The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

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The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7) Page 13

by Mari Jungstedt


  Then had come the death blow. One day she suddenly told him that he had to stop contacting her. Cold as ice, she cut the bond between them. Betrayed, that was how he felt. Betrayed. And he wasn’t going to take it any longer. He had lived with his loneliness. Carried his longing like a throbbing abscess in his chest.

  But at last he’d been given a sign. And it kept getting clearer. Soon it would be his turn. Again.

  SEVERAL DAYS HAD now passed since Sam Dahlberg’s body was found on Stora Karlsö, and the police still had no lead on a possible suspect. The tech team had meticulously examined the cabin that the Dahlbergs had rented. Everyone in the group from Terra Nova had been interviewed again, and the police were now in the process of checking on their backgrounds. So far nothing out of the ordinary had surfaced. Nothing in their pasts had produced any leads that might help solve the case.

  Håkan Ek was the one who seemed the least emotionally stable, but that wasn’t really so strange. It was only natural for him to be worried about his wife, who still hadn’t returned. He’d been grilled several times by Knutas and Jacobsson, without result. Like a mantra, he just kept repeating what he’d told them before, over and over again. Finally they were forced to give up and let him go. It turned out that he’d been married twice before and had a child with each ex-wife. Knutas couldn’t figure the man out. He was evasive and difficult to pin down.

  It had been a huge undertaking to interview all the tourists who were on the island at the time the murder was committed. The local police had been assisted by two officers from the NCP, but Kihlgård had not yet found time to come over to Gotland himself. Not a single person who had been interviewed provided any information of value. Nobody had noticed anything suspicious. The homes of both couples in Terra Nova had been searched, and their neighbours, relatives and work colleagues had all been questioned. No one was able to give the police any leads.

  Knutas, Jacobsson and Wittberg were sitting dejectedly in Knutas’s office on Thursday morning, trying to come up with a new angle.

  ‘What if we focus solely on the murder of Dahlberg for a moment, and consider exactly what happened,’ suggested Jacobsson. ‘The fact that he was pushed off a cliff on Stora Karlsö. What does that indicate? What does it say about the perpetrator?’

  ‘First and foremost, it seems likely that they knew each other, or at least had been talking to each other before it happened,’ Knutas said.

  ‘And presumably it was not premeditated,’ interjected Wittberg. ‘If someone was planning a murder, would they really choose a place like that? First of all, somebody might have seen them at the site, or as they walked there. It’s really unfortunate that no one did, especially considering the fact that there were so many tourists on the island at the time.’

  ‘But it’s a fairly easy way of killing someone, don’t you think?’ replied Jacobsson. ‘No weapon is required, and there wouldn’t be any evidence left behind. And at such an inaccessible spot, the risk of being seen would be extremely small.’

  ‘So how likely does it seem that the killer was someone he didn’t know?’ asked Knutas. ‘Do you think he got into an argument with a stranger, who happened to have a murderous bent and who got so worked up that he threw Sam off the cliff?’

  ‘Not really. So the only option left is that it was someone he knew,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Could the killer be a woman?’

  ‘Yes. I have no doubt about that,’ said Wittberg. ‘Especially if he didn’t have any warning. Maybe he’d turned his back.’

  ‘What about his wife, Andrea? Could someone as small as Stina Ek have done it? Or someone else in that circle of friends?’

  ‘Håkan doesn’t have an alibi, since he was sleeping alone,’ said Knutas. ‘And Andrea was too, actually. While Stina wasn’t even there.’

  ‘Maybe she has a specific reason for staying away. Or else she may have fallen and her dead body is lying out there somewhere,’ Wittberg speculated.

  ‘OK. We really have no idea about that. But what about the motive? Who had a reason for wanting Sam Dahlberg dead?’

  For a moment none of them said a word. Finally Jacobsson spoke.

  ‘Maybe we’re on the wrong track. We’re locked into the idea that it had to be someone in the group. What if the site itself is the reason for the murder – the fact that they were on Stora Karlsö? Had Sam ever been there before? Did he have a connection to any of the employees? Or has he ever worked there in the past? Have we checked on that?’

  Knutas shook his head.

  ‘Not as far as I know. Could you follow up on that?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jacobsson. ‘But it’s only a suggestion. It seems so strange that Stina has disappeared. What exactly do we know about her?’

  ‘Not much. She was adopted from Vietnam, and she’s generally well liked. A close friend of both Andrea and Sam. Her parents weren’t able to tell us much. Her colleagues couldn’t either. She’s always been conscientious, both at home and on the job. Apparently she has never drawn attention to herself. Everyone describes her as pleasant and nice, but somewhat reserved. A bit hard to get to know.’

