The Dead of Summer (21 page)

The kids liked Johan, and he, in turn, had clearly demonstrated his affection for them. His job was really no obstacle either; he could work as a freelancer from Gotland or find a job with one of the local newspapers or radio stations.

She sat up on the sofa and turned off the TV. Why was she so resistant to creating a future with Johan? Was she afraid of true love? Did she think, deep in her heart, that she didn’t deserve it?

All of a sudden she had a clear insight into what was going on. She was the one, not anyone else, who kept blocking their relationship, and if she didn’t stop soon, she was going to lose Johan for good.

She was suddenly in a big hurry. Now she knew what she had to do; she just hoped it wasn’t too late.

THE BOAT COULD be seen from a great distance away. A barge-like vessel was silhouetted against the horizon. It was eight p.m., and the sun, which was on its way down, had coloured the sky red. Johan and Pia were sitting on a hilltop, gazing out at the sea. They had brought along grilled chicken and several beers so it would look as if they were just an ordinary couple enjoying an evening picnic. They ate their food in silence. Pia had binoculars with her, and now and then she would raise them to her eyes.

‘Now it’s turning in this direction.’

Johan took the binoculars from her. He saw that she was right; the boat had changed course and was slowly turning towards land. Earlier, they had gone down to the harbour to reconnoitre. Everything had seemed very quiet, like the calm before a storm. Pia had made an appointment with her friend who worked at the harbour to meet them at nine o’clock. He was a longshoreman, and officially they were just friends who were getting together and at the same time planned to buy some booze from the boat. Pia’s friend, whose name was Viktor, had told them that a bunch of people always turned up on the dock whenever the boats arrived. So they could blend right in.

Johan gave only monosyllabic replies to Pia’s attempts to carry on a conversation. He was thinking about Emma, and he had no desire to chat.

‘What are you thinking about? You seem really far away,’ said Pia, opening the cool-box. ‘Would you like another beer?’

‘Sure. Thanks.’ He took a big gulp of the cold beer, then lit a cigarette.

‘You’ve really started smoking a lot. Why is that?’ Pia grabbed the pack and shook out a cigarette for herself.

‘You should talk, especially when you happen to use snuff too. But it’s the same old issue: Emma.’

‘I can’t understand why the two of you can’t get along. What do you think you’re doing, anyway? Even a blind chicken can see that you’re made for each other.’

‘Yes, but it’s so complicated.’

‘Well, don’t make it even worse. If you ask me, I think it’s just plain human for Emma to panic after that kidnapping episode, but what surprises me is that you fail to understand it.’

Johan sat up. ‘What do you mean? What is it I don’t understand?’

‘How tough it’s been for Emma, practically since the first day she met you. It seems perfectly reasonable that she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with you after the kidnapping; from her point of view, you were the one who put Elin in danger. But now she’s become stuck in that attitude, and so it’s just easier for her to shut you out completely. After everything else, her divorce, and then the fact that you can never seem to get your life together – I mean, you seem unable to decide whether to stay on the mainland or live on Gotland. And in the meantime, she’s here and has to take full responsibility and try to work things out with her other children, with Olle, and with you and Elin. How hard have you tried to understand her position? You act so damned empathetic and ethical when you’re on the job, always taking consideration of one thing or another, but how much compassion do you really have when it comes right down to it? When it has to do with your own personal life and the people who are closest to you?’

Pia ended her harangue by taking several big gulps of beer.

Johan had a perplexed expression on his face as he sat and stared at her.

‘Why haven’t you said any of this before?’

‘I’ve tried, in small doses, but you never pay any attention.’

Johan couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Pia’s mobile rang before he could collect himself.

‘That was Viktor,’ she said after ending the conversation. ‘It’s time.’

THEY DROVE DOWN to the harbour and parked a safe distance away from the huge iron gates that marked the entry to the actual harbour area.

