Unknown ak-3

by Mari Jungstedt

  He had thought that she would feel less like herself than she did. In fact, it wasn't her body that was so different. It was something else entirely.

  Knutas had never before encountered such rushing about in the corridors on a Saturday. The investigation had expanded, and the work was taking up everyone's time.

  This was the most miserable summer he'd experienced in years. He'd hardly had a chance to enjoy it at all. He'd gone swimming in the sea only a couple of times, and he could count on one hand those occasions when he'd had a barbecue outdoors with his family, even though it had been the most beautiful summer in a long time.

  Now it seemed as if the investigative work was finally making headway. There was definitely a new energy in the air.

  When Knutas came back from lunch, someone had placed the Destination Gotland passenger lists on his desk, as he'd requested. Officers had already checked the lists on Friday without finding Ambjornsson's name or the name of anyone connected to him, but Knutas wanted to go through them personally, just to make sure. He had the names of the passengers from all the departures starting with Sunday, August 1, which was the day when Ambjornsson was expected to return from his travels abroad.

  Knutas got a cup of coffee from the machine and sat down at his desk to read.

  He went over the lists of names of everyone who had traveled from Nynashamn to Visby on the same day that Ambjornsson was supposed to come home. Knutas didn't discover any name that might give him a lead.

  Of course, Ambjornsson could have traveled under another identity, but why would he do that? Had he been forced to do so? Had someone threatened him? One reason he might not have come back to the island alive was that it would have exposed the perpetrator to risk, both by arousing attention and because someone might have caught sight of Ambjornsson and recognized him. No, that wasn't what had happened. Knutas sighed and put the papers aside.

  The body had been transported to the forensic medicine lab in Solna. The preliminary autopsy report should arrive on Monday.

  Knutas decided to take a walk in order to clear his head. It was a beautiful afternoon. A new high-pressure ridge had moved in from the east, promising a warm week for the medieval festival. The events had already started in town. From Strandgardet he could hear the announcer's voice and applause from the tournament that was held in classic chivalric style. A juggler group was performing at the East Gate, and at Hastgatan Knutas was practically run over by a group of people moving through the lanes dressed in medieval garb.

  He crossed Stora Torget and decided to take a stroll down to the sea. On the way he passed by Skogrand, where Aron Bjarke lived. As he neared the teacher's house, Knutas slowed down. He had a sudden impulse to visit Bjarke. He rang the bell several times, but no one came to the door. Bjarke was apparently not at home. As he stood there on the porch, Knutas's eye was caught by one of the objects on the windowsill. Among the pots and old jars stood a wooden figure that was only a hand's breadth tall. He went over to the window for a closer look and was struck by how risque it was. It was a male figure with a disproportionately large, erect penis. Knutas was sure that he'd seen it before, and he frantically searched his memory. He had the feeling that it might be important. Something fluttered past in the back of his mind, but it vanished just as quickly.

  He rang the bell one last time, then waited a moment, but the house looked dark and silent inside. Again his gaze fell on the figure in the window. Somewhere he had seen that figure before.

  Johan had agreed to meet the unknown seller at four in the afternoon. He felt tense all day, and he talked to Pia several times on the phone to make sure that they had everything under control. He had explained to the seller that he wasn't going to bring any money to their first meeting. It was a precautionary measure. First he wanted to see some samples of the sort of Gotland artifacts that were being offered for sale.

  The camera was in the editorial office. Pia was going to get it and then bring it out to Johan in Roma so that he could practice using it. He had hardly ever filmed anything before, and he needed all the help he could get to make sure everything functioned properly. The agreement was that if Johan was satisfied with the goods, he would pay cash on Monday.

  He counted on being checked out, so he had given a phony name and address. Fortunately he had a wealthy friend, who happened to be a nobleman, in Skane. This was not the first time that Johan had used his friend's identity for his job. Having his name in the Peerage Book and belonging to one of the richest families in Sweden had its advantages. Now it was just a matter of Johan playing his role well when he met with the fence.

