Ever since he’d first seen the church, he’d wanted to get married there. To Emma. This time they were going to do it.
That evening he drove out to Roma. As he walked up the gravel path to Emma’s house, he was in good spirits. He’d bought twenty red roses, which he was holding behind his back, along with a bottle of champagne.
He rang the bell and listened to the chiming inside. No one was visible in the kitchen window. If only she was at home. He hadn’t wanted to ring ahead to say he was coming over. He wanted to surprise her, just as she had surprised him with her card.
Then the door opened, and there she stood. Wearing a grey hoodie and sweatpants, her hair wet. She looked exactly the same as when they had first met. He would never forget that day. He and the photographer Peter Bylund had come to the house in Roma to interview Emma, who was best friends with a woman who had been brutally murdered with an axe on the beach. The two men had both left feeling slightly infatuated with Emma.
He felt quite moved when he saw her. She almost seemed unreal.
‘Hi.’ She looked pleased.
‘Emma,’ was all he said.
He pulled her soft, lean body into his arms and buried his face in her long, wet hair. Then he stepped back and looked deep into her eyes.
‘I’ll leave at once if you can’t answer my question.’
‘OK,’ she said, sounding puzzled, although she didn’t look at all nervous. Just full of anticipation.
‘Will you marry me on 19 August in Faro church, in the presence of our families, relatives, friends and all the children? And I’m talking about a big church wedding with a huge party afterwards.’
Emma replied without hesitation.
‘Yes, Johan. I will.’
He put down the bouquet of roses and champagne bottle and lifted her up in his arms. How light she was. She’d lost a lot of weight since the spring. He carried her upstairs, put her down on the bed. Pulled off her sweatpants and the grey hoodie as he caressed her silky skin. Then he held her head in his hands and kissed her soft lips. His mouth pressed against hers. The kiss went on and on. She unbuttoned his shirt and straddled him.
How long it had been – an eternity since they’d last made love. The kiss didn’t stop. She never wanted to let go. And neither did he.
JACOBSSON ENTERED THE museum building, where she was to meet with head ranger Mattias Bergstrom. He was in his thirties, with a beard and ice-blue eyes. On the phone she had explained why she wanted to see him. He suggested they should sit in his office, where they could talk undisturbed. The office was small and crowded with shelves; books and papers were everywhere. They sat down on either side of his cluttered desk, and he gave her a cup of coffee, though without offering milk or sugar.
‘So it has to do with the murder of that man at the stone quarry in Slite,’ he said. It was more of a statement than a question.
‘Yes, exactly. Apparently he was over here at the weekend. The next day, he was fatally shot while he was at work. We want to find out whether he met anyone here, or whether something happened that might have caused the murder.’
‘How horrible. I talked to him just yesterday. He’d been to the island on numerous occasions.’
‘I see. Did he come out here alone, or was someone with him?’
‘I think he was alone, actually.’
‘Do you have any idea when he was here the first time?’
‘Sure, I can check.’ Bergstrom got up and opened a filing cabinet.
‘We keep a handwritten list of everybody who has stayed here, and the dates. I guess we’re a little old- fashioned that way.’
He carefully flicked through the file.
‘Now let me see… L… for Larsson. We keep a file on everybody, arranged by last names, nothing else. We need only the last name to see when each visitor has been here, how long they stayed, and where; also whether they came alone or with somebody else.’
‘Yes, I see.’ Jacobsson could feel her impatience growing.
‘Larsson, yes, here it is,’ he said, sounding pleased when he finally found the name. ‘Morgan. The first time he was here was 1990. He’s been back quite a few times since then.’
‘How many times?’
Bergstrom counted them up.
‘Five. Approximately every third year. And always on the same date.’
Jacobsson raised her eyebrows and leaned forward.
‘The same date, you said? When?’
‘He came over on 21 July and left on the twenty-third. Every single time.’
‘Strange. That could hardly be a coincidence. Do you know why he chose those dates?’
‘No, I have no idea. And now we’ll never know. Unfortunately, it’s too late to ask him.’
‘Has a man named Peter Bovide ever spent the night here?’
The head ranger picked up a different file and looked for the name.
‘We have an Anette Bovide, and Stig and Katarina Bovide, but no Peter.’
‘When were they here?’
‘Anette came here with her husband, Anders Eriksson, in June, three years ago. And Stig and Katarina have made two visits to the island. The first time was in August 1991, and the second last year, in May.’
‘Do you have a list of the other people who were here at the same time as Morgan Larsson, on his last visit?’
‘Of course.’
Jacobsson scanned the list of names. She didn’t see anything. She compared the names with the list from Morgan’s previous visits. No name seemed to appear more than once.
‘Can I have a copy?’
‘Just a sec.’
He got up and went into an adjacent room. Jacobsson heard a good deal of rattling and clattering before he came back with a grimy photocopy.
‘Thanks,’ she said as he handed her the paper. ‘Can you tell me your impression of Morgan Larsson? And what did he do while he was here?’
The head ranger leaned back and clasped his hands.
‘He was always alone whenever I ran into him. I didn’t notice anything in particular about him, except that he seemed quite reserved.’
‘Did he behave strangely?’
‘No, not exactly. Although he seemed to be quite a person of habit. On the day after he arrived, he left the campsite very early in the morning with a rucksack, so I assume that he did what so many others do here – hike around the island.’
‘How long does it take?’
‘Hmm… the perimeter is about 30 kilometres, so not everybody makes it all the way round. You can choose different options. Some people start by going straight across the island through the woods and then follow the path along the shore back home. Others start at the lighthouse and take the shoreline path, or else they turn off by Tarnudden on the other side and take the forest path back.’
‘If you choose the coastal path all the way round the island, how long does it take?’
‘Nine or ten hours, if you’re used to hiking. Parts of the shoreline are rocky and difficult, and in a number of places you have to turn inland; for instance, out by Saludden, which is a protected area.’
‘Are there any seals out there?’
‘Yes, we almost always see seals out there. The biggest chance is in the morning or the evening, when they lie on the rocks out in the water.’
‘Do you know which route Morgan Larsson chose?’
‘I actually ran into him early on Saturday morning, on the path that goes straight through the woods and down to the Las Palmas beach on the east side of the island. And I know that others saw him coming back in the evening