by Anna Jansson
Hartman shook hands with the Isomäkis. The old man was more incoherent than he’d expected, but his testimony was still a step forward in the investigation.
Agnes recounted the events of the burglary again and tried to describe the intruder as best as she could. She was clearer this time, she felt less overwhelmed by the authority vested in those in front of her. She described a tall, thin man in a dark cape. His gait was stiff and he was mumbling something.
“It was like a macabre joke. I got scared when he wouldn’t say anything, just hid himself in his masquerade outfit. First I thought it was someone we knew. One of ClaraMaj’s friends, maybe.” Agnes looked at her husband. “Gösta moved toward him with the knife. It was very brave and very foolish of him. It was a normal serrated bread knife, quite blunt, too. I was so afraid I could hardly breathe. I thought one of them would be hurt, even if it was only a thief I didn’t want that.”
“A thief!” Gösta was impatient and wanted to leave. “A thief,” he repeated. The conversation was worrying. “Thieves deserve a good beating!” Agnes held his hand in a firm grip.
“He gives me the slip sometimes,” she said. “The whole night between the sixth and the seventh he was gone. I looked for him and didn’t know what to think. I even contacted the police, the report must be somewhere, even if I did call back later and cancel it. If he did see something there’s no guarantee he’ll remember it. Sometimes things just come out wrong.”
Tenderly she caressed his cheek, and the tenderness in her eyes was very moving. “I didn’t know where he was until they called from Norgatt in the morning. Isn’t that right, Gösta? You must never do that again.”
“I want to go home.” He tried to tear himself out of her grip, with repeated mighty yawns.
“He usually has a sleep this time of day,” Agnes explained. “He’s very, very tired now. He’s not at his best in the mornings.”
“I used to be picky, now I’m pesky.” Gösta looked so full of mischief that, for a moment, Maria wondered if he were messing with them. She offered him an armchair and squatted down in front of him to make eye contact. “We’re so grateful to you for coming in. Do you think you can remember what the car looked like?”
Gösta shook his head, then closed his eyes.
“Things usually get better if he can rest for a moment,” said Agnes. “He has his better moments.”
Hartman offered to run them home and continue the conversation there. At that moment Per Arvidsson appeared in the doorway. He did not say a word to Maria but his expression said it all. Although his words were for Hartman, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“I’ll come along. We can take my car.”
Maria sat down at her computer, digging into the report she had started writing when reception had first called up to say Agnes Isomäki was there. She was angry at herself for allowing Per’s presence to affect her so strongly, when she’d rather just blot him out of her life. All morning she’d been dreading his showing up, trying to prepare herself for it and looking for some inner calm. But she’d not been prepared for his pleading eyes. If it carried on being this difficult they wouldn’t be able to work together any more. In time he would surely come to understand there was no way back.
She had to stay true to her own convictions and not doubt herself, had to concentrate and do a good job. Just as she was starting to find the right formulations in her report and building up a head of steam, Erika’s brown locks popped through the door.
“Hartman? You know where he is?”
Maria explained the situation while Erika listened impatiently.
“He went back with the Isomäkis. Anything I can pass on to him when he comes back?” she asked, gesturing at the empty chair in front of her.
“Not exactly.” Erika looked as if she wanted to say something. “Some archaeologist wants to see him. Maybe you can deal with it instead? I wouldn’t mind sitting in on the conversation. It’s about a find they’ve made on Galgberget. I’ve been keeping up with the excavations and I’d like to hear what he has to say.”
A man in a white shirt with rolled-up shirt sleeves, jeans, a leather vest, and half a week of beard stubble sat down at the conference table and accepted their offer of coffee.
“Kent Wiklund, archaeologist.” He stood up and shook hands when Erika walked in.
“You wanted to tell us about a find on Galgberget,” said Maria, slightly puzzled once she’d noted down the obligatory information. “I read a few weeks ago that the area was going to be excavated.”
“The area is rich in finds. We’ve found scores of bones belonging to the unfortunates who were executed there. Some thirty bodies, at least. Shattered bones without any order to them, just chopped up and buried like that directly after the executions. But in the middle under the stone pillars we found two coffins with three complete skeletons.”
“How incredibly exciting,” said Erika, leaning forward and hanging on his every word, as if afraid to miss something.
“Two of them were affluent men from the medieval era. We were able to date the find using carbon-14 dating. They were buried in coffins because they were slightly wealthier, more upper class. We’re trying to establish who they actually were. But one of the skeletons is from another time. A woman. We believe she’s been in the ground for no more than ten years. That’s why I got in touch with you.”
“A murder victim,” Erika filled in.
“We have to assume so.” The archaeologist got out a drawing to show the position of the bodies when they were found. A man in one coffin, and a man and a woman in the other.
“Can we say anything else about the woman? How old she was? What was the cause of death?” Maria felt the same excitement as Erika.
“She was about thirty, had recently given birth. Her pelvis was distended, there were signs of what must have been pelvic girdle pains. She was buried in a piece of white material. Possibly a bride. Her hair was long, dark, and curly. The cause of death is something I’ll leave to you. We can’t judge whether or not she was murdered, just that someone chose to bury her in this strange place.”