  Knutas wanted to read through the passenger lists one more time before leaving the office for the day. It was possible that, in spite of everything, he had missed Ambjornsson's name. So far he had just looked for the first syllable of his last name, but now he read through the whole list, running his index finger carefully over the names so as not to miss anything.

  Suddenly he caught sight of a name he recognized. It was Aron Bjarke. The archaeology teacher had traveled from Nynashamn to Visby on Monday, August 2. That meant that Bjarke had been in Stockholm at the same time that Ambjornsson was expected home from Morocco.

  With his pulse racing, Knutas looked through the names of passengers from Visby to Nynashamn. He had the lists from Sunday, August 1, but he couldn't find Bjarke's name. He phoned his contact at Destination Gotland, who had sent over the information, and asked for the lists from Saturday, July 31. That was the same day that he'd had coffee with Bjarke in his garden, which meant that he couldn't have left any earlier.

  The lists were going to show up within half an hour.

  Knutas leaned back in his chair to wait as thoughts whirled through his mind. Aron Bjarke was an archaeologist and a teacher at the college. That gave him a connection to both Martina and Staffan. The question still remained: What was his link to Ambjornsson? The e-mail from Destination Gotland appeared after only a few minutes, and he immediately found the name he was looking for. Bjarke had left the island by car on Saturday afternoon, July 31. Knutas raised his eyes from his computer and looked out the window. Once again he had a vague feeling that he was missing something. That annoyed him.

  He wondered what Aron Bjarke could have in common with Gunnar Ambjornsson. With Staffan Mellgren there was a natural connection. Both taught archaeology, and each had been Martina Flochten's teacher.

  The instant he had that thought, he realized what he had overlooked: the figure in Aron Bjarke's kitchen window. He now realized what it represented: Frey, the god of fertility in the?sir pantheon. Hence the penis. Knutas had noticed a similar idol at Mellgren's house. He picked up the phone and ordered that the figure be brought in to headquarters at once.

  He didn't have time to do it himself. He was extremely anxious to get hold of Aron Bjarke.

  Johan left in good time for his meeting with the seller. He had practiced using the camera all afternoon, and it was now attached to a belt around his waist. One problem was that he risked being recognized. He was pretending to be a nobleman from Skane, but the seller might have seen him on TV. Occasionally Johan's face appeared on the screen when he did live reports or stand-ups.

  He decided to disguise himself behind a big pair of sunglasses and a cap to hide his dark curly hair. In the mirror he looked like a whole different person.

  Traffic was heavy on the road to Visby. Lots of people were headed for the city to take part in or to watch some of the countless events that had been organized for the first day of Medieval Week. He had borrowed Emma's car and reached the indoor ice-skating rink twenty minutes before the appointed time. He felt like a regular gangster, one half of a criminal transaction. The mere thought made him feel guilty.

  Johan managed to work up a good case of nerves as he waited. He gave a start when a red pickup drove up in front of him soon afterward. He discreetly slipped his hand inside his jacket to turn on the camera. The man driving the truck was also wearing dark glasses. He had gra
y stubble on his face and was slightly overweight. About fifty years old.

  Without saying a word, he reached over and opened the passenger-side door of his vehicle. With some hesitation Johan got into the pickup.

  They greeted each other briefly.

  "If we're careful, we can take a look at the artifacts here, but it'll have to be quick," said the man, speaking with a marked Gotland accent. He cast a glance out the truck windows and then looked in the rearview mirror. Maybe he was new at this game.

  The seller lifted up a toolbox that was wedged between the seats. He opened the box and took out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside were a number of objects: a chisel, a few axe blades, several silver coins, spear points, and a circular clasp.

  Johan assumed an expression that he hoped would give him the look of an expert and slowly picked up each and every artifact.

