thought as he flew out of bed to grab the phone from under his clothes, which were piled in a heap on the chair. He now paid attention to his phone in a whole different way. Emma might be calling him.
Instead the call was from Niklas Appelqvist, one of the few personal friends Johan had on Gotland. Even though Niklas was ten years younger, they enjoyed each other's company, mostly because they shared an interest in sixties rock 'n' roll. Johan had gotten to know the young archaeology student a year earlier, in connection with a murder case. Niklas lived in the same building as a newspaper photographer on a disability pension who had been found murdered in the basement. Niklas had helped Johan by giving him a number of tips during the investigation. When Johan moved to the island, they started spending time together.
'Hi, how're things going?'
'Fucking great,' Johan managed to say. He cleared his throat and wearily sat down. 'I became a father on Friday.'
'Really? That's great! Congratulations! Boy or girl?'
'A girl,' said Johan, feeling himself smile.
'Did everything go all right?'
'Well, it was a little dramatic for a while, but she got here just fine. So beautiful. Eight pounds two ounces, and twenty inches long.'
'Wow. How's Emma?'
'Good, although she's really tired, of course.'
'We need to celebrate this.' Niklas sounded enthusiastic. 'Let me take you out for a beer tonight.'
'Thanks, but I can't. I'm going to bring Emma and the baby home from the maternity ward. Maybe another time.'
'Okay. By the way, I heard about something that might interest you.'
'What's that?'
'A girl who's studying archaeology has disappeared. She's taking an excavation course at the college. Students from all over the world come here to work on a dig during the summer.'
'How long has she been missing?'
'Since Saturday night. They're really upset about it over at the Warfsholm youth hostel where she's staying. Apparently she disappeared after the Eldkvarn concert on Saturday, and no one has seen her since. I know a girl who's helping out with the course, and she just told me about it.'
'Do you have someone visiting you this early?'
'You mean this late.'
'What's her name?'
'The girl who disappeared or my visitor?'
'The one who's missing, of course.'
'Martina something or other.' Johan could hear Niklas murmuring to someone in the background. 'Martina Flochten. She's from the Netherlands.'
'Flochten,' repeated Johan. 'How old is she?'
'Young. Twenty-something.'
'Okay. Thanks.'
Shit, what bad timing. There was nothing he would rather do than go over to see Emma and the baby, but he was the only TV reporter on the island. The story of a missing girl had to be checked out, even though the whole thing sounded a bit vague. He called the hospital, and according to the nurse who answered, Emma and the baby were fine. Both were asleep at the moment. They had stayed at the maternity ward longer than planned because the breast-feeding hadn't started the way it should.
His concern must have been audible in his voice, because the nurse assured Johan that it was completely normal and nothing to worry about: The breast-feeding would undoubtedly proceed as it was supposed to within a few days. He wondered if this was how his life was going to be, now that he'd become a father. Constant worry about all sorts of things.
It was eight forty-five. He phoned Knutas but was told that the superintendent would be busy all morning, and no one could or would say anything about the missing young woman. He took a shower, shaved, and gulped down a cup of coffee and ate a piece of toast. Then he called Pia. She could pick him up in fifteen minutes. They decided to drive straight out to the Warfsholm hotel and youth hostel.
The hotel consisted of a late-nineteenth-century wooden building painted yellow, with a lovely tower. It stood on a headland overlooking the sea. On one side of the building was an idyllic sandy beach. Beyond it could be seen the bird sanctuary at Vivesholm, where the spit of land stuck straight out into the water. On the other side of the building was the harbor, which, with its silos and wind-power station, formed a sharp contrast to the beach.
When Johan and Pia got out of the car in the parking lot, they discovered a police car. Two uniformed officers were walking along the beach and talking to families with children. The news team went down to the water and admired the view of the nature preserve on the islands of Big Karlso and Little Karlso.
'What's that?' asked Johan, pointing at something that was sticking out of the water just beyond the harbor entrance.
'That's the wreck from a freighter, the Benguela, that went aground out there. It must have been at least twenty years ago now.'
'What happened?'
'The freighter was coming from Sodertalje, on its way to Klintehamn. The accident happened in the winter. I think it was early morning. It was foggy, with a strong wind, and the vessel went aground so hard that they couldn't get her to budge.'
'What about the crew?'
'I think they all made it, actually.'
'Why hasn't she ever been salvaged?'
'There was something about a loophole in the law that meant the shipping company couldn't be held responsible, and the owner didn't feel he could afford to have the boat towed away. That's why it's still there.'
'Incredible.' Johan shook his head.
'Yes, isn't it? You used to be able to see a lot more of the boat. She seems to be rusting apart. It won't be long before she completely disappears below the surface.'
For the time being they decided not to bother the police officers and walked up to the hotel entrance. They had made an appointment to meet with the manager, Kerstin Bodin. She was a slender, dark-haired woman who gave them a smile but looked tired.
They sat down in the outdoor section of the restaurant, with a view of the harbor. Pia didn't have the patience to sit still, so she went off with her camera.
'This is so unpleasant,' said Kerstin. 'Of course, it's not certain that anything awful has happened to her, but what if it has? I'm terrified that they're going to find her drowned out there. It's impossible to say what happened. She was apparently very drunk when she left.'
'Do you know Martina?'
'We've talked a good deal. I've had more contact with her than with many of our guests. She's extremely nice. A very happy and open sort of girl. Her mother's from Gotland, you know. Martina has been to the island quite often.'
'Where is her mother from?'
'Hemse. Both her mother and her grandparents are dead now, and Martina told me that she doesn't have any other relatives on Gotland. But she usually spends a week here every summer, on vacation.'
'Do you know where she usually stays when she's here?'
'From what I understood, her family usually stays at the Wisby hotel. Apparently there's a special suite that they always reserve. She told me that her father knows the owner.'
'I see. What's his name? Or her name?' Johan quickly added, realizing that he was in fact sitting across from a female hotel manager.
Kerstin smiled. 'His name is Jacob Dahlen. We were in the same class in middle school.'
'Maybe that's where Martina is.'
'I don't think so,' said Kerstin, shaking her head. 'If so, why hasn't she called anyone? Surely she would know that everyone is worried.'
