The Dead Of Summer

‘Why are you alone? Where’s Tanya?’ shouted Oleg before even saying hello.

Both her parents stood up from the table and came to meet her. Their faces expressed surprise and concern. In spite of the circumstances, Vera couldn’t help feeling a twinge of irritation. Her sister was always number one in their minds and the focus of all their attention. She’d been walking for almost four hours, worn out and sick with worry. She’d finished off the drinking water long ago, as she’d left behind half of what they’d taken with them. She was soaked with sweat, parched and completely done in, but neither of her parents made any move to help her with her gear or offer her anything to drink. Vera clenched her teeth. Then she came right out and told them exactly what had happened. She would never forget the look on her father’s face when she finished her story. He’d turned pale under the suntan, and his lips were pressed tight into a narrow line.

‘Are you telling me that you got so drunk you just went to bed? You left her alone with two total strangers?’

‘Yes, but…’ Vera tried to reply but fell silent when she saw her father’s ominous expression.

‘How could you? You’re the older sister and should take responsibility. Tanya doesn’t know how to look out for herself. You just fell asleep, and now she’s gone missing – presumably with two boys we don’t even know!’

He was standing only inches away from her, and his saliva sprayed her in the face. Vera just stood there, the sweat pouring from her armpits and the heavy rucksack a leaden weight on her back. She felt dizzy and faint; her head began to spin.

‘Calm down,’ she heard her mother say. ‘It’s not Vera’s fault that Tanya is missing. We need to go looking for her. She probably just got lost.’

They looked for Tanya all evening, with help from other visitors, the ranger and the rest of the employees. Their shouts echoed all over the island, but the search proved futile. When it began to get dark, they alerted the police. The next day, a patrol was due to come over to the island, and a helicopter was going to start searching as soon as it was light. A search was also initiated for the boat with the two young men, but Vera had only a vague idea of what sort of boat it was. Nor did she recall their names, although she thought they came from Stockholm.

AFTER THE MEETING of the investigative team, Knutas rang Peter Bovide’s parents. Katarina Bovide answered the phone.

‘Hello, this is Superintendent Knutas here, from the Visby police. I’m very sorry to disturb you again, but I was wondering whether Peter knew somebody named Morgan Larsson.’

There was silence on the phone.

‘That’s not the man who was found dead, is it? I just heard on the radio that somebody out at the stone quarry…’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Naturally, we haven’t yet made his identity public, but his name is Morgan Larsson. And he was shot in exactly the same way as Peter.’

Knutas heard Katarina Bovide take a deep breath.

‘But that’s horrible! Why Morgan? And Peter? I don’t understand. They were such nice boys.’

‘I’m afraid it’s true. Did they know each other?’

‘Yes, they were best friends when they were younger. But not later on. They haven’t been in contact for years.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘I suppose that’s just what happens. People grow apart.’

‘But you said they used to be good friends?’

‘Morgan was a year older than Peter, so they were never classmates in school. But when Morgan was thirteen, something terribly tragic happened. His parents died in a car crash. He was an only child, so he moved in with his grandparents, who lived only a stone’s throw from Slite. Morgan wasn’t doing well after everything he’d been through, but Peter knew lots of kids in the neighbourhood, and the two boys quickly became friends, so Morgan also became part of the whole group, you might say. Later, they were as thick as thieves for years. They travelled together on Interrail cards, and things like that. But eventually their friendship came to an end. I don’t know why.’

‘And you never asked Peter about it?’

‘I’m sure I did, but I don’t actually remember what he told me. By that time Peter had been living on his own for a long time, and Morgan too. Both of them lived in Visby. That’s how it goes with friends; they come and go. You can’t take it for granted that you’ll have the same friends your whole life. It’s just like everything else.’

Katarina Bovide’s voice quavered, and Knutas could hear that she was close to breaking point. He thanked her for her help and said goodbye.

THE BOAT DOCKED on the north-east side of the promontory, near the lighthouse, only a few minutes’ walk from the campsite. The weather was perfect, sunny and without a breath of wind. The temperature was 77 degrees. Karin almost forgot that she was here because of a homicide investigation. The huge beach stretched out before her, kilometre after kilometre, as far as the eye could see, until the shoreline disappeared in the distance behind the next promontory. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a wider beach, and the sand was fine-grained and practically white.

It was four thirty in the afternoon, and she was thinking of taking a dip before she started interviewing the park personnel on the island about Morgan Larsson. At the moment they were busy with all the new arrivals. Bags were flung on to a cart, which tractors then came to haul away. That was the only type of vehicle that could make it through the loose sand. The visitors were directed to walk along the wooden planks that had been placed on the sand, stretching for over 300 yards up to the campsite.

First they passed Fyrbyn, a cluster of red-painted wooden houses with white trim and splendid gardens. They belonged to the local folklore society. Members of the society and the head ranger lived in the houses during the summer and on a few weekends during the rest of the year.

Karin Jacobsson drew a deep breath into her lungs. The air was fresher than any place she’d ever been. From the woods came the scent of pine needles with a touch of moss, and mixed with sea air.

In the middle of the open square, which was surrounded by the cottages, stood a small museum that also housed a library and archives. That was where the rangers had their office. The ranger currently on duty was on his way back from the other side of the island, and it would take about an hour before he returned.

The path continued up to the campsite where the tourists would be staying. Tents and small cabins were arranged around an open clearing. In the centre were the public buildings, with laundry and kitchen facilities as well as showers. A short distance away were the toilets, which were actually outhouses, set up in a long row. The only thing to drink on the island was well water; all the food and anything else to drink had to be transported over. No kiosks, no shops, nothing. That was another sort of experience, in addition to everything else exotic about the island.

Jacobsson realized that she’d be forced to spend the night, since she’d arrived so late in the afternoon, so she asked for help in finding a cabin, food and clothing.

She was soon installed in her cabin, where she changed into a swimsuit, and then walked past the campsite towards the west side of the island. She wondered where Morgan Larsson had stayed and whether he’d been alone. She hoped that the people who worked on the island would remember the visitors who had stayed here, at least for the past few days.

The path to the beach wound its way through a wooded section. She couldn’t recall ever having experienced such silence. She stopped to listen. No car engines or voices, not even a rustling from the trees. And no sounds from the sea. Karin was filled with a sense of calm and almost forgot about the tragic events that had brought her here. The beach was at least 50 yards wide, and the sand glittered in the afternoon sun. A few sailboats were anchored a short distance away, and here and there she could see several sunbathers on the shore, but not many.

Yet people travel halfway around the world to find beaches that aren’t even half as beautiful, thought Karin. She dropped her towel on the sand and ran into the water.

AS SOON AS Johan returned to the editorial office, and in spite of being in a rush to file his report about the new murder, he rang up the pastor. The Faro church was free for a wedding one Saturday in August at four in the afternoon. Someone had cancelled. Was that a bad omen? He pushed the thought aside.