Mari Jungstedt - The Dead Of Summer

‘Do you feel up to talking to us, just for a little while? We need to find out who did this to you.’

Slowly she turned towards the two officers and opened her eyes, squinting up at them.

‘Could you draw the curtains?’

‘Of course.’

Jacobsson got up and did as the patient asked. The light dimmed in the room. She helped Vendela to sit up in bed. The woman groaned a bit and grimaced with pain.

‘Can you tell us what happened?’

Vendela licked her lips as if she were parched. Jacobsson picked up the glass of water from the night stand and handed it to the woman. She took several sips before she began to talk.

‘It was early in the morning and someone rang the doorbell. When I opened the door, two men were standing outside. At first I thought it was a robbery, but they told me that Peter owed them money and, now that he was dead, I had to pay his debts.’

Bovide’s widow paused to gather her strength. She kept her eyes shut as she talked, and her breathing was strained, as if every breath hurt. Jacobsson listened attentively.

‘I asked them how much Peter owed them, and they said 300,000 kronor. I told them the truth, that I didn’t have that much money and had no idea how to get it.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘They didn’t believe me. They started threatening me, saying that if I didn’t pay up, I was going to get hurt.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I tried to make them understand that we didn’t have any money in the house, that all our money was in the bank.’

‘How did they react?’

‘You can see for yourselves.’

Vendela shuddered, as if to shake off the memory.

‘What did they look like?’

‘One was really tall and thin, about six feet, blond with a pierced tongue. The other was shorter, maybe five ten, and heavier, more muscular and with dark hair.’

‘How old?’

‘Twenty or twenty-five. Both of them.’

‘What were they wearing?’

‘Jeans and T-shirts. One had on black shoes; I think the other man was wearing trainers. One had tattoos all over his arms. And they weren’t Swedish. They spoke broken English.’

‘Have you ever seen them before?’

‘I think so.’

‘When was that?’

‘They came to the house one night and talked to Peter. That was just a few days before we drove up to Fårö.’

‘What did they say?’

‘I don’t know. They stayed outside, in the front garden. Peter was upset when he came back in. It was something about the fact that they were working illegally for him and they wanted money that he didn’t have.’

‘You said that they spoke broken English. Do you know where they were from?’

‘I think they spoke Finnish or some Baltic language.’

THEY DIDN’T FIND out much more from their interview with Vendela Bovide. They asked her to look at a collection of photos of known criminals, but she didn’t recognize any of them. The investigative team spent the rest of Saturday working on the assault on the widow and how this might be connected to her husband’s murder. By knocking on doors in the neighbourhood they found a witness who had seen a car with Estonian plates drive past in the morning; the tip was considered of major interest.

Yet by late afternoon Knutas felt as if he’d run out of steam. He was sitting in his office, sucking on his unlit pipe, as thoughts raced through his mind like a roller coaster. He pondered the unusual MO. What could that tell him? On the one hand, it testified to a cold-blooded murderer devoid of any emotions who had shot his victim at close range without batting an eye. On the other hand, the reckless shooting of the victim in the stomach indicated that the perp had lost control, a murderer overcome by emotion. If they followed that line of thought, then they could rule out a hired gunman. The perp had probably known the victim and had some type of emotional bond with him. The fact that Peter Bovide had been shot in the forehead reinforced this hypothesis.

Knutas couldn’t make everything fit together. There was nothing more he could do, so he decided he might as well go home. Lina and the kids were still out at the summer house. He was looking forward to sitting alone in the garden with a cold beer. Maybe then everything would seem clearer.

When he arrived back home Lina phoned. She sounded happy.

‘We’ve spent the whole day at the beach. It’s so beautiful out here. The water is 73 degrees. Right now Nisse is turning over the salmon steaks. He’s the grillmaster since you’re not here,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’m sipping a glass of cold white wine. You should be here, sweetheart. Can’t you get away?’

Knutas told her about the assault on Vendela Bovide.

‘How awful. Imagine somebody breaking into a woman’s house when she’s all alone, and with children there too. They must be real brutes to do something like that. Do you think they’re the ones who killed her husband?’

‘They’re suspects, of course. But they’ve disappeared, and by this time they could be back in their own country.’

‘Do you know where they’re from?’

‘We think they might be Estonian.’

‘It doesn’t exactly sound like they’re professionals. Shouldn’t they have used fake licence plates on their car?’

‘Yeah, you’d think so. There are so many contradictions in this investigation.’

‘So have you contacted the Estonian police?’

‘Sure, of course. We’re hoping to track down these guys quickly.’

‘OK, sweetie, I can hear that you’ve got your hands full.’

Knutas suddenly realized how much he missed Lina. But he didn’t say anything. He could hear Nisse shouting in the background.

‘I’ve got to go and help Nisse with the salmon. Shall we talk again early tomorrow morning?’

‘Sure. Say hi to the kids.’

‘I will.’

HE MANAGED TO drink two beers before the phone rang again. It was Karin.

‘Hi, Knutie. How are things going?’

In the background Knutas could hear people talking and laughing, and glasses clinking. It was obvious that she was in a restaurant. The only person who ever called Knutas ‘Knutie’ was Kihlgård, and Jacobsson was well aware how much he hated that nickname.

‘Are you drunk?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t it a bit early for that?’

Jacobsson seemed to pay no attention to her boss’s critical tone.

‘Thomas and I are sitting here in Packhuskällaren. We’ve had dinner and quite a lot of wine, actually,’ she said, giggling. ‘Plus a few drinks. We thought we needed it. We’re wondering if you’d like to come and join us, since you’re on your own. Isn’t your family still out at the summer house?’

‘Yes, they are. But I was just planning to cook myself some dinner.’

‘Come over here instead and have some wine with us. We never see you except at work.’

‘Come on over, damn it,’ he heard Wittberg shout.

Knutas debated with himself for a moment.

‘OK. I’ll be right there.’

KNUTAS DECIDED TO cycle to the restaurant. The mood in town was completely different from the mood inside his head. Tourists dressed in their summer best were strolling through the cobblestone streets inside the ring wall, on their way to or from restaurants and bars. Later, the nightclubs would be packed. The heat had held on for the past two weeks, and plenty of people had a good suntan. He glanced at his own arm below the short sleeve of his tennis shirt. Abnormally pale for this time of year. He hadn’t had a chance to spend any time out in the open air. Ever since his summer holiday had been interrupted, there had been no time for either sunbathing or swimming.

There was a festive atmosphere in town, and everyone looked so happy and cheerful that he started feeling better himself. And he couldn’t help looking forward to seeing Karin Jacobsson in an intoxicated state. He couldn’t remember ever having seen that before, even though they’d attended dozens of parties together. Karin was the sort of person who never lost control. Maybe it was her strong sense of integrity that made her reluctant to let loose. And since she was so petite, it wouldn’t take much alcohol to get her drunk.