The Double Silence (27 page)

Widén had an inscrutable expression on his face that Jacobsson couldn’t read.

‘What are you thinking of? Is there something else that I should know?’

‘They’re pleasant enough, but it’s a really closed circle. They don’t allow anyone else in.’ He paused for effect. ‘I think they have a lot of secrets.’

Jacobsson was instantly on the alert.

‘What do you mean? What kind of secrets?’

‘About a year ago there was a rumour circulating. Well, it was actually more than just a rumour. Everyone was talking about it.’

‘About what?’

‘People said that the group was interested in … hmm … special arrangements. Whenever they had parties together, they would exchange partners with each other. Swinger parties.’

Jacobsson nearly choked on the water she was drinking. She could hardly believe her ears.

‘Are you sure?’

‘As sure as I can be without having been to those parties myself. And I just remembered how the rumour got started. It was on a Sunday, and one of them who’d been at the party, Beata Dunmar, was talking to another young woman here in the neighbourhood who’s not part of the group. Her name is Sandra. Beata told her that they’d exchanged partners. Someone had seen a film on TV in which all the neighbours put their house keys in a basket and then took out one at random and went home with whoever the key belonged to. She said that’s what they’d done on Saturday night.’

‘Do you know who participated in these parties?’

‘Sam and Andrea Dahlberg, Stina and Håkan Ek, Beata and John Dunmar. Plus a couple who don’t live here any more.’

‘What’s their name?’

‘Sten and Monica. They lived here for less than a year, but I think they somehow managed to worm their way into that group. For some reason they were allowed in.’

‘What do you know about them?’

‘Not much. They lived over on Bryggargatan, and they didn’t have any children, as far as I know. They moved away after only a year.’

‘What’s their last name?’

Widén paused to think.

‘Hmm … I’m sorry, but I can’t remember. But I’m sure the others would know.’

‘How long did these sorts of parties go on?’

‘I think there were actually only a few of them. I don’t think it worked out. I heard that the parties got out of hand and somebody was jealous … All I know is that something happened, and then they stopped.’

Jacobsson stared in astonishment at the man sitting on the other side
of the table. She tried to make sense of what she’d just heard. This was an entirely new lead that cast a different light on the investigation. Could this be the explanation for the murders? The next step was to get hold of the couple that had moved away and then interview the rest of the group again. None of them had ever said a word about swinger parties. Jacobsson stood up and was about to thank Widén when he held out his hand.

‘It was nice to meet you. I’d love to see you again, if you’re interested.’

Surprised, Jacobsson reached out to take the business card he wanted to give her.

‘Call me, if you like.’

He smiled at her, and in his eyes she saw genuine appreciation. She couldn’t help smiling back. It had been a long time since a man had shown any interest in her. She could hardly remember what it felt like.

Moving a bit unsteadily, she left Janne Widén’s back garden.

AS JACOBSSON WAS
walking to work on Monday morning, she got a phone call from Wittberg. She could tell from his voice that he had something important to tell her.

‘I was out at Svaidestugan last night. You know, that orienteering place in Follingbo. In the sauna I met a guy who told me something very interesting.’

‘Really?’

‘Just listen to this. He works as a chef in town and does a lot of running in his free time: ordinary running and orienteering. One evening in May he went out after work to go running. It was late, after ten o’clock, so he chose the route that has electric lights since it was dark. Well, as dark as it gets in May – dusk at any rate. After jogging almost the whole route, he was on his way back when he discovered a couple having sex in the woods, right above the marshy area up there near Svaide.’

‘And?’ Jacobsson was wondering what this had to do with the investigation.

‘At first he just heard some strange sounds in the dark. He thought it sounded like somebody was sick or needed help. A woman was crying and whimpering. But when he got closer, he saw a couple a short distance away from the path. There was a full moon, so he could see them quite clearly. A naked woman tied to a tree, and a man having sex with her. At first glance, he thought she was being raped, so he was about to rush forward to rescue her. But then he realized that even though she was … making a lot of noise, and bound, she was actually enjoying it. Apparently she
was wearing a blindfold too. So then he just kept on running. The couple never saw him.’

