The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

by Mari Jungstedt

  ‘OK. Then what?’ asked Smittenberg. ‘Who was the last to see Dahlberg?’

  Jacobsson looked down at her notes.

  ‘His wife said that she’s a very sound sleeper. When she woke up, Sam was gone. She assumed that he was somewhere outside, close by. A couple of their friends were out swimming, but he wasn’t with them. Since his painting gear was missing, she thought that he must have gone off to paint. She joined the others in the group for a late breakfast.’

  ‘Paint?’ asked Norrby in confusion.

  ‘Sam Dahlberg was quite a respected artist. Don’t you know that?’ said Jacobsson a bit snidely. She couldn’t stand Norrby, and the feeling was mutual. Their relationship had been strained ever since she was promoted a few years back – overtaking him to become Knutas’s deputy. ‘He’d had several exhibitions of his work, including one here in Visby,’ she went on. ‘He painted landscapes. Watercolours. That’s why it took a while before his wife started to worry. But when the storm moved in and he still hadn’t returned a few hours later, she and a friend went out to look for him.’ Jacobsson again glanced at her notes. ‘Beata Dunmar, married to an American named John Dunmar. She was the one who went along with Andrea, but they didn’t find him, of course. Though they did find his backpack up on the bird mountain. The same one where someone pushed him off.’

  ‘What time was that?’ asked Knutas.

  ‘It must have been about five p.m., because shortly after that they rang the police. The officer on duty took the call at five seventeen.’

  Knutas rubbed the tip of his nose.

  ‘OK. They found his belongings at five o’clock. According to the windsurfer, Jakob, he saw Sam Dahlberg get pushed off the cliff around ten or ten thirty in the morning. That’s just an estimate, because he wasn’t wearing a watch. When was Dahlberg last seen? And by whom? What did he do on Sunday morning? His wife said that she didn’t wake up in the night. Is she positive that he slept in their bed at all?’

  ‘Yes. At least that’s what I gathered when we talked to her,’ said Jacobsson. She cast a glance at Wittberg, who nodded agreement.

  ‘OK. That means we have no idea what Dahlberg was doing during the night or in the morning up until ten or eleven o’clock,’ Knutas concluded. He turned to crime tech Erik Sohlman. ‘What sort of evidence do we have?’

  ‘Not much,’ Sohlman admitted, ruffling his red hair, which looked even more dishevelled than usual. ‘But we still have several techs out there, working on site. The crime scene itself is very rocky, and it’s unlikely that we’ll find many traces. Plus that damn rainstorm swept in at just the wrong time and presumably erased any potential evidence. But we did find a few things.’

  He stood up and switched off the light. Then he clicked on a picture of Stora Karlsö that appeared on the screen at the front of the room.

  ‘Here’s the bird mountain,’ said Sohlman, pointing his ballpoint pen at the image. ‘This is the spot where the backpack was found on the slope, just below the crest. We found three cigarette butts there. Gold Blend. And guess who smoked that brand? I’ll give you three guesses.’

  ‘Sam Dahlberg,’ said Jacobsson.

  ‘Gold Blend?’ Wittberg frowned. ‘Does that brand still exist? I haven’t seen it for ages.’

  ‘Yes, it does. So we can assume that he was on the mountain and stayed for a while. Otherwise, we haven’t found a thing at the crime scene. Any footprints or other marks on the ground were washed away by the rain. Since it started to rain before the murder occurred, there weren’t many people out and about. Plus the bird mountain is off the beaten path. And the beach below can only be reached from the water – it’s completely cut off from any land access. Ideal for a murder, in other words. The body was in bad shape when we found it. The birds had been there, having a feast. Feel free not to look,’ Sohlman warned his colleagues, specifically looking at Jacobsson. ‘These photos require a strong stomach.’

  Pictures appeared on the screen, showing the victim from several different angles. The body was ripped to shreds and lay in an unnatural position. Parts of the skeleton jutted out, and several organs lay outside the body. The skull had been crushed. Only two dark holes remained where the eyes should have been. Silence descended on the room as everyone studied the horrible images.

