The Double Silence (20 page)

Andrea tried to find some solace in these kinds of thoughts. At least the children still had her. If it weren’t for the kids, she would have preferred to lie down and die. In fact, she had actually toyed with that idea. She would go out to Sandviken on the east coast of Gotland, since she had such fond memories of that place. There she’d take off all her clothes except for a white cotton dress that was her favourite. She’d put on bright red lipstick, the kind that wouldn’t come off in the water. Paint her toenails the same colour, and then in the evening walk barefoot straight out into the water.
Let the sea envelop her; let the water rush into all the nooks and crannies of her body, capturing her life’s breath and extinguishing it. She would be a lovely corpse, no question about that.

She yawned without feeling sleepy, shivering with cold even though it was still warm outside. She switched on the TV and tried to concentrate on a Spanish film by Almodóvar. She and Sam both liked the Spanish director very much, and they’d seen all his films. Tonight it was
Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
. The perfect movie for me, she thought ironically. She was wearing only her bathrobe. She spread a blanket over her legs, turned on a light, and poured herself another glass of wine. It wouldn’t matter if she got a bit drunk before going to bed. She’d done that every night since Sam was found dead, out there on Stora Karlsö. She was filled with nausea at the thought of how he’d looked. His body completely ravaged. She’d been forced to identify him, but she’d hardly recognized her own husband. The father of her children.

A sob rose in her throat but no tears fell. Even though she’d lost everything, she still hadn’t been able to cry. She felt dried up, shrivelled up, stunned. Thoughts whirled through her mind without meaning or purpose. Disconnected. Nothing made any sense. She had no idea how long she might remain in these hellish depths. Everything she’d had was now gone. She was floating about in a void, a no man’s land, a limbo. She took some more sips of wine.

Suddenly she gave a start. She thought she saw a shadow race past outside the window. The big windows facing the back garden reached from floor to ceiling. That was one thing that Sam had insisted on when the house was built. Andrea had been less convinced; it seemed so exposed. ‘Who’s going to look in?’ Sam had protested. ‘Both the living room and kitchen face the woods. Nobody is going to be walking past.’ She could hear his voice so clearly, echoing inside her head. She froze, the wine glass halfway to her lips, and stared into the darkness. She could just make out the apple trees in the garden, the lilac arbour in the distance. The edge of the woods. The silhouette of a bird was visible against the darkening sky. It never got pitch dark at this time of year. Probably a blackbird, she thought. It sat very still. Quiet and motionless.

What had she seen? The next second she heard a clattering sound. Someone or something was definitely out there. Keeping her eyes fixed on the window, she slowly set her glass on the coffee table and turned off the lamp. Darkness settled over the room. Reflected in the windowpanes she saw only the fading embers in the fireplace. Now it would be much harder to see her from outside. Cautiously she got up from the sofa and crept over to the far wall, pressing herself against the surface to hide.

It was quiet outside. Nothing moved. Her heart was pounding hard, but she tried to reason with herself. It was probably just a bird. Or a cat. Or a hedgehog, now that the heat of the day lingered into the night. One evening when she’d turned off the outside lights before going to bed, she’d seen dark little shapes dotting the lawn. A hideous sight. As if they were sitting there, biding their time. Just waiting to come towards her.

The shrill sound of the phone suddenly broke the silence. She jumped. Who could be calling so late? It was almost 1 a.m. None of their friends would ever ring in the middle of the night. Her first thought was that it must be the police. Had something happened? Had they found Stina? Her whole being urged her to answer the phone, but she wasn’t sure that she dared. What if somebody was still out there? She assumed that she couldn’t be seen from where she was standing, but if she picked up the phone, she’d give herself away. All she had to do was turn her head towards the window to sense the threat lurking outside. It couldn’t be just her imagination; the feeling was too strong.

The phone stopped ringing. Then it started up again. The caller was trying again, so it must be important. She strained to see something in the dark, but in vain. Nothing moved. What should she do? She cursed herself for not switching on the security system. Anybody could get inside the house without being noticed. She took a deep breath, and then rushed from her hiding place and grabbed the phone on the wall between the living room and kitchen.

‘Hello?’

She heard someone breathing.

‘Hello?’ she repeated. ‘Who is this?’

Silence. Breathing. A faint wheezing sound.

