Unseen (5 page)

When the press conference was over, he went up to Anders Knutas for an individual interview. First Johan asked the obvious questions about what had happened, what the police were doing now, and what evidence they had found. Then he asked quite bluntly, “What conclusions have you drawn from the fact that she suffered multiple wounds, presumably from an axe?”

Anders Knutas gave a start.

“What do you mean?”

“The killer murdered her with an axe or some type of similar weapon, hacking her body multiple times. He also stuffed her panties in her mouth. What does that signify?”

Knutas glanced around self-consciously, looking both left and right, as if hoping for help from his colleagues. The bright glare of the camera shone in his face, blinding him.

“I know from a reliable source that these facts are true,” Johan persisted.

“That’s not something I can confirm,” snapped Knutas, shoving aside the microphone.

“Switch off the camera,” Johan told Peter. He took hold of the superintendent’s arm and said to him, “I know that it’s true. Wouldn’t it be better if you confirmed the information?”

Knutas gave Johan a stern look. “I can neither confirm nor deny what you’ve said, and I advise you to withhold such speculations for the time being. We’re dealing with a murderer, and what we need to concentrate on right now is catching him as soon as possible and nothing else,” he bellowed. “And I expect you to respect that.”

His voice was sharp as an awl, and it was easy to see what he thought of journalists as he turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor.

For Johan and Peter, Knutas’s reaction was sufficient confirmation that their information was accurate. The question was how much of it they should make public.

Johan called Max Grenfors from the cab on the way to the TV offices where the story was going to be edited. Even though he thought Grenfors was a slave driver of an editor, Johan trusted his journalistic judgment. After a brief discussion, they decided not to divulge the information about the victim’s panties being stuffed in her mouth, out of respect for her family. On the other hand, they did choose to report that the murder weapon was most likely an axe.

In the late-night news broadcast, Swedish TV was the first to report how the murder had been committed. The feature story began with images of police headquarters, then a map showing the scene of the crime. Next, Johan appeared on the screen.

“Here at police headquarters in Visby, a press conference was held a short time ago. The police confirm that a woman was murdered, but they are being quite reticent about the circumstances surrounding the death. The police will not yet say how the woman was killed. According to information provided this evening to Regional News from a very reliable source, she was killed with what is believed to be an axe. Multiple wounds were sustained on various parts of the body. It is not yet known whether she was subjected to sexual assault, but the woman was naked when she was found. Her clothes are still missing. The body will be sent to the forensic medicine division in Solna for autopsy. In spite of an intensive search of the area with dogs, which continued all afternoon and evening, at this time the police have no clues as to the killer’s identity.”

This was followed by a brief interview with a pale and resolute-looking Knutas, before the story concluded with what little was known about the murdered woman.

It turned out to be a long workday for the Visby police. The light June night facilitated their work down at the beach area. They kept on knocking on doors until late in the evening. At the same time, those who had been dinner guests at the home of Helena Hillerström on the previous evening were brought in to be interviewed. Except for Kristian Nordström, who had flown to Copenhagen to visit his parents. The police had contacted him, and he was supposed to fly back to Visby early Thursday.

By the time the most important interviews had been conducted, it was close to one in the morning. Earlier that evening Knutas had called home and told his wife, Lina, that he would be late. As usual, she was very understanding and asked him if she should wait up with a cup of tea for him. Reluctantly he had declined her offer. He didn’t know how late he would be.

Now, as he walked home through the streets of Visby, he regretted his decision. It would have been pleasant to sit down for a while and talk about his impressions of the day. It always did him good to share his thoughts with his wife. She would often come up with a new way of looking at things because she was not part of the investigative work. Many times she had turned his thoughts to new avenues that helped him to solve a case. Knutas felt a twinge of warmth in his heart. He loved her above all else. Except for their children, of course. Their twins, a boy and a girl. Petra and Nils. This summer they would be twelve.

When he got home, he looked in on them. They still shared a room, but in the fall they would each have their own. He was in the process of remodeling the study into a bedroom. The study would be moved down to the basement. They used it so seldom, anyway.

The children were sound asleep, breathing calmly. He left the door to their room slightly ajar and went to his own.

Lina lay stretched out across the whole double bed with her arms above her head.
Look how much room she takes
, he thought. She always did everything with the greatest enthusiasm. Whether she was sleeping, eating, working, laughing, or making love, she did it with such zest. She truly threw herself into life. No matter what she did, she did it properly. If she was baking, she never made do with just one batch. No, she had to make two hundred cinnamon rolls. When she did any major grocery shopping, she gave the impression that a war was on the way, and she always cooked too much food, so the freezer was full of leftovers. That was one of the things he loved about her, her sensual vitality. Right now she was sleeping heavily, wearing a long orange T-shirt decorated with a big flower. Her hair was ruffled, her cheeks rosy. Her arms were sprinkled with freckles. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

Her profession was perfectly suited to her personality. She was a midwife. How many children had she helped come into the world? Lina worked part-time in the childbirth center at Visby Hospital, and she loved it. She was used to unanticipated events and having things not turn out the way you expected, and that made her very patient. Many times she would stay with an expectant mother because she didn’t have the heart to leave even though her shift was over, or else out of sheer curiosity. If she had been working for hours with a birth, she didn’t want to let it go before everything was resolved. Sometimes this could irritate her colleagues. Lina didn’t care. She was strong-willed and the most wonderful woman he had ever met.

