The Double Silence (16 page)

‘And Håkan Ek threw his mobile into the sea,’ muttered Knutas. ‘I think we need to have another talk with him.’

They got in the car and drove over to the Slow Train Inn, where the group of friends had stayed.

Jacobsson pulled into the small car park outside the garden. Everything seemed calm and peaceful. There was no one in sight.

They went up on to the porch and knocked on the front door. When no
one came, they went in. They could hear music from a radio coming from the kitchen, and a pale woman with beautiful long hair appeared at once in the doorway. She spoke with a strong French accent when she asked: ‘Can I help you with something?’

Knutas introduced himself and his colleague and then explained the reason for their visit.

‘You had a group of people staying here for a couple of nights over the weekend. I’m sure that you’ve heard that one of them, Sam Dahlberg, was found dead on Stora Karlsö.’

The woman nodded.

‘It turns out now that another person from the group is missing. A woman with Asian roots. Stina Ek. Do you remember her?’

‘Yes. She was staying with her husband in one of the cabins down by the water. She was very nice.’

‘Well, she has been missing for several days now. In fact, she hasn’t been seen since Saturday afternoon here on Fårö when she set off for a bike ride from the inn.’

‘Is that right? Would you mind if we sat down?’

‘Not at all.’

They followed her into the dining room, where they sat down at a long table.

‘Did you notice anything special about these guests? Or about Stina Ek, for that matter?’

‘No, they were all so happy and nice. They talked a lot and they got pretty loud. But they were very pleasant.’

‘And nothing special happened while they were here?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘When did you last see Stina Ek?’

The woman paused to think.

‘It must have been when they ate breakfast here. On Saturday morning.’

‘And everything seemed perfectly normal?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t see her again after that?’

‘No.’

‘Has anyone stayed in the cabin after she and her husband left?’

‘Yes. This is our busy season, so we’re fully booked. We have guests staying there right now.’

‘Could we have a look at the place?’

‘Of course. I’ll take you there.’

They followed the woman, who gracefully led the way across the road and down to the water on the other side. She seems almost unreal, thought Knutas. Like some sort of ethereal being.

The cabin was locked when they arrived. The owner knocked several times, but no one answered. She turned to Knutas.

‘They’re probably down at the beach. But I’ll let you in.’

She unlocked the door and they peered inside. It was a small, charming space with a bed and a dining table. Clothes and other belongings were strewn everywhere.

‘Have other people stayed here since then?’ asked Jacobsson.

‘Yes, a couple of other people before these guests.’

‘If there was any evidence, it’s gone by now,’ sighed Knutas. ‘But thanks anyway.’

He handed the woman his card.

‘Phone me if you happen to think of anything at all that might be important.’

‘Of course.’

They walked back to the car. When Knutas turned around at the road, the Frenchwoman was still standing near the cabin. She had turned to gaze out at the sea.

HE HAD BEEN
sitting among the trees at a safe distance, studying her for quite a while now. He could see her clearly through the big picture window of the house. He had never grasped why people would choose to have that much glass, reaching all the way down to the floor. They must be exhibitionists, harbouring a secret longing to be observed, seen. He’d never had such a need. He liked to melt into the crowd, to become erased and merge with all the others. He’d never understood people who wanted to stand out. On the other hand, it allowed him to admire them in secret with a combination of horror and delight. Like her. She had been like that. She loved having others look at her, admire her. And they did. She was just as alive inside of him now as she had been back then. Even though they’d managed to enjoy each other only a few times, her scent still lingered in his nostrils, her voice echoed in his head, and her lips still burned against his. Time could not wash away those memories. They were etched into him for all eternity. For him there had been nobody after her. Of course he’d met others; he’d had superficial relationships, but only for sex. He used to amuse himself by comparing all the others to her. The length of their hair, their fingers, nails, shoulders and collarbone. No one had a collarbone to match hers. As if created by God Himself. He recalled how he would run his fingertips along it, lightly, so lightly. Infinitely gentle. He could bring goose bumps to her skin. He felt sick at the thought of someone else touching her. Couldn’t bring himself to picture it.