Fear flashed through her body, but she also felt her anger growing. Who had the right to terrorize her like this in the middle of the night?

‘Who is this?’ she said, harshly.

Finally a voice. Sounding horribly hollow.

‘I can see you. I’m out here. You look so lovely in your robe. Shall I come in and take it off?’

‘Tell me who you are,’ she pleaded.

‘Shall I come in and …?’

Whispering in her ear. Sexual. Very close. She held her breath, turned towards the dark window. Someone was out there. Someone was watching her. Someone knew what she had done. Her hand was shaking as she put down the phone.

IT WAS ONLY
eight o’clock when Jacobsson picked up Kihlgård outside his hotel on Saturday morning. They had a lot to do that day. Their first topic of conversation was the request for information about Stina Ek, which had appeared in the media and had already resulted in numerous calls from the public.

‘The most interesting tip is from a man on Fårö named Arne Gustavsson,’ Karin told Martin. ‘He lives in Hammars, and Stina rode past him on her bike the day that she disappeared. She was heading straight for Bergman’s property.’

‘Really?’

‘At least it confirms that she was cycling in that area. Whether she disappeared from that part of the island is another matter. At any rate, he tried to stop her since she was approaching private land, but she just kept on going.’

Kihlgård whistled.

‘Interesting. He may have been the last one to see her. Do we have time to talk to him?’

‘Of course. But it’ll have to be after lunch. He couldn’t meet with us until then. Something else has happened that we need to check out. Andrea Dahlberg rang the duty officer in the middle of the night to say that some idiot was making nuisance phone calls.’

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘It started with her hearing strange noises outside late at night. The children were asleep upstairs, and she was sitting on the sofa in the living
room watching TV. Several times she thought she saw someone moving about the property, but she decided it was just her imagination. Then the phone rang. By then it was really late, around one a.m. At first she heard only someone breathing, but then a man started making sexual remarks.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Something about how he could see she was wearing only a robe, and then he suggested that he could come in and take it off her.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘She rang the police. She was so upset that the duty officer sent out a patrol car. They checked outside the house but found nothing. Then they stayed to talk to her until she calmed down.’

‘What in Christ’s name could that be about? Did she recognize the voice?’

‘I don’t think so. But I haven’t talked to her. Wittberg was the one who went out there to see her.’

‘The guy must have been right outside her window. Have you checked with the neighbours? Asked them if anybody suspicious was seen outside the Dahlberg house, I mean?’

‘Of course we have,’ said Jacobsson impatiently. ‘No one noticed anything unusual. At least they said they didn’t. I’m starting to have serious doubts about whether this group can be trusted.’

They passed the little village of Tingstäde.

‘Isn’t this where your parents live?’ asked Kihlgård.

‘Yes.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘You can’t see their house from the road.’

Kihlgård fell silent. It was obvious that Karin didn’t want to talk about her parents.

‘Would you like one?’ He held out a bag of sugar doughnuts. Jacobsson couldn’t help smiling.

‘Didn’t you have time for breakfast?’

‘Yes, but there’s a bakery right next door to the hotel, and every morning when I open the window, I can smell the fresh doughnuts. I couldn’t resist. Coffee?’ Kihlgård pulled out a thermos and two paper cups.

‘And where did you get those?’

‘Well, I’ve made friends with the waiter who serves breakfast, and I told him we were driving all the way to Fårö and wondered whether we could get some coffee to take along. He said it was no problem.’

Jacobsson gratefully accepted a cup of coffee. They soon reached the dock at Fårösund, just in time to catch the ferry. At this hour on a Saturday morning, only a few cars were on board.

They were going to start by driving over to the home of the woman that Knutas had spoken to yesterday, the one who had reported her brother missing. Märta Gardell lived just outside the village of Dämba, which consisted of a cluster of houses crowded in between sheep pastures. She lived in a small, low limestone house, and she’d set the table in the garden for coffee. All three of them sat down in the shade. Kihlgård helped himself to the homemade saffron pancakes.

‘So tell us what happened,’ said Jacobsson. ‘You said your brother has disappeared. Is that right?’

