‘Any other problems in your marriage?’
‘I don’t think you could say that. Although Stina is not an easy person to live with. It doesn’t take much for her to feel off balance.’
‘Let’s go back to Fårö and what happened there. Try to remember everything you can. The slightest detail could be important. When was the last time you saw Stina?’
‘On Saturday when we took a bus tour, following in Bergman’s footsteps. The tour ended with lunch at Lauters restaurant, and later we were supposed to go swimming, but Stina didn’t want to come along. Instead she decided to go for a bike ride.’
‘And that was the last time you saw her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did she say where she was going?’
‘No, she just wanted to ride around the island.’
‘Did you see which direction she headed?’
‘Only that she turned left up on the main road.’
‘Left? From where?’
‘We were staying in one of the cabins down by the sea, so she was heading back towards Fårö church and the ferry dock.’
‘Could she have left the island at that time?’
A shadow passed over Håkan Ek’s face. Apparently that thought hadn’t occurred to him.
‘Left the island? Why would she do that? We were on holiday.’
‘Maybe she didn’t leave voluntarily.’
‘You mean she was abducted?’ he said, sounding angry. ‘Kidnapped?’
‘We can’t rule out anything at this point,’ said Knutas. ‘We need to keep all avenues open.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ Håkan objected. ‘I got a phone call and text messages from her.’
‘When was this?’
‘Several times during the evening. First around five o’clock, when she rang to say that she would be late because she’d run into an old schoolfriend and they were having a glass of wine at Kuten. I was supposed to save her a seat.’
‘I see,’ said Knutas with a new spark of interest in his eyes. ‘Did she tell you who this person was?’
‘No, actually she didn’t. But she referred to this schoolfriend as “he”, so it had to be a man.’
‘How did she sound?’
‘The same as usual. Cheerful.’
‘OK. What happened next?’
‘I had to switch off my mobile during the film. First there was a discussion with some of the actors, and then the movie lasted over three hours.’
‘So during what time was your mobile switched off?’
‘Between about seven and eleven o’clock, I think. I turned it on as soon as we came out of the cinema, and I saw that there was a new message. Something about the fact that she’d been called in to work and had to leave immediately for Arlanda. So she took a taxi to the airport and managed to catch the last plane to Stockholm. From there she was going to Bangkok on a flight that left at eleven, so she couldn’t get in touch with me until she landed in Bangkok.’
‘And you didn’t think any of this was odd?’
‘No. It’s not unusual for her to have to go to work when she’s on call. We knew that it might happen. And it wasn’t strange that she’d have to catch a long-distance flight, either. She’s always taking those kinds of flights – to Bangkok, New York, Tokyo, and places like that.’
‘What about this male childhood friend that she met?’
‘In hindsight it does seem like a strange coincidence, that he would turn up at the very moment that she disappeared. But at the time I didn’t react. The Bergman festival is the kind of event that attracts people from all over. Several of us have run into people that we haven’t seen in a long time. For example, I know that Andrea also met an old classmate.’
‘Also a man?’
‘No, it was a woman, actually. Whatever that has to do with things.’
‘Presumably nothing. But I can’t help wondering about this man. Did Stina say anything else about him?’
‘No. I was standing in the middle of the crowd before the film started. There were so many people around me that we just talked very briefly.’
‘Do you remember reacting to anything when you read her text message? Anything about the wording, I mean. How she expressed herself?’
Håkan looked pensive.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
Knutas leaned forward and fixed his eyes on the man, who seemed to have shrunk more and more as the conversation progressed.
‘Could you try to recall the text messages that you got? What did the messages say, and when did you receive them?’
Silence filled the room. Håkan wrung his hands as he stared mutely at the floor.
‘I don’t really know. They were short. Nothing special. I don’t understand any of this. None of it makes any sense.’
THE NEXT DAY Knutas arrived at work even earlier than usual. It wasn’t even seven o’clock when he stepped through the door of police headquarters and said hello to the duty officer. He wanted to have an hour to himself in order to gather his thoughts and go over everything they’d done in the investigation so far. He couldn’t really think at home; he needed the quiet of his office.
