the abdomen. Anybody could work out that the dead man couldn’t possibly have caused such wounds all on his own. The witness had been interviewed by a journalist from Radio Gotland who just happened to be on Fårö with all of his equipment. The police had confirmed that they were dealing with a suspected homicide.

The ferry crossing to Fårö took only a few minutes. The sky had cleared and the sun glittered on the surface of the sea. The road north towards Sudersand took them through the rocky landscape of Fårö. Along the way Johan and Pia encountered bicyclists, camping caravans and cars filled with families on holiday.

When they reached the intersection of four roads near Sudersand and turned right towards the campsite, a picture of Emma’s face flashed through Johan’s mind. If they had turned left at the intersection instead, they would have eventually ended up at Norsta Auren, the beach near her parents’ house.

Emma Winarve was the great love of Johan’s life. Or at least she had been. They had spent so many wonderful days in that house by the sea when her parents were away, there on the beach between Skärsände and the Fårö lighthouse, on the extreme tip of Fårö. It was the most beautiful of places. But now their relationship was non-existent.

He was roused from his thoughts as they reached Sudersand campsite. The police had blocked off the entire area. Officers were everywhere, but there was no one available to speak to journalists. Neither Karin Jacobsson nor the police spokesman, Lars Norrby, answered their mobile, and Knutas was on holiday in Denmark with his family.

‘Typical.’ Johan stared with dismay at the campsite as they stood outside the police tape. ‘What do we do now?’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Pia as she finished shooting one last panorama of the area. ‘Come with me.’

They jumped back in the car. Pia drove back to the intersection that would take them to Sudersand East and headed for the nearby colony of summer cottages. She turned on to a small side road, no bigger than a cow path, and the car began jolting along through the woods, thick with underbrush, and across a meadow filled with flowers and tall grass.

Several times Johan thought they were going to get stuck, but Pia managed to make the car forge its way onward. When she finally stopped next to a big shrub that was blocking their way, he could hear the sea. It was three thirty in the afternoon, and they still had about an hour left to file their report. Johan patted Pia on the shoulder.

‘You’re damned good at this.’

It took them all of two minutes to walk down to the shore. In one direction they could see the promontory that marked the end of Sudersand bay, and in the other direction was the campsite. Close to the shoreline a small tent had been set up, and a group of people was gathered around it. Suddenly a whirring sound was heard overhead. It was the police helicopter from Stockholm, probably with the medical examiner on board.

Pia immediately began filming. Even though Johan was well aware that he was inside the area that had been cordoned off, he walked over to see if he could talk to the pilot when the helicopter landed. It was worth a try. A man got out and hurried over to the tent. That had to be the ME.