‘Well, maybe, but why would he …?’ Confused, she shifted her glance from one officer to the other.
‘I don’t know,’ said Jacobsson. ‘But maybe he couldn’t sleep and went out to get some fresh air. And then decided to take a walk. Or maybe he met someone.’
‘But why would he take along his backpack with all his paintbrushes? And leave in the middle of the night?’
‘What happened when you woke up?’
‘I noticed at once that he wasn’t in the room. I got dressed and then went out to have a look around. I thought he might be sitting on the dock or on a deckchair somewhere outside. Or he might be taking a morning dip. But I didn’t find him anywhere.’
‘What time was this?’
‘I don’t know … Nine thirty. Maybe ten. I didn’t look at my watch.’
‘Did you check his belongings? To see what he might have taken with him?’
‘Yes, I saw that his painting gear was gone. That’s why I wasn’t really worried. But then the weather got bad and the rain came pouring down. When he still hadn’t come back by late afternoon, I really started to wonder what could have happened to him. Sam is diabetic, and it’s very important for him to eat at regular intervals.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘Beata and I went out to look for him. The island isn’t very big, and we were sure that we’d find him. I was afraid that his blood sugar might have dropped drastically, and that can be life-threatening if he doesn’t get help.’
‘And had anyone you talked to seen him?’
‘No, not a single person. I can’t understand where he could have gone.’
‘What about his mobile phone?’
‘He took it with him. That’s not so strange, even though the coverage is awful here on the island. Sam never goes anywhere without his mobile. He even takes it with him to the toilet.’ A fleeting smile passed over her face. Then her expression turned serious again. ‘What do you think could have happened to him?’
‘It wouldn’t be wise to speculate at this point,’ said Jacobsson. ‘We don’t really know anything yet. Our first priority is to locate your husband. Is it possible that he left the island without telling you?’
Andrea Dahlberg looked genuinely surprised.
‘Why would he do that?’
‘At this stage we can’t rule out any possibility. You have children, don’t you? When did he last speak to them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Have you told them that their father has gone missing?’
‘No. I didn’t want to upset them,’ said Andrea in a stifled voice. For a moment she hid her face in her hands.
‘Where are the children?’
‘They’re staying with my mother and her husband on Mjölkö in the Stockholm archipelago.’
‘It might be a good idea to phone them.’
‘You’re right … I’ll do it soon.’
‘We’re done here for the moment. Just one last question. How is your relationship with Sam?’
Andrea gave them a resolute look as she replied.
‘It’s great. Couldn’t be better. We love each other. We always have.’
‘OK.’ Jacobsson stood up and shook Andrea’s hand. ‘That’s all for now. I think you should ring your children right away. If you find out that your husband contacted them or your mother, you need to notify us at once. Any information is important. Try to think about how Sam has acted lately. How has he behaved? Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Has anything new come into your lives? A new person? A new situation? Think about these things, and we’ll come back to see you again later.’
She gave the anxious wife a friendly pat on the shoulder before leaving the room.
JACOBSSON WENT WITH the coastguard crew to search the shore beneath the bird mountain where Dahlberg’s backpack had been found. Wittberg stayed behind at the cabin area to coordinate the search efforts.
The inflatable boat puttered quietly along the shoreline. The beach was rocky and inaccessible. From the water it was difficult, if not impossible, to tell whether there might be a body on shore. One of the coastguard officers steered the boat towards a strip of land at the foot of the cliffs. The boat careened as it struck several big rocks on the approach to shore. They had to get out and wade the last few metres. Jacobsson was grateful that she’d had the good sense to wear wellington boots. The group consisted of five people: four beefy guys from the coastguard service, and Jacobsson. As they reached shore, the birds seemed to get alarmed and their shrieking grew even louder.
Out in the water the male birds had already started to gather. In a few hours the diving would begin. In spite of the situation, Jacobsson couldn’t help being fascinated by the birds. She raised her head and looked up. They were everywhere, and here and there she caught a glimpse of several fledglings. Birds were flying back and forth through the air, reminding her of Alfred Hitchcock’s classic horror film The Birds. Her stomach turned over at the thought that they might suddenly go on the attack.
She and the officers spread out to begin their search, with the angry protests of the birds continuing overhead. The whole time big auks and gulls glided along the slopes, hoping to catch a baby bird. They posed an ever-present threat.
After only a few minutes one of the men waved from the edge of the beach and everyone else hurried over to him. Jacobsson felt a rush of relief. It must mean that Sam was still alive.
But behind a boulder they found the windsurfer Jakob Ekström.
‘Thank God you came,’ he said.
‘How are you?’ asked Jacobsson, leaning down to take his pulse. The young man was suffering from hypothermia and exhaustion. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and his right leg was bent at a strange angle. It was probably broken.
‘He’s in much worse shape than me,’ muttered Ekström. ‘That other guy.’
‘What do you mean?’
He raised his hand to point at several boulders further away.
Jacobsson and two of the men ran off in that direction.
They stopped abruptly when they caught sight of Sam Dahlberg. Or what was left of him.