  Niklas had given him some tips about the types of remarks he could make. The seller was watching him attentively.

  "As I said on the phone, these are just a few samples. I have many more, but I don't know how much you're interested in."

  "Now that I see what you have, and that the goods are genuine, I could be interested in a large number of items," said Johan.

  "How much are we talking about?"

  "I'd rather not go into that right now. One thing at a time. What do you want for these?"

  "All of them?"

  "Yes."

  "A hundred thousand kronor."

  "That's too much. I'll give you fifty."

  Niklas had warned him that he would undoubtedly be quoted too high a price, if for no other reason than to check him out.

  "Ninety."

  "I can go as high as seventy-five thousand. Just to show you my goodwill on the first deal. But next time I'd appreciate it if you'd ask a reasonable price right from the start."

  "When can I get the money?"

  "On Monday."

  "In cash?"

  "That's what we agreed, wasn't it?"

  Aron Bjarke didn't answer his home phone or his cell.

  Knutas switched on his computer and looked up the personal data on Bjarke. He was born in 1961 at Visby Hospital. He went to Save High School in Visby and then studied archaeology at the University of Stockholm. For a long time he lived in Hagerstan, a suburb south of the city. Knutas confirmed that Bjarke had never married or registered as living with anyone. Nor did he have any children. A few years ago he had moved back to Gotland, and he now lived on Skogrand.

  Aron Bjarke had one sibling, an older brother named Eskil Rondahl. Their parents had died in a fire only a year ago. Knutas remembered that fire in Hall quite well. It was quickly put out, yet two people had died. So they were Bjarke's parents. Knutas frowned at the strange coincidence. The police techs had done a thorough investigation, but the cause of the fire had never been determined.

  It turned out that Bjarke's brother still lived at the family farm in Hall.

  Maybe he would find Aron there.

  The tension that Johan had felt before meeting the seller dissipated as he sat in his own vehicle. He felt sick to his stomach and weak in the knees. Not because the man had made a particularly frightening impression; in fact, he seemed quite timid.

  For the time being, Johan pushed aside any thought of possible consequences. He turned off the camera, hoping that he'd gotten it all on film. Then he took off his dark glasses and cap.

  In Grabo he picked up Niklas Appelqvist, who was carrying two bottles of good wine and a bouquet of flowers for Emma. Johan was impressed. He hadn't thought his friend would be so considerate.

  When they reached the house they were met with loud music. Pia and Emma were sitting on the sofa, each of them holding a glass of wine and rocking out to Ebba Gron. It had been a long time since Johan had seen Emma looking so lively. She needed a break. Maybe her uncertainty about their relationship had a lot to do with simple fatigue.

  At that instant he decided to take her on a trip, whether she wanted to go or not. It would be a surprise that he would book in advance. They would have to take Elin along, of course, but he would make all the arrangements. Emma wouldn't have to do anything except nurse the baby.

  When Emma caught sight of Johan, she came dancing toward him with a mischievous smile to give him a kiss. He had a feeling that she had read his mind.

  After dinner they sat down on the sofa group in the living room to look at the video. The visual quality left a lot to be desired, and the images were shaky, but they could clearly hear what was said.

  Johan breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the material was good enough for him to put together a TV report. Suddenly the face of the seller appeared, at first blurred, then clearer. Niklas gave a shout.

  "What the hell! That's the guy from the warehouse. Eskil. Eskil something or other."

  Everyone looked at Niklas in surprise.

  "I remember now. His name is Eskil Rondahl. He works at the antiquities warehouse. He's been there for ages. I'm not surprised that he could get his hands on artifacts."

  "I know who you mean!" exclaimed Johan excitedly. "I've interviewed him about the thefts on the phone. Good Lord. That dried up, sad old man. Are you sure it's him?"

  "Of course I'm sure. Everyone who studies archaeology has to take a few classes from him. He demonstrates how to handle ancient relics and archive them."

