Mari Jungstedt - The Dead Of Summer

‘Really?’

‘Yes, unless the perp was up on a ladder when he fired the gun, but that’s not very likely. When Bovide took the shots to the abdomen, he was lying down. So Sohlman’s theory about the sequence of events was correct. First he was shot in the forehead, then he fell to the ground and finally the rest of the rounds were fired into his torso.’

Kihlgård looked thoughtful.

‘But that’s a little odd, don’t you think? Why would he be sitting down? He was out running, right?’

‘Maybe they started to talk and sat down on the beach. How would I know?’ Jacobsson shrugged. ‘I have a hard time imagining that he was killed by accident. Maybe they’d even made arrangements to meet.’

Their food arrived, and for a while they ate in silence.

‘It certainly doesn’t sound like it was a madman who killed somebody at random,’ said Kihlgård pensively.

‘But do you really think it was someone who was staying at the campsite?’ asked Jacobsson, sounding doubtful. ‘Wouldn’t it be a little crazy to murder someone staying at the same campsite? Surely the killer must have realized that he would be interviewed and thoroughly scrutinized.’

‘Sure, but if the murder wasn’t premeditated or if it was the result of a fit of rage, then it’s possible. Although it could also be somebody from that cottage community nearby. That’s actually closer to the crime scene than the campsite. Or else it’s someone from outside.’

‘Right,’ said Jacobsson. She was chewing absentmindedly on the same slice of capricciosa pizza, taking tiny bites of it. Kihlgård had already finished most of his calzone.

‘But I still think we have to assume that the murder was planned and carried out with a specific purpose in mind. The fact that the victim thought he was being shadowed, plus the anonymous phone calls, are important pieces of the puzzle,’ said Kihlgård.

Jacobsson opened her mouth to say something, but her colleague waved his hand dismissively.

‘OK, OK, I know that he was regarded as slightly depressed and vulnerable psychologically. But that doesn’t rule out the possibility that somebody might have been tailing him, does it? So we need to ask ourselves: who was Peter Bovide? What was he spending his time on? What sort of people did he meet? How did he live?’

‘Those covert threats, or whatever they were, might have had something to do with payments made under the table,’ said Jacobsson. ‘I mean, using illegal workers is such a widespread practice in the construction business. It’s going to be damned interesting to see what the financial investigation of his company turns up. The worst part is that it takes such a long time.’

She shoved her plate away even though half of her pizza was still untouched.

‘And then there’s the fact that he was clearly a troublemaker as a youth,’ said Kihlgård. ‘I’m thinking about the charge of assault and battery. That sort of thing isn’t usually an isolated event. The motive for the murder may lie in the past. Maybe Peter Bovide was mixed up in some big-time deals when he was younger, and then it all finally caught up with him. It’s happened before.’

He eyed Jacobsson’s plate greedily.

‘Help yourself,’ she said.

‘It’d be a shame to throw out good food.’

He swiftly traded his empty plate for his colleague’s.

Just as Jacobsson was about to oppose Kihlgård’s theory, her mobile rang. It was Knutas.

‘What, can’t you resist phoning me?’ she teased him. ‘Don’t you think I can handle the investigation on my own, or what? Just relax, Anders – you’re on holiday.’

‘Not any more.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just walked in the door of police headquarters. I came straight from the airport.’

‘What?’

‘I couldn’t stay away. After I heard about the murder I couldn’t relax, since I was so close to home. So I decided I might as well come back. My family is still in Denmark, but I caught the first plane home.’

Kihlgård saw Jacobsson’s disappointed expression.

‘I see,’ she said.

‘You don’t sound especially happy about it,’ said Knutas, a little annoyed.

‘Sure I am. Of course I’m glad you’re back. You know that.’

EMMA HAD JUST raised her wine glass to her lips when she caught sight of Johan above all the heads in Donner’s Bar. How typical that he should be here too , she thought, now that she had finally decided to go out, for a change.

She took several small sips, keeping her eyes fixed on him. He hadn’t noticed her as he stood there chatting merrily with Pia Lilja and a man who looked familiar, although she couldn’t place him. Closest to Johan stood a woman that Emma didn’t recognize. Her appearance was disturbing, to say the least. She was everything that Emma was not: petite, dark-haired, mysterious, voluptuous. Like a soft, cuddly cat, she was laughing and affectionately nudging Johan, who presumably reciprocated in his usual playful way. His hair seemed abnormally long and curly, he was unshaven, and he looked pale among all the suntanned tourists. What’s he been up to, anyway? Emma thought, annoyed. Partying all night long and then sleeping through half the day? And why doesn’t he have any colour in his face when he tans so easily? She hadn’t noticed it the day before when they met at Almedalen. At the time she was just thinking how cute he looked.

She studied him, feeling upset. The father of her youngest child stood over there, on the other side of the outdoor bar, holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, carefree and flirting, without giving a thought to her or Elin.

It was true that he’d phoned her several times on her mobile and left messages. She hadn’t bothered to call back. Whenever she was uncertain how to handle a situation, her response was to flee. Emma was aware of this, but felt incapable of breaking the pattern.

Her relationship with Johan had come to a standstill, and she couldn’t see any way out. He was going to be on Gotland all summer, working, and in her mind Emma had planned out how they could divide up taking care of Elin. That was as far as she dared think.

Now she needed to find a way to leave the restaurant without running into him. Just as she was wondering how to do this, he caught sight of her. She saw how startled he looked, and she quickly turned her head, pretending she hadn’t seen him. It took ten seconds for him to appear at her side.

‘Hi, Emma.’

A wave of heat filled her stomach when he said her name. She gazed into his dark-brown eyes, then looked away so as not to drown in his gaze. He made her feel weak, down to her very marrow.

‘Hi,’ she calmly replied.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘We just finished working, Pia and I, and Peter and Madeleine; they work for the national news division. The murder case on Fårö, you know.’

‘Oh, that’s right.’ She nodded. So that’s who they were – colleagues from work .

‘How’s Elin?’

‘Fine, just fine.’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘Mamma and Pappa are babysitting her tonight.’

‘OK.’ Johan nodded and glanced over at the others.

Emma felt ill at ease.

‘Shouldn’t you be going back to join your colleagues?’ she said, giving the last word a sarcastic emphasis.

The girlfriend she’d come with had disappeared in the crowd. Too bad she wasn’t here with a guy.

Johan turned towards her again.

‘You know, I rang you several times today. Why didn’t you call me back?’

For a microsecond she relented, wanting to sink into his arms and shut out the whole world. Instead she said, ‘I’ve been really busy. And by the way, I’ve got to go.’