The Dead Of Summer Page 11

  Everybody having anything at all to do with Slite Construction was interviewed, but no one contributed any information that the police hadn’t already known.

  When the investigative team gathered for the Friday morning meeting, they were greeted by a beaming Kihlgård, who stood in the doorway to welcome them by singing the ‘Marseillaise’ at the top of his lungs.

  Enthroned atop the light pine table in the middle of the room were two big chocolate cakes decorated with miniature French flags attached to toothpicks.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ asked Wittberg. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was clearly suffering from a hangover. His blond hair stuck out in all directions and he was holding a bottle of Coca-Cola in one hand. For many years Wittberg had been the department’s Don Juan, but a year ago he’d settled down and moved in with his girlfriend. Then early in the summer their relationship had fallen apart, as was clearly evident. Now he was back to his old partying ways.

  ‘What are we celebrating?’ asked Jacobsson.

  Kihlgård sighed loudly as he gave his colleagues an insistent look.

  ‘What sort of uneducated group is this, anyway? Don’t you know what today is?’

  No one in the room had a clue.

  ‘It’s a national holiday in France, damn it!’ shouted Kihlgård enthusiastically. ‘The fourteenth of July! Bastille Day, celebrating the French Revolution – haven’t you ever heard of it?’

  ‘Good lord,’ said Jacobsson, laughing. ‘We hardly even know why we celebrate Sweden’s national holiday. I had no idea you were such a Francophile.’

  ‘My dear, how could you not know? The food, the wine, the people, the weather – I love France. And these,’ he said, pointing eagerly at the chocolate cakes, ‘these are French chocolate cakes, homemade from a recipe I got from my French-born boyfriend, Laurent!’

  A sudden silence descended over the room. Kihlgård had never mentioned before that he was gay or that he had a boyfriend. Knutas looked completely bewildered, and Wittberg’s confused expression swiftly changed to amusement. Sohlman looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Jacobsson’s expression remained neutral. She’d known about Kihlgård’s sexual orientation for a long time. To her eyes, it seemed quite obvious.

  It was interesting to see how her otherwise so astute colleagues could be completely blind when it came to someone’s sexual preference. Some people in the department had even imagined that there was something going on between her and Kihlgård. Several times Knutas had displayed signs of jealousy. That had amused Jacobsson no end.

  At the moment it was clear even to Kihlgård that he had just revealed something that his colleagues on Gotland hadn’t known about, although it was common knowledge among his colleagues back at police headquarters in Stockholm.

  ‘All right then,’ he said to dispel the confusion that had arisen. ‘Help yourselves. These cakes are fantastic!’

  Kihlgård reached for a knife and began slicing the cakes. Everyone took a piece.

  ‘So maybe we should get started with the meeting, if Monsieur Kihlgård doesn’t mind?’

  Knutas turned to give a wry smile to his colleague, who was already working on his second large piece of cake.

  ‘Wittberg, I think you had some substantial news for us?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve conducted another interview with Linda Johansson, who works at Slite Construction. She still claims not to know anything about the threats or about illegal workers. She’s mostly in charge of the phones and the usual office tasks, and says she just does what she’s told to do. When it comes to the company’s finances, it was Peter who made the decisions, while she mostly took care of the paperwork. At least that’s what she says. To be honest, she doesn’t exactly seem like the brightest person.’

  ‘What do we really know about her?’ asked Jacobsson.

  ‘She’s from Slite, twenty-five years old. Married with two kids. Nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘How long has she worked at the company?’

  ‘Six months, apparently. They hired her and a couple of construction workers at the same time.’

  ‘How credible is it that she had no inkling that the company was using illegal workers?’ asked Jacobsson.

  ‘If it’s true that Peter Bovide took care of the finances, it could be that the others really had no idea about what was going on,’ said Wittberg. ‘Maybe they hired a few foreigners with work permits and the usual union agreement and then others who didn’t have the proper documents.’

