The Dead Of Summer

by Mari Jungstedt

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Wittberg protested. ‘Keep in mind that we had the manhunt of the century on Fårö just a few years ago. You remember Emma Winarve, don’t you? You were really taken by her.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ said Kihlgård, his face lighting up. ‘By the way, is she still together with that pesky TV reporter?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Wittberg threw out his hands. ‘They had a baby together and everything but apparently things kind of fell apart for them.’

  ‘All right then,’ Jacobsson interrupted her colleagues. ‘Let’s keep on topic. You can do all the gossiping you want later on.’

  She gave them a stern look.

  ‘According to Peter Bovide’s partner, the victim had recently felt that he was being watched. Johnny Ekwall couldn’t say exactly what was going on, but Peter had mentioned several times that he thought somebody was tailing him. He had also received anonymous phone calls at the office. Apparently there was nobody on the line, but from what I understand, the calls gave Bovide the jitters.’

  ‘When did all this start?’ asked Kihlgård.

  ‘Several weeks ago.’

  ‘And he’d never received any threats before?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘If the phone calls and the feeling that he was being shadowed began at the same time, there must be something to it,’ Kihlgård went on. ‘And of course it reinforces the theory that the perpetrator had specifically targeted Bovide. We need to find out if anybody else can confirm this information. I’d be happy to follow up on the lead.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Jacobsson. ‘The strange thing is that his wife denies knowing anything about it, and yet they seem to have had a good relationship.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t want to worry her,’ Wittberg interjected. ‘Maybe he was mixed up in something shady and wanted to keep her out of it.’

  ‘That’s possible, of course,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Or maybe we should be focusing our efforts on the wife. She works in a casino in Stockholm. And in the gambling business there are plenty of sleazy characters, as you well know.’

  ‘So you think it could be some sort of revenge directed against her?’ said Kihlgård.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. Or the wife could be the next victim. How do I know? We need to ask Stockholm to help us by interviewing Vendela’s co-workers at the casino.’

  ‘Wasn’t Peter Bovide found guilty of assault and battery?’ Wittberg tossed out. ‘Of course it was a long time ago and it happened only once, but you never know. I’ll check up on it.’

  Jacobsson nodded pensively and scribbled a note on her pad of paper.

  ‘How long had he been at the campsite? A few days?’ Wittberg went on. ‘And he went out at approximately the same time every morning to run practically the same route?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jacobsson. ‘His wife confirmed that when I interviewed her earlier today.’

  ‘So it seems very likely that the perp was keeping an eye on him and took note of his usual routines. That would also confirm what his partner said about Bovide feeling he was being watched. The murderer then chose the most advantageous time and place to kill him, meaning down near the end of the beach and at six in the morning when everybody was in bed asleep.’

  ‘In other words, the killer was presumably at the campsite, at least during the weekend, and he may have even been staying there,’ said Kihlgård.

  ‘Naturally we’ll need to keep that possibility open,’ said Jacobsson. ‘If you look at the layout of the area, you can see that you have to walk downhill a bit to reach the beach.’

  Erik Sohlman stood up and pointed to the map.

  ‘Evidently the perp was on foot. We’re continuing to interview witnesses, and it seems likely that somebody will have noticed him, even though it was so early. At this time of year, there are people out at all hours of the day and night.’

  Jacobsson turned to Sohlman.

  ‘Do we know anything about the weapon?’

  ‘Only that it was probably a handgun, judging by the bullet wounds and the empty casings that we found. We’ll have to see what SCL comes up with.’

  ‘This afternoon we’ll be conducting several more important interviews,’ Jacobsson went on. ‘Thomas?’

  Wittberg reported on the observations that had been made by the captain of the first ferry. While he was talking, Jacobsson noticed that Kihlgård was getting restless.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said when Wittberg was finished with his report. ‘Is it lunchtime yet?’

