He barely had time to drink his coffee before the captain announced that they were starting their descent into Visby airport. Johan was surprised every time at how quick and easy it was to fly over to the island. When he was back home in Stockholm and missing Emma and Elin, Gotland always felt painfully far away.
10
Pia was waiting for him with the car belonging to Swedish TV when he arrived. Her black hair stuck out in all directions, as usual, and her eyes were just as heavily made-up as always. A purple gemstone glittered in one nostril. She smiled and gave him a hug.
‘Great to see you again. Things are really starting to cook.’ Her brown eyes shone. ‘The police put out a press release a little while ago. They suspect foul play.’ With a triumphant expression she handed over a piece of paper.
This was what Pia loved best. Action. Drama.
Johan read the brief statement. A press conference was scheduled for four o’clock. He took out a notebook and pen and asked Pia to turn on the radio so they could follow the news reports on the local station.
‘Have they said anything about how he was killed?’
‘God, no.’
Pia rolled her eyes as she drove through Norderport, where she made a sharp turn and headed up the steep slope of Rackarbacken.
‘On the other hand, I happen to know who the victim is,’ she said with satisfaction.
‘Really? Who is it?’
‘His name is Egon Wallin, and he’s well known in the city. He runs — or rather ran,’ she quickly corrected herself, ‘the biggest art gallery in Visby. You know the one, right on Stora Torget.’
‘How old was he?’
‘In his fifties, I’d guess, married with two children. A native of Gotland, originally from Sundre, and married to a Gotlander. Seemed totally trustworthy and honest. So it’s unlikely this has anything to do with some kind of dispute among criminals.’ ‘Could it have been a robbery?’
‘Maybe, but if the perp was just after his money, why would he kill him and then hang his body from the gate? Doesn’t that seem a little over the top?’
She brought the car to a halt with a lurch in the car park opposite the cathedral. Undoubtedly the car park area with the most beautiful view in all of Sweden, thought Johan as he looked out over the city with its magnificent cathedral, clusters of buildings, and medieval ruins. And forming a backdrop beyond was the sea, although at the moment it was barely visible through the grey haze.
They hurried over to Dalman Gate.
The street was swarming with activity. Police officers had been posted to make sure no one went inside the area that had been cordoned off. The small car park next to the gate was filled with police vehicles, and police dogs were searching the area. Johan pushed his way forward. Over by the gate he saw Knutas talking to an older man whom he recognized as the ME. He managed to catch Knutas’s eye, and the superintendent signalled for the ME to wait a moment. Johan was on good terms with the police after the serial murders of the previous summer, when he had actually helped the authorities solve the case.
Knutas gave Johan a firm and heartfelt handshake. They hadn’t seen each other since Johan had started working again.
‘How’s it going?’
‘I’m fine now. I’ve got a whale of a scar across my stomach, but hopefully that’ll just make me more interesting at the beach in the summertime. So what can you tell me about all this?’ Johan nodded towards the gate.
‘I can’t tell you much except that we’re certain it’s a homicide.’
‘How was he killed?’
‘You know I can’t discuss that right now.’
‘How can you be sure he didn’t take his own life?’ Johan was still fishing, hoping to get the superintendent to let something slip unintentionally.
But he was out of luck. Knutas just gave him a stern look.
‘OK, OK,’ said Johan, backing off. ‘Can you confirm that Egon Wallin, the art dealer, is the victim?’
Knutas sighed in resignation. ‘Officially, no. Not all the family members have been notified yet.’
‘How about unofficially?’
‘All right. It’s true. The victim is Egon Wallin. But you didn’t hear that from me.’
‘Could I do a short interview with you right here and now? An official one, that is?’ Johan grinned.
‘Be quick about it.’
Knutas didn’t say much more than what Johan already knew. But there was still a lot to be said for interviewing the officer in charge at the crime scene. Besides, it also showed all the work going on in the background. That was television’s strength: taking the viewer to the actual scene.
Johan and Pia interviewed a number of people who were in the vicinity. When they were finished, Johan looked at his watch.
‘We’ve got time to swing by the gallery too. The place is probably closed, since it’s Sunday, but we can still get an exterior shot. Maybe I can do a piece-to-camera there.’
‘Sure, of course.’ Pia folded up her equipment.
When they parked the TV car on Stora Torget, they saw flowers and burning torches on the pavement outside the gallery. A ‘Closed’ sign was posted on the door. All the lights were off, and through the dark Johan could just make out some of the big paintings hanging on the walls. Suddenly he gave a start. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone going up the stairs inside. He peered through the window to try to get a better view, and knocked on the door several times.
Even though he waited there for a long time, no one came to open it.
11
Knutas spent all of Sunday dashing madly between police headquarters and Dalman Gate. Late in the afternoon he suddenly realized that he had forgotten to ring home.
As soon as he heard Lina’s voice he remembered they were planning to have dinner with his parents at their farm up in Kappelshamn in northern Gotland. Damn it. He knew how particular they were about everything going according to schedule. In his mind he could already hear the disappointment in his father’s voice as Lina reported that his son wouldn’t be joining them. His father had never fully accepted the fact that Knutas had become a police officer. Not really. And his opinion still had an effect on Knutas, even though he was fifty-two years old. When it came to his parents, he would never be truly grown-up.
Lina, on the other hand, usually accepted a change in plan with equanimity, whether it was a postponed holiday in the mountains or a parent-teacher meeting that he had to miss. ‘It’ll work out,’ she would simply say, and it always did. He was rarely made to feel guilty because of his job, and that made his life so much easier. His Danish wife had an easy-going temperament that often made him think how terribly lucky he’d been. They’d met just by chance when he went to a restaurant in Copenhagen while attending a conference for police officers. Back then she was working as a waitress while completing her studies. Now she was a midwife at Visby Hospital.
There was standing room only at the press conference. Since the victim was so well known on Gotland, the story was big news for the local media. The fact that he’d been found hanging from a gate in Visby’s ring wall was enough to spark the interest of the media all over Sweden. And besides, it was a Sunday.
When Knutas and Norrby entered the room where the press conference was being held, the high level of anticipation was palpable. The reporters were seated in rows with their notepads ready on their laps. The camera people were setting up their equipment, and microphones had been affixed to the podium at the front of the room.