Unknown ak-3 Page 10

  "No, thanks. I've already got some."

  She looked tired.

  "How are things?" Knutas gave her a searching look.

  "Okay, but I hardly slept last night."

  "Is that because you were worrying about Martina Flochten?"

  "That was one reason," she said curtly and then took a sip of her coffee.

  She had a very particular way of letting him know that he shouldn't ask any more questions.

  "Have you come up with any ideas?" he asked instead.

  "Not exactly, but I've been thinking about that car."

  "And?"

  "She apparently got in the car of her own free will. She had arranged to meet the unknown man, so he's clearly someone she got to know here on Gotland. But why be so secretive? Of course, she does have a boyfriend, but he's back home in Rotterdam. If she wanted to have a little fun over here, he at least wasn't going to notice."

  "What are you getting at?"

  "There must be something strange about the man she met. If they're having, or had, a love affair, why keep it under wraps? Well, there are two reasons why they might want to hide it. Either he's married or else there's something about him-maybe he's a teacher or has some connection with the course-that makes it a sensitive issue for them to be together."

  "Or both," suggested Knutas.

  "Exactly. Staffan Mellgren seems the most likely candidate, of course, but it could also be someone else. I've checked on the color of his car, and it's not blue. It's a silvery gray. Either he used someone else's car, or he's not the one that Martina met. The students spent two weeks studying theory in Visby before they started on the actual excavation work here. During that time they had several different teachers. Plus they evidently went out and partied almost every night. Martina has had all sorts of opportunities to meet someone.

  "Another thing I think is strange is that she didn't contact the family of Jacob Dahlen at the Wisby hotel. The manager of the Warfsholm, Kerstin Bodin, said that Dahlen is a family friend. Martina's family comes here once a year, and they always stay at his hotel. Of course, he's probably mostly a friend of her father, but it's still odd that she didn't at least stop by to say hello, don't you think? She's been on Gotland for more than four weeks, two of them in Visby. Why didn't she contact him? The hotel is right downtown, for God's sake, just a stone's throw from the college."

  "Have you talked to Jacob Dahlen?"

  "Only on the phone. He's out of town."

  "Maybe she did intend to contact him but hadn't gotten around to it yet. You know how it is when you're someplace where you know someone only superficially. And the course continues until the middle of August. Maybe she thinks she has plenty of time to look him up."

  "Sure," Jacobsson conceded. "You might be right."

  "By the way, where did she stay during those two weeks when she was studying theory in Visby?"

  "The same place as all the others. Student dorms on Mejerigatan."

  "Let's drive over and have a talk with the lodgers, also the landlord. Someone might have noticed something. I'll make the arrangements," said Knutas and reached for the phone.

  Patrick Flochten was a stately man with dark brown hair that stuck out in all directions. Judging by the color of his complexion, the weather had been nice in the Netherlands. He wore glasses with black frames that looked expensive, and he had on a light linen suit. His handshake was damp and his expression tense as he sat down on the visitor's chair in Knutas's office.

  "Martina's brother and I are, of course, beside ourselves with worry. I'd like you to tell me everything that led up to my daughter's disappearance," he said in perfect English. " Everything! "

  Knutas, whose command of English was far from sufficient for conducting an interview, had already anticipated this problem. That was why he had asked Jacobsson to join them. She began by describing what the police knew so far about Martina's disappearance. Jacobs-son kept wondering why there was something familiar about the man sitting across from her. Maybe it was just that he and his daughter looked alike, judging by the photos that she'd seen of Martina.

  "I'm familiar with Warfsholm. I've gone out to the hotel with the children for dinner several times when we've been here on Gotland. How could Martina disappear from there without a single person seeing her? There are cottages and people everywhere. Besides, the nights are so bright here; it never gets really dark."

  "It was late at night when Martina left the others. The hotel guests were in bed asleep. She went to the bathroom around one o'clock, and by then almost everyone who had been to the concert had gone home. The few who were still awake were sitting in the bar."