Pia was fitted out with a camera and microphone inside her thin shirt, invisible under her jacket. The ship was just about to dock. It had arrived an hour ahead of schedule. Johan wondered what sort of cargo it was carrying besides the fuel. The harbour master, with whom he’d had a talk earlier in the day, had said that the fuel was unloaded via pipes that were hooked up to the boat, leading straight into big silos inside the factory. The operation took several hours. Then the cargo was replaced with cement. The boat would remain docked for a day or two each time.

Johan lit a cigarette and felt his pulse quicken.

More people came down to the dock. Longshoremen, the harbour master, and others, who were presumably waiting to buy booze. Like Pia and himself, they pretended they were there simply to watch.

When the boat docked, a hatch opened immediately and several rugged-looking men emerged. Pia poked Johan in the side.

‘Coarse-looking types,’ she hissed. ‘By the way, I’m shooting. I’m going to take off and have a look around.’

She gave him a wink. Between two buttons on her jacket he caught a glimpse of the camera lens.

The men from the boat jumped ashore. One lit a cigarette and glanced around expectantly. Another clearly knew some of the people who were standing on the dock, and he went over to give them a warm hug. They chatted and joked. Things started happening around the ship, and the harbour master began issuing orders. The unloading commenced at once, as an engine roared. Johan guessed that the transfer of the coal had already started.

He had disguised himself behind a pair of sunglasses and had pulled a cap down over his face as he didn’t want to take the chance of being recognized. He was frequently on television, even though he was a reporter and not a TV newsreader.

He glanced around and saw some men looking at the ship with anticipation. There wasn’t much for him to do at the moment, so he sat down on a barrel and lit another cigarette. Two guys were standing near the gangway, looking as if they were conducting business. One of them pulled bottles of booze out of a box, while the other collected the money. Notes changed hands as the transactions were carried out quite openly. Johan hoped that Pia was getting it all on film; he looked around to see where she was.

The next second he saw her standing next to Viktor, who was buying some booze from the man at the gangway.

When the purchase was completed, she nonchalantly went on board.

JOHAN COULDN’T MAKE up his mind. Should he follow her?

He didn’t have to ponder his decision for long. The next second, police sirens began wailing, and four cars came to a screeching halt on the dock. Within a few minutes, a dozen officers had gone on board the boat while others rounded up the people on the wharf. Knutas didn’t seem to be among the officers, but Johan caught a glimpse of Karin Jacobsson in the crowd.

It didn’t take long before people began coming out. Pia was escorted by two solid-looking policemen who resolutely hustled her down the gangway. Then Johan discovered Knutas, his face bright red, striding towards Pia.

‘What in the world are you doing here?’ he shouted. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

She didn’t hesitate to answer.

‘We have every right to cover any story we like, and to whatever extent we deem worthwhile. Or are you saying that we should ring the police and ask permission every time we’re going to put together a report?’

‘Damn it all, you could ruin the whole investigation. Get her out of here,’ he ordered his colleagues.

A moment later, Knutas caught sight of Johan.

‘You’re here too? Why can’t you stay out of police business?’

Ever since Johan’s report from the construction site in Stenkyrkehuk had been shown on TV, Knutas had been noticeably annoyed and curt with him. Now he was furious.

‘It’s damned hard to do our job when we keep having reporters swarming at our heels. How are we supposed to conduct an investigation with you hanging around all the time? Do you think this is going to benefit the investigation in some way?’

Johan felt his hackles rise.

‘What the hell are you talking about? This is a public place, and we’re just doing our job. Like you are.’

‘Get out of here,’ roared Knutas. ‘Before I decide to arrest you.’

‘What for? Disturbing the peace? Or endangering somebody? I call this a fucking threat against journalists.’

The officers who were holding Pia now let her go, and she came over to Johan and took his arm.

‘Come on,’ she said quietly. ‘Let’s get out of here. We’ve got what we came for.’

Reluctantly, Johan complied. He was shaking his head at Knutas and muttering something inaudible.

