The Double Silence (12 page)

‘You and Wittberg will have to go out to the island. How fast can you get there?’

‘I talked to the coastguard, and they can get us there in an hour. We leave from Klintehamn.’

BERG LEANED BACK
against the sofa cushions in the living room at home in Roma. He was bored. Elin was at the day nursery, and Anton was having his afternoon nap. Emma had gone to see a friend in Visby.

Listlessly he looked around the messy room. He really ought to tidy things up and vacuum, but he couldn’t make himself get up from the sofa. He switched on the TV and aimlessly surfed through the channels. Reluctantly he was forced to admit that the life of a stay-at-home dad was already starting to wear on him. He was unbearably tired of dust balls, dirty dishes and unmade beds. His life seemed to revolve entirely around feeding Anton, changing his nappy and getting him to take a nap, as well as taking him out in the pram, comforting him when he cried, feeding him again, changing him again, and finally putting him to bed for the night. That meant that he and Emma had a maximum of one or two hours to themselves before, dead tired, they fell into bed around 10 p.m.

Johan took an apple out of the fruit bowl and apathetically looked through the selection of newspapers on the table before settling on
Gotlands Allehanda
. He found himself looking at the obituaries, and one name in particular caught his interest. Erik Berg. The same name as his father, who had died of cancer a few years back. Johan still missed him terribly and thought about him every single day. He had been very close to his father, maybe because he was the oldest son. He was sad that his father hadn’t lived long enough to see the birth of his children, Elin and Anton.

As the eldest of five brothers, Johan had been forced to take on a great deal of responsibility when his father died; in a sense he’d taken over
the role of family patriarch. His mother had been devastated, and Johan had had to handle all the practical matters. He was also expected to be available whenever his mother needed consoling. No one had thought about Johan’s own needs. He hadn’t either. Now his mother had a new man in her life, and everything had been going well lately, considering the circumstances. But Johan still missed his father.

He leafed backwards through the newspaper. For some strange reason he had started reading the papers from back to front ever since going on paternity leave. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m living in an upside-down world these days, he thought.

A double-page spread was devoted to the question of what was going to happen to Ingmar Bergman’s home on Fårö now that the director had passed away. There had been all sorts of speculation during the past year. Apparently a Gotland entrepreneur was now prepared to invest in the project in order to transform the property into an artists’ retreat – primarily for screenwriters and authors who could stay there for short periods and find inspiration for their writing. At the same time, the abandoned school near the Fårö church would be turned into a Bergman Centre, with exhibitions about the acclaimed director’s life. The article included a number of theories and assumptions as to what would become of Bergman’s property, which was estimated to be worth millions.

Johan’s newspaper reading was interrupted by a brief cry from the baby’s room. He was painfully aware that the sound would shortly erupt into loud wails. Daily life was calling. As usual.

IT WAS LATE
afternoon by the time the coastguard boat approached Stora Karlsö. Those on board saw at once that something was happening. Members of the Home Guard and a host of volunteers had gone out in their own boats to help look for Sam Dahlberg and Jakob Ekström. A search on land had also been organized, and everyone staying on the island had joined in. The shore of the small harbour below the island’s only restaurant was teeming with people. It was a matter of making full use of the time before it got dark. They still had a few hours.

The fact that Sam Dahlberg suffered from diabetes and might have forgotten his insulin provided a possible explanation for his disappearance. He might have simply passed out somewhere.

But the police were puzzled to hear that a windsurfer had gone missing at the same time.

The boat pulled into dock, and Wittberg and Jacobsson were immediately greeted by a guide who was going to direct the coastguard vessel to the beach below the bird mountain where Dahlberg’s backpack had been found. Everyone feared the worst: that he had fallen from the cliff and landed on the rocks below. The chances of surviving that sort of fall were infinitesimal.

Jacobsson asked the coastguard crew to wait for her. Then she and Wittberg disembarked and headed for the building that housed an information desk and restaurant. A group of people had gathered there to listen to instructions from the island’s chief ranger. When he was finished,
everyone moved off in different directions, and he motioned to the two police officers.