  ‘We’ll soon have a report from the fraud division on their investigation. It’ll be interesting to see what they find out,’ said Knutas. ‘Moving on to a whole different matter – have you checked up on the passengers who were on the first ferry to Fårö?’

  ‘Yes, and it turns out that all of them have an alibi for the time of the murder. The couple from Göteborg drove straight over to their rented cabin, where they sat and drank their morning coffee with the female owner until eight o’clock, when she left for work. Upon arrival at Fårö the pregnant woman was apparently met by her husband, and they spent the whole morning together. And when the man with the horse trailer arrived home with the horse, he was greeted by his son. None of them noticed anything unusual.’

  ‘OK, so that’s that. How’s it going with the interviews of people who spent the night in summer cabins on Fårö? Is the report ready?’

  ‘Nothing noteworthy so far, but we haven’t finished all the interviews yet. We still have to go looking for people who have left the area, you know.’

  ‘Sure. I understand.’

  SATURDAY, 15 JULY

  KNUTAS WOKE UP alone in the big double bed in his house on Bokströmsgatan, which was located just outside Visby’s ring wall. The rays of the sun were shining right in his eyes. He always slept with the window open, in both summer and winter, but right now that wasn’t helping matters much. It was hotter outside than in the house. He got up and went out on to the patio. The grass needed mowing, and the garden furniture was looking shabby; the white paint was chipping off, and he’d promised himself to do something about it this summer. But so far, nothing had come of his good intentions. He didn’t even dare think about everything else that needed attention out at their summer house in Lickershamn.

  Until the murder of Peter Bovide was solved, he probably wouldn’t have time to go out there.

  He took a shower and got dressed. In the kitchen he put on the coffee and then went to get the morning newspaper from the letterbox.

  It was strange to be home alone; that hardly ever happened. Lina had two more weeks of her summer holiday, so she and the kids had gone out to the summer house. Although they weren’t really kids any more. In the autumn they would be starting college. Knutas couldn’t understand how time had flown by so fast.

  For the past six months Nisse, as his son now insisted on being called, had had a steady girlfriend, and their relationship seemed both sweet and grounded. Knutas had dreaded the conversation he realized he would be forced to have with his son. Of course, both he and Lina had previously talked to their children about the birds and the bees and how babies were made, but when Nisse began staying over at Gabriella’s house, Knutas could see they were going to need to have a more serious talk. Even though he was reluctant to bring up the subject, the conversation had actually gone better than he’d anticipated. Nisse had promised to be careful and always use a condom, and afterwards he gave his father a hug. Knutas was both astonished and pleased by his son’s reaction. It was as if the boy appreciated the concern behind his father’s clumsy attempt at a man-to-man talk.

  Unlike her twin brother, Petra hadn’t yet focused her affections on any particular person, which, naturally, didn’t make her parents feel any more secure. Knutas tried not to worry too much. Fortunately, Lina and Petra were very close, and Lina talked about everything with her in the same open and easy way as always.

  He made himself a sandwich for breakfast and sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the Go
tlands Allehanda. It was still only six thirty, since Knutas was an early riser. He didn’t need much sleep, and he appreciated both the late-night hours and the early morning.

  The murder was no longer a front-page story as nothing new had surfaced over the past few days. He suddenly pictured Karin’s face. He thought about how the investigation had been run while he was away. He couldn’t see that any outright mistakes had been made, but Karin was new at taking charge, and this was the first homicide investigation she’d had to initiate. He was extremely aware of how crucial the preliminary stage was in this type of investigation; everything had to be done right from the very beginning. The time aspect was often decisive in terms of whether the killer would be caught or not. By now almost a week had passed, and they were getting nowhere. The perp already had a big head start, and if nothing new happened soon, there was a risk that he might get away. It was unlikely that he was still on the island.