  ‘I still think that the group of friends holds the answer to this case,’ said Wittberg. ‘One thing that has struck me with this whole investigation is that those people from Terra Nova seem to have a slightly unhealthy sort of friendship. I mean, good Lord, they do everything together. They live only a few metres from each other, the kids are in the same classes, they work out together, they have all their celebrations together, they help each other repair their houses and cars. They do their Christmas baking together, spend Midsummer with each other, and hold their annual crayfish parties and New Year’s Eve celebrations together. Some of them have summer cabins in the same area near Sudret. It’s unbelievable. They can’t even take holidays on their own! The ones who like to ski go to the mountains every year; the women take “girl holidays” together, and some of them even get together to do major grocery shopping. Can you imagine that? Every week they make lists and then take turns driving to the ICA Supermarket to shop. It almost seems like some sort of cult. It wouldn’t surprise me if they even fucked together!’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with helping each other out and offering support,’ Jacobsson objected. ‘It seems only natural, especially since they have children the same age.’

  ‘But shopping for groceries together? And spending holidays together? Doesn’t that seem a bit extreme? For me it sounds like a real Knutby situation, the way they’ve put up such a united front. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out that one of them is the killer. Somebody who wanted Sam out of the way.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I have no idea. Maybe someone has been getting it on with Andrea.’

  ‘So according to your theory, his wife, Andrea, made friends with someone and it went so far that she and her lover decided to get rid of Sam?’ said Knutas. ‘Why not just get a divorce if that was the case?’

  A brief silence ensued. Then there was a knock on the door. Erik Sohlman stuck his head in.

  ‘They’ve found a sleeping bag and some other things hidden in a grove of trees on Stora Karlsö. It seems that our killer spent the night there.’

  JOHAN BERG WAS filled with anticipation as he pulled up outside the Swedish Radio and TV building in Visby and parked his car. It was going to be great to have some adult conversation for a change, talking shop with his colleagues and hearing the latest scuttlebutt from TV headquarters in Stockholm. He’d missed the annual summer party, which was always a huge bash, with alcohol flowing in rivers. And once in a while some of the party-goers would really let loose. It would be fun to hear who had gone home together at the end of the evening.

  As he approached the front door, he really felt how much he had missed his job. He said hello to a few of his radio colleagues who were standing outside, having a smoke in the sunshine. Then he bounded up the stairs to the editorial office. He had made arrangements with Pia and Madeleine, his replace
ment, to drop by and have a cup of coffee, since he was in town anyway. He’d stopped at the pastry shop on Norrgatt on the way in and bought a coffee cake.

  Both women were on the phone when he came in. He could tell at once that something had happened. Madeleine quickly ended her call and jumped to her feet when she caught sight of Johan in the doorway.

  ‘Hi. It’s so great to see you.’ She gave him a big, warm hug, which made him happy. He’d always had a soft spot for Madeleine. She was dark-haired and petite, radiating a charisma that could make even a horse feel weak at the knees.

  ‘Looks like you’ve put on a little weight, haven’t you?’ She pinched his stomach affectionately.

  ‘That’s life with little kids, you know.’ He laughed. ‘Everything revolves around eating and sleeping.’ He flopped down on to his favourite chair. ‘It’s so good to see both of you. So what’s happening?’

  ‘We’ll get to that in a moment,’ said Madeleine, indicating Pia, who was sitting with her back to them and seemed deeply engrossed in her phone conversation. She looked at Johan with amusement. ‘So what about you? Are you enjoying being a home-body?’

  ‘It’s fantastic, glorious, just amazing,’ he said emphatically. ‘I love it. I couldn’t ask for anything better. I can’t even describe how wonderful it is to be a father.’

  ‘And how’s the baby? What’s the little one’s name? Is it a boy or a girl?’

  ‘A boy. Anton. He’ll be seven months soon.’

  ‘Ah. How sweet.’

  Pia put down the phone and turned towards Johan.

  ‘Did you know that somebody has gone missing from the group that Sam Dahlberg belonged to?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Some friends went on holiday together – first to the Bergman festival on Fårö, and then on to Stora Karlsö. All of them live in Terra Nova, and it seems to be a really tight crowd. Just before you arrived, I talked to one of my brother’s friends who works on the Fårö ferry. He told me that the police have made several trips over there this week, and yesterday they went up to Kuten and the inn where the whole group of friends had stayed, the Slow Train. They were asking about Stina Ek, who was also part of the gang. And now she’s gone missing.’

  ‘Missing?’ Johan foolishly repeated, but at the same time he felt the familiar churning inside his stomach.

  ‘Apparently she disappeared on Fårö. On Saturday afternoon. She took off on a bicycle, and nobody has seen her since.’

  ‘Oh shit. What if she was murdered too?’

  ‘Or maybe she’s actually the killer,’ Madeleine interjected. ‘You never know.’

  ‘So what are you doing now?’

  Pia glanced at her watch.

  ‘It’s eleven ten. If we leave now, we can catch the twelve o’clock ferry.’ She began gathering up her equipment.

  ‘Have you got an interview lined up?’

  ‘Yup. The guy who owns Kuten is willing to talk to us, and there won’t be any problem finding someone to interview on the ferry. Then we’ll talk to folks at the scene, of course. You know how it’s done.’ She smiled broadly. Pia was a wizard at getting people to open up, and she knew it.

