Mari Jungstedt - The Dead Of Summer

This was much too serious to keep to himself.

AFTER LEAVING ANNA Nyberg and the beauty salon, Johan tried to ring both Grenfors and Knutas. Neither of them picked up.

‘What do we do now?’ he asked Pia.

‘The only thing to do is to start working on our story. We need to use the information in tonight’s report, but we have to have two independent sources. Unfortunately, it won’t be enough to have Anna’s account, even though I’m convinced she’s telling the truth. Who else could confirm that Peter Bovide was being threatened?’

‘Maybe someone at Slite Construction, but nobody is answering the phone there either,’ said Johan with a sigh. ‘The question is whether we should drive up there, even if nobody’s in the office. In the meantime, I’ll ring the union and find out if they know anything about that under-the-table job.’

‘Do that. Then we’ll drive to Slite.’

‘OK.’

Johan got hold of the representative for the Union of Construction Workers on Gotland.

‘I’m trying to find out some information about a company called Slite Construction.’

‘Oh, right. He’s the one who was shot to death on Fårö. Peter Bovide. Awful thing to happen.’

‘I’ve heard that he was using illegal workers. Do you know anything about that?’

‘Yes, we had our suspicions, as a matter of fact. He had a union at his job sites, but there have been rumours that he wasn’t paying the proper wages. Those workers from Eastern Europe are willing to work cheap.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They come here to Sweden and bring down the wages. Plus they take jobs away from our own members.’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Johan impatiently. ‘Do you know which projects Bovide’s company has been working on recently?’

‘Sure. We’ve received job-site reports from a few guys who still work for them. I can check. Wait a sec.’

Johan heard him typing on a computer keyboard. It took a minute before he was back on the phone.

‘The ones we know about are a residential project on Furillen, the remodelling of a restaurant in Åminne and a masonry job in Stenkyrkehuk. It’s a limestone house that’s being built right next to the old lighthouse up there. There’s also been talk that he had a bunch of illegal guys from Poland or the Baltics or somewhere like that building summer cabins all over northern Gotland.’

‘But how do you check up on that sort of thing? I mean, if you think they’re using illegal workers?’

‘It’s extremely difficult. We can’t keep track of every little construction site on the island; buildings are going up everywhere. The only way is if somebody rings us to say that they suspect illegal workers, but nobody ever bothers to do that.’

The representative heaved a big sigh. Johan checked his watch and made a quick decision.

‘Do you know exactly where in Stenkyrkehuk this limestone house is being built?’

‘It’s probably less than thirty kilometres from here. Take highway 149 from Visby, heading north. Turn off at the shop in Hälge, past Vale, and you’ll end up on a little gravel road that leads to the lighthouse. On the property beyond the lighthouse you’ll see the building. They’ve cleared away a lot of trees and widened the road.’

‘OK, thanks.’

After clicking off, Johan turned to Pia, who was driving.

‘We’re going to Stenkyrkehuk.’

THE SOUND OF pounding hammers could be heard from quite a distance away. They had followed the union rep’s directions and found their way to the building site close to the old lighthouse. The house under construction was situated on a limestone cliff a hundred feet above the sea with a wonderful view of the shimmering waters of the Baltic. The walls were up and two bare-chested men were perched on the roof, hammering the roofing felt in place. The sun was high overhead, and their backs glistened with sweat. At one end of the house two more men were busy applying plaster to the gable.

‘What a place,’ said Pia, sighing with delight.

‘Not bad.’

Johan looked around. A narrow, bumpy gravel road had been made, leading to the building site, which was surrounded by woods. A neighbour’s house was close by, although it wasn’t visible from the site. Only the old lighthouse, which was no longer in use, could be seen sticking up above the trees. The construction workers were busy with their tasks and hadn’t noticed Pia and Johan arrive. Music was blaring from a radio.

‘Let’s go over and have a talk with them,’ said Johan.

But before he could make a move, a man came out of the construction shed that stood a short distance from the new building. He was very short and powerfully built, and he stared at them with suspicion.

‘Hi,’ said Johan. ‘We’re from Swedish TV, doing a story on the murder of Peter Bovide. Did you know him?’

‘Know him? He was my partner. We ran the company together.’

Johan then realized that this man standing in front of him had to be Johnny Ekwall. He couldn’t believe their luck.

‘So you’re Johnny? Could we have a talk with you?’

‘Not if you’re going to shoot video. I don’t want to be on TV.’

‘That’s fine. I promise we won’t.’

Johnny Ekwall cast a glance at the construction workers, who looked at the reporters with curiosity for a moment before returning to what they were doing. Then Johnny turned on his heel and went back inside the shed. He left the door open, which Johan took to be an invitation.

He and Pia followed. Inside the shed was a row of metal lockers, a bench and a stainless-steel sink with a dusty mirror hanging above it.

They passed through an opening into what seemed to be a kitchen. On a simple table next to the window was a plastic container of biscuits and several dirty coffee mugs. Along the wall stood a refrigerator and a shelf holding a microwave and a stained coffee-maker. In a corner, several mattresses had been propped against the wall. They all sat down at the table, and Johnny poured the coffee, shoving forward the biscuits. Johan decided to get right to the point.

‘We’ve heard that Peter Bovide was being threatened. What do you know about that?’

‘Where did you hear that?’

‘I can’t tell you. We have to protect our sources.’

‘OK. Does that mean that if I tell you something, you won’t tell anyone else?’

‘We won’t say that you were the one who gave us the information. If that’s what you prefer.’

Johnny Ekwall took a gulp of the lukewarm coffee.

‘Hmm… I don’t know,’ he said hesitantly. ‘There’s been a bit of trouble lately. Peter was the one who took care of paying the guys, but I think we’re behind. With their wages, I mean. And a few workers have been unhappy, saying they should be paid more, things like that. But Peter always took care of these matters himself; he never discussed them with me.’

‘Do you know if he was being threatened?’

‘He told me several times that he thought he was being watched, that somebody was spying on him.’

‘Is that right? Why did he think so?’

‘I don’t know. I think it was mostly a gut feeling he had.’

Johan leaned forward and lowered his voice.

‘The thing is, we’ve heard from a very reliable source that he actually was being threatened, for real. He wasn’t just imagining things. So, what do you know about it?’

Johnny Ekwall fidgeted nervously. His expression again turned suspicious.

‘Where did you hear that?’

‘As I said before, I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. We’re reporters, and we have to protect our sources. It’s not the same thing as talking to the police.’

Ekwall regarded Johan for a moment in silence.

‘Do you promise you won’t tell that I was the one who told you? I don’t want to get in any trouble.’