“Where on the other hand no one would have come looking, if you hadn’t started these excavations,” said Maria. “And as time passes it gets more difficult to see how long someone has been in the ground, to the naked eye at least.”
The archaeologist rubbed his chin and his eyes filled with something tentative. Maybe he had not wanted to describe his own work so contemptuously. “Maybe the person in question did not stop to think that we employ a good deal of care when we date our finds.”
Maria saw the murder victim before her, on Tempelkullen. Linn Bogren had been dressed as a bride, clutching those lilies of the valley in her thin, yellow-white hand. Erika had the same thought.
“The story repeats itself. A bride. Disappeared ten years ago. She must have been reported as missing. Is the body still there at the scene or where can we pick her up?”
“She’s been put back in the grave. We’d be grateful if you could arrange for the transport. We don’t have the resources to guard the body, either. I stayed in my tent on Galgberget last night, guarding the find. It was quite eerie, I’ll have you know.”
“Why didn’t you contact the police at once last night when the dating results came back?”
“You work office hours, don’t you? It didn’t seem very urgent, given that she’d already been there for ten years.”
“True. I need to see her on the scene before she’s moved.” Erika disappeared out of the door and was gone for a short while.
“She must be entered into our register if she was reported as a missing person in Gotland.” Maria turned to the archaeologist. “Did you talk to anyone about this?”
“You mean did I say anything to the media? Not yet. I thought you’d want this information first. I mean, there could still be relatives alive,” said Kent Wiklund. He stood up when Erika came back; his joints seemed stiff. It had probably not been very comfortable in t
hat tent.
Maria logged into her computer. Between 1998–2003 twenty-two women on Gotland had been reported missing. She drew up a list and started ticking them off. Of the nineteen who were found, seventeen were still alive, and two dead. The remaining three missing persons cases had never been cleared up. One was a case of a suicide-prone blonde woman who had disappeared from a psychiatric ward while on release, the other a young woman of about seventeen of Asiatic origin.
Both could be excluded on the basis of their age and the color of their hair. But the third one remained. She had been lost in a drowning incident below the Hotel Fridhem a few miles south of Visby. Her clothes were on the beach. The woman had most likely been sucked into the undertow and the body never subsequently found. She had drowned on her wedding night, while taking a swim after the party. Under the effects of alcohol. Alone. The continuation of the story was even more puzzling. Who had dressed the woman in white and buried her on Galgberget, and why? The body may have been taken by the current and swept out to sea, that was the assumption made in the earlier investigation. Using dental records they should now be able to establish who she was, and then notify her next of kin. There was a husband and a young daughter who must be eleven years old by now. Like the archaeologist, Maria hoped this could be done in a calm and orderly manner before the details emerged in the media.
It would be a terrible shock to them so long after the actual events.
CHAPTER 38
ERIKA LUND READ THROUGH the medical examiner’s systematic examination of the murder victim from Galgberget. Her wavy brown hair framed a cranium with high cheekbones and regular teeth. Erika thought about Linn Bogren who’d been exhibited under the rippling strands of fabric on Tempelkullen. Seeing both of these women was like seeing one’s own death and progressive putrefaction.
“Can you say anything about the cause of death? The archaeologist Kent Wiklund was speaking of pelvic girdle pain. Could she have died in labor?”
The medical examiner straightened up and shook his head. “She’s given birth to children, but the damage evident here… ” he pointed with his gloved hand, “… has started improving. I don’t think she had any major problems with it any more. I’d guess the child would have been somewhere between six months and one when she died. I mean, if the child survived; we don’t know what happened. Maybe she chose to take the child with her when she died, a sort of collective suicide. These things happen.”
“What do you think she died of?”
“I don’t think, I know.” His hands parted the woman’s long hair over one of her temples. “Here is the lethal blow. A blunt weapon. As if someone struck a hand-sized stone into her head, with the sharp side towards her.”
“A rubble stone. There are plenty of those all down the coast, the ones you use for stone skimming.”
“Precisely. It could well be something like that. The hole is little less than half an inch wide and three inches long, and the impact has penetrated to a depth of almost an inch, which would unfailingly have led to unconsciousness and bleeding. Are there any dental records? Have they managed to identify her?” he asked.
“Maria Wern will be in touch as soon as they have them.”
They had finished their day’s work. Erika passed by the parking area and took her bag out of the car. Her tension had been there all day. Now it was time. Every time she had a free moment, she’d felt that sucking feeling in the pit of her stomach about the evening ahead. It would either bring them closer or end in all-out catastrophe. Anders had invited her back to his place for the first time. She was expected to stay the night. Julia would also be there. I have to show her we’re serious about this, he’d said. She kept an eye out for him as she walked down Östercentrum, nervous and insecure like a teenager. Anders had also been sounding nervous the last few times they’d spoken. There was a new restlessness and anxiety in his movements; but also a remoteness, when he seemed to disappear into his own ruminations without listening to anyone else. Something very important was occupying his thoughts. When she asked, he made a joke of it. Maybe he was afraid of change, just like she was.