Then had come the death blow. One day she suddenly told him that he had to stop contacting her. Cold as ice, she cut the bond between them.
Betrayed, that was how he felt. Betrayed. And he wasn’t going to take it any longer. He had lived with his loneliness. Carried his longing like a throbbing abscess in his chest.

But at last he’d been given a sign. And it kept getting clearer. Soon it would be his turn. Again.

SEVERAL DAYS HAD
now passed since Sam Dahlberg’s body was found on Stora Karlsö, and the police still had no lead on a possible suspect. The tech team had meticulously examined the cabin that the Dahlbergs had rented. Everyone in the group from Terra Nova had been interviewed again, and the police were now in the process of checking on their backgrounds. So far nothing out of the ordinary had surfaced. Nothing in their pasts had produced any leads that might help solve the case.

Håkan Ek was the one who seemed the least emotionally stable, but that wasn’t really so strange. It was only natural for him to be worried about his wife, who still hadn’t returned. He’d been grilled several times by Knutas and Jacobsson, without result. Like a mantra, he just kept repeating what he’d told them before, over and over again. Finally they were forced to give up and let him go. It turned out that he’d been married twice before and had a child with each ex-wife. Knutas couldn’t figure the man out. He was evasive and difficult to pin down.

It had been a huge undertaking to interview all the tourists who were on the island at the time the murder was committed. The local police had been assisted by two officers from the NCP, but Kihlgård had not yet found time to come over to Gotland himself. Not a single person who had been interviewed provided any information of value. Nobody had noticed anything suspicious. The homes of both couples in Terra Nova had been searched, and their neighbours, relatives and work colleagues had all been questioned. No one was able to give the police any leads.

Knutas, Jacobsson and Wittberg were sitting dejectedly in Knutas’s office on Thursday morning, trying to come up with a new angle.

‘What if we focus solely on the murder of Dahlberg for a moment, and consider exactly what happened,’ suggested Jacobsson. ‘The fact that he was pushed off a cliff on Stora Karlsö. What does that indicate? What does it say about the perpetrator?’

‘First and foremost, it seems likely that they knew each other, or at least had been talking to each other before it happened,’ Knutas said.

‘And presumably it was not premeditated,’ interjected Wittberg. ‘If someone was planning a murder, would they really choose a place like that? First of all, somebody might have seen them at the site, or as they walked there. It’s really unfortunate that no one did, especially considering the fact that there were so many tourists on the island at the time.’

‘But it’s a fairly easy way of killing someone, don’t you think?’ replied Jacobsson. ‘No weapon is required, and there wouldn’t be any evidence left behind. And at such an inaccessible spot, the risk of being seen would be extremely small.’

‘So how likely does it seem that the killer was someone he didn’t know?’ asked Knutas. ‘Do you think he got into an argument with a stranger, who happened to have a murderous bent and who got so worked up that he threw Sam off the cliff?’

‘Not really. So the only option left is that it was someone he knew,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Could the killer be a woman?’

‘Yes. I have no doubt about that,’ said Wittberg. ‘Especially if he didn’t have any warning. Maybe he’d turned his back.’

‘What about his wife, Andrea? Could someone as small as Stina Ek have done it? Or someone else in that circle of friends?’

‘Håkan doesn’t have an alibi, since he was sleeping alone,’ said Knutas. ‘And Andrea was too, actually. While Stina wasn’t even there.’

‘Maybe she has a specific reason for staying away. Or else she may have fallen and her dead body is lying out there somewhere,’ Wittberg speculated.

‘OK. We really have no idea about that. But what about the motive? Who had a reason for wanting Sam Dahlberg dead?’

For a moment none of them said a word. Finally Jacobsson spoke.

‘Maybe we’re on the wrong track. We’re locked into the idea that it had to be someone in the group. What if the site itself is the reason for the murder – the fact that they were on Stora Karlsö? Had Sam ever been there before? Did he have a connection to any of the employees? Or has he ever worked there in the past? Have we checked on that?’

Knutas shook his head.