  FOR A CHANGE, head office reacted swiftly to Johan’s demands. On Tuesday afternoon, as he and Pia were on their way back to their office, his mobile rang. Johan was startled when he recognized the voice. It was Madeleine Haga, a reporter for the national TV news. She and cameraman Peter Bylund had just arrived on Gotland and were staying at the Strand Hotel.

  They agreed to meet at the editorial office.

  Johan had known Madeleine for several years. Once, long ago, it had seemed as if something might develop between then, but the spark had fizzled out before any sort of relationship got started. Then he was sent to Gotland, and he met Emma. Since then, there had been no other woman in his life.

  When Madeleine came into the Regional News office on Östra Hansegatan in Visby, he couldn’t help taking notice. She had just returned from a holiday trip to Spain and was deeply tanned. A petite brunette wearing a denim skirt and a blouse, and with a cleavage that should have been considered too risqué for a reporter. Her big brown eyes were shining.

  ‘Hi,’ she said cheerfully.

  He got up from his computer to give her a hug. She smelled faintly of lemon.

  ‘Hi.’

  The cameraman, Peter Bylund, appeared right behind her. Johan gave him a hug too.

  ‘What a surprise to see you here again,’ said Johan. ‘How was Russia?’

  Peter Bylund had worked with Johan for a summer several years earlier. The summer he’d met Emma. Peter had also been a bit infatuated with her.

  ‘Good, thanks. Of course, Moscow is totally changed compared to ten years ago, when I was there last. It’s a completely different city.’

  ‘How long were you there this time?’

  ‘It’s been almost two years now. I can’t believe it myself, but it’s true.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell me more later, but it’s damn good you’re here, at any rate.’

  ‘What about yourself? You and Emma? I heard that the two of you had a baby and everything.’

  ‘Yes, we have a daughter, Elin. She’s just turned one. She’s the most amazing child in the world.’

  ‘Jeez, that’s something – you a father. I wouldn’t have believed it.’ Peter slapped him on the back.

  Johan’s face clouded over.

  ‘Things aren’t going very well, as a matter of fact; it’s been pretty rocky, you might say.’

  ‘OK, well, we don’t need to talk about it now.’

  Madeleine was looking at Johan with interest, though she didn’t say a word. Peter patted his shoulder.

  ‘So what’s next on the agenda?’

  Pia came back from the bathroom. She said hello to the two from Stockholm and sat down in front of her computer.

  ‘We’re in the process of uploading the material. Do you want to check it out?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Peter, whose face had lit up at the sight of Pia. He sat down next to her. Johan and Madeleine sat down on the other side.

  ‘We won’t have time to put together anything for today, but just let me know if you want me to do a short piece for the national news,’ Madeleine offered.

  Johan hesitated. It would actually be a big help; he was feeling super-stressed and would like nothing more than to get the report done as soon as possible. At the same time, he didn’t like just turning over his material to another reporter. But he trusted Madeleine.

  ‘Sure, go ahead.’

  Grenfors would be pleased. Johan cast a glance at his newly arrived colleagues – he rea
lly liked both of them.

  He was glad they were here.

  HAMBURG, 15 JULY 1985

  FIVE MORE HOURS before the plane left for Sweden. They were up early to pack, and Vera suspected that her father hadn’t slept a wink all night. By six o’clock she could hear him pottering about in the kitchen. Neatly lined up on her bed were piles of clothes ready to be packed.

  ‘Keep in mind that you don’t need to take a lot of clothes along. And nothing fancy,’ called Oleg from the kitchen. ‘We’re going to be living outdoors – far away from civilization!’

  Vera studied the piles: knickers, bras, bikinis, shorts, blouses, a few skirts and dresses, jeans and a heavy sweater.

  That should be enough, she decided as she began stuffing items into her rucksack.

  ‘What are you taking along?’

  Tanya stuck her head into her big sister’s room.

  Her hair was pinned up in an untidy knot, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were shining. Tanya was at least as ecstatic as their father about this trip. She was nineteen and had never been out of Germany before.