  "Didn't anyone see anything?"

  "Apparently not, unfortunately. A full-blown search is under way, of course. We're using dogs and helicopters. A search party is also being organized today. The search area is gradually being expanded."

  Jacobsson deliberately neglected to mention the divers. It sounded too horrible, as if they'd already given up hope of finding Martina alive.

  "Could she have gone to the mainland?"

  "There's no indication that she has left the island. We've checked the passenger lists with the company that operates the ferry service, as well as the airlines. In any event, she didn't travel under her own name. The front desk at the hotel holds on to the students' valuables for safekeeping, and nothing was missing-not her passport or her Visa card or the cash that she had stowed away."

  Patrick Flochten gave both officers a look of despair. "It sounds as if you're assuming that she's been involved in some sort of crime."

  Knutas and Jacobsson exchanged glances.

  "Let's not rush ahead and assume the worst," Jacobsson urged him. "We have no idea what may have happened. Sometimes people disappear under the most peculiar circumstances, only to show up later without any sort of drama. That may well be the case here. We shouldn't forget that Martina has only been missing for a few days. Who knows? Maybe she fell head over heels in love, or something like that. Right now we need to take one thing at a time. First and foremost, we need to concentrate on finding her as quickly as possible. Has Martina ever disappeared before without letting anyone know?"

  Patrick Flochten thought about that for a moment.

  "Well, yes…She was sometimes pretty wild as a teenager. And yes, a few times she didn't come home at night, but not for several days in a row like this. And she's calmed down over the years."

  "Does she use drugs?"

  "Not that I've noticed. She may have tried them-that goes without saying-but she has never used drugs in the sense that I think you're implying."

  "No other addiction problems or illnesses?"

  "No."

  "What's her relationship like with her boyfriend?"

  "Good, as far as I know. They've been together for over a year, and it seems to be very stable. He's quite a bit older."

  "Has she told you about some new man that she's met?"

  "No, why would she do that?"

  "Several circumstances indicate that she has a new relationship. A witness has also suggested that she may be in love with someone."

  "Really? That's odd. She's usually so open about things like that. We have no secrets from each other." Patrick Flochten's expression grew wary.

  "We know that you regularly come here on vacation and that you usually stay at the Wisby hotel-is that right?"

  "Yes. I've known the owner for a long time. Jacob Dahlen. We're business acquaintances, and we've also been friends for many years."

  Tears welled up in Patrick Flochten's eyes, as if he suddenly remembered that his daughter was missing.

  No one said anything for a moment.

  "What kind of work do you do?" Knutas asked.

  "I'm an architect. I run an architectural firm in Rotterdam along with a partner. We also own several development companies, including one here on Gotland."

  "Is that right? Which one?"

  "Our firm helped design the new condos at Sodervarn,
and we're involved in the big hotel project that's being planned."

  "The one at Hogklint?"

  "Exactly. I designed the hotel, and we're also investors."

  Jacobsson suddenly remembered where she had seen Patrick Flochten before. One of the local newspapers had done a story about the project and included the name of the architect along with his picture. She now recalled that his children were also mentioned. It was reported that his late wife had been from Gotland.

  "So you're going to be working over here a good deal?"

  "I would think so."

  "But you've been here a lot before?"

  "Yes. During the past year I've spent a great deal of time in Visby." His voice faded away. Patrick Flochten hid his face in his hands.

  "Maybe that's enough for now," Knutas interjected. "Is there anything else you would like to know?"

  "Yes," replied the man tonelessly. "Where can I start searching?"

  When Emma woke up in the morning, it took a moment before she realized that she was back home again after giving birth. The tenderness in her abdomen reminded her of what she'd been through. The sunlight coming through the curtains rested on the face of her newborn baby as she lay there, so very small, surrounded by pillows and covers. Emma turned onto her side and placed her hand gently on the tiny, downy shoulder poking out from under the knitted shirt.