‘Hi. I’m glad you’re here. Things are a bit chaotic.’

They shook hands.

‘Is Andrea Dahlberg around?’ asked Jacobsson. ‘Could we talk to her?’

‘Of course. I think she’s in the restaurant. Come with me.’

They followed the chief ranger, who headed for the entrance, taking long strides as if he didn’t want to be stopped by anyone. The restaurant was empty except for two people sitting at a table in the far corner of the room. The woman had her face buried in her hands. The tall man was patting her arm, trying to console her.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said Jacobsson. She introduced herself and her colleague Wittberg. ‘Could we talk to you for a moment?’

The man excused himself and left. Andrea Dahlberg was trembling. She hugged her torso, rocking gently back and forth.

‘I’m terribly worried.’

‘I understand,’ said Jacobsson sympathetically. ‘But please try to answer our questions. It’s important. We want to find Sam as quickly as possible.’

‘Of course,’ whispered his wife. ‘I’ll try,’ she added and cleared her throat.

‘When did you last see your husband?’

‘Yesterday when we went to bed.’

‘What did you do in the evening?’

‘We had been out catching baby birds with a group of friends, and after that we were all so wired that nobody wanted to go to bed. We sat outdoors in front of one of the cabins where we’re staying and drank wine while we looked at the sea.’

‘Did you and your husband go to bed at the same time?’

Andrea nodded.

‘When was that?’

‘Around three in the morning, I think.’

‘Did you both fall asleep at once?’

‘Yes, I think so. At least I did.’

‘Is it possible that Sam got up after you were asleep?’

Andrea looked bewildered.

‘Sure, yes. I suppose so.’

‘Would you have noticed?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I’m a very sound sleeper.’

‘So it’s possible that he might have disappeared sometime in the middle of the night?’

‘Well, maybe, but why would he …?’ Confused, she shifted her glance from one officer to the other.

‘I don’t know,’ said Jacobsson. ‘But maybe he couldn’t sleep and went out to get some fresh air. And then decided to take a walk. Or maybe he met someone.’

‘But why would he take along his backpack with all his paintbrushes? And leave in the middle of the night?’

‘What happened when you woke up?’

‘I noticed at once that he wasn’t in the room. I got dressed and then went out to have a look around. I thought he might be sitting on the dock or on a deckchair somewhere outside. Or he might be taking a morning dip. But I didn’t find him anywhere.’

‘What time was this?’

‘I don’t know … Nine thirty. Maybe ten. I didn’t look at my watch.’

‘Did you check his belongings? To see what he might have taken with him?’

‘Yes, I saw that his painting gear was gone. That’s why I wasn’t really worried. But then the weather got bad and the rain came pouring down. When he still hadn’t come back by late afternoon, I really started to wonder what could have happened to him. Sam is diabetic, and it’s very important for him to eat at regular intervals.’

‘What did you do next?’

‘Beata and I went out to look for him. The island isn’t very big, and we were sure that we’d find him. I was afraid that his blood sugar might have dropped drastically, and that can be life-threatening if he doesn’t get help.’

‘And had anyone you talked to seen him?’

‘No, not a single person. I can’t understand where he could have gone.’

‘What about his mobile phone?’

‘He took it with him. That’s not so strange, even though the coverage is awful here on the island. Sam never goes anywhere without his mobile. He even takes it with him to the toilet.’ A fleeting smile passed over her face. Then her expression turned serious again. ‘What do you think could have happened to him?’

‘It wouldn’t be wise to speculate at this point,’ said Jacobsson. ‘We don’t really know anything yet. Our first priority is to locate your husband. Is it possible that he left the island without telling you?’

Andrea Dahlberg looked genuinely surprised.

‘Why would he do that?’

‘At this stage we can’t rule out any possibility. You have children, don’t you? When did he last speak to them?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Have you told them that their father has gone missing?’

