Unknown ak-3

by Mari Jungstedt

  "You mean during this course? We're just starting our third week of excavation."

  "So by now you've all gotten to know each other well, is that right?"

  "Of course. We've spent an intense amount of time together."

  "Also in the evenings?"

  "Not always, but there are a number of evening lectures and other activities, and sometimes we eat supper together. My responsibilities as the leader don't end when the workday is over." Mellgren smiled.

  "What do you think of Martina?" asked Knutas.

  The excavation leader turned serious again. "She's very knowledgeable for someone so young. She knows a surprising amount about the Viking Age in particular. Other than that, she's a lively person with a lot of enthusiasm, which rubs off on the others. So she's definitely an asset to the group."

  "What do you think about her disappearing like this?" asked Jacobsson.

  "It's incomprehensible. I'm sure that she would have called if everything was okay. Now I'm worried that she's in some kind of trouble. I don't know how much longer we can keep digging if she doesn't turn up soon. The fact that she's missing has created an enormous sense of uneasiness among all of us."

  "When was the last time you saw her?" Knutas looked at the excavation leader attentively.

  "On Saturday, after we finished digging for the day. She rode home in the bus with the rest of the students, the same as usual."

  "What time was that?"

  "It was around four, I think. Everybody was going to the concert that evening, and they were in high spirits when they left here."

  "You didn't go?"

  "No. I stayed home with my family."

  "I see." Knutas wrote something in his notebook. "Could you describe your relationship with Martina?"

  "We get along well. As I said, she's doing a great job."

  "And you don't have a more intimate relationship?"

  "No, we don't."

  Jacobsson took the newspaper clipping out of her bag. "We found this under Martina's pillow on her bed."

  Mellgren glanced at the article. His face was expressionless. "What am I supposed to say?"

  "Why do you think she had a picture of you under her pillow?" asked Knutas.

  "I have no idea. And by the way, the article is about what we do in the course. It's not just about me."

  "Do you think that it's out of devotion to her archaeological work that she keeps a photo of the excavation under her pillow?" Knutas's voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  Mellgren shrugged his shoulders. "How would I know? I don't know my students very well."

  "So you don't have a closer relationship with Martina? That would be easy to assume, from looking at this."

  "Absolutely not. Don't you understand that? I'm married and have four children. Besides, naturally I could never get mixed up with my students in that way."

  Jacobsson tried a different tactic. "Could it be that Martina is in love with you?"

  "I really don't think so."

  "Has she given you any signs to that effect?"

  "No."

  "Maybe you've encouraged her in her work, and she misinterpreted what you said?"

  "Of course that's possible, but not as far as I know, at any rate."

  "Has anything happened between the two of you?"

  "What do you mean by 'happened'?"

  "Well, is there anything going on between you?"

  "No. And now that's enough."

  Mellgren was about to stand up, but Knutas took his arm to stop him.

  "You haven't had a fight? Some sort of confrontation?"

  "Let's drop this topic. I have exactly the same relationship with Martina as with all the others. No more, no less."

  "Then what about someone else?" asked Jacobsson to ease the tension. "Do you know whether she's with someone else in the group?"

  "I don't really keep tabs on their relationships with each other."

  "You haven't noticed that she's had a fight with anyone?"

  "No. Martina was as happy as always when I last saw her. I just hope that she turns up soon."

  Jacobsson could see that they weren't going to get any further and changed the subject. She had become quite curious about what was going on around them.

  "Could you tell us a little about this site and the excavation work?"

  Mellgren sighed and leaned back in his chair, as if to collect himself after the assault on his integrity. Apparently he saw that Jacobs-son's interest was genuine, because as he began talking a new gleam appeared in his eye.

  "The fields that you see all around here, which to the naked eye look like ordinary fields and meadows, conceal a Viking Age settlement extending over what we estimate to be a hundred and twenty thousand square yards. In other words, the area is huge. Excavations have been carried out here since the late eighties, and so far we've explored only a small section."

  "How did you know that this would be an interesting area to excavate in the beginning?" asked Jacobsson.

  "Several reasons. A farmer who was planting his crops discovered something glittering in the soil. It was a bracelet from the tenth century. In addition, the location of the church interested archaeologists." He pointed toward the lovely whitewashed Frojel Church, which stood on a hill. "It wasn't built in the middle of the parish where people live, like other churches. Instead it's on the edge of Frojel parish, near the sea. Archaeologists pondered that and came up with the idea that it was probably because there was a harbor down here that was very busy, with people coming and going, and so the church was built nearby. You can also tell from the color of the soil that people and animals have lived here. It's rich in phosphate, which manifests as a darker color in the soil. After the discovery of the bracelet in the field, we initiated some test digs, and that led to the discovery of traces of a trading site with a permanent settlement-rather like Birka on Lake Malaren on the mainland. We've found the remains of houses, several gravesites, a picture stone, coins, tools, and jewelry. Since we started excavating, we've found a total of thirty-five thousand artifacts."

  Jacobsson whistled.

  "From what time period?" asked Knutas.