‘What’s so interesting about all of this, other than that he had a different sort of running experience that day?’ asked Jacobsson, yawning.

‘He saw their car. It was a purple Corvette.’

‘And?’

‘Don’t you remember? Andrea Dahlberg’s sports car. We talked about how cool it was. It’s a purple, or plum-coloured Corvette.’

‘Oh, that’s right.’

‘And this guy even remembers that the registration on the number plate started with “O”.’

Jacobsson uttered a sigh of relief. It would be child’s play to find a purple Corvette with a number plate starting with ‘O’ on the small island of Gotland. Finally something was happening in the investigation.

‘Did he give you a description of the couple?’

‘It all happened so fast, but he recalls that the man looked very fit, without being a hunk. That’s all he could say about him. The woman was thin and apparently had dark hair. And he recalls that she had small breasts.’

Jacobsson frowned. So that ruled out Andrea Dahlberg. It was impossible not to notice that she wore a size-C cup. Had someone borrowed her car?

‘What about their age?’ asked Jacobsson.

‘He guessed thirty-five or forty.’

‘OK. The meeting starts in fifteen minutes. I’ve also got some news to report.’

A feeling of anticipation hovered over the meeting of the investigative team. A good deal of new developments had surfaced. Both Kihlgård and Sohlman were present. Lars Norrby wasn’t there, but that was no great loss. Wittberg was in the process of checking out the few Corvettes to be found on Gotland. They had convened in the usual conference room. Jacobsson raised her eyebrows at the sight of two chocolate cakes on the table, decorated with French flags.

‘Is it somebody’s birthday?’ she asked her colleagues as they took seats around the table.

‘Today is Bastille Day in France,’ Kihlgård told her solemnly. ‘And I think that’s worth celebrating. Help yourselves.’ He motioned for everyone to take a piece of cake.

Jacobsson smiled to herself. Celebrating this particular holiday with Kihlgård had practically become a tradition at police headquarters in Visby. She strongly doubted whether a comparable celebration of the Swedish independence day ever took place at a police station in France.

After everyone had taken a piece of cake, Jacobsson began by telling them about the couple that had been seen near Svaidestugan, and the car that was parked nearby.

At that moment Wittberg stuck his head in the door.

‘We’ve found the car. Guess who it belongs to?’

‘I’m not going to guess,’ replied Jacobsson with ill-concealed impatience.

‘It’s just as we thought. Andrea Dahlberg.’

‘OK,’ said Jacobsson, picking up her phone. ‘Let’s bring her in.’

Then she reported on the wild parties that the group of friends had evidently indulged in only a year ago.

Everyone stared in surprise at their boss. Even Kihlgård stopped eating.

‘Swinger parties? Good Lord,’ exclaimed Wittberg. ‘Do people really do that sort of thing? And right there in those fancy houses in Terra Nova? Imagine that – it’s actually sort of cool.’

‘Maybe so,’ said Jacobsson. ‘But so far this information is just based on rumours. Our first priority is to conduct new interviews and find out if there’s any truth to it. I don’t know how many times we’ve asked these damned Pollyannas – and I’m actually starting to get really fed up with them – whether there’s anything else we should know about their relationships. Even though two members of their group have fallen victim to a murderer, they’ve all been as quiet as mice. I’m going to be bloody pissed off if these rumours are true.’

‘Swearing again.’ Kihlgård gave Jacobsson an admonishing look.

She pretended not to hear him. What was his problem? He was turning into a regular language cop.

‘The question is: What does this mean for the murder investigation?’ Jacobsson went on.

‘Maybe some of them kept playing the sex games,’ suggested Wittberg. ‘Maybe they simply couldn’t resist.’

Jacobsson noticed that he seemed delighted by the idea. Wittberg had undoubtedly conjured up a whole bunch of interesting images in his mind.

‘Sure, that’s one possibility. Maybe it was Sam and Stina out there near Svaidestugan. He could have borrowed his wife’s car.’

‘But who would want to kill them because of that?’ Kihlgård objected. ‘It would have to be one of their spouses, either Håkan or Andrea.’