  Knutas leafed distractedly through the newspaper and downed the last of his coffee. He was ready to leave for the office and go through all the material in peace and quiet.

  He didn’t have far to go to work, just a fifteen-minute walk, but after only a few yards he was soaked with sweat. Even though it was still so early in the day, it was already very hot. He rang Lina, but she didn’t answer. She and the kids were probably still asleep. Sometimes he forgot that not everybody was a morning person like he was.

  Knutas was deeply immersed in the ME’s report when Jacobsson stuck her head round the door.

  ‘Good morning. How’s it going?’

  ‘Morning – good, thanks,’ he replied. ‘How about you?’

  ‘So so. I didn’t sleep well last night.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I just kept going over everything in my mind about the investigation.’

  Jacobsson sighed as she ran her fingers through her short dark hair, and then dropped on to the visitor’s chair in Knutas’s office.

  ‘Have you made it all the way through yet?’ she asked, casting a glance at the papers piled up on his desk.

  ‘Yup, I’m just about finished.’

  Knutas took his pipe out of the desk drawer and begin filling it with tobacco.

  ‘So what do you think? Have I made a total mess of things?’ Jacobsson gave him a crooked smile. She had on a white linen summer dress with polka dots.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re wearing a dress. You hardly ever do.’

  ‘I just felt like it today, since it’s so hot – OK? And why are you focusing on what I’m wearing when I’m trying to discuss the investigation? Talk about changing the subject…’

  ‘That wasn’t what I intended to do.’

  ‘But seriously – do you think I made any major mistakes during the first twenty-four hours, while you were away?’

  ‘Absolutely not. On the contrary. It looks like you handled everything in an exemplary manner.’

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  ‘No. I know that you’re perfectly capable of leading a murder investigation on your own.’

  ‘Then why did you rush back here?’

  Her question made Knutas uncomfortable. He fidgeted with his unlit pipe and then starting plucking at the tobacco in it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Karin. Did that upset you? If so, that certainly wasn’t my intention. How stupid of me. I should have called you first.’

  ‘My dear Anders, of course you don’t have to ask my permission to interrupt your holiday. But I’d like to know why you did it.’

  Red blotches had appeared on her throat. A sure sign that she was upset.

  ‘It had nothing to do with you or your capabilities. I just couldn’t stay away. It’s such an unusual murder investigation.’

  Karin sighed and looked at her boss with resignation. ‘Are you ever going to be able to give this job up?’

  ‘Yes, sure, of course I’ll be able to one day. You know I will. It just might take some time.’

  ‘I dread the day you retire. You’ll be ringing up headquarters every other day and trying to meddle.’

  ‘Hey, slow down a bit. I’m not even fifty-three yet.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said with a grin. ‘It’s actually great to have you back. If only you’ll let me handle some of the work on my own.’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  The last thing Anders wanted was to have a falling-out with Karin.

  ‘Getting back to the investigation, I went to see Peter Bovide’s parents yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. How did it go?’

  ‘Good. They gave me a lot of valuable information.’

  He quickly told her about Bovide’s epilepsy and depression.

  ‘If he was taking anti-depressants, he must have had a doctor who prescribed them.’

  ‘That’s right. His name is Torsten Ahlberg, but he’s out of town at the moment, on holiday in Italy. He’ll be back next week. I’ll go and talk to him myself.’

  ‘How were his parents, by the way?’

  ‘The father seemed really out of control. In the end he got so riled up that he kicked me out.’

  ‘Wow. What exactly did he do?’

  Knutas waved his hand dismissively.

  ‘It was nothing really. A typical reaction from someone who’s in shock.’

  The phone began ringing in Jacobsson’s office. Before she left the room, she put her hand on Knutas’s shoulder and said in a low voice, ‘I really am glad you’re back, Anders. At the same time, it makes me furious.’

  Knutas got up and went to stand at the window. He looked out at the idyllic summer scene, or at least as much of it as was visible on either side of the big customer car park at Östercentrum outside the Co-op Forum.

