He couldn’t help thinking about what had gone wrong. Of course, he shouldn’t have staked everything on one effort; he should have had half the police officers go out to the airport, since that was the most likely escape option. The patrol officers had discovered too late that Stefan Norrstrom’s car was there and then sounded the alarm. Now Knutas could only hope that the police at Arlanda airport in Stockholm would confirm that they’d taken the couple into custody.
When Knutas got back to his office at police headquarters, his mobile rang. His pulse quickened.
‘Yes?’
His colleagues out at the airport reported, to his surprise, that Vera and Stefan Norrstrom never boarded the plane to Stockholm. After checking in, they had vanished without a trace.
Knutas swore, cursing himself again. Thoughts whirled through his head, but nothing made sense. Should he have stopped the ferry from leaving? Every nook and cranny had been searched, and yet maybe… At any rate, it was too late now to call the boat back. But to be on the safe side, he was thinking of contacting the Stockholm police, who could take in the Norrstroms if, against all odds, it turned out that they were actually on board.
The possibility that they were still on Gotland sparked new hope in Knutas. His energy revived. He ordered a continued search of all ferries leaving Gotland the following morning and sent officers over to Visby airport. In co- operation with the NCP, the other Swedish airports and border stations were also alerted. An all-points bulletin was sent out to the entire country for Vera and Stefan Norrstrom, and the police also made a point of contacting taxi and bus drivers. Since Vera was in her ninth month of pregnancy, all the hospital emergency rooms and maternity clinics were contacted as well. Extreme stress might send her into labour.
Maybe there was still a chance of catching Stefan Norrstrom. As long as there were actions to take and information to collect, Knutas had no intention of going home. Fatigue washed over him in waves, but he managed to keep it at bay with coffee and an occasional puff on his pipe.
He opened the window. Stood there, exhaling smoke. Stared out into the Visby night, pondering his failure. Had he been blind? Karin had discovered how everything fitted together during her visit to Gotska Sandon. Shouldn’t he have been able to work things out earlier? The police had made a list of all the Russians living on Gotland. On the other hand, it hadn’t been easy to discover Vera Norrstrom’s Russian heritage. She was from Germany, after all, and she had a Swedish surname.
He should go home. They could just as easily reach him there if anything happened, but he didn’t want to leave. Something was bothering him. He put out his pipe and went back to his desk, where he randomly picked up a document from the investigation and began wracking his brain, trying to work out what he had missed.
At two in the morning, he sat up with a jolt. He must have dozed off in his chair, but he was suddenly wide awake when he realized that the phone was ringing. His heart pounded as he reached for the receiver.
‘Hi, this is Eva Dahlberg, the reception manager for Destination Gotland. We met earlier when you were over here searching the ship.’
‘Yes?’
‘I apologize for ringing in the middle of the night like this, but you gave me your card, and I think I may have something important to tell you. Weren’t you looking for a pregnant woman?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘Well, the cleaners have found something that looks like a placenta in a waste basket near one of the exits on the ship. It was wrapped in a plastic bag.’
Knutas felt his blood turn cold.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, I’ve had seven children, and I really think it does look like a placenta.’
‘OK.’
Knutas quickly considered what to do next. He had to come up with a new plan.
‘The ship needs to be evacuated, and it will have to stay docked in Nynashamn.’
‘But…’
‘Don’t argue!’ he shouted. ‘And for God’s sake, don’t throw away the placenta. Put it in a plastic bag in the refrigerator for the time being.’
Shit, he thought as he put down the phone. They were on the ship after all.
The search shifted immediately to Nynashamn and the Stockholm area. The couple now had a newborn child, but presumably no car, so they were going to have a hard time fleeing.
All fatigue was gone. Disappointment had now changed to hope.
Erik Sohlman rang from the house in Kyllaj, which had been cordoned off and vacuum-cleaned for evidence. He reported that they’d found a gun in a hatch under the basement floor. Just as they’d suspected, it was a Russian army pistol, a Korovin from the 1920s, and they could confirm that the gun had been used recently.
After that, only silence. Nothing new was heard for several hours regarding the couple wanted by the police. At five o’clock, Knutas gave up and went home. His head felt completely empty. He went straight to bed, slipping under the covers next to his slumbering wife and putting his arm around her.
It was a while before he finally fell asleep.
SATURDAY, 19 AUGUST
KYRKVIKEN IN THE middle of Faro was bathed in reddish-yellow afternoon light. The meadows and pastures shimmered. Johan arrived at the church along with his best friend, Andreas Eklund, who was also a journalist for Swedish TV.
He was going to be Johan’s best man, and they had spent the past hour having a few beers in the garden of Farohus restaurant, philosophizing about the fact that Johan’s bachelor days had now definitely come to an end. Emma hadn’t wanted him to see her before the wedding. If they were going to get married in a church, she said, they might as well do it properly.
Previously when they’d talked about getting married, Emma had completely rejected the idea of a big church wedding, as she’d already done that once before. But this time she hadn’t offered the slightest objection. They were going to be married in Faro church and then have the celebration at Farohus. There would be wine and grilled lamb and dancing all night long. The next day, they would leave for a honeymoon on the Italian Riviera.
When they arrived at the church, Johan saw all the guests dressed in their finest, and he was suddenly seized by a feeling of unreality. There stood his mother in a dove-blue silk dress, laughing with Emma’s parents. His brothers, decked out in morning suits, were conversing with Emma’s Gotland relatives. Pia Lilja’s coal-black hair was sticking up, as usual, and she was wearing a bright-red, tight-fitting dress and patent-leather shoes with stiletto heels. She was talking to Peter Bylund, and Johan wondered with amusement whether something was going on between the two. Elin, wearing a pink dress with a silk ribbon, and Emma’s daughter, Sara, in a matching dress, were the bridesmaids.
Filip was running around, getting into mischief with some other boys, throwing pebbles that they’d picked up from the ground. Johan let his gaze rest on Sara and Filip for a moment. His ‘bonus children’, or whatever he should call them. He reflected that his relationship with them had been good so far, especially with Sara; everything was going to be all right. Or rather, he would make sure that it was all right. He refused to let anything get in the way.
Together with Andreas, he slipped past the guests standing in front of the church and went into the sacristy. He said hello to the pastor, a pleasant woman in her fifties. The sexton patted him on the shoulder.
‘By the way, there’s a cameraman here.’
‘What? From where?’
‘From Swedish TV. He wants to know whether it’s OK for him to videotape the ceremony.’
Johan went into the church to have a look. There stood Peter Bylund, holding a camera on his shoulder.
‘Is this OK?’ he asked. ‘It was Grenfors who thought we should document such a major event. It’ll be a great souvenir, right?’
‘I’ll take care of the camera, so it’s done properly.’ Pia was standing next to Peter, grinning.
Johan was touched by their thoughtfulness. Now he regretted not inviting the editor-in-chief to the
