area with the most beautiful view in all of Sweden, thought Johan as he looked out over the city with its magnificent cathedral, clusters of buildings, and medieval ruins. And forming a backdrop beyond was the sea, although at the moment it was barely visible through the grey haze.
They hurried over to Dalman Gate.
The street was swarming with activity. Police officers had been posted to make sure no one went inside the area that had been cordoned off. The small car park next to the gate was filled with police vehicles, and police dogs were searching the area. Johan pushed his way forward. Over by the gate he saw Knutas talking to an older man whom he recognized as the ME. He managed to catch Knutas’s eye, and the superintendent signalled for the ME to wait a moment. Johan was on good terms with the police after the serial murders of the previous summer, when he had actually helped the authorities solve the case.
Knutas gave Johan a firm and heartfelt handshake. They hadn’t seen each other since Johan had started working again.
‘How’s it going?’
‘I’m fine now. I’ve got a whale of a scar across my stomach, but hopefully that’ll just make me more interesting at the beach in the summertime. So what can you tell me about all this?’ Johan nodded towards the gate.
‘I can’t tell you much except that we’re certain it’s a homicide.’
‘How was he killed?’
‘You know I can’t discuss that right now.’
‘How can you be sure he didn’t take his own life?’ Johan was still fishing, hoping to get the superintendent to let something slip unintentionally.
But he was out of luck. Knutas just gave him a stern look.
‘OK, OK,’ said Johan, backing off. ‘Can you confirm that Egon Wallin, the art dealer, is the victim?’
Knutas sighed in resignation. ‘Officially, no. Not all the family members have been notified yet.’
‘How about unofficially?’
‘All right. It’s true. The victim is Egon Wallin. But you didn’t hear that from me.’
‘Could I do a short interview with you right here and now? An official one, that is?’ Johan grinned.
‘Be quick about it.’
Knutas didn’t say much more than what Johan already knew. But there was still a lot to be said for interviewing the officer in charge at the crime scene. Besides, it also showed all the work going on in the background. That was television’s strength: taking the viewer to the actual scene.
Johan and Pia interviewed a number of people who were in the vicinity. When they were finished, Johan looked at his watch.
‘We’ve got time to swing by the gallery too. The place is probably closed, since it’s Sunday, but we can still get an exterior shot. Maybe I can do a piece-to-camera there.’
‘Sure, of course.’ Pia folded up her equipment.
When they parked the TV car on Stora Torget, they saw flowers and burning torches on the pavement outside the gallery. A ‘Closed’ sign was posted on the door. All the lights were off, and through the dark Johan could just make out some of the big paintings hanging on the walls. Suddenly he gave a start. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone going up the stairs inside. He peered through the window to try to get a better view, and knocked on the door several times.
Even though he waited there for a long time, no one came to open it.
11
Knutas spent all of Sunday dashing madly between police headquarters and Dalman Gate. Late in the afternoon he suddenly realized that he had forgotten to ring home.
As soon as he heard Lina’s voice he remembered they were planning to have dinner with his parents at their farm up in Kappelshamn in northern Gotland. Damn it. He knew how particular they were about everything going according to schedule. In his mind he could already hear the disappointment in his father’s voice as Lina reported that his son wouldn’t be joining them. His father had never fully accepted the fact that Knutas had become a police officer. Not really. And his opinion still had an effect on Knutas, even though he was fifty-two years old. When it came to his parents, he would never be truly grown-up.
Lina, on the other hand, usually accepted a change in plan with equanimity, whether it was a postponed holiday in the mountains or a parent-teacher meeting that he had to miss. ‘It’ll work out,’ she would simply say, and it always did. He was rarely made to feel guilty because of his job, and that made his life so much easier. His Danish wife had an easy-going temperament that often made him think how terribly lucky he’d been. They’d met just by chance when he went to a restaurant in Copenhagen while attending a conference for police officers. Back then she was working as a waitress while completing her studies. Now she was a midwife at Visby Hospital.
There was standing room only at the press conference. Since the victim was so well known on Gotland, the story was big news for the local media. The fact that he’d been found hanging from a gate in Visby’s ring wall was enough to spark the interest of the media all over Sweden. And besides, it was a Sunday.
When Knutas and Norrby entered the room where the press conference was being held, the high level of anticipation was palpable. The reporters were seated in rows with their notepads ready on their laps. The camera people were setting up their equipment, and microphones had been affixed to the podium at the front of the room.
Knutas went over the most important information and revealed the identity of the victim. There was no reason to keep that secret. All of the family members had now been contacted, rumours had begun spreading in Visby, and flowers were piling up outside the gallery on Stora Torget.
‘Do you suspect a robbery?’
The question came from a representative of the local radio station.
‘We can’t rule out the possibility of a robbery at the moment,’ said Knutas.
‘Did the victim have anything of value in his possession? A wallet, for instance?’
Knutas gave a start. Johan Berg, of course. He and Norrby exchanged glances.
‘That kind of detail is under investigation, so I can’t go into it right now.’
‘How can you be so certain that it’s a homicide?’
‘A preliminary examination of the victim has been done, and he has sustained injuries that could not have been self-inflicted.’
‘Can you describe the injuries?’
‘No.’
‘Was a weapon used?’
‘I’m not going to answer that question either.’
‘How was he hoisted up so high in the gateway?’ asked the same aggressive reporter from the local newspaper, who had been at the crime scene. ‘You had to get help from the fire department to get the body down.’
‘We assume that we’re either dealing with more than one perpetrator or with a man who is unusually strong.’ ‘Are you looking for a body-builder?’
‘Not necessarily. Those types of guys often look much stronger than they actually are.’
Someone laughed.
‘Do you have any theories about whether the perpetrator is from Gotland or the mainland?’
‘We’re keeping that question open.’
‘If the murder didn’t result from a robbery, what do you think was the motive?’
‘It’s much too early to speculate about that. We’re working on a broad front and keeping all avenues open. Nothing can be ruled out at this early stage.’
‘What are the police doing at the moment?’
‘We’re interviewing people, knocking on doors, and going over tips that have come in. And we’re asking the public to come forward if anyone thinks he has seen or heard anything, either on the night of the murder or the day
