The Dead Of Summer

He glanced around and saw some men looking at the ship with anticipation. There wasn’t much for him to do at the moment, so he sat down on a barrel and lit another cigarette. Two guys were standing near the gangway, looking as if they were conducting business. One of them pulled bottles of booze out of a box, while the other collected the money. Notes changed hands as the transactions were carried out quite openly. Johan hoped that Pia was getting it all on film; he looked around to see where she was.

The next second he saw her standing next to Viktor, who was buying some booze from the man at the gangway.

When the purchase was completed, she nonchalantly went on board.

JOHAN COULDN’T MAKE up his mind. Should he follow her?

He didn’t have to ponder his decision for long. The next second, police sirens began wailing, and four cars came to a screeching halt on the dock. Within a few minutes, a dozen officers had gone on board the boat while others rounded up the people on the wharf. Knutas didn’t seem to be among the officers, but Johan caught a glimpse of Karin Jacobsson in the crowd.

It didn’t take long before people began coming out. Pia was escorted by two solid-looking policemen who resolutely hustled her down the gangway. Then Johan discovered Knutas, his face bright red, striding towards Pia.

‘What in the world are you doing here?’ he shouted. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

She didn’t hesitate to answer.

‘We have every right to cover any story we like, and to whatever extent we deem worthwhile. Or are you saying that we should ring the police and ask permission every time we’re going to put together a report?’

‘Damn it all, you could ruin the whole investigation. Get her out of here,’ he ordered his colleagues.

A moment later, Knutas caught sight of Johan.

‘You’re here too? Why can’t you stay out of police business?’

Ever since Johan’s report from the construction site in Stenkyrkehuk had been shown on TV, Knutas had been noticeably annoyed and curt with him. Now he was furious.

‘It’s damned hard to do our job when we keep having reporters swarming at our heels. How are we supposed to conduct an investigation with you hanging around all the time? Do you think this is going to benefit the investigation in some way?’

Johan felt his hackles rise.

‘What the hell are you talking about? This is a public place, and we’re just doing our job. Like you are.’

‘Get out of here,’ roared Knutas. ‘Before I decide to arrest you.’

‘What for? Disturbing the peace? Or endangering somebody? I call this a fucking threat against journalists.’

The officers who were holding Pia now let her go, and she came over to Johan and took his arm.

‘Come on,’ she said quietly. ‘Let’s get out of here. We’ve got what we came for.’

Reluctantly, Johan complied. He was shaking his head at Knutas and muttering something inaudible.

‘Lucky for you I didn’t hear what you just said,’ snapped Knutas. ‘You’d bloody well better watch your step.’

SUNDAY, 23 JULY

KNUTAS HAD TIPPED back his worn oak desk chair as he sat on the leather cushion, shiny with age. The appearance of the chair offered a stark contrast to the rest of the furnishings in his office. Police headquarters had been remodelled a couple of years earlier, and it was all Scandinavian design, with white walls; the old things had been replaced with plain, simple furniture made of light birch. But Knutas had refused to give up his favourite chair. It stimulated his thought processes, as did the pipe which he was now filling with the greatest attention. He rarely lit the pipe, but just fiddling with the aromatic tobacco helped him think.

He’d come back to headquarters, even though it was Sunday evening, because he wanted to go over the interviews that had been conducted over the weekend with the crew of the Russian coal transport. The results of the police raid had been meagre, at least from his perspective. They had confiscated hundreds of litres of Russian vodka, and a number of individuals had been arrested, suspected of illegal sales, but nothing new had surfaced that might propel the homicide investigation forward.

The search for the murder weapon was continuing without interruption. Everyone who lived on Gotland and had a licence for a gun had been checked, but nowhere had they been able to locate the Korovin gun that had been used for the killing. The police knew full well that a good many illegal weapons could be found in Swedish homes. But every few years a gun amnesty was conducted in the country for several months, when anyone could turn in their weapons to the police anonymously and without risking any sort of punishment. The last time this was done, they had collected 17,000 guns in three months.

Knutas leaned his head in his hands. There was something fundamentally wrong with this whole investigation, but he just couldn’t work out what it could be.

GOTSKA SANDON, 22 JULY 1985

THE MERCILESS RAYS of the sun woke Vera as she lay tangled up like a snake in the sleeping bag. It was a moment before she was fully conscious, but the first sensation was a dull nausea in her stomach.

She blinked at the light and heard voices further down the beach. With an effort, she pulled herself into a sitting position and lifted away a corner of the windbreak. Ten or fifteen people were walking past. They were in late middle age, with rucksacks, sunhats and sensible shoes. She heard scattered laughter interspersed with their chatter. Without a care in the world, they continued on, although one person did cast a glance in her direction, but quickly looked away. They paid her no attention.

The sleeping bag next to hers was empty. She was wearing her watch, which told her it was eleven fifteen. Good God, how could she have slept so long? She peered out again. Tanya was nowhere in sight. Maybe she’d gone for a walk or a swim. But then Vera began thinking more clearly, and memories from the previous evening returned. Those boys from Stockholm. They’d had fun grilling food, swimming and drinking a lot of beer and booze. One of them had a guitar; she’d almost had a crush on him when he played. Then she’d suddenly felt sick and couldn’t sit up any longer; everything began spinning around. She had to go and lie down for a while. She told them she needed to pee and walked away. She threw up in the bushes and then crawled into her sleeping bag behind the windbreak. She’d intended to stay only until she felt better, but she must have fallen asleep.

Again she pushed aside a corner of the windbreak to peer out at the water. The boat was gone. She sank back to the ground. Her throat was parched, and she was hot and thirsty. She staggered to her feet, found a bottle of water and drank some of it. Her head was spinning and she was sick with worry. Where was her little sister? What if something had happened to her?

‘Tanya!’ she shouted, as loudly as she could.

She walked from one end of the deserted beach to the other without finding her sister. Then she went into the woods to look for her. The longer she searched, the more worried she became. The idyllic beach suddenly felt menacing and inhospitable.

By two o’clock, she had given up searching and packed up as much as she could carry. For safety’s sake, she left behind the windbreak, some food and water, and Tanya’s rucksack. She wrote a note explaining that she’d gone back to the campsite.

Before she left the beach, she turned around one last time, straining to see as far as she could.

But nothing moved.