Mari Jungstedt - The Dead Of Summer

‘OK, thanks.’

He peered through the observation slit in the shed while he waited. The sweat was pouring off him. He felt upset and wasn’t filled with the usual anticipation; all he wanted was to get this over with so he could leave and have something to eat.

‘Hey, Morgan. I don’t see anything unusual. Everything seems quiet.’

‘Good. Let’s go, then.’

When he glanced up again, he gave a start. He hadn’t noticed how it happened, but a stranger was standing across from him, just outside the opening of the shed. He looked into the cold eyes of the intruder. All of a sudden, the muzzle of a gun was pointing at him.

‘What’s all this about?’ he stammered.

The walls of the cramped shed seemed to close in on him.

The radio in Morgan Larsson’s pocket began crackling.

‘Come in, Morgan… Are you there? Morgan… Morgan?’

‘Turn it off,’ said the stranger. ‘Otherwise I’ll shoot you.’

With trembling fingers, Morgan switched off the radio. Silence.

All sorts of thoughts were whirling around in his confused brain. He should have detonated the explosives by now. He was always very precise, down to the second. He wondered how long it would take for his two colleagues to react when they discovered his radio was turned off and the explosion hadn’t taken place.

The image of Peter Bovide’s face flickered past. He’d been shot to death two weeks earlier. Was it his turn now? That was all he had time to think before the intruder handed him the cable that was supposed to be attached to the detonator and signalled for him to proceed.

He fumbled in his pocket for the detonator, which was no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. Then he attached the cable and pressed the button. The sound was deafening. The low, scraggly forest, covered with white powder, shook from the blast. An enormous cloud of dust rose up from the crater below. The little shed was enveloped in a haze of dust from the explosion.

The dust stung his eyes, filled his mouth, got under his clothes. He closed his eyes tight to avoid the worst of it and because he had no idea what was going to happen next. The thundering of the huge boulders still filled the air as they broke apart and then plummeted to the bottom of the pit with a deafening crash.

When the first shot was fired, the sound was drowned out by the din of the explosion.

FOREMAN KJELL JOHANSSON slowly lowered his hand, which was holding the silent radio. At least Morgan had carried out the blasting, although after a delay of several minutes. He was never late, but no doubt he’d be able to explain. It was odd that he wasn’t answering his radio. Had he put it down somewhere? That seemed very unlikely. They always stayed on site for five or ten minutes after the explosion, just for safety’s sake. Sometimes rocks broke loose quite a distance away from the detonation.

Something wasn’t right. Kjell Johansson raised the binoculars to study the other side of the quarry and find out what his colleague was doing.

At first he didn’t see anything. The blasting hut looked deserted, and Morgan’s pick-up was still parked in the same place. He began surveying the area and couldn’t believe his eyes when he spotted a dark figure, which definitely wasn’t Morgan Larsson, emerge from the shed and disappear into the woods. Kjell Johansson tried his radio again, his eyes still peering through the binoculars.

‘Morgan, damn it all. Morgan, what’s going on?’

Still no answer.

Kjell Johansson called to his colleague on the other side of the pit.

‘Something’s wrong. Morgan’s not answering, and somebody was here, inside the shed. I just saw him come out. We have to go over there. Right now.’

When the two men drove up to the opposite side of the quarry, they instantly realized that something serious had happened. Morgan Larsson’s communications radio lay on the ground, smashed to bits.

When they approached the shed that was the explosives expert’s domain, they suddenly slowed their pace.

Both men recoiled at what they saw. Morgan Larsson was lying on the floor, his body twisted at an odd angle. Their eyes went first to his abdomen. It was riddled with bloody bullet holes; in the heat, flies and other insects had already begun to swarm over the wounds.

KNUTAS, JACOBSSON AND Wittberg were all riding in the same vehicle, on their way up to Slite. The big factory buildings dominated the town, located on the north-east side of Gotland. The limestone quarry was gigantic, with its huge crater off to one side of the road.

Knutas pulled to a stop at the entrance to the factory.

The Cementa harbour master then joined them to show the way to the quarry where the body had been found.

‘Can you tell us what you know so far?’ asked Knutas as they drove through the wrought-iron gates to the factory area.

‘Sure. Morgan was in charge of the blasting here, and he had two workmates with him, although they were on the other side of the quarry to him, almost a kilometre apart.’

‘How did they stay in contact?’ asked Jacobsson.

‘By radio. The two other men were supposed to make sure that nobody came near the site while the blasting was going on. It creates a tremendous force, you know, when thousands of tons of rock are broken up. Right before the detonation, Morgan said that he thought he could see someone near his shed, but then he decided it was only his imagination. The explosion went off, but it was late, so his colleagues tried to get hold of him by radio. He didn’t answer. One of them used his binoculars and saw somebody running away from the area, heading for the woods.’

‘What’s the name of that man, and where can I find him?’

‘Kjell Johansson. He’s probably still sitting in the office with the workmate who was there, Arne Pettersson. They were the ones who found the body.’

‘Ask them to stay there so we can talk to them before they leave. It’s very important.’

The harbour master called the office on his radio and gave instructions for both witnesses to remain in the office.

‘We’re almost there,’ he said then.

First they drove past the factory with the enormous silos, the conveyor belts that transported gravel for additional processing and the rotary kilns in which the limestone was heated.

They drove towards the larger stone quarry where the murder had taken place. The car jolted over the gravel road, which ran like a flat, wide furrow between the towering walls.

‘How well did you know Morgan Larsson?’ asked Knutas.

‘Quite well. He’s worked here for twenty years, almost as long as I have.’

‘How difficult is it for unauthorized personnel to get into the area?’

‘It’s really not very difficult. We can’t block off the whole factory property, or even the area around the limestone quarry. Across from it there’s a big stretch of forest called Fila Hajdar, which is where the quarry gets its name.’

‘So if somebody was up above here, they could get away without any problem? Even in a car?’

‘Of course. There are all sorts of small tracks going through the forest.’

Knutas cursed silently. The car continued up a slope next to the entrance to the quarry itself, and they parked outside the explosive expert’s shed.

‘That’s where he is. Inside there,’ said the harbour master.

The circular wooden shed was no more than 16 square feet. They stopped outside so as not to destroy any potential evidence. Morgan Larsson lay on the floor, turned on his side, his face up.

Knutas saw immediately that he’d been shot both in the head and in the abdomen. Just like Peter Bovide. There could be no doubt that they were dealing with a murderer who had now killed twice.

He glanced at Jacobsson. All colour had left her face.