Mari Jungstedt - The Dead Of Summer

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Pia as she finished shooting one last panorama of the area. ‘Come with me.’

They jumped back in the car. Pia drove back to the intersection that would take them to Sudersand East and headed for the nearby colony of summer cottages. She turned on to a small side road, no bigger than a cow path, and the car began jolting along through the woods, thick with underbrush, and across a meadow filled with flowers and tall grass.

Several times Johan thought they were going to get stuck, but Pia managed to make the car forge its way onward. When she finally stopped next to a big shrub that was blocking their way, he could hear the sea. It was three thirty in the afternoon, and they still had about an hour left to file their report. Johan patted Pia on the shoulder.

‘You’re damned good at this.’

It took them all of two minutes to walk down to the shore. In one direction they could see the promontory that marked the end of Sudersand bay, and in the other direction was the campsite. Close to the shoreline a small tent had been set up, and a group of people was gathered around it. Suddenly a whirring sound was heard overhead. It was the police helicopter from Stockholm, probably with the medical examiner on board.

Pia immediately began filming. Even though Johan was well aware that he was inside the area that had been cordoned off, he walked over to see if he could talk to the pilot when the helicopter landed. It was worth a try. A man got out and hurried over to the tent. That had to be the ME.

‘We’re from Swedish TV,’ he shouted to the pilot. ‘Is that the ME who just arrived?’

‘That’s right. We came straight here from the helipad at Karolinska hospital.’

‘When are you heading back?’

‘They said we’d be taking off in half an hour. I can’t keep the chopper here any longer than that. It’s needed at Berga.’

‘OK.’

Johan waved his thanks to the pilot. He’d found out what he wanted to know. Now he just needed to try talking to the police. He noticed Erik Sohlman, who had stepped away to get himself a cup of coffee.

‘Hi, Erik. What’s going on here?’

Sohlman nodded to Berg. Johan had been a crime reporter on the island for quite a while now, and on several occasions he’d actually helped the police, once when his daughter’s life was at stake and once when his own life was in jeopardy. So Sohlman felt compelled to repay the favour. He hesitated before answering, taking a moment to decide what he wanted to say. Then he came over to Johan.

‘I can tell you this much: a man was found dead, and we suspect foul play. The ME is doing his first examination right now. Later the body will be moved to the morgue in Visby, and from there it will be transported by ferry to the forensic medicine lab in Solna.’

‘I understand, but…’

‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything else. And you’re inside the police tape, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

Johan and Pia headed back to their car. Both were more than satisfied. Now they even had time to shoot some reactions from people at the campsite.

Their story was in the can.

LATE THAT AFTERNOON the investigative team gathered for a meeting at police headquarters. Besides Karin Jacobsson, Thomas Wittberg and Erik Sohlman, the group included Lars Norrby and chief prosecutor Birger Smittenberg.

Jacobsson started by welcoming everyone.

‘So it looks like we have yet another brutal murder on our hands. You might call it an execution, pure and simple. The victim has already been identified down at the beach by his wife. His name is Peter Bovide, born in 1966, married and the father of two, from Slite. He’s been on holiday with his family at Sudersand campsite since Friday – in other words, he’d spent three days there. Early this morning, around five thirty according to his wife, he went out for a run. Apparently this was not out of the ordinary for him. The victim appears to have had a stable family life. He and Vendela Bovide have been married for six years. They have two children, a boy, five, and a girl, three. We interviewed the wife very briefly when she was asked to identify the body. She’s suffering from severe shock, so she was taken to the hospital, where they’ve decided to keep her overnight for observation. I’m hoping to be able to talk to her tomorrow.’

Jacobsson paused for a moment to glance down at her papers before she went on.

‘The body was found around nine thirty by two boys from Stockholm. They’re both thirteen years old, and their parents rent a cabin nearby. They were playing soccer on the beach and ended up quite a distance away. Then they decided to go for a swim and discovered the body in the water a short way from shore. They shouted for help and several people came to their aid. The man who rang the police is the father of one of the boys. The call to the emergency number 112 came in at nine forty-two. The first officers to respond arrived forty-five minutes later.’

‘How long had he been dead?’ asked Prosecutor Smittenberg.

‘At least a couple of hours, but five or six, max,’ replied Sohlman.

‘Precisely,’ said Jacobsson. ‘So there’s no sense in setting up road blocks or stopping the ferry traffic. Of course, all day we’ve been checking everyone who leaves the island by ferry, and we’ll keep doing so into the evening. Does anyone here happen to know the victim?’

All those seated around the table shook their heads.

‘So what do we know about Peter Bovide?’

Jacobsson answered her own question.

‘He actually has a police record, but just for a minor crime. A charge of assault and battery from back in the eighties, when he was twenty. A fight at Burmeister here in town. The bouncers refused to let him into the disco, so he punched one of them. Because he didn’t have a prior record, he got off with a fine. Nothing since then. He’s done construction work, and now he runs his own building company along with a partner. Slite Construction, with six full-time employees. The partner’s name is Johnny Ekwall, and we’re going to interview him tonight. In short, that’s all we can say about the victim right now. When it comes to the crime itself, I’m afraid we don’t have much to go on. We’ve been knocking on doors in the area, but there are no eyewitnesses. On the other hand, somebody did hear the shots. A couple that lives nearby heard first one shot and then several more bangs that they thought might have been gunfire. The sound woke them up, and according to them, it was around six this morning. They thought it was either rifle practice or someone who was out shooting rabbits illegally. Apparently that’s common in the area. We’re continuing to interview visitors and employees at the campsite and at the nearby restaurants. Some people left the campsite during the course of the day, and we’re trying to track them down. Since we need to do a large number of interviews, I’ve contacted the National Criminal Police. Martin Kihlgård and some of his colleagues will be here early tomorrow morning.’

‘Good,’ said Lars Norrby. ‘Sounds like we’ll need their help.’

Jacobsson gave him a quick look. It was impossible to tell whether his remark was intended to be sarcastic or not. Her appointment as Knutas’s deputy had taken place only six months earlier. When her older colleague realized that Karin was going to be given the promotion, he had loudly voiced his objections, devoting a large part of his work days to bad-mouthing both Knutas and Jacobsson. Norrby was also suspected of having leaked information to the press. Finally he had been removed from the investigative team. Today he was present solely because of his role as spokesman; this was their first meeting, and he needed to be kept informed, at least to some extent, regarding the progress of the investigation.