  "Mostly the Viking Age, meaning around a.d. 850 to 1050, but we've also found artifacts from the seventh century and the twelfth century, so altogether we're talking about a period of five hundred years."

  "How do you know where to dig?"

  "When we start an excavation, we decide on a specific area that we think is interesting. Then we divide it into various pits that are each twenty-four square yards, as you can see here."

  The quadrants were marked off with string.

  "Each participant is given several areas, and then we dig until we reach a depth of ten to twelve inches. That's necessary if we're going to find the artifacts at their proper location; everything above that has usually been disturbed by working the earth, by plowing, for instance. After we've dug down a ways, we slice off the earth, almost like using a cheese slicer, very carefully, half an inch at a time, so as to minimize the risk of disturbing anything. It takes a few weeks to reach the level where it starts getting interesting."

  "I had no idea that you had found so much," said Jacobsson, fascinated. "Of course, we've all read and heard about the excavations, but I at least hadn't realized the extent of them until now."

  "Good Lord," said Mellgren with a sigh, looking at Jacobsson with amusement. "Nowhere else in the world have there been as many Viking Age coins discovered, for instance, as here on Gotland. The island was in the middle of the trade route between Russia and the Continent, after all, and the islanders were masters at trading goods from various regions."

  "What did they trade?" asked Jacobsson.

  Knutas was beginning to get a tense look on his face. They weren't here to listen to a lecture on archaeology. They were here to find out facts that might help them locate Martina Flochten. He made a deliberate show of leaving the others to get a firsthand look at the area. Jacobs-son seemed completely captivate
d by Mellgren, hanging on every word he was saying. Knutas hadn't realized that Jacobsson was so interested in history. Yet another side of her that he knew nothing about.

  He sat down on a bench that stood next to the area. Below him gaped a pit with a skeleton that lay completely exposed to the air.

  It was incredible to think that he was sitting here looking down at the skeleton of a human being that hadn't seen the light of day for a thousand years. How many people had walked across this field since then? Even he felt a certain fascination with the whole thing.

  So this was where Martina had sat, scraping away at the earth with the others a few days ago. Where in the name of heaven had she gone? Had she committed suicide? That seemed highly unlikely. She was so full of life, or at least that was the image she presented. Had she been the victim of an accident? She was apparently drunk. Maybe she had simply fallen into the water. So far they had only searched on land. Maybe it was that simple.

  Knutas decided to bring in divers on the following day if Martina hadn't turned up.

  In the car on their way back, Jacobsson was full of enthusiasm.

  "Just think how fantastic that is, all the things they've found. It's unbelievable. I was allowed to hold an amber charm from the tenth century. Can you imagine that? In my next life I'm going to be an archaeologist, no doubt about it."

  "At one point I thought we were going to spend all day there," muttered Knutas. "My stomach is completely empty. Don't you ever need to eat?"

  "Don't be so grumpy. I thought it was incredibly interesting. We'll pick up some food along the way. What do you think about Mellgren and his relationship with Martina?"

  "He seems sincere. I don't think he'd get himself mixed up with one of the participants in the course. It's not just his marriage that would be at stake, if you can use the word 'just.' He'd be risking his whole professional career."

  "Maybe he's tired of his job," said Jacobsson matter-of-factly. "Maybe it's a form of self-destructive behavior, although it could also be unconscious. Maybe deep inside he wishes that the whole thing would go to hell."

  "Another possibility is that he's fallen head over heels in love," suggested Knutas, who had a more romantic outlook than his colleague.

  "Sure," she said, smiling, "but the one doesn't have to exclude the other."

  Back at police headquarters they were stopped by Lars Norrby.

  "I've talked to a witness who had something interesting to say."

  "Let's take it in my office," said Knutas.

  They sat down on the little sofa group that stood over by the wall.

  "It was a man who called. One day he was biking along the road toward the Warfsholm hotel. He was actually going over there to have dinner. Apparently that's what he does every Monday, and this happened to be a Monday. Suddenly he caught sight of Martina walking along the road. He described her in great detail. He seemed positive that he had seen her."

  "And?" Knutas sounded impatient.

  "She was walking away from the hotel, along the edge of the road. The man said that he thought it was the left side of the road, but he wasn't positive. She was wearing a blue skirt; he remembered that quite clearly, but he couldn't remember what kind of top she wore at all."

  "Get to the point," barked Knutas.

  His colleague's long-windedness and tendency to report unnecessary details could drive Knutas crazy. Norrby glared at him, looking insulted.

  "Well. In any case, she got into a car that was parked right at the entrance to the mini-golf course."

  "How can he be so sure that it was Martina he saw?"

  "Apparently her archaeology colleagues have been going around showing people pictures of her. Or maybe it was just one picture."

  "I see. So they're doing their own investigative work?"

  "Exactly, and it has actually produced results."

  "Did he see who was sitting in the car?" asked Jacobsson.

  "He thinks it was a man about thirty-five or forty. Maybe older. He was wearing dark glasses, so it wasn't easy to tell. He wasn't sure about the man's hair, but he didn't think it was blond. Closer to brown."

