The Dead of Summer by Mari Jungstedt Read Free Book Online Page B

spoiled.
    They had reached the path that wound its way along the harbour. The waves were rolling in, calmly and steadily lapping against the pebbles on the beach. Now and then they met a bicyclist heading towards town.
    Suddenly Emma had a great urge to be somewhere else. She stopped abruptly.
    ‘I’ve got to go now.’
    ‘Already?’ Johan cast a glance at his watch.
    ‘Yes.’ She pressed her lips together for a second. ‘Just keep on going, it’s great for Elin to be near the water when there’s a cool breeze blowing. I’ll see you around eleven, back at Almedal library, OK?’
    ‘Sure, that’s fine. I’ll tell Pia to meet me at the office so we can drive out to Fårö.’
    ‘OK.’
    In his mind he’s already making plans to be on his way , she thought. She turned round and dashed off.
    When she was out of sight, the tears came.

ON THE DAY after the murder Vendela Bovide was still in Visby hospital. Jacobsson gave her name at the reception desk and was asked to take a seat and wait until she could be allowed into the patient’s room.
    The sight of the young widow was distressing. She was sitting up in bed with several pillows behind her back. Her eyes were closed, and her face looked almost transparent. Her hair hung limply, dull and lifeless, the gown she was wearing was too big, and her hands were clasped on top of the blanket. Her despair filled the room like a heavy cloud.
    Jacobsson greeted the woman without getting a response and then glanced around the room, feeling a bit lost. There was a chair standing in the corner. Cautiously she pulled it forward and sat down next to the bed.
    ‘Where are my children?’ asked Vendela Bovide, her voice weak.
    ‘They’re with your husband’s parents.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘They live in Slite, don’t they?’
    Jacobsson fidgeted, feeling uneasy as she considered whether to call a nurse. The woman in the bed seemed rather out of it. Barely twenty-four hours had passed since she’d learned that her husband had been murdered.
    Her expression scared Jacobsson. During all her years in the police force, she had talked with a great many people who had lost someone they loved, but she’d never before witnessed such complete withdrawal and bottled-up despair as that exhibited by this woman in the bed. It was so strong it actually made the air hard to breathe.
    Jacobsson wanted either to leave at once or else take the woman in her arms to console her. Just sitting there doing nothing seemed absurd.
    ‘I’m sorry to have to bother you,’ she began. ‘My name is Karin Jacobsson, and I’m in charge of the investigation. We spoke on the phone yesterday.’
    Almost imperceptibly, Vendela Bovide nodded.
    ‘Let me start by offering my condolences. Are you ready to answer some questions?’
    Silence.
    ‘Do you know what time it was when Peter left to go running yesterday morning?’
    ‘It was 5.35.’
    ‘How can you be so precise?’
    ‘I glanced at the clock when he left.’
    ‘So you were awake? Did you talk to him before he took off ?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How did he seem?’
    ‘The same as always.’
    ‘How was that?’
    ‘Cheerful. He was going to make breakfast when he came back. And put the coffee on. That was the last thing he said.’
    ‘Did he usually go running in the morning?’
    ‘That was his regular routine, all year round.’
    ‘And at about the same time?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Both weekdays and weekends?’
    ‘Every day. He was a man of habit. Peter liked routines.’
    ‘Why was that?’
    ‘Because he was insecure.’
    ‘Do you know why?’
    ‘No, he never talked about it.’
    ‘But there was something worrying him?’
    ‘I think so.’
    Her voice faded. Vendela turned her head so she could look out of the window.
    ‘What do you think it might have been?’
    ‘I don’t know. Maybe something to do with the company.’
    ‘Why would he be worried about that?’
    ‘It’s not easy running a company, you know …’
    ‘According to his