WITH GROWING SURPRISE Knutas had listened to Jacobsson’s report from Stora Karlsö when she called from the island ranger station. Knutas organized the efforts from police headquarters and did what he could to handle the press without saying too much. The police spokesperson, Lars Norrby, had gone home long ago. It was past 9 p.m. when Jacobsson rang to relay the news. Journalists are like vultures, Knutas thought. They’re hovering at the door before the police have even gathered all the information.
The dead man’s mangled body had been taken by police helicopter to the mortuary in Visby. The windsurfer Jakob Ekström ended up in the building right next door, in the emergency ward of Visby hospital. X-rays showed that his leg was broken, just as Jacobsson had assumed, and it needed to be put in a cast. Knutas had managed to get the attending physician, whom he’d actually known since primary school, to agree to allow the police to have a few words with Ekström that same evening. According to Jacobsson, when they found the young man on the beach, he’d reported that he’d witnessed a murder. But at the time he was in such bad shape that it had been hard to get too many details out of him.
A meeting of the investigative team was postponed until 11 p.m. Jacobsson and Wittberg were expected to be back by then.
Knutas cast a glance at his watch as he hurried to the hospital entrance. He had a little less than an hour.
Jakob Ekström was in a private room on the third floor.
Knutas grabbed a chair and brought it over to the bed.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Not so good. My leg hurts like hell. I broke it when I tried to go ashore.’
‘Can you tell me what happened? Start from the very beginning.’
Knutas took out his notebook and a ballpoint pen. He gave a nod of encouragement to Ekström, who grimaced with pain when he tried to sit up straighter.
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‘I went out early this morning. It was only nine or nine thirty. I’d been surfing for about an hour when I saw what happened … up there on the bird mountain.’ He fidgeted and looked away. ‘It was … it was horrible.’
‘I understand,’ said Knutas, patting his arm sympathetically. ‘Take your time. Just tell me as many details as you can. The smallest thing might be important.’
The young man reached for the glass of water on the table next to his bed. He took several sips. Then he looked out of the window for a moment before going on.
‘Well, first I saw two people way up there on top of the cliff.’
Knutas studied his face.
‘Try to remember exactly what you saw.’
‘They were standing at the very edge and quite close to each other. I was holding on to the boom and had to keep my eye on the waves because the wind had started to gust, and right about then it began to rain. I couldn’t have been watching those people up there for more than a few seconds when suddenly one of them took a couple of steps forward and gave the other person a big shove so that he was thrown off the cliff. It was terrible … He fell straight down. His body ricocheted off several rocks before it hit the ground. And the birds were flying in all directions.’
‘Are you positive that it was a deliberate push? Could it have been an accident? Or could he have jumped on purpose?’
‘I’m a hundred per cent sure. There’s no doubt in my mind. The other person ruthlessly pushed him over the edge.’
‘Could you tell that it was a man who fell?’
Ekström shuddered, as if to get rid of the image that appeared in his mind.
‘No, I couldn’t tell from so far away. But now I know that it was a man. The director, Sam Dahlberg. At the time I had no idea. I couldn’t tell whether the people on top of the slope were men or women.’
‘Could you make out any details? Their height? Body shape? Clothing? Did you notice anything else?’
Ekström slowly shook his head.
‘No. It all happened so fast.’
‘So when the person fell, what did you do then?’
‘I looked up at the top again, and I shouldn’t have done that. Because that’s when I rammed into a boulder and broke my leg.’ He grimaced again and looked at his right leg, which was elevated in a metal contraption attached to the bed.
‘What happened then?’
‘I guess I passed out for a while because all I remember is an awful bang and then everything went black. When I came to, I was lying in the water and my leg hurt like hell. My board was next to me. The mast had come off, but I managed to make my way to shore. It was touch and go. I had to fight like crazy out there. For a while I really didn’t think I was going to make it …’ His voice broke, and he stared blankly into space.
‘All right,’ said Knutas. ‘That’s enough for now. We can talk more in the morning.’
There was a knock on the door, and a nurse stuck her head in.
‘Your mother and father are here, Jakob.’
Knutas stood up.
‘Thank you. Your testimony is very important. Good luck with your leg. We’ll be in touch later on.’
Jakob Ekström nodded but didn’t say a word.
THAT EVENING A strained atmosphere reigned on board the extra ferry that had been brought in to take everyone back to Klintehamn. They had all been looking forward to this holiday with such anticipation, but now it had ended in tragedy. And the police had told them very little, refusing to say whether they thought Sam had died as the result of an accident or because of foul play. The coastguard vessel had taken Andrea back to Gotland where she was transported to Visby hospital. After she’d been asked to identify Sam on the beach, she had collapsed completely.
Håkan was sitting inside the ferry with Beata and John. Beata had been crying for hours, but now she seemed to have used up all her tears. John was silent and withdrawn. Håkan was nervously fidgeting with his mobile. He hadn’t been able to tell Stina about the terrible thing that had happened. There was still no connection. His mobile had been dead the entire time they were on Stora Karlsö. He’d been able to phone the children from the ranger station, but he hadn’t managed to reach Stina. They had sent text messages back and forth across the ocean as long as his mobile was functioning. But they kept missing each other, and there was never an opportunity to talk on the phone. And now he was getting no answer at all. He was terrified that she’d find out about Sam’s death from someone else. It won’t be long before the press reveals his identity, he thought.
