FIVE MORE HOURS before the plane left for Sweden. They were up early to pack, and Vera suspected that her father hadn’t slept a wink all night. By six o’clock she could hear him pottering about in the kitchen. Neatly lined up on her bed were piles of clothes ready to be packed.
‘Keep in mind that you don’t need to take a lot of clothes along. And nothing fancy,’ called Oleg from the kitchen. ‘We’re going to be living outdoors – far away from civilization!’
Vera studied the piles: knickers, bras, bikinis, shorts, blouses, a few skirts and dresses, jeans and a heavy sweater.
That should be enough, she decided as she began stuffing items into her rucksack.
‘What are you taking along?’
Tanya stuck her head into her big sister’s room.
Her hair was pinned up in an untidy knot, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were shining. Tanya was at least as ecstatic as their father about this trip. She was nineteen and had never been out of Germany before.
‘All of this.’
Vera gestured towards the bed. Tanya looked at the piles, checked the contents of the rucksack and took out a couple of articles of clothing.
‘That’s all?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘But don’t you think we’ll have a chance to go out dancing a few times, you and I? At least in Stockholm or Visby?’
She gave her sister a poke in the side.
‘I’d like to have some fun with those luscious Swedes. We can’t miss out on the opportunity, since we’re there anyway. They’re supposed to be the cutest guys in the world, you know!’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘My god, haven’t you seen the pictures? And the Swedish girls are world-famous – so why shouldn’t the men look just as beautiful?’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Vera with a laugh as she opened her wardrobe. ‘Of course we should take along something cute. And of course we’ll go out. I could do with a little fun too.’
A week ago Gotthard had suddenly broken up with her. He’d met somebody else while he was on holiday in Portugal. And to make matters worse, it was a Swedish girl.
Unlike her younger sister, she never had any luck with boys. And she really didn’t understand why. She and her sister were very much alike, except that they had different temperaments. Vera was more serious and pensive. She lacked her sister’s spontaneity. Sometimes she wished she could be more like her little sister, more open, happier, more outgoing. Especially when she saw how Tanya stole all the attention, even from their parents. But that wasn’t just because of her personality. Vera was well aware of the reason, but it still hurt. Tanya had been diagnosed with leukaemia when she was thirteen, and she’d been seriously ill for a long time. Their parents had been numb with shock and despair, and they had devoted all their time to Tanya. Vera had been forced to fend for herself as best she could. And she’d had to cope alone with her own sorrow and distress about her sister.
But everything had turned out well in the end. Tanya had undergone an intensive treatment and her body was now free of cancer. Slowly but surely she had returned to her old self, becoming even stronger and more energetic than she’d been before. Of course Vera was thrilled that Tanya had pulled through; at the same time, their parents’ love and concern for her sister had increased even more after her illness.
Occasionally, when their father talked and laughed with Tanya while Vera was also in the room, he would cast a glance at his older daughter, as if he’d suddenly noticed her and was surprised that she was there too. Then he would sometimes look shamefaced, as if he’d been caught out. That was almost worse.
Strangely enough, Vera harboured no grudge towards her sister for this great imbalance that existed between them. Not any more. It had been worse when they were younger; back then she would secretly pinch her little sister and make nasty comments, just to get back at her a little. Now that they were both practically grown up, she had accepted the situation. At least she thought so. She refused to fight with Tanya, whether it had to do with the attention that she received from their parents or from men, so she might as well give up and be satisfied with who she was. She needed to stop comparing herself to Tanya. It just made her depressed.
Right now she looked at her sister, whose eagerness and enthusiasm for the trip was contagious. Vera truly loved Tanya; it wasn’t her fault that things had ended up this way.
‘The problem is, you’re going to take all the guys,’ she said with a sigh as Tanya showed her one top after another, each one more attractive than the last.
‘No, I won’t. You’re super-cute! Come on, we’ll pack some nicer things too. Forget about what Pappa says.’
‘OK.’
Oleg was rushing about the flat, whistling and dancing as he packed, grabbing hold of Sabine and swinging her around so she laughed out loud. Vera had never seen her father so elated. Ever since they were kids he’d talked about Gotska Sandon, about how beautiful it was supposed to be, about all the unusual birds, the seals, the plants. And the fact that his great-grandfather had died when his ship went down off a beach called Franska Cove; he was buried there, and three cannons that had been salvaged from the vessel were still on the island. Since receiving permission to make the trip there, he’d hardly talked about anything else.
‘The taxi’s here!’ shouted their mother from the kitchen.
They took one last look around the flat before they closed the door behind them.
KARIN JACOBSSON AND Martin Kihlgard slipped out to the pizzeria around the corner for a quick dinner. They expected to be working all evening. Since they hadn’t seen each other in quite a while, it was great to have some time to themselves. They’d worked together on a number of cases over the past few years, and they enjoyed each other’s company.
While they waited for their food to be served, they discussed what motives might have compelled the murderer to kill Peter Bovide.
As he talked, Kihlgard munched on his salad, which was soaked with dressing and mixed with croutons.
‘One possible motive, of course, is jealousy – some sort of love triangle. How faithful was Bovide? Maybe he was having an affair on the side.’
‘The MO really indicates revenge,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Why else fire a whole clip of shots into his stomach when they were obviously unnecessary? He died from the first bullet, after all.’
‘How do you know that?’ muttered Kihlgard, continuing to chew.
‘The ME phoned right before we left.’
‘Is that right? What’d he say?’
‘He was able to determine the time of the murder. Peter Bovide died at approximately six a.m., and it was the first shot that killed him. They found seven bullets in his stomach and one in his head. The slugs have already been sent over to SCL, and the lab has promised to put a rush on it. They’ve semi-promised me a report on the type of ammunition and hopefully the type of gun by tomorrow morning. The ME also told me that the entry wound indicates that the bullet was fired from an oblique angle above the victim. Which means that Bovide was probably sitting down or kneeling when the bullet struck his forehead.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, unless the perp was up on a ladder when he fired the gun, but that’s not very likely. When Bovide took the shots to the abdomen, he was lying down. So Sohlman’s theory about the sequence of events was correct. First he was shot in the forehead, then he fell to the ground and finally the rest of the rounds were fired into his torso.’
Kihlgard looked thoughtful.
‘But that’s a little odd, don’t you think? Why would he be sitting down? He was out running, right?’
