Mari Jungstedt - The Dead Of Summer

Jacobsson had never set foot on Gotska Sandön before, and she’d always imagined it to be nothing more than a flat, sandy strip of land. As they approached, her image of the place changed.

The boat rounded the last promontory before reaching the area where they would go ashore, and Stefan Norrström handed her his binoculars.

‘Take a look. Out there is Bredsand promontory. See the birds? There are eider ducks, goosanders, black-throated divers, and of course black-backed gulls, common terns and herring gulls.’

Jacobsson raised the binoculars to her eyes. It took a moment before she found the correct focus, but when she did, she was astounded.

She was looking at thousands and thousands of seabirds flying around each other at different elevations and sailing back and forth over the promontory. It was an impressive sight.

‘You have to go out there and watch at sunset. It’s really something worth seeing. And it’s not far from the campsite, just a five-minute walk. The beach is so white and wide you’ll think you’re in Bali or somewhere like that.’

‘How often do you get to leave the boat and spend time on the island?’

‘Rarely. This boat shuttles between Nynäshamn, Gotska Sandön and Fårösund. But I once worked as an assistant to the head ranger. That’s why I know my way around the island.’

Jacobsson took out the photo of Morgan Larsson.

‘Do you recognize this man? His name is Morgan Larsson, and he used to come out to Gotska Sandön every once in a while.’

Stefan Norrström took the picture and studied it carefully.

‘No, I’ve never seen him before. And the name doesn’t sound familiar. But I see so many people. It’s impossible to remember them all.’

BY THE TIME Vera reached the campsite, she was physically and emotionally drained. The hike back had been ten times harder than when they had taken the same route on the previous day. She prayed to God that her sister had returned to the campsite on her own, or gone there by boat with the boys they’d met. Her mother and father were sitting outside the cabin drinking coffee when she arrived. Judging by their expressions, she could tell that Tanya hadn’t come back yet .

‘ Why are you alone? Where’s Tanya?’ shouted Oleg before even saying hello .

Both her parents stood up from the table and came to meet her. Their faces expressed surprise and concern. In spite of the circumstances, Vera couldn’t help feeling a twinge of irritation. Her sister was always number one in their minds and the focus of all their attention. She’d been walking for almost four hours, worn out and sick with worry. She’d finished off the drinking water long ago, as she’d left behind half of what they’d taken with them. She was soaked with sweat, parched and completely done in, but neither of her parents made any move to help her with her gear or offer her anything to drink. Vera clenched her teeth. Then she came right out and told them exactly what had happened. She would never forget the look on her father’s face when she finished her story. He’d turned pale under the suntan, and his lips were pressed tight into a narrow line .

‘ Are you telling me that you got so drunk you just went to bed? You left her alone with two total strangers? ’

‘ Yes, but…’ Vera tried to reply but fell silent when she saw her father’s ominous expression .

‘ How could you? You’re the older sister and should take responsibility. Tanya doesn’t know how to look out for herself. You just fell asleep, and now she’s gone missing – presumably with two boys we don’t even know!’

He was standing only inches away from her, and his saliva sprayed her in the face. Vera just stood there, the sweat pouring from her armpits and the heavy rucksack a leaden weight on her back. She felt dizzy and faint; her head began to spin .

‘ Calm down,’ she heard her mother say. ‘It’s not Vera’s fault that Tanya is missing. We need to go looking for her. She probably just got lost .’

They looked for Tanya all evening, with help from other visitors, the ranger and the rest of the employees. Their shouts echoed all over the island, but the search proved futile. When it began to get dark, they alerted the police. The next day, a patrol was due to come over to the island, and a helicopter was going to start searching as soon as it was light. A search was also initiated for the boat with the two young men, but Vera had only a vague idea of what sort of boat it was. Nor did she recall their names, although she thought they came from Stockholm .

AFTER THE MEETING of the investigative team, Knutas rang Peter Bovide’s parents. Katarina Bovide answered the phone.

‘Hello, this is Superintendent Knutas here, from the Visby police. I’m very sorry to disturb you again, but I was wondering whether Peter knew somebody named Morgan Larsson.’

There was silence on the phone.

‘That’s not the man who was found dead, is it? I just heard on the radio that somebody out at the stone quarry…’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Naturally, we haven’t yet made his identity public, but his name is Morgan Larsson. And he was shot in exactly the same way as Peter.’

Knutas heard Katarina Bovide take a deep breath.

‘But that’s horrible! Why Morgan? And Peter? I don’t understand. They were such nice boys.’

‘I’m afraid it’s true. Did they know each other?’

‘Yes, they were best friends when they were younger. But not later on. They haven’t been in contact for years.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘I suppose that’s just what happens. People grow apart.’

‘But you said they used to be good friends?’

‘Morgan was a year older than Peter, so they were never classmates in school. But when Morgan was thirteen, something terribly tragic happened. His parents died in a car crash. He was an only child, so he moved in with his grandparents, who lived only a stone’s throw from Slite. Morgan wasn’t doing well after everything he’d been through, but Peter knew lots of kids in the neighbourhood, and the two boys quickly became friends, so Morgan also became part of the whole group, you might say. Later, they were as thick as thieves for years. They travelled together on Interrail cards, and things like that. But eventually their friendship came to an end. I don’t know why.’

‘And you never asked Peter about it?’

‘I’m sure I did, but I don’t actually remember what he told me. By that time Peter had been living on his own for a long time, and Morgan too. Both of them lived in Visby. That’s how it goes with friends; they come and go. You can’t take it for granted that you’ll have the same friends your whole life. It’s just like everything else.’

Katarina Bovide’s voice quavered, and Knutas could hear that she was close to breaking point. He thanked her for her help and said goodbye.

THE BOAT DOCKED on the north-east side of the promontory, near the lighthouse, only a few minutes’ walk from the campsite. The weather was perfect, sunny and without a breath of wind. The temperature was 77 degrees. Karin almost forgot that she was here because of a homicide investigation. The huge beach stretched out before her, kilometre after kilometre, as far as the eye could see, until the shoreline disappeared in the distance behind the next promontory. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a wider beach, and the sand was fine-grained and practically white.

It was four thirty in the afternoon, and she was thinking of taking a dip before she started interviewing the park personnel on the island about Morgan Larsson. At the moment they were busy with all the new arrivals. Bags were flung on to a cart, which tractors then came to haul away. That was the only type of vehicle that could make it through the loose sand. The visitors were directed to walk along the wooden planks that had been placed on the sand, stretching for over 300 yards up to the campsite.