The Dead of Summer by Mari Jungstedt Read Free Book Online

Do you realize what a disaster this is for the owner of the campsite?’
    Great. Now it seemed Sonja Hedström also wanted to tell the police how to run a murder investigation.
    ‘At the moment my primary sympathies are not with the owner of the campsite,’ said Jacobsson dryly. ‘And of course there are witnesses and evidence. That’s exactly what I need to concentrate on right now instead of wasting time on unnecessary phone conversations.’
    ‘You don’t need to be so rude,’ said Sonja Hedström, clearly insulted. ‘Peter Bovide was a frequent visitor to the campsite, so it’s not so strange that rumours have been spreading; they say the murderer must hate people with caravans, or something like that. I just wanted to know what I can tell people to reassure them, at least a little bit, but I guess I’ll just have to wait until Anders gets back.’
    The tourism director’s voice was quivering with indignation, and with an abrupt click she hung up.
    The blood instantly raced through Jacobsson’s body, and with a flushed face she went out into the hall to get some water. That usually helped if she was feeling upset.
    As she was drinking from her plastic cup, Thomas Wittberg showed up in the hall. As usual, he was more suntanned than anyone else; he wore a white T-shirt to show off his tan, and a pair of worn jeans. His curly blond hair was longer than normal and hung down into his eyes, which were barely visible.
    ‘Hi, how’s it going? You’re looking like a thundercloud.’
    ‘Don’t ask,’ Jacobsson said between clenched teeth. She turned her back to him as she filled another cup with water from the drinking fountain.
    ‘That bad, huh? Well, I’ve got some news. Would that help?’
    A couple of minutes later they were seated in Jacobsson’s office. Wittberg had dropped on to the chair facing her desk.
    ‘I just talked to the man who was captain of the Fårö ferry yesterday morning. He told me that on the first crossing at four a.m. there were only three cars on board. He always finds it amusing to study the passengers on the ferry, so that’s why he remembers exactly who was sitting in those three cars. If the perp wasn’t already on Fårö, then he would have had to take the four o’clock ferry across the sound. There aren’t any earlier boats, and the one at five o’clock would have been too late.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘In the first car there was a young couple who looked as if they’d been partying in Visby all night. The driver of the second car was a pregnant woman, and in the third was a man with a horse trailer hitched to his car.
    ‘Does the captain remember what kind of cars they were driving?’
    ‘That’s what’s so amazing. He not only remembers the colour and type of car, he can even tell us the licence plate numbers. He usually memorizes at least the letters.’
    ‘What a guy! He should be a detective,’ said Jacobsson with a laugh, forgetting her earlier annoyance. ‘What’s his name?’
    ‘Bo Karlström. Sixty years old. From Fårösund.’
    ‘Good. Get him in here ASAP. He might have actually seen the perp. And get started on looking for those people in the cars. We need to find out why they were going out to Fårö so early in the morning.’

WHEN EMMA WINARVE drove into the car park near the Almedal library, part of her wanted to turn round and go straight back home. She cast a glance at her face in the mirror. She could see how pale she was under the sunburn, and there were bags under her eyes. Never mind. She was just going to leave Elin with Johan for a little while so she could go to the dentist. Nothing to get excited about.
    She got out and opened the boot of the car. With some effort, she hauled out the pushchair and unfolded it. On the rack underneath she put Elin’s bag, containing nappies, a baby bottle filled with water and a stuffed animal. Then she lifted her daughter out of the car and kissed her neck before she put her in the chair and stuck a dummy in