‘What about the other two?’ asked Wittberg. ‘The couple that moved away and were part of the group for only a short period? Apparently that was during the period of time in question. And there was something odd about that. Why were they admitted to the group so easily when other people are rarely let in? And why did they disappear after attending those sex parties? Seems fishy, don’t you think?’

‘Definitely. Could you try to track them down? I don’t know what their last name is, or where they live now, but someone in the group must be able to tell us.’

‘One possibility is that Stina and Sam continued the sex games with that couple, and then something happened to make them quit. Or one of them, at least. They lived in the neighbourhood for only a short time, so they couldn’t have got to know each other very well. Maybe they were a couple of lunatics.’

‘But the others should have known if something like that happened,’ Kihlgård interjected. ‘At least Håkan and Andrea should have known. But they both claimed over and over that they had very happy marriages – which almost makes me suspicious.’

‘Exactly,’ murmured Jacobsson. ‘I’ve felt from the beginning that there was something wrong with that whole “one big happy family” idea. I sensed something desperate about all of them. They seemed to be hiding something. And now we know. Sex parties. Bloody hell.’

‘You’re swearing again,’ said Kihlgård.

Jacobsson gave him a furious look. At that moment her mobile rang. Since she saw that the call was from the ME, she answered.

‘Hi, am I interrupting anything?’

‘We’re in a meeting, but that’s OK.’

‘Well, I wanted to call you because we just finished the post-mortem on Stina Ek, and I assume that you’d like to know about this at once.’

‘Yes?’

‘Stina Ek was pregnant. About three months along.’

KNUTAS WAS STARTING
to get impatient. The doctor had insisted that he take sick leave for another week, even though he was feeling perfectly fine. When it came to the murder investigation, Jacobsson had been keeping him updated, but over the weekend he hadn’t heard a thing. She had sounded strange on the phone when he talked to her at the end of the previous week, but she hadn’t wanted to discuss it when he asked what was wrong. ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ she’d simply said. ‘After you get back.’ Right now there was nowhere he’d rather be than back on the job. In the meantime he’d been doing his own investigative work. It helped to quell the impatience and he was hoping that it might prove useful.

At the heart of the whole case was the group of friends from Terra Nova, and that ought to be the starting point for the police investigation. It had all started when they went on holiday. Now two of them were not only dead, they had been murdered. And apparently the deaths had occurred only a couple of days apart. In Knutas’s opinion, there were two possible avenues to take. Either they started by digging into the past of these people, going way back in time; or they followed their footsteps very closely, trying to find out every nano-event that had taken place during that brief trip to Fårö and Stora Karlsö. Knutas had realized that the easiest thing for him to do was to start by finding out everything he could about the past of these friends.

He’d been working on the case all weekend. By now he had separate piles of printouts detailing the story of each individual. On top of each stack was a photo of the person. It was a very tidy collection. He’d concluded
that no one could be described as average in this circle of friends, in terms of either appearance or background. He’d started by looking at their family relationships, their jobs and education, as well as memberships of any associations. He already knew that none of them had any debts or financial problems, and none of them had ever been convicted of a crime.

Yet he had managed to uncover a few secrets. His eyes fell on the oldest member of the group: Håkan Ek. He seemed to be the one to worry about: he had the messiest past. This conclusion was reinforced by the fact that he’d been married three times and had children with three different women. He’d moved a lot during his life and had never lived very long in any one place. The exception was when he settled in Terra Nova with Stina. Then it seemed as if he’d finally found his home. He’d lived there fifteen years and had held the same job even longer; his colleagues had nothing but praise for him. Maybe he and Stina were two lost souls who had finally found each other.

His gaze moved to Stina. He felt a pang in his heart when he looked at the picture of the young woman smiling so warmly at the camera. She was truly charming, thought Knutas. She reminded him of Karin because of her petite size. And she had that soft, feminine side that Karin was so good at concealing. Knutas had the feeling that Stina had been something of a loner who went her own way, choosing to remain more or less on the sidelines. In that sense she was also like Karin.