  Knutas surreptitiously glanced at Jacobsson. She was prepared, since she’d seen the actual body, but her face had gone pale under her suntan, and she was partially shading her eyes with one hand. He motioned to Sohlman to stop.

  ‘I think we’ve seen enough for the moment. The perpetrator is most likely one of the visitors to the island or a staff member on Stora Karlsö. Unless the killer arrived by boat, that is. I can’t even venture a guess as to how many people were on the island at the time of the murder.’

  ‘Approximately one hundred,’ said Jacobsson. ‘We have the names, addresses, and phone numbers of the ones that we didn’t talk to personally. Tomorrow we have to start bringing people in.’

  ‘What the hell could the motive be?’ interjected Wittberg. ‘It doesn’t seem credible that it was an accident, does it?’

  ‘I assume that the killer is probably one of his friends from that group,’ said Norrby.

  ‘Maybe we should mention that one person who was with the others on Fårö left the group the day before yesterday,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Her name is Stina Ek, and she’s married to Håkan Ek, who was also with the group. She’s a flight attendant, and she was called in to work at the last minute.’

  ‘OK,’ said Norrby, looking from Jacobsson to Knutas. ‘So what do we know about Sam Dahlberg?’

  ‘Not very much. He was a film director, of course,’ replied Knutas. ‘As far as I know, he’s never been involved in any criminal activity or trouble.’

  ‘Wasn’t he once an item with that actress, the one who was so great?’ exclaimed Wittberg. ‘Damned cute too. What was her name? Miranda Mollberger?’

  ‘That was ages ago,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Back in the eighties.’

  ‘I remember her in that movie when she had her first big role. What was it called? Prima Vera – that’s it. She played Vera. My mates and I practically drooled over her. But she hasn’t been in any films since then, has she?’

  ‘Good Lord. Cut it out. We’re talking about Sam Dahlberg here,’ said Jacobsson with a sigh.

  ‘So he’s been married for a long time?’ asked Norrby.

  ‘Yes. And his wife claims that they had the world’s best relationship,’ said Jacobsson. ‘She says they’re still mad about each other after twenty years together and that everyone who meets them thinks they’re newly in love.’ She rolled her eyes before going on. ‘But Sam Dahlberg was clearly a real ladies’ man. That was obvious. Thick, wavy hair, sunglasses, his shirt unbuttoned, muscular arms, a charming smile that he fired off every fifteen minutes, and bedroom eyes. Sort of like you,’ she teased, looking at Wittberg.

  To his great embarrassment, he could feel himself blushing.

  ‘Oh, right. Well, if I’m part of this choice circle of friends, then who are you?’

  ‘Stina Ek. She had the good sense to leave for work before the whole circus got started.’

  ‘Yeah, that sounds just like you. Retreat to your job as soon as anything gets personal.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Knutas slapped his hands on the table. ‘It’s much too early to be throwing around a lot of disjointed speculations. And we have better things to do than sit here and listen to your sodding banter. Let’s get to work. We need to ask the chief ranger on the island, as well as the coastguard, what boats have been seen in the area over the past twenty-four hours. We also need to check with the ferry terminal at Klintehamn and anywhere else that people can buy tickets to Stora Karlsö. Karin and Thomas, I want you to find out the names of everyone who was on the island at the time in question. Get whatever help you need from the department. We also have to contact the National Criminal Police. Karin, could you ring Kihlgård? I’m sure he’ll be more amenable if you’re
the one who makes the call.’

  JOHAN WAS WARMING up some baby formula in a saucepan on the stove when he heard the news on the local radio station. A man had been found dead on the beach of Stora Karlsö. He had apparently fallen from a cliff and died at the scene. But it was the last part of the story that surprised Johan most: ‘The police are saying very little about the circumstances, but they are not ruling out that the man may have been the victim of a crime.’

  He jumped so hard that the hot formula splashed all over.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  As he stuck his burnt hand under the cold-water tap, the newsreader moved on to the weather forecast.

