‘It looks cool. I mean it.’
Pia had her own style and attitude, which he liked.
‘Anything new turn up yet?’ He looked over her shoulder.
‘No, not really. But check this out. These pictures were on the front page.’
Photos of the police helicopter on the beach were spread all over the evening newspapers.
‘You should get paid for those.’
‘Fat chance. But I’m happy to get the photo credit. Oh, by the way, Grenfors rang. He wants to talk to you.’
‘So why doesn’t he ring my mobile?’ scoffed Johan. The editor-in-chief was not his favourite person.
Pia took her eyes off her computer and turned to face him.
‘Because it’s switched off. I tried ringing you too.’
‘Shit.’
He dug out his mobile from the pocket of his jeans and plugged it in to recharge.
‘OK, what’s on the schedule for today?’
‘Hopefully we’ll find out more about who the murder victim is and how he was killed. The police have announced a press conference for three o’clock this afternoon. Before then, I think it would be a good idea for us to drive up to Sudersand. Find out what the mood’s like on the day after, you know. Talk to people, and not just those staying at the campsite, but people who work there too. Apparently the victim had been there several days with his family. Maybe they’d made friends with somebody; I’m sure plenty of people will have something to say. But ring Max first and find out what he wants.’
‘Sure.’
The editor-in-chief sounded stressed.
‘Good you rang. So what do we know now?’
‘No more than we did yesterday. I just got to the office. Haven’t even had a chance to check the TT wire yet.’
‘I’ve had a meeting with the national news guys, and everybody wants to use your report again today. Preferably before lunch.’
‘Excuse me for laughing. Not a chance in hell.’
‘Couldn’t the two of you put together a quick interview with the police? So we have something to give them?’
Johan could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. It always upset him that Regional News had to kowtow to the more important national news division, supplying them with all sorts of material at the expense of their own broadcasts.
‘If we do that, how do you think we’ll have time to drive up to Faro? To take day-after pictures and do interviews and try to ferret out some of our own information? Besides, the police have announced a press conference for three o’clock. How are we going to attend that if we have to put together some shitty report to keep the national news guys happy? They should send over their own reporter.’
‘Take it easy. It was just a thought. I’ll talk to them. They’ve already mentioned sending somebody over. So I suppose they might as well do it sooner than later. With a camera person. I realize it’s too much for you to handle. I’ll get back to you.’
Johan ended the conversation and glared at Pia, who patted him on the shoulder.
‘Come on,’ she said, trying to console him. ‘Let’s get going.’
AT SUDERSAND CAMPSITE on Faro, there was hardly any sign of the murder drama from the previous day. At least not at first glance. Tourists were picking up brochures from the check-in desk, taking the path down to the beach and going to the cafeteria. No police officers or police tape in sight.
An elderly grey-haired woman sat behind the front desk.
‘Hello,’ she greeted them automatically. ‘How can I help you?’
Johan introduced himself and Pia, causing the woman to raise her eyebrows with interest.
‘We’d like to know more about the man who was shot yesterday,’ Johan began. ‘Who was he? And how long had he been here?’
‘The police told me not to say a word to any reporters.’
The woman pressed her lips together as if to demonstrate and gave them a suspicious look.
‘Of course, and we respect that. But maybe you could tell us something about the sort of reactions you’ve witnessed here today. When we arrived, Pia and I were surprised to see that nobody seems the least bit upset. Everybody here seems very calm and collected. If nothing else, surely it can’t hurt to do a report for TV on what the day after the murder is like. To show that the campsite is functioning normally, I mean. Have you had any cancellations?’
‘Not very many, actually.’
‘Would you mind talking about that while we film? I’d think it would be in your interest to show the viewers that everything is OK here, right?’
Johan was ashamed of stooping to this sort of veiled threat, but he felt no sympathy for the stern-looking woman sitting behind the counter.
He watched as she debated with herself for a few seconds.
‘No,’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘Not interested. And I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. And take that camera with you.’
The same instant she made her decision, a man came inside. He was tall and lanky, with tousled hair. He was carrying a stack of cigarette cartons. He introduced himself as Mats Nilsson, owner of the campsite.
‘Hi,’ said Johan, ignoring the scowling elderly woman. ‘We’re from Regional News. Have you got a minute?’
‘All right, sure.’
‘Could we go outside to talk?’
‘OK. I need a smoke anyway.’
Outside, they explained what they’d like to film, and after they had talked to the campsite owner for a few minutes, his face lit up.
‘Now I know who you are,’ he exclaimed, jabbing Johan in the stomach. ‘I recognize you from TV.’
‘Oh, really?’
Mats Nilsson let out a bellow of laughter, displaying his nicotine-stained teeth. Johan stared at him, uncomprehending.
‘You and Emma are an item, right? Emma Winarve?’
‘Well…’ Johan said, hesitating.
‘You even have a kid together. I read all about it in the newspaper. I dated Emma in the ninth grade; she was in the other class. She was damned cute back then, a lot prettier than she is now. Even though she had rather small… well, you know what I mean.’
He pointed at his chest.
Johan wondered if he’d heard this guy correctly. He felt Pia looking at him, and sensed how close she was to delivering a crushing remark to the unpleasant campsite owner. Even Johan had to make the utmost effort not to punch the guy in the face. He made a lightning-quick decision about which tactic would be best in this situation, and he chose to focus on their report, which meant assuming an ingratiating attitude. Even at his own expense.
‘Right. How cool. So I guess we have something in common.’
He managed a strained smile. Nilsson didn’t seem to notice his sarcastic tone of voice, and Johan quickly changed the subject.
‘How are things going here after that young man was shot yesterday?’
The campsite owner’s face clouded over.
‘I wouldn’t call him young. Peter was over forty. Bloody awful, the whole thing.’
Johan was all ears. The police hadn’t yet revealed the victim’s identity. It was important to tread lightly.
‘Did you know him?’
‘Yes I did, quite well in fact. He and his wife have come here several years in a row, and after a while I get to know all the regular campers. It’s a bleeding shame he had to go and get himself shot. Makes me wonder what
