Unknown ak-3

by Mari Jungstedt

  Petra and Nils had reluctantly agreed to come along. Knutas had enticed them by promising they would go out in the boat to fish that evening. Lina got out of the car and let out a delighted shout.

  "Oh, how lovely," she said, taking in a deep breath. "Feel the air. Look at the sea."

  They all helped to bring in the bags of food. Lina and the children were eager to go down to the beach and swim, but Knutas chose to stay behind and mow the grass, even though the summer had been so dry that it was hardly necessary.

  At home in the city, Lina was usually the one who took care of the yard. The difference was that out here in the country he was left in peace. It was calm and quiet, with no neighbors to disturb him. He opened the door to the tool shed, and musty air came billowing out. He dragged out the cumbersome lawn mower and filled it with gasoline. It started up nicely after two tries.

  He enjoyed making one lap after another, listening to the clattering of the mower and not thinking about anything in particular. Everyone heard the racket and refrained from bothering him while he was at it. That was why he didn't hurry. He mowed the whole lawn with great care.

  The house stood off by itself; there were no neighbors within sight. Outside the fence at the back there was a protected beach cove that was used only by his family, a few neighbors, and occasionally a tourist who had gone astray. The large beach near Lickershamn was far enough away so that they weren't disturbed by any other swimmers, yet it was close enough that the children could walk there on their own if they liked. Knutas thought it was a perfect location.

  By the time he was done, his shirt was soaked with sweat, even though the task really didn't require any great physical strength; the lawn mower practically ran itself.

  He quickly changed into bathing trunks, grabbed a towel, and went down to the beach, where his family's towels and bathrobes were piled up in a heap. He smiled to himself, studying his family as he waded into the water.

  Lina had her long, curly red hair pinned up with a barrette on top of her head. Her swimsuit was brightly colored, with big and little polka dots in various shades of pink against a light blue background. Her fair skin was covered with freckles. She often complained about her weight, and once he had taken her complaints seriously-a mistake that he would never make again. For her birthday he had bought her workout equipment, a gym membership, and an introductory package at Weight Watchers. It was an understatement to say that his wife did not appreciate the gift.

  After more than fifteen years together, Knutas could still find himself surprised that they were married when he looked at her. He loved her and her boldness. She cleaned house and cooked with equal frenzy-everything was on a grand scale with Lina. Big carrots, sweeping gestures, lots of noise and commotion. She liked to be seen and heard. She took up a lot of room. Like now, as she splashed around in the water.

  After their swim, they had coffee on the porch.

  When Knutas saw Lina kick off her wooden clogs and gracefully stretch out her feet, he noticed that even her white ankles had freckles. She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun. He decided not to talk about his job during the weekend.

  Smoke from browning meat and the smell of strong spices wafted out of the kitchen and found its way into every nook and cranny. The archaeology students were cooking dinner together. Chili con carne was simmering in a giant pot on the stove, and everyone was pitching in.

  They had kept the menu simple so that they'd have time to make Eldkvarn's concert at the hotel's outdoor stage at nine o'clock.

  Martina was standing at the counter with Steven and Eva. They were peeling onions, and tears were running down their faces-not just from the onions. After having downed a number of shots of tequila, they were in high spirits and kept laughing at each other's bad jokes.

  Twenty students were staying at the youth hostel, and right now they were all in the kitchen. Other guests who popped their heads up the spiral staircase saw at a glance that it would be better to come back later. The three tables were being set, and the coffee table in one corner was littered with bottles and glasses. Someone had brought in a boom box; the volume on the old tape player was obviously turned up too loud and was starting to distort the sound. The heat had prompted someone to open all the windows, and the festivities in the kitchen could be heard far and wide.

  Martina was wearing low-cut jeans and a black camisole. Her blond hair hung loose. She rarely used much makeup, well aware that it wasn't necessary. A little mascara and lip gloss, nothing more. She was looking forward to seeing him, and she didn't think that anyone else in the group knew what was going on between them. Occasionally she flirted with someone else, just for the pleasure and amusement of seeing his frustration. They trudged around the excavation site, casting stolen glances at each other. Sometimes he happened to stroke her arm or leg with his hand.

  "Come on and help me taste this," said Eva, giving her a poke in the side and holding out a spoon. "Is it spicy enough?"

  "It needs a little more," said Martina, adding more chili powder. "It shouldn't be bland."

  The concert evening couldn't have been more magnificent. The fiery red ball of the sun balanced on the horizon, turning the sea into a gleaming carpet. The aroma of newly grilled lamb still hovered over the concert area from the dinner that had been served at the hotel, and a diverse audience had gathered in front of the stage. Children ran around playing between the blankets; others were swimming in the mirror-smooth water. A group of older motorcyclists had settled down with beer cans in their hands, waiting to enjoy the music. The soft pop-rock tones of Eldkvarn grabbed hold of the listeners and eventually induced nearly everyone to get up and dance.

  Martina was enjoying the intoxicated and relaxed feeling in her body after a whole day of hard work in the field. She was more than a little pleased with herself. Right before they were going to pack things up for the day, she had found an Arabic silver coin, dated 1012. Everyone had congratulated her, and she had been tempted to slip the coin into her pocket so that she could show it to her father. Instead she had made do with holding the Viking Age coin in her hand for a moment to admire it.