  ‘All of this.’

  Vera gestured towards the bed. Tanya looked at the piles, checked the contents of the rucksack and took out a couple of articles of clothing.

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘But don’t you think we’ll have a chance to go out dancing a few times, you and I? At least in Stockholm or Visby?’

  She gave her sister a poke in the side.

  ‘I’d like to have some fun with those luscious Swedes. We can’t miss out on the opportunity, since we’re there anyway. They’re supposed to be the cutest guys in the world, you know!’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘My god, haven’t you seen the pictures? And the Swedish girls are world-famous – so why shouldn’t the men look just as beautiful?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Vera with a laugh as she opened her wardrobe. ‘Of course we should take along something cute. And of course we’ll go out. I could do with a little fun too.’

  A week ago Gotthard had suddenly broken up with her. He’d met somebody else while he was on holiday in Portugal. And to make matters worse, it was a Swedish girl.

  Unlike her younger sister, she never had any luck with boys. And she really didn’t understand why. She and her sister were very much alike, except that they had different temperaments. Vera was more serious and pensive. She lacked her sister’s spontaneity. Sometimes she wished she could be more like her little sister, more open, happier, more outgoing. Especially when she saw how Tanya stole all the attention, even from their parents. But that wasn’t just because of her personality. Vera was well aware of the reason, but it still hurt. Tanya had been diagnosed with leukaemia when she was thirteen, and she’d been seriously ill for a long time. Their parents had been numb with shock and despair, and they had devoted all their time to Tanya. Vera had been forced to fend for herself as best she could. And she’d had to cope alone with her own sorrow and distress about her sister.

  But everything had turned out well in the end. Tanya had undergone an intensive treatment and her body was now free of cancer. Slowly but surely she had returned to her old self, becoming even stronger and more energetic than she’d been before. Of course Vera was thrilled that Tanya had pulled through; at the same time, their parents’ love and concern for her sister had increased even more after her illness.

  Occasionally, when their father talked and laughed with Tanya while Vera was also in the room, he would cast a glance at his older daughter, as if he’d suddenly noticed her and was surprised that she was there too. Then he would sometimes look shamefaced, as if he’d been caught out. That was almost worse.

  Strangely enough, Vera harboured no grudge towards her sister for this great imbalance that existed between them. Not any more. It had been worse when they were younger; back then she would secretly pinch her little sister and make nasty comments, just to get back at her a little. Now that they were both practically grown up, she had accepted the situation. At least she thought so. She refused to fight with Tanya, whether it had to do with the attention that she received from their parents or from men, so she might as well give up and be satisfied with who she was. She needed to stop comparing herself to Tanya. It just made her depressed.

  Right now she looked at her sister, whose eagerness and enthusiasm for the trip was contagious. Vera truly loved Tanya; it wasn’t her fault that things had ended up this way.

  ‘The problem is, you’re going to take all the guys,’ she said with a sigh as Tanya showed her one top after another, each one more attractive than the last.

  ‘No, I won’t. You’re super-cute! Come on, we’ll pack some nicer things too. Forget about what Pappa says.’

  ‘OK.’

  Oleg was rushing about the flat, whistling and dancing as he packed, grabbing hold of Sabine and swinging her around so she laughed out loud. Vera had never seen her father so elated. Ever since they were kids he’d talked about Gotska Sandön, about how beautiful it was supposed to be, about all the unusual birds, the seals, the plants. And the fact that his great-grandfather had died when his ship went down off a beach called Franska Cove; he was buried there, and three cannons that had been salvaged from the vessel were still on the island. Since receiving permission to make the trip there, he’d hardly talked about anything else.

  ‘The taxi’s here!’ shouted their mother from the kitchen.

  They took one last look around the flat before they closed the door behind them.

  KARIN JACOBSSON AND Martin Kihlgård slipped out to the pizzeria around the corner for a quick dinner. They expected to be working all evening. Since they hadn’t seen each other in quite a while, it was great to have some time to themselves. They’d worked together on a number of cases over the past few years, and they enjoyed each other’s company.