When she saw his tall, elongated figure on the other side of the parking area, she felt joy whirling round in her breast. She stumbled forward without looking where she was going. Her steps grew ungainly and she didn’t want him to look at her as she approached; almost like a phobia. She was aware of it but unable to do anything about the feeling.
He took her in his arms and kissed her on the mouth for a long time. People standing round could not stop themselves from smiling at their happiness.
“So you had the guts, then!” He laughed.
“Of course I have the guts to meet your daughter. Do you have the guts?” She looked at him with great seriousness.
“Yes,” he said in a light-hearted tone. He didn’t seem so sure of himself.
“So what did Julia say when you said I was coming over to stay the night?”
“She said ‘oh right.’ It wasn’t much weirder than that.” His forced joviality didn’t quite ring true. It would be easier, much easier, if he’d share his anxieties with her. “Whatever will be will be from now on. I’m all Julia’s got, of course she feels her position’s under threat.”
At last Erika would get to see Anders’s home. The white villa was embedded in greenery, great clumps of poppies and viper’s bugloss edged the drive and, by a corner of the house, a jasmine bush spread a wonderful fragrance.
The kitchen window was lit up. A green-checkered curtain framed the terracotta pots of herbs. There was a smell of coffee as they stood in the big, airy hall and on the kitchen table was a plate of chocolate balls rolled in dried coconut. The entire kitchen counter was smeared, the table stained, and the floor in front of the pantry was sprinkled with coconut. Anders walked up to Julia and took her in his arms.
“It’s looking lovely in here!” He swung her round a turn, then released her. “Why have you put four cups on the table?”
“Because we’ve got a visitor. He said he was a friend of yours from your military service so I let him in. He’s in the living room.”
“What!” Anders could hardly believe his ears. Erika watched a series of emotions passing across his face as he searched his memory. “Who?” he whispered to Julia.
“His name is Guran. Can you really be called Guran?” she whispered back. “He called because you have a reunion coming up, that’s when I invited him over for coffee. You have to be polite sometimes.” Julia looked triumphant. They couldn’t just turn up here and plan their evening any old way they wanted, while telling her what to do.
Erika followed Anders into the living room and cast her eyes around with interest. The furnishings were rather minimalist. Wide, open spaces made the newly polished floor look its best. A beautiful, wrought-iron chandelier hung over the dining table, which was made of light oak. The bookshelves were made of the same wood, but they weren’t filled with books but DVDs – a plentiful supply of films, certainly enough to outdo all the repeats offered by the terrestrial stations. In the midnight-blue sofa sat a swarthy, heavy-built man with lots of curly hair and a full-length beard. With extreme reluctance he tore his eyes away from the television, where Barcelona had just taken a 3-2 lead against Seville. He gave them a broad smile, showing his big, even teeth.
“Paul Gustavsson, it’s been a while!” said Anders, once he’d managed to control his initial surprise. Erika watched him switch into an entirely different mode of behavior, helping himself to a decent dip of snus from the can he was offered, stuffing it under his upper lip until it bulged.
“I thought you’d stopped.” The words slipped out of her.
“Heck no, you have to have snus.” Anders laughed as he looked at Guran. “So how are things?”
“I’ve started my own company, traveling salesman, sell motorcycle spares online and travel around making deliveries, no fixed address.” He sniggered at Erika. “Damn taxman’s after me.” He spluttered and rubbed his big hand
against his beard. “I was thinking maybe you’d like to invest, become a partner or something?”
Erika felt she’d seen the man before in less auspicious circumstances. Drunken driving? Fraud? Disturbance of the peace, maybe. But she wasn’t sure.
Anders ushered Julia toward the kitchen and pleaded with Julia. “Maybe you can check if the coffee’s ready?” He was not entirely comfortable with the situation. Julia walked in front, largely satisfied with the way things were going. Erika wiped the worst gunk off the kitchen table and considered whether it was normal for eleven-year-olds to make such an infernal mess or if that were also a provocation.
“It’s nice of you to bake! Is that your own recipe?” she tried.
“No, Mom’s. Mom was very good at cooking and very beautiful.” Julia studied Erika’s face to see how she took it.
“Yes, she was,” said Erika. “And I’m sure you will be, too, you’re already so pretty now.”
“So you did your national service together?” Erika said, once Anders and Guran had parked themselves at the kitchen table. Anders’s army pal slurped his coffee, The chocolate balls smeared round his mouth and he talked endlessly so that no one else could get a word in. Julia rolled her eyes and looked at Anders, but his attention was elsewhere. She focused on Erika and for the first time there was a hint of understanding between them.
“Yeah, we did our service together. But not for long, you can’t have guys like Anders in the military, it’s too dangerous.”
“What do you mean, too dangerous?” Julia said eagerly.
Erika was also curious.
“Oh it’s all water under the bridge now. It was a hundred years ago.” Anders picked up the coffee thermos to refill Guran’s cup.