He opened the window and sank down on his old, worn desk chair, setting a cup of coffee in front of him. He pulled out the top desk drawer, got out his pipe, and then carefully filled it as he gazed out of the window. Even though it was early in the morning, people were walking or cycling past on the street. Cars with baggage tied to the roof also drove by, presumably headed for the ferry.
It was the height of the tourist season. The economic crisis of recent months meant that many more Swedes had decided to be tourists in their own country. The tourist bureau predicted that the number of visitors, which was normally between two and three hundred thousand during the summer, would increase by another hundred thousand, as far as Gotland was concerned. Those were enormous numbers, considering that the permanent residents barely totalled sixty thousand.
The flood of tourists also made the crime statistics rise. The question was whether the murder that had been committed on Stora Karlsö had anything to do with summer tourism. It was certainly possible, even though most of the tourists who visited Stora Karlsö were middle-aged people interested in nature, and they neither littered nor started brawls. The police had interviewed the chief ranger, as well as the other employees, but no one had noticed anything out of the ordinary about any of the visitors who were on the island during the relevant time period. No incidents. No jealous fights. Not the slightest hint of any discord. On the surface, everything had appeared calm and harmonious.
The police had their hands full trying to track down all the visitors, but they hadn’t yet located everyone. Then there was the matter of the people who had come to the island just for the day – those who arrived on the morning ferry and went home in the afternoon. Their names were not registered anywhere.
Another possibility was that the murderer had spent the night in a tent or maybe under open skies. The summer heat meant that it was quite pleasant to sleep outdoors at night. Maybe Sam Dahlberg had acquired some enemies over the years; he was a relatively controversial director.
Knutas recalled one of his films from a few years back that contained explicit sexual scenes that dealt with issues of religion and prejudice against homosexuals. It had aroused strong reactions all over the country, especially among the nonconformist religious circles. Particularly because one of Sweden’s most famous Pentecostal pastors was portrayed as a perverted fascist in the film. No name was ever mentioned, but no one who saw the movie could have had any doubts as to who the character was intended to be.
One theory was that someone had taken their own boat to Stora Karlsö, killed Dahlberg, and then escaped unnoticed.
Knutas went over to the window with his unlit pipe between his lips and looked out over the ring wall which surrounded the town. If someone had deliberately wanted to kill Dahlberg in cold blood, why go to so much trouble? Why follow him out to Stora Karlsö?
Unless the murder was committed by a member of the group that was spending the holiday together. How reliable was the information that his wife Andrea had given the police? Could the perpetrator be one of the neighbours? Who knows what might be hidden under the friendly surface? thought Knutas. A person’s best friend, somebody that he thought he knew inside and out, could turn out to be someone else entirely. That was something he’d learned from bitter personal experience. Leif Almlöv had been dead and buried for a long time now, but that didn’t stop Knutas from thinking about him – almost every day. And where the hell was Stina Ek? Did she have something to do with the murder? Had she pushed Dahlberg off the cliff and then bolted? The question was what her motive could be. According to everyone else in the group, she and Sam got along well and had never had any quarrels. The police needed to dig deeper into this group. Find out everything about their lives, their habits, their pasts.
He was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Karin Jacobsson stuck her head in.
‘Hey, we’ve got something. Stina Ek’s handbag was found in a ditch on Fårö.’
THEY TOOK KNUTAS’S old Mercedes so as not to attract too much attention and drove to Fårösund.
‘The bag was discovered a few hours ago by a man taking a walk along the road between north and south Sudersand,’ said Jacobsson. ‘There’s a tractor path that goes out to several summer cottages, almost right across from the pizzeria – you know, the place that has such good pizzas, baked in a wood oven. What’s it called? Oh, right. Carlssons.’
‘I know exactly the place you mean,’ said Knutas. ‘We spent a lot of time up there after the murder of … you know.’
‘Peter Bovide.’
