FOREMAN KJELL JOHANSSON slowly lowered his hand, which was holding the silent radio. At least Morgan had carried out the blasting, although after a delay of several minutes. He was never late, but no doubt he’d be able to explain. It was odd that he wasn’t answering his radio. Had he put it down somewhere? That seemed very unlikely. They always stayed on site for five or ten minutes after the explosion, just for safety’s sake. Sometimes rocks broke loose quite a distance away from the detonation.
Something wasn’t right. Kjell Johansson raised the binoculars to study the other side of the quarry and find out what his colleague was doing.
At first he didn’t see anything. The blasting hut looked deserted, and Morgan’s pick-up was still parked in the same place. He began surveying the area and couldn’t believe his eyes when he spotted a dark figure, which definitely wasn’t Morgan Larsson, emerge from the shed and disappear into the woods. Kjell Johansson tried his radio again, his eyes still peering through the binoculars.
‘Morgan, damn it all. Morgan, what’s going on?’
Still no answer.
Kjell Johansson called to his colleague on the other side of the pit.
‘Something’s wrong. Morgan’s not answering, and somebody was here, inside the shed. I just saw him come out. We have to go over there. Right now.’
When the two men drove up to the opposite side of the quarry, they instantly realized that something serious had happened. Morgan Larsson’s communications radio lay on the ground, smashed to bits.
When they approached the shed that was the explosives expert’s domain, they suddenly slowed their pace.
Both men recoiled at what they saw. Morgan Larsson was lying on the floor, his body twisted at an odd angle. Their eyes went first to his abdomen. It was riddled with bloody bullet holes; in the heat, flies and other insects had already begun to swarm over the wounds.
KNUTAS, JACOBSSON AND Wittberg were all riding in the same vehicle, on their way up to Slite. The big factory buildings dominated the town, located on the north-east side of Gotland. The limestone quarry was gigantic, with its huge crater off to one side of the road.
Knutas pulled to a stop at the entrance to the factory.
The Cementa harbour master then joined them to show the way to the quarry where the body had been found.
‘Can you tell us what you know so far?’ asked Knutas as they drove through the wrought-iron gates to the factory area.
‘Sure. Morgan was in charge of the blasting here, and he had two workmates with him, although they were on the other side of the quarry to him, almost a kilometre apart.’
‘How did they stay in contact?’ asked Jacobsson.
‘By radio. The two other men were supposed to make sure that nobody came near the site while the blasting was going on. It creates a tremendous force, you know, when thousands of tons of rock are broken up. Right before the detonation, Morgan said that he thought he could see someone near his shed, but then he decided it was only his imagination. The explosion went off, but it was late, so his colleagues tried to get hold of him by radio. He didn’t answer. One of them used his binoculars and saw somebody running away from the area, heading for the woods.’
‘What’s the name of that man, and where can I find him?’
‘Kjell Johansson. He’s probably still sitting in the office with the workmate who was there, Arne Pettersson. They were the ones who found the body.’
‘Ask them to stay there so we can talk to them before they leave. It’s very important.’
The harbour master called the office on his radio and gave instructions for both witnesses to remain in the office.
‘We’re almost there,’ he said then.
First they drove past the factory with the enormous silos, the conveyor belts that transported gravel for additional processing and the rotary kilns in which the limestone was heated.
They drove towards the larger stone quarry where the murder had taken place. The car jolted over the gravel road, which ran like a flat, wide furrow between the towering walls.
‘How well did you know Morgan Larsson?’ asked Knutas.
‘Quite well. He’s worked here for twenty years, almost as long as I have.’
‘How difficult is it for unauthorized personnel to get into the area?’
‘It’s really not very difficult. We can’t block off the whole factory property, or even the area around the limestone quarry. Across from it there’s a big stretch of forest called Fila Hajdar, which is where the quarry gets its name.’
‘So if somebody was up above here, they could get away without any problem? Even in a car?’
‘Of course. There are all sorts of small tracks going through the forest.’
Knutas cursed silently. The car continued up a slope next to the entrance to the quarry itself, and they parked outside the explosive expert’s shed.
‘That’s where he is. Inside there,’ said the harbour master.
The circular wooden shed was no more than 16 square feet. They stopped outside so as not to destroy any potential evidence. Morgan Larsson lay on the floor, turned on his side, his face up.
Knutas saw immediately that he’d been shot both in the head and in the abdomen. Just like Peter Bovide. There could be no doubt that they were dealing with a murderer who had now killed twice.
He glanced at Jacobsson. All colour had left her face.
‘Bloody hell. What a lunatic,’ muttered Wittberg.
Jacobsson didn’t say a word. Knutas looked at his colleagues.
‘OK, it looks like there’s no question that it’s the same perpetrator. The wound in the forehead looks identical to the one that killed Peter Bovide.’
Two more police vehicles came up the hill. Erik Sohlman jumped out of the first one.
‘What’s happened?’
Before anyone could answer, Sohlman stepped over to the body. He stopped short and stared with dismay at the dead man’s face.
‘Morgan… Morgan, what the hell?’
Jacobsson went over to Sohlman and put her hand on his shoulder.
‘What’s wrong? Did you know him?’
‘It’s Morgan,’ murmured Sohlman. ‘Morgan Larsson.’
SEVERAL BARRACKS AT the smaller quarry housed offices and staff rooms. That was where Kjell Johansson, the foreman who’d been present when the murder was committed, was now waiting. He was in his fifties; he looked pale and upset. Most likely, he was in a state of shock.
‘Could you tell us what happened?’ Knutas began.
‘We drove over to the quarry, as usual, about fifteen minutes before the scheduled detonation. Morgan was already there; he was always early.’
‘Did you notice anything in particular on the way there?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘So what happened when you arrived?’
‘My colleague and I each went to our usual positions, meaning on the other side of the pit from where Morgan was. We talked to each other on the radio, as always, but then Morgan said he thought he’d seen somebody moving around near the shed where he waits during the blasting.’
‘Where was he when he said that?’
‘He was checking the charges. That’s what he always did.’
‘What exactly did he see?’
‘He didn’t say, just that he noticed something moving. He asked me to check it out. I scanned the area with my binoculars but didn’t see anything.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘I don’t really know. It was eleven thirty, and Morgan always detonated the explosion on the dot. It was a little game of his, to detonate at precisely the scheduled time. But this time, several minutes passed and nothing