As soon as Håkan disembarked in Klintehamn and his mobile had coverage, he tried again to get through to his wife, but without success. Frustrated, he tapped in the number for her boss. Luckily, he had her home phone number.
‘Elisabeth Ljungdahl.’
‘Hi, Elisabeth. This is Håkan Ek, Stina’s husband. I’m sorry to be phoning so late, but I really need to get hold of Stina.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Something terrible has happened, and I’m trying to reach her, but I can’t get through. She’s in Bangkok, and I’m wondering whether you have the number of her hotel or for one of her colleagues. It’s really urgent.’
‘Now you’re worrying me. Has something happened to you or the children?’
‘No, but a good friend of ours has died. Unfortunately.’
‘You said she’s in Bangkok? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, she was called in on short notice on Saturday and had to rush off. Apparently some sort of emergency.’
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Elisabeth spoke again, this time sounding hesitant.
‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’
‘Yes, of course I am. She left on Saturday night. We were out on Fårö, and she sent me a text message saying that she had to step in at the last minute for someone who was sick. She flew to Bangkok. I think the plane left Stockholm at five past eleven that night.’
‘Could I call you back? I need to check on something.’
‘Sure.’
He ended the call and then waited, his concern growing.
A few minutes later Elisabeth rang him back.
‘Håkan …’ she began, seeming at a loss for words. ‘There must be some sort of misunderstanding. Stina wasn’t called in and she didn’t fly to Bangkok. She’s expected back on the job tomorrow at five a.m. I don’t understand …’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Well, I’ve checked the schedule and talked to my colleagues, and it seems that …’
Her voice faded into nothingness. The words formed a jumble of incomprehensible syllables: echoes of a melody that he couldn’t be bothered to listen to. He stood there in bewilderment, holding the mobile pressed to his ear, and his mind was completely blank. The sound of Elisabeth’s nervous voice disappeared.
Without thinking, he flung his mobile as hard as he could into the water. Slowly he sank on to the asphalt. He tried to gather all the disparate thoughts as images raced before his eyes. Sam dead. Stina missing.
At the very back of his mind a warning began to sound, ringing monotonously, reverberating louder and louder.
KNUTAS GOT BACK to police headquarters just in time for the meeting of the investigative team. It’s been a while since we’ve all had occasion to gather, he thought as he took his customary place at the head of the table and looked at his colleagues.
Karin Jacobsson and Thomas Wittberg sat on one side of the table. Crime technician Erik Sohlman and Chief Prosecutor Birger Smittenberg were seated on the other side, along with the police spokesperson, Lars Norrby.
Knutas began by telling them about the events that had occurred on Stora Karlsö over the past twenty-four hours, which had subsequently led to the discovery of the dead man and the injured windsurfer.
‘So it’s almost certain that what we’re dealing with is the murder of Sam Dahlberg. And by the way, his body was identified this evening by his wife Andrea. In this case,
we have an unusual circumstance since there was an eyewitness to the murder: the windsurfer saw someone push Dahlberg off the cliff. I met with him at the hospital a short time ago, and he seems completely reliable.’
Knutas summarized what he’d learned from his interview with Jakob Ekström.
‘Good Lord,’ exclaimed Smittenberg. ‘You mean he actually saw it? The very second it happened? That’s amazing.’
‘Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to tell whether it was a woman or a man who pushed Dahlberg. Nor can he say anything about the person’s appearance, but that’s understandable. He was so far away, and it happened so fast. At any rate, he described watching the body bounce down the mountainside. Bloody awful.’ Knutas shook his head. ‘The preliminary post-mortem report will take a few days. The body will be transported to the pathology lab tomorrow, although we already know the cause of death. And what happened. The question is: Who could be so damned cold-blooded?’
‘Have you done any other interviews yet?’ asked Smittenberg.
‘So far we’ve only had time to speak briefly with a few people who work on the island and the group of friends that Sam Dahlberg was travelling with,’ said Jacobsson. ‘All of them will come in for official interviews tomorrow. Dahlberg was on the island with these friends, neighbours of his in Terra Nova – several couples who spend a lot of time together and usually take a trip every summer. They left on Friday and spent the first two days on Fårö before continuing on to Stora Karlsö.’
‘What have they said so far?’
‘Not much. They all gave more or less the same story about what happened. When they left Fårö everything was hunky-dory. Sam was his usual self, although maybe a bit more cheerful than normal. They arrived at Stora Karlsö on the nine-thirty ferry yesterday morning. During the day they took the sightseeing tour around the island, then went swimming and relaxed. All without incident. They were together the whole time. In the evening they helped catch baby birds until close to midnight. Then they sat on the dock at Hienviken near their cabins and drank wine until late – between two and three a.m.’
The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7) Page 10