  The baby's face was a blotchy red. Emma looked for signs of herself and Johan in their new daughter's features. He was going to drop by for a while before work. She wanted to see him, and yet she didn't.

  The silence in the house was palpable; it gave her a feeling of unreality. Under normal circumstances there would have been a lot of commotion from the children and the dog, but now the links to the past had been broken; the traditions no longer existed. It was frightening not to know how the rest of her life was going to proceed. She still hadn't gotten used to the fact that Sara and Filip also lived somewhere else. Right now she longed for them and didn't want to wait until the next day to see them, as planned. After that they were going abroad on vacation with Olle for two weeks.

  The divorce had been worse than she could have imagined. The fact that in the end she decided to have the baby, even though she and Olle had agreed to try saving their marriage, had at first made him furious. Over time he had realized that he had no other choice but to accept her decision, even though it made a divorce inevitable. Like two automatons they had filled out the papers and taken care of practical matters. He had moved into an apartment, and suddenly she was living alone in a big house with the children there only every other week.

  As her belly got bigger and bigger, Olle had become more and more difficult. The slightest little thing could erupt into a problem, anything from how they were going to split up the Easter holidays to who should buy shoes for Sara or drive Filip to soccer practice. Everything had to be thrashed out ad nauseam. It felt as if Olle wanted to punish her. In his eyes she saw accusations and wounded pride.

  At first Olle wanted to be so strong. The practical matters had to be handled in the most adroit manner, almost as if he were trying to make the divorce as gentle as possible for himself when he was faced with the fait accompli. But when almost everything had been worked out and decided, and the train started rolling in a new direction, his emotions finally caught up with him. To deal with his own pain, he shifted all the blame and responsibility onto her. He refused to have anything to do with the puppy that he had bought for her in an attempt to patch up their marriage. Fortunately one of Emma's women friends had taken care of the dog while she was in the maternity ward.

  She had no plans for the summer. The children would be staying with her for a few weeks later on, but first they were going abroad with their father. He had rented a house in Italy for two weeks, along with a friend who was also a single parent. They were going to fly to Nice, rent a car, and stay in an Italian mountain village. If only he'd thought up fun things like that when we were married, she thought enviously. Now he decides to be creative and full of ideas.

  Johan had mentioned that he wanted them to go somewhere together. Right now it felt impossible.

  Through the bedroom window she caught sight of him as he came walking up the garden path. In his hands he was holding a paper bag and a bouquet of flowers. He noticed her in the window and smiled and waved.

  Maybe it wasn't so strange that she didn't want to throw herself into a new living arrangement with Johan. That comforting thought suddenly took root, and she felt the guilt she carried on her shoulders lighten. One step at a time, she thought. One step at a time.

  Johan had warned Pia that he would be arriving late for work. Nothing special was going on, and he longed to take a walk with Emma and their newborn baby. They went out through the gate and continued along the residential street. It was a quiet neighborhood with little traffic. That didn't stop Johan from looking several times in both directions each time they had to cross the street before he ventured across with the baby buggy. Emma, who'd been through all this before, was significantly calmer.

  "Does it feel strange to be out with me and a baby buggy?" he asked. "I mean, you and Olle have walked around here with the kids all these years, taking them to the playground, dropping them off at day care or picking them up, and spending time with the other parents in these houses."

  "No, actually it doesn't feel strange." Emma looked surprised, as if it hadn't even occurred to her that this area belonged to her and Olle.

  They walked in silence for a while. Johan was overwhelmed by the unfamiliar situation and felt no need to talk.

  Last night he had driven Emma and their daughter home from the hospital, and it had been unbelievably hard to leave them. Emma didn't want him to stay overnight. It was still too early, she told him when he objected. He couldn't help feeling hurt. He hadn't yet spent a night in the house in Roma. That was one of the boundaries he longed to cross, one of the obstacles that Emma had set up and that stood in the way of their having a chance to strengthen their relationship.