  While they waited for their food to be served, they discussed what motives might have compelled the murderer to kill Peter Bovide.

  As he talked, Kihlgård munched on his salad, which was soaked with dressing and mixed with croutons.

  ‘One possible motive, of course, is jealousy – some sort of love triangle. How faithful was Bovide? Maybe he was having an affair on the side.’

  ‘The MO really indicates revenge,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Why else fire a whole clip of shots into his stomach when they were obviously unnecessary? He died from the first bullet, after all.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ muttered Kihlgård, continuing to chew.

  ‘The ME phoned right before we left.’

  ‘Is that right? What’d he say?’

  ‘He was able to determine the time of the murder. Peter Bovide died at approximately six a.m., and it was the first shot that killed him. They found seven bullets in his stomach and one in his head. The slugs have already been sent over to SCL, and the lab has promised to put a rush on it. They’ve semi-promised me a report on the type of ammunition and hopefully the type of gun by tomorrow morning. The ME also told me that the entry wound indicates that the bullet was fired from an oblique angle above the victim. Which means that Bovide was probably sitting down or kneeling when the bullet struck his forehead.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, unless the perp was up on a ladder when he fired the gun, but that’s not very likely. When Bovide took the shots to the abdomen, he was lying down. So Sohlman’s theory about the sequence of events was correct. First he was shot in the forehead, then he fell to the ground and finally the rest of the rounds were fired into his torso.’

  Kihlgård looked thoughtful.

  ‘But that’s a little odd, don’t you think? Why would he be sitting down? He was out running, right?’

  ‘Maybe they started to talk and sat down on the beach. How would I know?’ Jacobsson shrugged. ‘I have a hard time imagining that he was killed by accident. Maybe they’d even made arrangements to meet.’

  Their food arrived, and for
a while they ate in silence.

  ‘It certainly doesn’t sound like it was a madman who killed somebody at random,’ said Kihlgård pensively.

  ‘But do you really think it was someone who was staying at the campsite?’ asked Jacobsson, sounding doubtful. ‘Wouldn’t it be a little crazy to murder someone staying at the same campsite? Surely the killer must have realized that he would be interviewed and thoroughly scrutinized.’

  ‘Sure, but if the murder wasn’t premeditated or if it was the result of a fit of rage, then it’s possible. Although it could also be somebody from that cottage community nearby. That’s actually closer to the crime scene than the campsite. Or else it’s someone from outside.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jacobsson. She was chewing absentmindedly on the same slice of capricciosa pizza, taking tiny bites of it. Kihlgård had already finished most of his calzone.

  ‘But I still think we have to assume that the murder was planned and carried out with a specific purpose in mind. The fact that the victim thought he was being shadowed, plus the anonymous phone calls, are important pieces of the puzzle,’ said Kihlgård.

  Jacobsson opened her mouth to say something, but her colleague waved his hand dismissively.

  ‘OK, OK, I know that he was regarded as slightly depressed and vulnerable psychologically. But that doesn’t rule out the possibility that somebody might have been tailing him, does it? So we need to ask ourselves: who was Peter Bovide? What was he spending his time on? What sort of people did he meet? How did he live?’

  ‘Those covert threats, or whatever they were, might have had something to do with payments made under the table,’ said Jacobsson. ‘I mean, using illegal workers is such a widespread practice in the construction business. It’s going to be damned interesting to see what the financial investigation of his company turns up. The worst part is that it takes such a long time.’

  She shoved her plate away even though half of her pizza was still untouched.

  ‘And then there’s the fact that he was clearly a troublemaker as a youth,’ said Kihlgård. ‘I’m thinking about the charge of assault and battery. That sort of thing isn’t usually an isolated event. The motive for the murder may lie in the past. Maybe Peter Bovide was mixed up in some big-time deals when he was younger, and then it all finally caught up with him. It’s happened before.’