Mari Jungstedt - The Dead Of Summer

‘They’re staying with Peter’s sister in Othem. I’m actually staying there too right now, but I had to come by here to take care of a few things. I can’t stand to sleep here yet.’

‘May we?’

Jacobsson took a step forward.

‘Yes, of course.’

Vendela sounded far from convinced that this would be a good idea, but she let them come in. She led the way to the living room.

‘Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ said both officers in unison. It was hot, and they were thirsty.

Vendela came back in a few minutes with a pitcher of juice and glasses.

‘Who was it that dropped you off outside?’

Vendela looked down as she filled their glasses.

‘That was Johnny from the company. He’s so nice and helpful.’

Jacobsson gave her a searching look.

‘It turns out the gun that was used to kill your husband was Russian,’ said Wittberg. ‘So we’re wondering whether your husband had any contact with Russians.’

‘Russian?’ Vendela’s voice quavered slightly. ‘The gun was Russian?’

‘Yes. Did your husband have any contact with Russians or anyone from other Eastern European countries? A lot of them come here as guest workers, especially in the construction business.’

‘Sure. He did have some part-time employees, from Poland at any rate. But I don’t know about Russia. Peter handled all the company business. I didn’t get involved. He took care of everything himself.’

‘Did he ever talk about any of these guest workers?’

‘No. He spent so much time at work, and we tried to avoid talking about the company here at home.’

‘So you don’t know anything about this?’

‘No.’

‘As we mentioned earlier, apparently, during the spring and early summer Peter felt that he was being watched. He also received some anonymous phone calls,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Are you sure you don’t remember hearing anything?’

‘Yes, I am. He never mentioned anything like that. I would have remembered it if he did.’

Jacobsson was convinced that Vendela Bovide was lying. She looked the widow in the eye and repeated the question one last time.

‘So he never mentioned that he felt that someone was spying on him or following him?’

‘No. But if that’s really true, I’m sure he would have told me about it. We talked about everything.’

‘Except for company business?’

‘Yes.’

‘How much time did he spend at the office?’ asked Wittberg.

‘I suppose you could say that he was there a lot. Like all small-business owners. He would leave the house early in the morning, but he came home for lunch if he was working in the office or at a construction site nearby. Then he usually got home around six or seven. Sometimes he worked in the evening. Mostly with the accounts; he put together bids and things like that.’

‘What about at weekends?’

‘He was usually home.’

‘What sort of marriage did you have? What were your feelings for him?’

‘I loved him. Now that he’s dead, I don’t feel like living any more. It’s only because of the children that I’m trying to go on.’

She spoke the words in a voice that was dry and matter-of-fact, as if discussing some trivial matter. Yet when it came to Vendela’s feelings for her husband, there was something in her voice that made both Wittberg and Jacobsson believe what she said.

THE SALON CALLED Sofia’s Nails and Beauty was located on a side street to Hästgatan, a bit off the main tourist path.

Roses clung to the rough façade, and lying on the worn stone steps outside the front entrance was an orange cat, basking in the sun. A bell jingled as Johan and Pia stepped inside, and the strong scent of a floral perfume overwhelmed them.

‘It smells like bubble bath in here,’ Pia whispered in Johan’s ear.

Three sturdy wooden tables stood along the walls, covered with terry-cloth towels in pastel colours, and small pots and jars attractively arranged. Seated on either side of one of the tables were two young women. One was holding out her hands so the other woman could file and polish her nails. They were so immersed in their conversation that they didn’t even turn round to see who had come in. From hidden speakers came the sound of gentle eastern Mediterranean music.

In the very back of the room they saw an old-fashioned cash register on a counter. Behind it sat another woman with her head bowed as she wrote something in a book. She glanced up as they approached.

‘Hi, Pia!’

The woman behind the counter wore a blue linen dress, and her curly blond hair was pinned up in a bun. She stood up to give Pia a hug and then shook hands with Johan.

‘Let’s go over to the café next door so we can talk in peace.’

As they sat down at a table in the café’s garden, Anna cast a nervous glance at Pia’s camera.

‘This isn’t going to be on TV, is it? Because I don’t want any part of that.’

‘No, don’t worry,’ said Johan soothingly. ‘We won’t use anything that you’d rather not have included. We always protect our sources. Nobody needs to know that what we found out came from you.’

‘Promise me that.’

‘Sure. Of course we promise,’ said Pia. ‘You can trust me.’

‘So how was Peter Bovide being threatened?’ asked Johan.

‘He had had anonymous phone calls, both at home and at work. But that’s not the worst thing. Just a few days before Vendela and I went out to have our last dinner together before the summer holiday, several unpleasant types showed up at their house really late at night.’

‘What did they do?’

‘They didn’t go inside. They talked to Peter out in the front garden, apparently for quite a long time. Vendela said that when he came back into the house, he was very upset.’

‘Did he tell her who they were?’

‘No, but they spoke broken English. Vendela thought they might be from Finland or the Baltics.’

‘Why did they threaten him?’

‘He said that the company was having problems at one of the construction jobs they had taken on, but that everything was going to be fine. He hadn’t received payment from the person who had contracted the job, and so he didn’t have any money to pay the workers. And apparently it was a really big project.’

‘Did Vendela have any idea what project it was? Or which building site?’

‘I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.’

‘Do the police know about this?’

‘No. She didn’t want to say anything because she’s afraid everything would start to unravel.’

Anna leaned forward.

‘I think it has to do with illegal workers,’ she whispered.

‘You still need to go to the police and tell them what you know. This could be a serious matter,’ said Johan. ‘And in our report tonight, we’re going to mention the fact that Peter Bovide was being threatened. Although, as I said, we won’t say where we got the information.’

‘Good. Vendela doesn’t know that Pia and I are friends, so I don’t think she’ll realize that I told you about this. But I actually don’t care,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’ll ring the police as soon as I get back to the salon. And to hell with what she thinks. The only reason I’m telling anybody about this at all is to protect her.’

She shrugged and tried to look like she didn’t care, but it was obvious how worried she was.

‘I’m sure everything will work out,’ said Pia.

‘It’s just all so awful,’ murmured Anna. ‘I feel so bad about Peter. And so sorry for Vendela. And their kids.’

More questions began swarming through Johan’s mind. Was it here, at this café table, that they had discovered the motive for Peter Bovide’s murder? Was Vendela’s life in danger too? How should he deal with the information?