  They continued through the neighborhood. It was good for the baby to be out and get some fresh air. She looked so little as she lay under the cotton blanket. Her head was covered with a turquoise cotton cap even though it was seventy-seven degrees outside. Her dark hair stuck out from under the cap. When Johan poked his head inside the buggy and placed his cheek against her body, he noticed how rapid and light as a feather her breathing was.

  He could see that Emma was tired. Her face was very beautiful- those high cheekbones, dark eyes, and distinct eyebrows that had enchanted him so much. Now her complexion was paler and her cheeks slightly rounder than usual. He liked that; it gave her a softer appearance.

  He had loved her before they had the baby, and now, after the birth, his love had grown to a painful level.

  They'd been through periods when he felt that there was a balance between them, that they loved each other equally, that Emma, too, wanted them to be together. Now he found himself at a disadvantage. Emma didn't want him in the house. Not yet, she said. The children had to get used to things; it was all too much for them at the moment, with the new sister and everything else. They would see each other when they could, which meant when Sara and Filip were staying with their father. Nothing had turned out as he'd hoped.

  Johan had been looking forward to the baby's arrival, to taking care of Emma and the child and simply enjoying things. How wrong he had been. The fact that Emma had decided to have the baby didn't mean that she was ready to regard them as an established couple. She had explained to him that she just couldn't throw herself into a new relationship. So much had happened during the past year. Her whole life had been turned upside down. It would take time to digest and rearrange everything, to cut off all ties with her old life.

  Now she was walking along beside him and looking very content, in spite of everything. He stopped pushing the buggy to stroke her cheek.

  "I love you," he said, feeling how true that was.

  Emma
looked away without saying a word. In the past she would have told him the same thing, or at least something similar.

  They continued on toward the sports field as they chatted about all sorts of things, mostly about the baby and what name they were going to give her. Johan wanted her to be called Natalie, while Emma preferred Elin.

  "But she looks like a Natalie," said Johan. "With her dark hair and brown eyes. Slightly exotic. She's going to be a real beauty-with us as her parents," he added and grinned. "Just picture a cute girl with long dark hair named Natalie."

  Emma couldn't help smiling. "Maybe right now, yes. At the moment she has dark hair and eyes, but she could just as well end up blond and blue-eyed. Maybe then the name wouldn't suit her as well."

  "Oh, what does that matter? It's a beautiful name."

  "Sure, but I'm allergic to the idea of giving Swedish children names that try to be as international as possible. Names like Nicole, Angelique, or Yvette. We live in Sweden, not France."

  "Don't you think you're being a little narrow-minded? Did you know that one in five Swedes has foreign heritage? Sweden is no fair-skinned paradise anymore, with rye bread dancing the Hambo. It's multicultural. Even though I admit that the development seems to be happening slower over here on Gotland," he teased, giving her a little poke in the side.

  "I still think that Elin is nicer," insisted Emma.

  Johan stopped again and took her face between the palms of his hands.

  "If you feel so strongly about it, then Elin it is-as long as you're happy."

  "But I want you to like it, too."

  "I do, I assure you I do. I'm so happy to have a daughter named Elin with you, believe me."

  WEDNESDAY, JULY 7

  Kalle Ostlund's parents had bought the summer house near Bjorkhaga, just north of Klintehamn, in the fifties. Their family was one of the first to move into the small summer-house area. Most of the residents were islanders-some who had moved to the mainland but wanted to keep their summer house, and others who lived in Visby and felt it was the right location for a country place, about twenty miles away. It was a peaceful area for most of the year. During the summer it got livelier when tourists headed out there to walk along the Vivesholm promontory and admire the countless birds that frequented the shoreline. It was also a popular place for watching sunsets, when the whole sky would be colored crimson, with a view of the open sea in both directions. Kalle thought it was splendid, too, even though he had seen the drama thousands of times from here. For him there was no lovelier place on earth. He enjoyed fishing, and on this morning he was going out to pull up his net, which he hoped would be filled with flounder.