Knutas gave Jacobsson a quick glance. It was Bovide’s killer who was still on the loose along with her husband somewhere in the world.
‘That’s one case we’re never going to forget.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ said Jacobsson tonelessly.
They continued on in silence. At Fårösund they encountered a winding queue of cars long before they reached the ferry dock. People were patiently waiting in the heat, hoping to get on board. Knutas looked at his watch. It was nine fifty-five.
They drove past the entire queue and stopped at the front of the line for Fårö. A short while later the ferry pulled up to the dock, and in five minutes they were on the other side. The change in the natural setting was instantly noticeable. More stone fences, more sheep, and more windmills. A more barren landscape. Here the dwarf pines were even more bent, and the coastline was closer. The shores were covered with stones, areas of raukar, and scattered expanses of sandy beach – all of which was reminiscent of islands in the South Pacific. So far the island was free of any big hotel complexes, and most of it was relatively unexploited. No wonder that so many people took refuge there.
The most developed area was the one they were on their way to see: Sudersand, which had cabins, campsites and restaurants near the long sandy shore. It was full of hustle and bustle. Families with small children headed to the beach, loaded down with picnic baskets, beach games and towels. There were large groups of teenagers on bicycles, and tourists as far as the eye could see. Knutas parked near the Carlsson pizzeria, where every outdoor table under the trees was fully occupied.
The path where the handbag had been found led through the area over to the main road. Police tape was now keeping out the public. Even though there was no proof that Stina Ek had met with foul play, it was not a good sign that her bag had been found. At the same time, it was possible that she was the killer. In either case, the discovery of her handbag represented important evidence in the ongoing homicide investigation.
The ditch was on the side of the road and barely visible through the bushes and thickets. An excellent place to hide something, especially if someone was in a hurry, thought Knutas as they walked towards the site. The ditch was hidden by the thick vegetation, consisting of various types of reeds, shrubs and brush. The man who found the handbag had rather sheepishly admitted to the police that he’d gone over to have a pee and then caught sight of something shiny in the grass. Thinking that it might be something valuable, he had dug out the handbag, which lay underneath a lot of leaves and grass. Inside he found a purse containing cash and ID, along with the usual things that most women kept in their bags: tissues, lipstick, a pocket mirror, keys, a small hairbrush and a pocket diary. Erik Sohlman had confirmed that the ID belonged to Stina Ek.
Four days had passed since anyone had seen her.
Knutas squatted down and stared at the ditch.
‘So what the hell do you think?’
‘There are lots of possibilities,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Stina might have fallen victim to the murderer, and if so, it seems reasonable to assume that it was the same perpetrator who killed Sam. Or she could be the one behind everything, and she got rid of her bag to try and throw us off the track.’
‘OK, but let’s consider the second option. Would she have left behind her cash, ID and keys, both to her house and car?’
‘No, you’re right. That doesn’t seem likely. The question is: What happened to her bicycle? I wonder if that part was a lie too.’
‘If so, she would have had to get a cab. They left their car at home because they got a lift with Sam and Andrea.’
‘Has anyone contacted the cab company?’
‘I haven’t, at any rate,’ said Jacobsson grimly. And she got out her mobile.
It turned out that no taxi had picked up a customer on Fårö during that specific time period. And no one by the name of Stina Ek had checked in for a flight from the Visby airport.
‘It’s damn unlucky that we don’t have Håkan Ek’s mobile,’ grumbled Knutas.
‘But we can still find out a lot about his calls and texts from the mobile service,’ said Jacobsson.
‘Of course we can find out who sent a text message, and who it was sent to and at what time, but we can’t find out what the texts said. It’s strange that all of Stina’s valuables were still in her bag, except for her mobile.’
‘All of these facts are based on Håkan Ek’s testimony. Who’s to say that any of it is true? For instance, did Stina really tell him that she had to work? Håkan is the only one who can confirm that; nobody else received a text. Wouldn’t she have texted her children, or her best friend, Andrea?’
‘And Håkan Ek threw his mobile into the sea,’ muttered Knutas. ‘I think we need to have another talk with him.’