  The singer's soft, raspy voice was uttering words that she didn't understand. No matter how hard she tried, she caught only a few disconnected words. She quickly gave up and concentrated on listening to the beat instead as she danced with the others.

  Every once in a while during the evening she had looked for him. Several times she thought she caught a glimpse of his face, but the next second she realized that she was mistaken. She wondered why he hadn't shown up. Jonas distracted her by offering her a cold beer, which she gratefully accepted.

  Several hours later she was sitting squeezed in between Mark and Jonas, and she realized that she was very drunk. Some of their group had gathered on the hotel porch to continue partying with the bikers. It was still hot, even though it was almost one in the morning. Martina had given up hoping that he would appear. At least he could have called her. She dug around in her bag for her cell phone, only to discover that it was missing. Oh well. It was probably somewhere in the grass. She would look for it later. She downed the rest of her drink and got up to go to the bathroom, which was near the main entrance, around the corner.

  She had a craving for a cigarette, but she had run out and the pub didn't sell them. She had a whole carton up in her room, and she decided to go get a pack.

  After using the toilet, she headed over to the youth hostel. She could hear everyone merrily laughing and talking on the porch. Someone was strumming on a guitar.

  When she came out onto the path that ran along the sea, she realized how deserted the area was. She hadn't noticed before that there were no buildings nearby. The desolation was palpable. Bushes and trees lined the path, and from the darkness that was finally descending, she could hear the crickets' invisible orchestra.

  On the other side of the water, machines were screeching from the nightly work going on at the harbor. A truck fully loaded with timb
er drove along the wharf, past the white wind-power station, whose blades were hesitantly turning in the feeble wind. A monstrous crane with a huge iron claw rose up into the air like some strange beast. The activity down at the harbor never seemed to cease.

  Farther along, the vegetation was thicker. The willow trees on either side had been allowed to grow unchecked. Their curving branches stretched over the path and reached for each other like lovers hungry for an embrace. They formed a natural tunnel, which, in the solitude of the night, seemed frightening. Martina had sobered up as she walked, and now she regretted that she had come out here alone.

  She turned around and realized that the distance back to the others was farther than it was to her room. She might as well keep going. Besides, she had such a craving for a cigarette. She walked faster, doing her best to shake off the feeling of uneasiness.

  After she had gone partway into the tunnel of trees, she discovered a silhouette outlined against the light at the exit, about thirty yards ahead. Fear gripped her, and her mind was suddenly stone-cold sober. The figure was coming straight toward her, getting bigger with every step.

  She suppressed her first impulse to turn around, squinting her eyes to see better. At first she wasn't sure if it was a man or a woman. All she could see was a dark figure wearing a cap, a black jacket, and black pants.

  No footsteps were audible. The ground was damper here.

  The second she realized that it was a man coming toward her, terror lurched in her stomach.

  He was walking with his head bowed, and the bill of his cap hid his face.

  Mechanically she continued moving forward-as if there were no going back, no alternative. Her thoughts rushed around in her head like frightened sparrows. What was he doing here, in the middle of the night? The concert had ended long ago. Panic shot up inside her, without enabling her to act. Like a robot, she walked forward, rigidly programmed for her own doom.

  She didn't dare glance up to see his face now that he was so close. The second they passed each other, she stopped breathing. He was several inches away from touching her arm. She sensed a rank, slightly stale smell that she couldn't place.

  To her surprise he walked past and nothing happened.

  The distance between them grew. The stranger continued on at the same pace, getting farther and farther away. She cautiously dared to take a breath.

  All of a sudden she felt ashamed. It was stupid to scare herself like that. Good Lord, a poor innocent man who probably worked at the hotel and was on his way home. Sometimes she actually felt sorry for men; they were suspected of all sorts of things, just because they were men.

  The path widened, and she could see the light from the front door of the youth hostel. Relief made her dizzy. He wasn't dangerous. She had been imagining things. But I'm not going out again, she thought. Now all she longed for was the safety of her bed.

  The fact that the man behind her had turned around was something that she noticed only when it was too late.

  SUNDAY, JULY 4

  Eva woke up because it was unbearably hot in the room. With great effort she turned onto her stomach and placed the pillow over her head to escape the relentless light. The pain was somewhere behind her eyes, and it wouldn't let up. How long had she been asleep? It was Sunday, which meant no excavating, thank God. She had a churning feeling in her stomach, reminding her that she had drunk much more than she could tolerate. Judging by the sunlight, it must be at least noon. She squinted her eyes at Martina's bed. It was empty, just as it was when Eva came home in the wee hours of the morning.

  She yawned, climbed out of bed, and went down the hallway to take a shower. When she came back, she discovered that it was only ten o'clock.

  Mark and Jonas had both had a hard time hiding their disappointment when they realized that Martina wasn't coming back after going off to use the toilet last night. It was obvious that they were both hoping they could get it on with her. Eva had assumed, as they had, that Martina had gone to bed. She had been far from sober. Apparently that was not what happened. She must have met someone.