  "So that means it's an inside job. If he's selling artifacts, maybe there are others doing the same thing."

  "This is fucking insane," Niklas said, shaking his head. "I wonder how long he's been doing this."

  "What do you know about him?"

  "Not much. He seems like an anonymous type of guy. Incredibly reserved and uptight. Hardly says a word. A real oddball, to put it bluntly."

  "Do you know whether he has a family? Or where he lives?"

  "I have no idea. Although I have a hard time imagining that he'd have a family."

  "I'll check."

  Johan got up and switched on the computer in Emma's study. He searched for Eskil Rondahl in the municipal records and found his address.

  "He lives in Hall. That's north of here, isn't it?"

  "What's the address?" asked Niklas, who had followed Johan into the study. He was standing behind him, looking at the screen.

  "It just says Sigvards, Hall."

  "I wonder where that is. Large sections of Hall are a nature preserve up along the rocky coast. There's hardly anything out there. It's desolate and barren."

  Johan glanced at his watch. It was nine fifteen.

  "I'm going to drive out there."

  "Right now?"

  Johan printed out the information about Eskil Rondahl.

  "I'll go with you," said Niklas resolutely.

  "No, it's better if Pia comes along, so she can film things if we need it," said Johan. "You can stay here with Emma while we're gone."

  Pia was in high spirits as she drove, and she greatly exceeded the speed limit. She had cut back on the amount of wine she drank because she had to get up early the next day, and now she was glad that she had. They drove via Visby and then north past Lickershamn. It was still light out, and when they passed Ireviken the landscape started to change. The area looked more barren; the vegetation got scruffier. Here and there dead trees stretched their bare branches toward the sky. They searched for the place for a long time. They had to ask for directions to the farm, which they finally found at the end of the road. Darkness had begun to set in, and they didn't dare drive all the way up to the farm. As soon as it appeared from behind a hill, Pia stepped on the brakes and backed up. She parked the car a short distance away in the woods.

  The farm was impressive in size but clearly in need of repair. To their surprise, they saw five or six cars parked in the yard. Eskil Rondahl apparently had visitors. Farther away a red pickup was visible, along with an old, rusty horse trailer. Pia took the small camera along, although it would have to be used indoors; it was too dark outside. Cautiously they approached the house. T
hey had it in view when they suddenly heard the sound of a car engine behind them. Johan flinched-was there another visitor?

  He was dumbfounded when he saw who got out of the car. It was Anders Knutas. He was alone, and he wasn't driving a police vehicle. Was he on the track of the thefts, too? Johan cast a quick glance at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock.

  Knutas didn't seem to have noticed Johan and Pia, who were standing in the shelter of several tall bushes. When Johan stepped forward, Knutas gave a start.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" he snarled. What an absurd situation. Here they stood in the dark, in the middle of a nature preserve, close to a remote farm, stupidly glaring at each other.

  "I might ask you the same question," said Johan.

  "That's none of your business," snapped Knutas. "What's going on here?" he then asked with a nod at the parked cars.

  "No idea. We just got here."

  Pia stepped into view, and Knutas greeted her.

  "Now you're going to have to explain what brings the two of you out here."

  Johan briefly told Knutas how he had found the American Web site and about his meeting with the seller. When he said that the fence was Eskil Rondahl, Knutas's eyes widened.

  "Not bad," he said. He actually sounded impressed.

  "But you're here for some other reason?" said Johan.

  Knutas hesitated for a moment. Maybe it was the intimacy of standing there in the dark, maybe it was because he was so tired, completely worn out after everything that had happened lately-but something made him decide to tell them why he had come.

  "Aron Bjarke, who's a teacher at the college, was in Stockholm when Gunnar Ambjornsson was expected home from his trip abroad. We didn't know this before, but Aron Bjarke and Eskil Rondahl are brothers. Bjarke changed his name twenty years ago when he was studying in Stockholm. Before that his name was Aron Rondahl."