room in the hall. A board had been nailed across the door.
He found a crowbar on the ground outside the house and with some effort finally got the door open.
‘What the hell?’ he panted when he peered inside.
They had found Knutas.
JOHAN SAT WITH his head in his hands, staring down at the dust-covered gravel. He was much too upset to drive, so he’d started walking along the road from Emma’s house and continued on towards the football pitch. It was deserted. He sat down on a bench and smoked one cigarette after another until his throat was burning. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there when he noticed a woman with a pram coming closer. His stomach turned over when he saw who it was. There was Emma, with Elin, his daughter. He wanted to rush over and yank the handle of the pram out of her hands, but he restrained himself.
Then she turned her head and glanced in his direction. For several seconds he wondered whether she would come over to him or just keep going, pretending not to have seen him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approach. He froze.
‘Oh, look, here’s Pappa,’ she cooed in a cheerful voice, holding Elin out towards Johan.
Johan raised his head, and all of a sudden his little daughter was so close he could smell the scent of her. Those little brown eyes, that heart-shaped little face, the dimple on her chin. His dimple.
He made an effort to smile at her as he held out his hands. The next moment he was holding her warm, chubby little body close to him. That’s when he fell apart. Johan hugged his daughter tight and wept so that his shoulders shook.
At a loss, Emma sat down next to him without saying a word.
KNUTAS WAS TAKEN to the hospital. He wasn’t injured, but Kihlgard still insisted that he go, if nothing else to talk with somebody about what had just happened. Knutas submitted to a medical examination and then recounted the entire course of events to a kindly doctor in the psychiatric emergency unit he happened to know quite well. Lina and the kids came back from the summer house, and Lina urged him to take it easy and stay home for the rest of the day, but Knutas refused. By two o’clock that afternoon, he was back at police headquarters.
The entire team was on the job, as the investigation had now picked up steam. There was no time to lose.
Knutas had barely sat down at his desk before Jacobsson stuck her head in the door.
‘Hi. How are you doing?’
She came over to give him a quick hug.
‘What a thing to happen. I’m glad it turned out well.’
Knutas smiled wanly.
‘I heard you got locked inside a clothes cupboard, but then what happened?’
‘They went back to emptying the house of everything that wasn’t nailed down. I’d probably been sitting there for half an hour when I heard the van drive off. I wasn’t really worried, since I’d already managed to contact Kihlgard. And it wasn’t more than ten or fifteen minutes later that they showed up.’
‘Could you tell what language those guys were speaking?’
‘I’m not much of a linguist, as you know, but I think it was one of the Baltic languages, probably Estonian.’
‘Do you think they were the same guys who beat up Vendela Bovide?’
‘It seems highly likely.’
‘Have you gone through the book of mug shots?’
‘Yup. That was the first thing I did when I got back from the hospital. I’ve already been debriefed and looked at photos of plenty of ex-cons. Nothing, unfortunately.’
‘How well does Vendela’s description of the men match what you saw?’
‘It seems likely that two of them were the guys who beat her up. But there was also a third guy out on Furillen.’
‘So now everything seems to indicate that the murder of Peter Bovide did have something to do with his illegal workers.’
‘It seems so,’ Knutas agreed. ‘At the same time, I don’t think they were the killer type.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘At first I was scared, of course, thinking they might be the ones who shot Bovide. For a few seconds I really thought it was going to be the end of me. But then what happened? They locked me in a clothes cupboard, and even apologized for doing it.’
‘What?’
‘The last thing I heard them say was “We’re sorry!” Can you believe it?’ Knutas gave her a wry smile.
‘That doesn’t exactly sound like a cold-blooded murderer.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘But if the murder isn’t connected with the illegal workers, what the heck is this all about?’
‘That’s the very question I’ve been asking myself over and over again.’
MONDAY, 17 JULY
KNUTAS WOKE UP in his bed at home on Bokstromsgatan and found himself staring at Lina’s freckled back. She was taking deep, calm breaths. Cautiously, he kissed her shoulder, and she grunted softly.
They’d had a marvellous time. He and Lina had sat out on the porch in the warm summer evening, sipping cold white wine and talking the way they used to. They discussed what had happened out on Furillen. When he spoke the words aloud, it was as if he finally realized what a serious episode he’d been through.
They talked about how lucky he’d been, since the whole drama had ended well, even though the three men had escaped with all the appliances and everything else. Knutas was reminded of what he and Lina actually had together. What did it matter if their sex life was going through a lull when he thought about the camaraderie and intimacy they shared? They had fun together, laughed a lot and he loved her bold outlook. It was so easy living with Lina.
He needed to make more of an effort, do more to rekindle their love. It really wouldn’t require such major changes to improve things. He’d already made a start the previous evening by making sure they went to bed long before they were too tired to do anything but fall asleep.
When Knutas arrived at the investigative meeting an hour later, he noticed a particularly charged mood in the room. Even though he was a few minutes early, everyone else was already there, and they all seemed remarkably focused. Knutas started off the meeting.
‘So the primary suspects are these three men from Estonia, according to information we received from Peter Bovide’s partner, Johnny Ekwall. Since they’re undocumented workers, the construction company only has a mobile number for one of them, whose name is Andres. We’re now using that number to search for him in Estonia. I also jotted down the licence-plate number of the van before they found me, and fortunately they didn’t find the little scrap of paper when they searched my pockets. The car is registered to someone named Ants Otsa. We’ve enlisted the help of the Estonian police, and the hunt is on for all three men, now suspected of murdering Peter Bovide. We have a statement from a witness who said that three Baltic men and a large white van were seen on the boat to Nynashamn yesterday around lunchtime, and if that’s true, then they could be back in Estonia by now.’
‘What do we know about these guys?’ asked Wittberg.
‘I’ve talked to Interpol,’ said Kihlgard. ‘Ants Otsa is on the police books in Estonia for possession of narcotics and as an accessory to armed robbery several years ago. The other two are unknowns; we don’t even have their last names.’
‘How long have they been working for Slite Construction?’
‘About six months, according to Johnny Ekwall,’ replied Knutas.
‘Does Ekwall have any idea what’s behind their actions?’ asked Jacobsson.
‘He continues to claim that he knows very little, that he was just doing his job, and that he didn’t get involved in how the company was otherwise being run. According to him, it was a subcontractor who had responsibility for