  His thoughts were focused on Peter Bovide’s construction company. He hadn’t personally been out to the victim’s place of business, or to his house either. Others had handled that part of the investigation. Maybe a visit would be productive, give him some new ideas. It was unlikely that anyone would be working on a Saturday, but he could at least take a peek at the office. Knutas looked at his watch. Nine fifteen. Would it be all right to ring a woman who had just lost her husband so early? Probably. She had young children, after all. Vendela Bovide should be up by now. He punched in the phone number. It rang and rang, and he was just thinking about giving up when someone picked up. At first he heard only silence, then a boy’s high-pitched voice.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes, hello, this is Anders Knutas from the police. Who am I talking to?’

  ‘William.’

  ‘Is your mother there?’

  ‘No. Mamma can’t talk right now. She’s sleeping.’

  ‘Sleeping? Are you the only one awake?’

  ‘No. Mikaela is here too. We’re hungry. But Mamma just keeps sleeping. She won’t wake up.’

  ‘Has she moved at all?’

  ‘No. She’s not moving. And her face looks really strange.’

  KNUTAS IMMEDIATELY PUNCHED in the emergency number, 112.

  ‘Send an ambulance over there fast. A woman is lying unconscious, and her two young children are home alone with her.’

  After ordering a vehicle from the city police force, which was used to responding swiftly, he slammed down the phone, grabbed his service revolver and called for Jacobsson. Two minutes later they were in a car on their way toward Slite, sirens wailing. If only we can get there in time, thought Knutas as they drove north-east. If only she’s not dead.

  ‘What’s going on?’ muttered Jacobsson through clenched teeth. ‘What’s happening with this family?’

  ‘If Vendela Bovide is still alive, maybe we’ll have an answer to that question very soon.’

  Jacobsson said a silent prayer that Vendela would still be alive. She rang Peter Bovide’s parents and asked them to drive over to the house. The children needed to be taken care of by someone they trusted.

  When they turned on to the drive in front of the Bovide family home, police cars and an ambulance were already t
here. The door was wide open, and they rushed inside. Shocked, they came to an abrupt halt. The whole house had been turned upside down. Drawers had been pulled out, cupboards stood open, papers, dishes and pillows had been tossed to the floor. In the bedroom, two medics were lifting Vendela on to a gurney. The children were sitting on a sofa in the living room, staring wide-eyed at all the police officers. They had a packet of biscuits between them. The TV was on, showing a cartoon programme.

  ‘We didn’t make the mess,’ said William.

  ‘No, of course you didn’t,’ said Knutas. He stood in the doorway between the bedroom and living room, looking with dismay at Vendela. Her face was bruised, and one eye was badly swollen. She seemed to be in a deep sleep.

  THE INVESTIGATIVE TEAM met on Saturday afternoon to discuss the assault on Vendela Bovide. Knutas had called the meeting, and he started as soon as everyone was seated around the table. He briefly explained what had happened.

  ‘Vendela Bovide was assaulted, subjected to kicks and punches, both to her face and the rest of her body. She has bruises and contusions, but the injuries appear to be superficial. According to the doctors, her life is not in danger, and she has no internal injuries other than a broken rib. She was probably given some sort of sedative or other drug, since she was sleeping so soundly. They had a tough time at the hospital getting her to wake up. Somebody obviously searched the house, maybe looking for money – who knows? The place was in utter chaos when we arrived. Right now, the techs are gathering evidence.’

  ‘When do the doctors think the assault occurred?’ asked Wittberg.

  ‘Presumably late last night or in the early morning hours. It’s a miracle that the kids didn’t wake up, but they do sleep at the other end of the house. This morning they found their mother in bed, but she didn’t respond when they tried to wake her. They knew their grandparents were supposed to come over later, so they decided to watch TV and wait. It was pure luck that I happened to ring so early.’