‘Lucky for you I didn’t hear what you just said,’ snapped Knutas. ‘You’d bloody well better watch your step.’

SUNDAY, 23 JULY

KNUTAS HAD TIPPED back his worn oak desk chair as he sat on the leather cushion, shiny with age. The appearance of the chair offered a stark contrast to the rest of the furnishings in his office. Police headquarters had been remodelled a couple of years earlier, and it was all Scandinavian design, with white walls; the old things had been replaced with plain, simple furniture made of light birch. But Knutas had refused to give up his favourite chair. It stimulated his thought processes, as did the pipe which he was now filling with the greatest attention. He rarely lit the pipe, but just fiddling with the aromatic tobacco helped him think.

He’d come back to headquarters, even though it was Sunday evening, because he wanted to go over the interviews that had been conducted over the weekend with the crew of the Russian coal transport. The results of the police raid had been meagre, at least from his perspective. They had confiscated hundreds of litres of Russian vodka, and a number of individuals had been arrested, suspected of illegal sales, but nothing new had surfaced that might propel the homicide investigation forward.

The search for the murder weapon was continuing without interruption. Everyone who lived on Gotland and had a licence for a gun had been checked, but nowhere had they been able to locate the Korovin gun that had been used for the killing. The police knew full well that a good many illegal weapons could be found in Swedish homes. But every few years a gun amnesty was conducted in the country for several months, when anyone could turn in their weapons to the police anonymously and without risking any sort of punishment. The last time this was done, they had collected 17,000 guns in three months.

Knutas leaned his head in his hands. There was something fundamentally wrong with this whole investigation, but he just couldn’t work out what it could be.

GOTSKA SANDÖN, 22 JULY 1985

THE MERCILESS RAYS of the sun woke Vera as she lay tangled up like a snake in the sleeping bag. It was a moment before she was fully conscious, but the first sensation was a dull nausea in her stomach
.

She blinked at the light and heard voices further down the beach. With an effort, she pulled herself into a sitting position and lifted away a corner of the windbreak. Ten or fifteen people were walking past. They were in late middle age, with rucksacks, sunhats and sensible shoes. She heard scattered laughter interspersed with their chatter. Without a care in the world, they continued on, although one person did cast a glance in her direction, but quickly looked away. They paid her no attention
.

The sleeping bag next to hers was empty. She was wearing her watch, which told her it was eleven fifteen. Good God, how could she have slept so long? She peered out again. Tanya was nowhere in sight. Maybe she’d gone for a walk or a swim. But then Vera began thinking more clearly, and memories from the previous evening returned. Those boys from Stockholm. They’d had fun grilling food, swimming and drinking a lot of beer and booze. One of them had a guitar; she’d almost had a crush on him when he played. Then she’d suddenly felt sick and couldn’t sit up any longer; everything began spinning around. She had to go and lie down for a while. She told them she needed to pee and walked away. She threw up in the bushes and then crawled into her sleeping bag behind the windbreak. She’d intended to stay only until she felt better, but she must have fallen asleep
.

Again she pushed aside a corner of the windbreak to peer out at the water. The boat was gone. She sank back to the ground. Her throat was parched, and she was hot and thirsty. She staggered to her feet, found a bottle of water
and drank some of it. Her head was spinning and she was sick with worry. Where was her little sister? What if something had happened to her?

‘
Tanya!’ she shouted, as loudly as she could
.

She walked from one end of the deserted beach to the other without finding her sister. Then she went into the woods to look for her. The longer she searched, the more worried she became. The idyllic beach suddenly felt menacing and inhospitable
.

By two o’clock, she had given up searching and packed up as much as she could carry. For safety’s sake, she left behind the windbreak, some food and water, and Tanya’s rucksack. She wrote a note explaining that she’d gone back to the campsite
.

Before she left the beach, she turned around one last time, straining to see as far as she could
.

But nothing moved
.

MONDAY, 24 JULY

THE HEAT IN the limestone quarry was almost unbearable.