  "When did this happen?"

  "A week ago. Last Monday, around five or five thirty."

  "Martina has been missing for three days. No longer than that," interjected Jacobsson.

  "Yes, but this could still be of interest," Norrby protested. "Obviously someone was waiting by the side of the road for her."

  "And we might ask ourselves why he didn't drive up to the hotel parking lot. Clearly he didn't want to be seen," said Knutas.

  "It seems that she has some sort of secret relationship," said Jacobsson, "and it wouldn't take much to conclude that he had something to do with her disappearance. Whether she went with him voluntarily or not."

  "It couldn't very well be voluntary," Norrby objected. "Otherwise why hasn't she called?"

  "Everyone is speculating that she's been kidnapped," Knutas said. "We can only hope that nothing worse has happened to her. What kind of car was it?"

  "The witness knows nothing about cars. He doesn't even have a driver's license. This much he could say: it was an ordinary blue sedan, and it didn't look new."

  Jacobsson turned to Knutas.

  "What color car does Mellgren drive?"

  "No idea, but we'll find out, of course."

  "Has the man ever seen her at any other time?"

  "No, just that once."

  "Which way did they drive off?"

  "The car headed toward the main road."

  "I don't suppose he got the license plate number?"

  "No." Norrby gave them a little smile. "We're not that lucky."

  "I want to talk to this witness as soon as possible."

  "He lives and works in Klintehamn, so that should be easy to arrange."

  "Good."

  The phone rang, and Knutas answered. There was a roaring in the receiver, and it took several seconds before Knutas understood that it was Martina Flochten's father on the line. In stumbling English, Knutas did the best he could to answer the anxious father's questions. They agreed to meet the following day, when Patrick Flochten would arrive in Visby to take part in the search for his daughter.

  The door was locked when he tried the handle. He got out the key and unlocked it. Everything looked the same as when his parents were alive: The bureau in the hall was just as brightly polished now as it was back then; the kitchen clock was ticking off the seconds with the same regular clacking sound; the Chinese plates hung in the same place on the wall where they had hung all those years; even the paper towel holder on the table was the same. He went into the living room and silently looked around. It was different from other Swedish living rooms, above all because there was no sofa. Everyone else had a sofa, but in their house there had never been one. A sofa was meant for socializing, something to sit on while you relaxed in front of the TV. There was no sofa here because that would have been an impossibility. A sofa presented the risk that they might sit so close together that their bodies touched, and that was a sin. Most things that were fun were sins. They had no TV because it was a sin. They never listened to music on the radio because it was a sin. Comic strips and party games were sins, along with laughing on Sunday. Although there wasn't much risk that anyone in that house would laugh on a Sunday. There was little chance that anyone would ever laugh at all. He couldn't recall ever seeing his father or mother smile even once. Their home was marked by silence and seriousness, prayer, discipline, and punishment.

  It had taken him time to muster the courage to drive out here, but each time he did, he lost a little more of the guilt and shame that he had felt since childhood. The influence of his parents was slowly being erased.

  He had come up with the idea a few months earlier. It would be the ultimate betrayal of his parents, the fact that they were going to hold their meetings here. This was the first time, and he was full of anticipation. He'd made all the preparations, down to the last detail. He went into the next
room and opened a big cupboard. He took out the figures one by one, holding them carefully before lining them up on the table in the living room. This was where it would happen, right here and nowhere else. When he was done, he stuck his feet into his wooden clogs and went out. Inside the barn was a door that led to a storage room. That's where the bowl was. He went to get it, carrying it cautiously because the contents were precious. It was now going to be put to use; next time it would be even better.

  He went to stand at the window and looked out. The evening sun colored the sky red, and it was so warm that they'd be able to conduct a number of the exercises outdoors. No one would see them or notice what they were doing.

  The sound of an engine interrupted his thoughts, and the next instant a car appeared around the curve, a car that he recognized. How nice that he had arrived first. Maybe they'd have time to talk and settle a number of things. They had been more and more at loggerheads lately, and their differences of opinion had grown deeper, which concerned him. Now that they had come so far, he didn't want any monkey wrench in the machinery.

  The power battle between them had been going on for a long time. It had to end. The moment was fast approaching when the whole situation would become untenable. He had always believed that they shared the same commitment, but lately he'd been forced to see that this wasn't the case. He hoped that the other man's reluctance was based on things that wouldn't play a major role in the long run. He hoped that he would be able to convince him that there was only one way and that the wheel had already started to turn. They were under way, and now there was no going back.

  TUESDAY, JULY 6

  The following day was the first cloudy day in two weeks. Knutas arrived at work early. It was no more than seven fifteen when he entered police headquarters and said hello to the duty officer. They chatted for a moment, as they always did before Knutas continued up two floors to the criminal investigation division. He got himself a cup of coffee and leafed through the local morning papers.

  It wasn't long before Jacobsson, who was also an early-morning person, stuck her head in the door.

  "Good morning," she greeted him. "Would you like some coffee?"