They got in the car and drove over to the Slow Train Inn, where the group of friends had stayed.
Jacobsson pulled into the small car park outside the garden. Everything seemed calm and peaceful. There was no one in sight.
They went up on to the porch and knocked on the front door. When no one came, they went in. They could hear music from a radio coming from the kitchen, and a pale woman with beautiful long hair appeared at once in the doorway. She spoke with a strong French accent when she asked: ‘Can I help you with something?’
Knutas introduced himself and his colleague and then explained the reason for their visit.
‘You had a group of people staying here for a couple of nights over the weekend. I’m sure that you’ve heard that one of them, Sam Dahlberg, was found dead on Stora Karlsö.’
The woman nodded.
‘It turns out now that another person from the group is missing. A woman with Asian roots. Stina Ek. Do you remember her?’
‘Yes. She was staying with her husband in one of the cabins down by the water. She was very nice.’
‘Well, she has been missing for several days now. In fact, she hasn’t been seen since Saturday afternoon here on Fårö when she set off for a bike ride from the inn.’
‘Is that right? Would you mind if we sat down?’
‘Not at all.’
They followed her into the dining room, where they sat down at a long table.
‘Did you notice anything special about these guests? Or about Stina Ek,
for that matter?’
‘No, they were all so happy and nice. They talked a lot and they got pretty loud. But they were very pleasant.’
‘And nothing special happened while they were here?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘When did you last see Stina Ek?’
The woman paused to think.
‘It must have been when they ate breakfast here. On Saturday morning.’
‘And everything seemed perfectly normal?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t see her again after that?’
‘No.’
‘Has anyone stayed in the cabin after she and her husband left?’
‘Yes. This is our busy season, so we’re fully booked. We have guests staying there right now.’
‘Could we have a look at the place?’
‘Of course. I’ll take you there.’
They followed the woman, who gracefully led the way across the road and down to the water on the other side. She seems almost unreal, thought Knutas. Like some sort of ethereal being.
The cabin was locked when they arrived. The owner knocked several times, but no one answered. She turned to Knutas.
‘They’re probably down at the beach. But I’ll let you in.’
She unlocked the door and they peered inside. It was a small, charming space with a bed and a dining table. Clothes and other belongings were strewn everywhere.
‘Have other people stayed here since then?’ asked Jacobsson.
‘Yes, a couple of other people before these guests.’
‘If there was any evidence, it’s gone by now,’ sighed Knutas. ‘But thanks anyway.’
He handed the woman his card.
‘Phone me if you happen to think of anything at all that might be important.’
‘Of course.’
They walked back to the car. When Knutas turned around at the road, the Frenchwoman was still standing near the cabin. She had turned to gaze out at the sea.
HE HAD BEEN sitting among the trees at a safe distance, studying her for quite a while now. He could see her clearly through the big picture window of the house. He had never grasped why people would choose to have that much glass, reaching all the way down to the floor. They must be exhibitionists, harbouring a secret longing to be observed, seen. He’d never had such a need. He liked to melt into the crowd, to become erased and merge with all the others. He’d never understood people who wanted to stand out. On the other hand, it allowed him to admire them in secret with a combination of horror and delight. Like her. She had been like that. She loved having others look at her, admire her. And they did. She was just as alive inside of him now as she had been back then. Even though they’d managed to enjoy each other only a few times, her scent still lingered in his nostrils, her voice echoed in his head, and her lips still burned against his. Time could not wash away those memories. They were etched into him for all eternity. For him there had been nobody after her. Of course he’d met others; he’d had superficial relationships, but only for sex. He used to amuse himself by comparing all the others to her. The length of their hair, their fingers, nails, shoulders and collarbone. No one had a collarbone to match hers. As if created by God Himself. He recalled how he would run his fingertips along it, lightly, so lightly. Infinitely gentle. He could bring goose bumps to her skin. He felt sick at the thought of someone else touching her. Couldn’t bring himself to picture it.
The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7) Page 12