Mari Jungstedt - The Dead Of Summer

He turned on to his side and saw the cloud of brown hair sticking out of the covers.

Shit. They’d had sex . He’d slept with his work colleague. How low could he go? He wanted to forget the whole thing. As quietly as possible, he crept out of bed and went into the bathroom. He turned on the tap, but only halfway so the splash of the water wouldn’t be audible. He looked at himself in the mirror: his face was a sallow colour, his eyes were bloodshot, with a weary and slightly melancholy expression. Who was this man he was looking at? He discovered several new wrinkles near his eyes and on his throat. A new furrow that hadn’t been there before. His face had changed, aged. He had a bad taste in his mouth. The image of Emma’s face appeared before him. How could he have been so stupid? He felt so sleazy, and the contempt he felt for himself was nauseating. He’d wait until he got home to take a shower. He had to leave, get out of here. He slipped back into the room and grabbed his clothes, terrified that Madeleine would wake up.

Without a sound he closed the door behind him.

THE NEXT COAL transport wasn’t due to arrive in Slite harbour until the following week. Knutas set the matter aside for the time being and decided instead to pay a visit to Peter Bovide’s parents, even though they’d already been interviewed. He wanted to meet them in person.

It was great to leave police headquarters and set off alone. He chose to drive his own vehicle, an old Mercedes with no air conditioning, so he was feeling sweaty by the time he made it out to Slite. Katarina and Stig Bovide lived in a ground-floor flat in the middle of town. The blinds were closed, and from the outside it looked like no one was home.

Knutas rang the bell and then had to wait for a while.

Eventually the door opened, and Knutas was taken aback when he saw the expression of the elderly woman standing there. Even though Katarina Bovide’s face was both freckled and tanned, and in her long, bright dress she actually reminded him a bit of Lina, her grief and despair were painfully evident.

She merely nodded to him and led the way to the living room, which under normal circumstances was no doubt quite pleasant, but right now it was only dimly lit. The curtains had been drawn so that very little light seeped in from the windows. It was as if Peter Bovide’s parents wanted to close out the lovely summer day. As if they couldn’t bear the beauty.

The next instant a man appeared in the doorway. He looked just as haggard and empty of all life as his wife. Stig Bovide was tall and thin with sparse light-brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a light-coloured shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. On his feet he had a pair of Birkenstock slippers. A heavy sense of grief hung in the air, and the temperature bordered on intolerably hot. Knutas was thirsty, but neither of them offered him anything to drink. He decided to try toughing it out.

‘First, please accept my condolences, of course,’ he began. ‘As you may have heard, I’m in charge of the investigation. I was out of town, but I came back yesterday and I’ve taken over from Karin Jacobsson. She’s my deputy superintendent.’

He cleared his throat, wondering why he was wasting words on such things.

‘All right then. I have a few questions that I’d like to ask you.’

‘We’ve already talked to the police,’ said Stig Bovide. ‘With somebody by the name of Kihlgård. He was here yesterday.’

‘Yes, I know that. But since I’ve now taken over responsibility, I wanted to meet you in person. I hope you don’t mind. Naturally we’re doing everything in our power to catch the person who did this, and so it’s important that I find out as much as possible about Peter. Could you start by telling me how you think he was doing?’

‘How he was doing?’ repeated Katarina Bovide tonelessly.

‘I mean in general terms, both in his work and in his marriage.’

‘Hmm, I don’t really know,’ Katarina said hesitantly. ‘I suppose he was doing fine. He and Vendela had their problems, just like everybody else, but no worse than other parents of young children. What do you think?’

She turned to her husband. He didn’t answer, just nodded.

‘They had their hands full with William and Mikaela, of course, but we helped out as much as we could. Right now the children are staying with Peter’s sister in Othem. We thought it was best at the moment, since she and her family live out in the country and keep animals. And the children will be able to play with their cousins, so that will give them something else to think about. But we go out every day to help out. Until Vendela is feeling better.’

‘So you think Peter was happy?’

‘I don’t know if “happy” is the right word,’ said Stig Bovide. ‘He had his epilepsy to contend with, and that could be very difficult.’

Knutas frowned. ‘You mean he suffered from epileptic fits?’

‘Yes.’

‘How often?’

‘Not very often, maybe a few times a year. It was worse if he was under stress or feeling depressed.’

‘Depressed? Was that common for him?’

Both parents fidgeted uneasily.

‘Occasionally he felt a bit down,’ said Katarina reluctantly. ‘Whenever that happened, it was hard to talk to him. He would withdraw into himself.’

‘He felt a great need to have time alone,’ her husband added. ‘I think that’s why he loved running so much. He could be gone for hours. I know Vendela wasn’t always very happy about that.’

‘She thought he spent too much time away from her and the children,’ explained Katarina. ‘And that’s not so strange, since he worked so much,’ she said with a sigh.

‘How often did he get depressed?’

‘Maybe a couple of times a year.’

‘Was he seeing a psychologist? Or was he on any kind of medication?’

‘Yes, he took anti-depressants,’ said Katarina.

Her husband looked at her in surprise.

‘He did?’

‘Yes, dear.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry.’

Stig Bovide kept his eyes fixed on his wife. He pressed his lips together but didn’t say a word. Knutas changed the subject.

‘We know that recently Peter felt as if he was being watched. Do you know anything about that?’

‘No, we’ve really never heard anything about that.’ Stig Bovide’s voice had taken on a belligerent tone. ‘Why did he think he was being watched? And who actually told you that?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that at the moment. Are you sure that Peter never mentioned anything about this?’

Stig Bovide leaped from his chair. ‘Can’t discuss it?’ he shouted. ‘What on earth do you mean by that? This is our son we’re talking about. Our son who was murdered! We’re his parents. Don’t you understand that?’ He pointed first at himself and then at his wife. ‘We demand that you tell us everything about the investigation. And I mean everything!’

This sudden outburst caught Knutas off guard. Stig Bovide was now leaning over him, his face contorted with anger.

‘You come barging into our home two days after our son was found murdered, asking a lot of questions that you demand we answer. And then you refuse to tell us what our boy was mixed up in. Are you out of your mind? Get out of here! Get out!’

He grabbed hold of Knutas’s shirt collar.

‘Calm down!’ cried Katarina. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

She managed to pull her husband away from Knutas, who quickly got to his feet.

‘I think we should continue this interview at some other time,’ muttered Knutas. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but we’re not at liberty to discuss the investigation. Not even with family members. I’ll be in touch. Goodbye. And again, please accept my condolences.’