  Emma was always teasing Johan because he insisted on heating up the formula the old-fashioned way, in a pot on the stove. She thought he could just as well have used the microwave. Right now he could definitely see her point.

  He dashed into the living room and turned on the TV to see if the national news programme had anything to say about the story. Regional news didn’t have any morning broadcasts during the summer. He sat down on the sofa holding Anton in his arms. The baby greedily sucked on the bottle of formula, as usual. Both Rapport and Nyheterna on TV4 had a short piece, but neither offered any more details than what he’d already heard on the radio.

  It was a little past nine in the morning. There probably wasn’t anyone in the editorial office this early. When Anton fell asleep, Johan carefully laid him in his cot and then rang Pia on her mobile. He could hear at once by the excitement in her voice that she was in her element.

  ‘Hi! Things are crazy here,’ she told him, out of breath.

  It sounded as if she was outdoors, walking. Or rather, running.

  ‘I heard on the radio about the incident on Stora Karlsö. I just had to ring,’ he told her apologetically. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘You won’t believe it. The dead guy isn’t just anybody. It’s Sam Dahlberg.’

  ‘What? Are you sure? He’s the one who fell?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Although I wouldn’t exactly use the word “fell”.’

  ‘They said on the radio that the police suspect foul play.’

  ‘More than suspect. But you know what? I really don’t have time to talk right now. Maddie and I have to catch the ferry to Stora Karlsö. It’s the story of the year!’

  ‘Just a couple more minutes,’ Johan pleaded. ‘Can’t you tell me anything?’

  ‘Sam Dahlberg was murdered. Somebody pushed him off a cliff that’s about forty metres high. He must have died instantly.’

  ‘How can you be so sure that it was murder?’

  ‘Because there was an eyewitness,’ Pia told him triumphantly. ‘A windsurfer saw the whole thing. With his own eyes!’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ asked Johan, sounding sceptical.

  ‘I have a friend who works at the restaurant on Stora Karlsö. Her parents own the place. She told me that when the police found the body, there was a young guy out there who was injured. At the same spot on the beach, I mean. He’d been out windsurfing and saw everything. It’s incredible. There are a bunch of cops over there interviewing everybody. We’re on our way out there now. Everybody wants a report, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Do you need my help? Emma’s not home, but I could get a babysitter.’

  ‘No. Thanks, anyway. But that’s not necessary. Stockholm is sending over reinforcements, so we’ll be fine. We’re doing a live report. Sorry, but I can’t talk any more. Have to run. Bye.’

  Johan sat there for a long time, holding the mute mobile in his hand.

  THE TASK OF charting the last days of Sam Dahlberg’s life began at once. Everyone who was on Stora Karlsö during the relevant time period had to be interviewed. Jacobsson rang her old friend Martin Kihlgård at the NCP.

  ‘Hi there, Karin,’ he bellowed into the phone.

  After the usual opening remarks about life in general, he asked her what was on her mind.

  ‘Did you hear about the man who was found dead on Stora Karlsö?’ she asked.

  ‘You mean the director, Sam Dahlberg? Someone here at the office mentioned that he was found dead. What happened?’

  ‘According to an eyewitness, we’re talking about murder. A windsurfer saw with his own eyes how someone deliberately pushed Dahlberg off the cliff. But he was too far away to tell whether it was a man or a woman, much less identify the perpetrator.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘What are you doing? Are you eating something?’

  Her question was justified. She could hardly understand what her colleague in Stockholm was saying, since his mouth seemed to be full.

  ‘Sorry, but we’re up to our ears in work over here, so there’s no time to go out and grab some food. But you said it’s murder? Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, the witness seems very reliable.’

  ‘Good Lord. Do you have any suspects?’

  ‘Far from it, I’m afraid. To be perfectly honest, we don’t really know anything at this stage. But I was hoping to get some help from the NCP, especially with all of the interviews. But if you’re that busy, I assume we can’t expect any assistance from Stockholm.’

  ‘I always have time for you,’ Kihlgård protested between bites. ‘Why don’t you at least tell me what you need?’