‘No. I didn’t want to upset them,’ said Andrea in a stifled voice. For a moment she hid her face in her hands.

‘Where are the children?’

‘They’re staying with my mother and her husband on Mjölkö in the Stockholm archipelago.’

‘It might be a good idea to phone them.’

‘You’re right … I’ll do it soon.’

‘We’re done here for the moment. Just one last question. How is your relationship with Sam?’

Andrea gave them a resolute look as she replied.

‘It’s great. Couldn’t be better. We love each other. We always have.’

‘OK.’ Jacobsson stood up and shook Andrea’s hand. ‘That’s all for now. I think you should ring your children right away. If you find out that your husband contacted them or your mother, you need to notify us at once. Any information is important. Try to think about how Sam has acted lately. How has he behaved? Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Has anything new come into your lives? A new person? A new situation? Think about these things, and we’ll come back to see you again later.’

She gave the anxious wife a friendly pat on the shoulder before leaving the room.

JACOBSSON WENT WITH
the coastguard crew to search the shore beneath the bird mountain where Dahlberg’s backpack had been found. Wittberg stayed behind at the cabin area to coordinate the search efforts.

The inflatable boat puttered quietly along the shoreline. The beach was rocky and inaccessible. From the water it was difficult, if not impossible, to tell whether there might be a body on shore. One of the coastguard officers steered the boat towards a strip of land at the foot of the cliffs. The boat careened as it struck several big rocks on the approach to shore. They had to get out and wade the last few metres. Jacobsson was grateful that she’d had the good sense to wear wellington boots. The group consisted of five people: four beefy guys from the coastguard service, and Jacobsson. As they reached shore, the birds seemed to get alarmed and their shrieking grew even louder.

Out in the water the male birds had already started to gather. In a few hours the diving would begin. In spite of the situation, Jacobsson couldn’t help being fascinated by the birds. She raised her head and looked up. They were everywhere, and here and there she caught a glimpse of several fledglings. Birds were flying back and forth through the air, reminding her of Alfred Hitchcock’s classic horror film
The Birds
. Her stomach turned over at the thought that they might suddenly go on the attack.

She and the officers spread out to begin their search, with the angry protests of the birds continuing overhead. The whole time big auks and gulls glided along the slopes, hoping to catch a baby bird. They posed an ever-present threat.

After only a few minutes one of the men waved from the edge of the beach and everyone else hurried over to him. Jacobsson felt a rush of relief. It must mean that Sam was still alive.

But behind a boulder they found the windsurfer Jakob Ekström.

‘Thank God you came,’ he said.

‘How are you?’ asked Jacobsson, leaning down to take his pulse. The young man was suffering from hypothermia and exhaustion. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and his right leg was bent at a strange angle. It was probably broken.

‘He’s in much worse shape than me,’ muttered Ekström. ‘That other guy.’

‘What do you mean?’

He raised his hand to point at several boulders further away.

Jacobsson and two of the men ran off in that direction.

They stopped abruptly when they caught sight of Sam Dahlberg. Or what was left of him.

WITH GROWING SURPRISE
Knutas had listened to Jacobsson’s report from Stora Karlsö when she called from the island ranger station. Knutas organized the efforts from police headquarters and did what he could to handle the press without saying too much. The police spokesperson, Lars Norrby, had gone home long ago. It was past 9 p.m. when Jacobsson rang to relay the news. Journalists are like vultures, Knutas thought. They’re hovering at the door before the police have even gathered all the information.

The dead man’s mangled body had been taken by police helicopter to the mortuary in Visby. The windsurfer Jakob Ekström ended up in the building right next door, in the emergency ward of Visby hospital. X-rays showed that his leg was broken, just as Jacobsson had assumed, and it needed to be put in a cast. Knutas had managed to get the attending physician, whom he’d actually known since primary school, to agree to allow the police to have a few words with Ekström that same evening. According to Jacobsson, when they found the young man on the beach, he’d reported that he’d witnessed a murder. But at the time he was in such bad shape that it had been hard to get too many details out of him.