  ‘What about the police?’

  ‘We’ll catch them later. On the way back.’

  ‘Can I help with anything? I could stay here and hold the fort. Emma is home with the kids, so it’s no problem. Or do we have any extra cameras here? If so, I could go over to police headquarters and do an interview. I can stay and edit it too, so all you’ll have to do is insert it in the story later on.’

  While he was talking, Madeleine and Pia had finished packing up their gear, and now they were headed for the door.

  ‘Thanks for the offer,’ said Pia, ‘but isn’t that overdoing it a little? We’ll manage on our own. Gotta go now. See you later!’

  And before he could say another word, they were gone.

  The fresh cinnamon coffee cake was still in the bag on the table.

  THE CHIEF RANGER, who had discovered the items in the woods, had been sensible enough not to touch them, and instead waited for the police to arrive. He had asked one of his colleagues to stop anyone from approaching the site. When Knutas and Jacobsson, accompanied by Thomas Wittberg, disembarked from the boat at Stora Karlsö, the chief ranger was waiting for them on the dock. They went at once to the discovery site, which was a little less than a kilometre from the lighthouse, but in an area that was off-limits during the summer. For that reason, it was a good place for someone to spend the night undisturbed.

  ‘We can’t possibly keep track of everyone who comes over here on the day boats,’ the chief ranger told them as they made their way through the brush-covered terrain. ‘A lot of people pay cash for a ticket at the ferry terminal in Klintehamn. They come over to spend a few hours here and then go back home. It’s impossible to know when people arrive or depart. There are also those who spend the night, and we have a little more contact with them, or at least some of them. But not everyone, by any means. Ten thousand people come through here in the summertime, so I can’t remember all of them.’

  ‘When did you discover these things?’ asked Knutas, who was panting in the heat. He noticed to his dismay that he wasn’t in as good physical condition as he used to be. He’d been lazy about working out lately.

  ‘I was out taking a morning walk and thought I’d go over to the most distant bird mountain to try and find out how many baby birds still haven’t left. So I took a short cut through that area; it takes half the time, compared to following the road. The first thing I saw was something pink fluttering from a bush. That’s what made me go down into the clearing. I never would have done it otherwise. I don’t like to disturb the wildlife here unless it’s really necessary.’

  Knutas raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Something pink?’

  ‘Yes. It turned out to be a hair ribbon. The old-fashioned kind that little girls used to wear when I was at school. Very wide and sort of silky. You’ll see for yourselves. I left it where it was. I didn’t touch anything,’ he added with a trace of pride in his voice.

  Smart dude, thought Jacobsson crossly. You’ve probably watched crime shows on TV, even though you don’t seem like the type. She was already annoyed by the chief ranger’s pedantic attitude. He was close to her own age, but he acted like an old man.

  They turned off on to a smaller path that headed down towards the sea. The ground was dry and covered with stones. They had to hunch over so as not to run into the dense network of tree branches. Soon a clearing opened before them, with soft grass surrounded by protective thickets. A perfect hiding place.

  The next moment they caught sight of the ribbon. It was hanging on a thorny bush. Jacobsson gave a start. She’d seen photos of the missing Stina Ek, and she recalled seeing the woman wearing a similar ribbon in her hair.

  ‘There it is,’ said the chief ranger, pointing.

  Silently they all stopped next to the bush to study the ribbon. It looked out of place in this remote natural setting. And somehow ominous. Are we going to find her now? Jacobsson asked herself. Is she dead or alive?

  The chief ranger continued on through the trees.

  ‘Look over there. In that crevice.’

  And there it was: a light blue sleeping bag. Jacobsson felt her mouth go dry. This could very well be the murderer’s hiding place. Instinctively she glanced around, as if the perpetrator might be lurking in the thickets. But all she saw was a water bottle lying in the grass. Knutas ordered everyone back.

  ‘Not another step closer. We need to cordon off the area.’

  Wittberg immediately began putting up police tape.

  Everyone felt a spark of hope. Finally they had a lead.

  But what does that pink ribbon mean? thought Jacobsson. Then the same question that had been bugging her lately popped up again. Stina Ek: was she a victim or the perpetrator?

  She turned around and let her gaze sweep over the scene. It was a perfect hiding place, well p
rotected from the wind and any prying eyes.

  ‘If these things belong to the killer, why didn’t he take them with him? He should have been terrified about leaving any evidence behind.’

  ‘Maybe something unexpected happened. If the murder was not premeditated, it’s not so strange that he would be panic-stricken and decide to leave in a hurry. But where the hell did that ribbon come from?’

  Knutas leaned forward to study the gleaming strip of fabric. ‘Very strange. Almost as if it were a signal, asking to be noticed.’

  ‘Or else it got caught there by mistake,’ said Jacobsson. ‘I mean if the murderer is a woman who wore a ribbon in her hair. Or maybe Stina was here, along with the killer.’

 

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