  Eva looked out the window, as if expecting Martina to come walking along the path. She went up to the kitchen, got out some things for breakfast, and made a pot of strong coffee. Jonas turned up after a while and sat down next to her with a cup of tea and a few pieces of toast. They chatted about the previous evening, and it wasn't long before he asked her where Martina was.

  "I actually have no idea where she is. She didn't sleep here last night, anyway."

  That would serve him right. She didn't like Jonas. He was a conceited and stubborn kind of guy. It would do him good to suffer a little.

  "She didn't?" He paused with the glass halfway to his lips.

  "No. Her bed wasn't slept in," Eva told him with ill-concealed glee.

  "But that means something might have happened to her."

  "Oh, cut it out. She slept with some guy she met, of course. There were several who seemed interested in her at the concert. Didn't you notice that tall blond guy from Stockholm that she was dancing with? He's probably the one she's with. She thought he was cute."

  Jonas's face grew pale. "Who knows what kind of guy he is, a complete stranger like that. Is he staying here?"

  "My dear boy, she wasn't born yesterday, you know. Martina can take care of herself. She's a grown woman, for God's sake. Besides, I have no idea where he's staying."

  Unperturbed, Eva went back to her yogurt.

  On Sunday afternoon the students gathered to play volleyball on the beach. Martina still hadn't made an appearance. Eva had tried calling her cell phone several times but got no answer. She could at least give us a call, she thought with annoyance. She didn't really know Martina very well; they had only met a few weeks ago. Of course, they'd had fun together, both at the excavation site and during their off-hours, but Eva didn't really know much about her. None of the others seemed to think there was anything strange about the fact that Martina still hadn't shown up.

  Eva tried to shake off a growing sense of concern. Maybe she was being silly, yet she couldn't help feeling seriously worried that something might have happened to her friend. It didn't help matters that Jonas and Mark kept hovering around, asking her where Martina could be.

  MONDAY, JULY 5

  When Martina still hadn't come home by the following morning, Eva decided to call the excavation leader, Staffan Mellgren, even though it was only 6:00 a.m. She didn't care whether she woke him up. She had lain awake most of the night, gripped by a growing sense of dread. Staffan answered the phone after a dozen rings, sounding bleary with sleep. He came wide awake when he heard that one of his students was missing.

  "She's been gone since Saturday night?" he said angrily.

  "Yes." Eva regretted not calling Staffan earlier. "We went to the concert, and then a bunch of us sat out on the hotel porch afterward. Martina left to go to the bathroom, but she never came back. We thought she had gone to bed."

  "What time was that?"

  "Maybe one or two in the morning. I didn't notice the time."

  "What did the rest of you do?"

  "We stayed where we were, talking."

  "Didn't anyone go looking for her when you noticed that she hadn't come back?"

  "No."

  "How long did you stay there after she left?"

  "An hour, maybe two."

  "Has anyone seen her since then?"

  "No, at least nobody who was sitting on the porch that night."

  "And Martina hasn't been heard from since?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure that she hasn't slept in her bed these past two nights?"

  "Of course I'm sure," Eva said in a voice that started to quaver. She couldn't hold back her tears any longer. She was frightened by the fact that he sounded so serious. His reaction confirmed her own feelings, that her concern was justified.

  "We need to call the police. It's the only thing to do."

  "You think so?"

  "Absolutely. S
omething must have happened, otherwise she would have called. Have you talked to anyone at the front desk in the hotel?"

  "No."

  "Do that. In the meantime, I'll call the police."

  Her legs trembling, Eva ran over to the front desk, which was in the main building. The clerk knew who Martina was but hadn't seen her. She offered to ask the rest of the staff during the course of the morning. Eva sank onto a chair. She punched in the number of her friend's cell phone but no longer got her voice mail. Now a monotone voice informed her: "The party you are trying to reach is temporarily unavailable."

  Knutas and Jacobsson decided to drive out to Warfsholm, since Martina Flochten had been missing for more than twenty-four hours and no one seemed to know where she had gone. She hadn't contacted either her family or her boyfriend back home in the Netherlands.

  Besides, they didn't have anything better to do. The summertime drought had set in, and the investigation of the decapitated horse had come to a standstill. It was a mystery who the perpetrator could be and where the head might be found.

  They first checked at the front desk to see whether Martina's valuables were still in the safe where they'd been kept. Everything was there: her passport, her Visa card, and her insurance documents. So she hadn't left the country-at least not voluntarily.

  They met Martina's roommate, Eva Svensson, on the stairs of the main building. She had shoulder-length ash blond hair, and she was wearing a white cotton camisole, a skirt, and sandals. As she led the way over to the youth hostel, they asked her about Martina.

  "Does she have a boyfriend?" asked Jacobsson.

  "She's seeing this guy back in Holland, or at least she was when she left home. But I actually think she met someone else here on Gotland."

  "Why do you think that?"

  "She's been gone a lot, and sometimes she slips away without giving any explanation."

  "So this isn't unusual? For her to be missing?"

  "The difference is that she hasn't called anyone. She always calls."