‘Not as far as I know. Could you follow up on that?’

‘Of course,’ said Jacobsson. ‘But it’s only a suggestion. It seems so strange that Stina has disappeared. What exactly do we know about her?’

‘Not much. She was adopted from Vietnam, and she’s generally well liked. A close friend of both Andrea and Sam. Her parents weren’t able to tell us much. Her colleagues couldn’t either. She’s always been conscientious, both at home and on the job. Apparently she has never drawn attention to herself. Everyone describes her as pleasant and nice, but somewhat reserved. A bit hard to get to know.’

‘I still think that the group of friends holds the answer to this case,’ said Wittberg. ‘One thing that has struck me with this whole investigation is that those people from Terra Nova seem to have a slightly unhealthy sort of friendship. I mean, good Lord, they do everything together. They live only a few metres from each other, the kids are in the same classes, they work out together, they have all their celebrations together, they help each other repair their houses and cars. They do their Christmas baking together, spend Midsummer with each other, and hold their annual crayfish parties and New Year’s Eve celebrations together. Some of them have summer cabins in the same area near Sudret. It’s unbelievable. They can’t even take holidays on their own! The ones who like to ski go to the mountains every year; the women take “girl holidays” together, and some of them even get together to do major grocery shopping. Can you imagine that? Every week they make lists and then take turns driving to the ICA Supermarket to shop. It almost seems like some sort of cult. It wouldn’t surprise me if they even fucked together!’

‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with helping each other out and
offering support,’ Jacobsson objected. ‘It seems only natural, especially since they have children the same age.’

‘But shopping for groceries together? And spending holidays together? Doesn’t that seem a bit extreme? For me it sounds like a real Knutby situation, the way they’ve put up such a united front. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out that one of them is the killer. Somebody who wanted Sam out of the way.’

‘But why?’

‘I have no idea. Maybe someone has been getting it on with Andrea.’

‘So according to your theory, his wife, Andrea, made friends with someone and it went so far that she and her lover decided to get rid of Sam?’ said Knutas. ‘Why not just get a divorce if that was the case?’

A brief silence ensued. Then there was a knock on the door. Erik Sohlman stuck his head in.

‘They’ve found a sleeping bag and some other things hidden in a grove of trees on Stora Karlsö. It seems that our killer spent the night there.’

JOHAN BERG WAS
filled with anticipation as he pulled up outside the Swedish Radio and TV building in Visby and parked his car. It was going to be great to have some adult conversation for a change, talking shop with his colleagues and hearing the latest scuttlebutt from TV headquarters in Stockholm. He’d missed the annual summer party, which was always a huge bash, with alcohol flowing in rivers. And once in a while some of the party-goers would really let loose. It would be fun to hear who had gone home together at the end of the evening.

As he approached the front door, he really felt how much he had missed his job. He said hello to a few of his radio colleagues who were standing outside, having a smoke in the sunshine. Then he bounded up the stairs to the editorial office. He had made arrangements with Pia and Madeleine, his replacement, to drop by and have a cup of coffee, since he was in town anyway. He’d stopped at the pastry shop on Norrgatt on the way in and bought a coffee cake.

Both women were on the phone when he came in. He could tell at once that something had happened. Madeleine quickly ended her call and jumped to her feet when she caught sight of Johan in the doorway.

‘Hi. It’s so great to see you.’ She gave him a big, warm hug, which made him happy. He’d always had a soft spot for Madeleine. She was dark-haired and petite, radiating a charisma that could make even a horse feel weak at the knees.

‘Looks like you’ve put on a little weight, haven’t you?’ She pinched his stomach affectionately.

‘That’s life with little kids, you know.’ He laughed. ‘Everything revolves around eating and sleeping.’ He flopped down on to his favourite chair. ‘It’s so good to see both of you. So what’s happening?’

‘We’ll get to that in a moment,’ said Madeleine, indicating Pia, who was sitting with her back to them and seemed deeply engrossed in her phone conversation. She looked at Johan with amusement. ‘So what about you? Are you enjoying being a home-body?’