Cautiously he closed the door again and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of milk and dug into a package of cookies. He took out a handful and sat down at the kitchen table. He often found it difficult to sleep after an eventful day. He petted the cat, who jumped up on the table and lovingly brushed against him.
She’s more like a dog
, he thought. Faithful and always in need of company. She also loved to play fetch. He threw a foam-rubber ball a few times. She ran off and got it, then brought it back to his feet.
What a funny thing you are
, thought Knutas, and went off to bed. Contrary to custom, he fell asleep at once.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6

Johan Berg was awakened by the merry tune from his cell phone that stubbornly kept on playing. At first he had no idea where he was. The melody stopped. He stretched and saw pastel flowers on the wallpaper. There wasn’t a sound. None of the noisy traffic that he was used to hearing outside his window.
Oh, that’s right
.

The beach hotel in Visby. The murder. His eyes fell on the digital alarm clock next to the bed. It was five thirty in the morning. Then the tune from his cell phone started up again. With a groan he climbed out of bed to answer it.

It was the editor of the morning news. “Hi. Did I wake you? Sorry to call so early. But of course we’d like to have a fresh spot this morning. If you can’t come up with anything new, maybe we could do a phone interview?”

“Sure,” said Johan wearily. “Not that I know anything more than I did at midnight, but I can always call the duty officer.”

“Great. How much time do you need? Shall we say in an hour?”

“That’ll work. I’ll get back to you later.”

After a quick breakfast, he emerged onto the cobblestone street outside the hotel to head over to the TV offices. It had rained during the night; here and there puddles of water glistened. The air held a scent of the sea.

The cramped editorial office of the Regional News division, which still existed, was located next to the Radio Gotland building in the center of town. It made Johan mad to think that the local team had been laid off when Swedish TV had to cut costs. Their huge deficit had to be turned around, and this had been done partially at the expense of regional coverage. With the reorganization, the responsibility for covering Gotland had been shifted from the Norrköping newsroom to Stockholm. The new management at Swedish TV headquarters felt that the Gotlanders had more in common with the citizens of Stockholm than with Norrköping. Johan basically agreed with this, but it was a shame that they had laid off the local reporters and cameramen, the people who were truly close to their viewers. At the same time, he was happy to be here. He had always felt a great fondness for Gotland.

A skinny old man was in the process of putting up Swedish flags outside the hotel.
Oh, that’s right, today is National Commemoration Day
, thought Johan. The sixth of June.

It looked as if it was going to be a beautiful day for the celebration. The sun was caressing the facades of the medieval buildings, and there was no wind. The town was practically deserted. It should take him only a few minutes to reach the TV offices. Right now he was wishing it was a longer walk.

He decided to allow himself a slight detour, even though he really didn’t have time. Only a few yards away he saw the northern section of the ring wall extending beyond the buildings. There was a break in the wall on this side of the old Gunpowder Tower, which originally had been a defensive stronghold. Johan enjoyed the view until he turned onto Rostockergränd. He walked past the low stone buildings with their budding rose vines and the planking that protected the gardens inside. Many of the buildings had windows that were only a foot or two above the ground. The street doors were so low that anyone taller than five feet had to duck his head to go in.

A radio was blaring from the open window of a bakery, and he breathed in the fragrance of freshly baked bread. A black cat was sitting on the curving stairs outside a building, watching him as he walked past.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called the duty officer.

“Good morning. It’s Johan Berg from Regional News, Swedish TV. Any new developments during the night with the murder of the woman in Fröjel?”

“Yes, the prosecuting attorney has decided to arrest the boyfriend, under suspicion of murder.”

“No shit. On what grounds?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. You’ll have to take that up with the head of the investigation, Anders Knutas.”

“Is he there now?”

“No, he should be in around eight, but then there’s a meeting scheduled.”

“Where’s the boyfriend?”

“He’s still in the hospital. He’s going to be picked up sometime this morning and taken into custody.”

“Who’s the prosecuting attorney?”

“Chief Prosecutor Birger Smittenberg.”

“When did he decide to arrest him?”

“At four o’clock this morning. Otherwise we couldn’t hold him any longer.”

“Do you know whether Anders Knutas will be out at the crime scene today?”

“I can’t say. You’ll have to take it up with him.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Johan dashed for the TV offices.

The logos of both Radio Gotland and Swedish TV adorned the facade of the radio building. The blue-and-white awnings above the windows were looking rather the worse for wear in the morning sunlight. Several cars belonging to local radio were parked in the lot in the courtyard. He noticed that one space was reserved for Regional News. It stood empty and gaping, as if it were mocking him. In the past the local TV van was parked there, but, of course, that didn’t exist anymore, either. Johan was ashamed to think about how badly Regional News had been covering the island lately. Most often the only news from here dealt with tourism, oil spills, and the traffic.

He went in and put together a story running just over a minute for the morning program. He could handle the simpler types of editing himself. When he was ready, he sent the story by e-mail on the new computer system. In a few minutes they would be able to open the file and watch it in Stockholm. He was also interviewed on the phone by Madeleine Haga, one of the reporters he liked best at Swedish TV.

The morning news had gotten what they wanted. Now it was past seven, and Johan thought it was worth giving Knutas another try. The superintendent himself answered.

“I heard the boyfriend was arrested last night,” said Johan. “Why?”