‘Yes,’ replied Märta. ‘I haven’t heard from him all week, and that’s not like him. He usually comes by at least every other day to have a meal with me. We both live alone now. My husband passed away last year, almost the same time as Ingmar Bergman, just a week later. And Valter has never married. He has lived over there in that cabin of his all these years. The only people he ever sees are me and my family, plus Ingmar. They were neighbours, you know. Valter helped him out a lot, taking care of the house when Ingmar was in Stockholm or travelling.’

‘When did you last see your brother?’

‘A week ago. He came over and we had dinner together. He’d brought me several flounders.’

‘Did you notice anything different about him?’

‘Not at all. He was just the same as usual. Very quiet. My brother doesn’t talk much. Not like me.’

‘How long did he stay?’

‘He must have been here a couple of hours. He helped me with some digging in the garden and then chopped some wood for me. My arms aren’t as strong as they used to be.’

‘So this was a week ago? And you haven’t heard from him since?’

‘No, not a word. I haven’t seen him, and nobody else has either. I’ve asked all the neighbours, everyone we know, in the shops and down by the ferry. Not a single person has seen hide nor hair of him for a whole week.’

‘And you said that he lives alone?’

‘That’s right. He always has, though I don’t know why. But I’ve never asked. That’s his own business.’ She sighed.

‘Does he usually keep to himself?’

‘I suppose he’s somewhat of a loner, but we’ve always got along well. We enjoy each other’s company. And after the children moved away and my husband died, he doesn’t mind coming over here. In the past there was always so much commotion in the house, and he doesn’t do well in noisy situations. So he didn’t come around much. But as I said, I started to think something was wrong, and he’s not answering his phone. He does spend a lot of time outdoors, but still. I’ve tried phoning early in the morning and late in the evening. Yesterday I went over there because I was getting really worried. That’s when I discovered that his boat was missing.

‘His boat?’ queried Jacobsson.

‘Yes, the rowing boat he always uses when he goes out fishing. It’s not there.’

‘Did you notice anything out of the ordinary inside his house?’

‘The coffee thermos wasn’t in its usual place on the counter. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it. He always takes it with him when he goes fishing. That’s what made me really worried, the fact that the boat and the thermos were gone. Something must have happened out at sea. There was a strong wind all week. I’m afraid that something bad has happened to him. We only have each other, Valter and I. Everyone else is gone. There’s nothing else left.’ Tears filled the old woman’s eyes. ‘I also went down to his fishing shack, and it looks like he took his nets along. And the binoculars were gone too. They weren’t hanging on the hook.’

‘Could we borrow the key to Valter’s house?’ asked Jacobsson. ‘We’d like to have a look around.’

IT TOOK KNUTAS
less time than he expected to plough his way through the interview transcripts that he’d brought home over the weekend. But reading through the material hadn’t produced any new leads. He felt discouraged when he awoke in the empty house on Saturday morning. To take his mind off things, he decided to drive up to the family’s summer cottage in Lickershamn. He needed to get away and have a change of scene. Why should he stay home alone in Visby when he’d finished the work he needed to do and the weather was so nice? Lina and the children were all away. Besides, he needed to repair the roof of the cottage. Several roof tiles had blown off during a spring storm. He’d been meaning to replace them for a long time, but so far nothing had come of his good intentions. If nothing special happened in the investigation, he planned to stay overnight.

He drove north, relieved to be leaving the city behind. Even though it wasn’t a long drive, only 25 kilometres, he always had a feeling of liberation upon arriving at the cottage, located on the rocky shore in north-west Gotland. There was no phone and only a few neighbours, so he would be undisturbed. And he wouldn’t have to talk to a soul.

A warm, happy sensation came over him when the grey plastered limestone house appeared a kilometre beyond the picturesque harbour area. It was surrounded by a stone wall, isolated, and with no neighbours within sight. Bright red poppies gleamed against the fence. He noted that the grass had sprouted up to an unacceptable height. It was going to be a tough job for their halting old lawnmower, which he should have replaced
long ago. He parked in front of the cottage and got out of the car. There he stood for a moment, filling his lungs with fresh air that smelled of the salt water and seaweed. He got out the bags of groceries and then unlocked the front door, breathing in the usual smell of damp stone. He loved the smell that always lingered inside until he threw open all the windows to air the place. Slightly stuffy, with a hint of indolence and a sense of anticipation. A longing for something else.