  Jacobsson briefly ran through the situation.

  ‘I can hear that you’ve got a lot on your hands. But to be honest, I don’t know whether we can let anyone go just now. We’re dealing with those race-track murders right now.’

  ‘Right.’ Jacobsson knew all about the case of the unexplained murders of several harness-racing trainers that had taken place over the past few months and alarmed everyone involved in harness racing in Sweden. The latest had occurred only a week ago, and the police didn’t have much to go on.

  ‘But let me give it some thought. OK?’

  ‘Absolutely. Do that. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.’

  THE CALL CAME through just as Knutas stepped into his office in the morning. Stina Ek, who was also part of Sam Dahlberg’s circle of friends from Terra Nova, had gone missing. No one had seen her since she left on a bicycle ride on Fårö. Her husband, Håkan Ek, who had rung the police to report his wife as missing, had been summoned to headquarters for an interview. Several minutes later Knutas and Jacobsson entered the room together.

  Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room was a hollow-eyed and visibly nervous man in his fifties. Sweat was running down his forehead, and he kept on wiping it off with a handkerchief.

  The heat was oppressive, and there was no air conditioning. A pitcher of iced water stood on the table. Håkan Ek kept taking sips from his glass. He was squinting. Knutas switched on the tape recorder; then he leaned back and studied the man on the other side of the table.

  ‘When did you last hear from your wife?’

  ‘Yesterday morning. I got a text message from her.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘That it was damn hot and she was longing for home.’

  ‘This whole thing about her job definitely seems surprising. Can you tell us exactly what happened when you found out that she had to cut short her holiday and go back to work?’

  Håkan shook his head.

  ‘I can’t believe I was stupid enough to throw away my mobile.’

  Knutas blanched.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘My mobile. I got so mad when I realized that she’d been lying to me that I threw it in the water.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the harbour in Klintehamn, when we arrived by boat last night.’

  Knutas and Jacobsson exchanged glances.

  ‘I know it was idiotic. Everything was on it. The time when she sent the message, everything. But I saw red when I heard that she wasn’t expected at work after all. That none of it was true.’

  ‘Try to think back,’ Knutas admonished him, speaking in a gentler voice. Jacobsson sat in the background, studying Håkan Ek in silence.

  ‘OK. Let m
e see. Right. We were on Fårö, and Stina was on call, so we knew that she might have to go in to work at any time—’ As he said these words, he broke off. ‘What am I saying? Maybe she wasn’t on call. Or … I forgot to ask her. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe it was all a lie. Did she make up the whole story?’ He gave the two police officers a pleading look.

  ‘Let’s move on for a moment,’ said Knutas. ‘Just tell us your version of what happened, what your response was, based on the information you had at the time.’

  Håkan moved restlessly on his chair, nervously picking at a scab on his hand. He took several more gulps of water. His gaze swept over the cold white walls – there was nothing on which to fix his eyes. Nothing that might interrupt the conversation. He stopped picking at his hand and seemed to gather his thoughts.

  ‘We left on Friday and got there in time for the opening ceremonies of the Bergman festival, which were held at Fårö church. It was a really splendid event, with a lot of people and plenty of celebrities among the guests. Afterwards a film was shown, and then there was a rock concert at Kuten. We had a great time. I think everybody would agree with that.’

  ‘And how did Stina seem?’

  ‘In a good mood, I think. She hasn’t been that happy and relaxed in a long time. I think both Stina and I were glad to get away from home and have some time off, without any kids or obligations.’

  ‘Why’s that? Was there any special reason why you needed to get away?’

  ‘Not really. But this spring has been hard for both of us. Stina has had to do a lot of overtime. There always seems to be a shortage of staff at the airline. And I’ve had a lot on my plate too. For one thing, my daughter from a previous marriage has been having problems. I’ve been running back and forth between Stockholm and Gotland.’

  ‘OK. So you and your wife have been busy lately. How has that affected your relationship?’

  ‘Hmm … I suppose it’s been sort of a stalemate lately. We haven’t had any fights, but not much contact either. Not like usual.’