‘I have a tutor who comes to my house.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Knutas didn’t want to ask any more questions about that. There was something odd about this slight boy standing in front of him.

  ‘Did you see the fire there was here recently?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure, I did. Both here and over in Dans. I usually hike for several hours a day.’

  ‘Do you think maybe you saw something that might help the police?’

  ‘I once saw three motorcycles near that house in Dans that later burned down.’

  Knutas gave a start.

  ‘Did you see who was riding them?’

  ‘No. They wore leathers and helmets, so I couldn’t see their faces.’

  ‘Could you show me where?’

  ‘It’s too far to walk. For you, anyway.’

  ‘We can take my car.’

  Knutas nodded towards his Mercedes.

  ‘I’m not allowed to ride in cars with strangers.’

  Knutas smiled.

  ‘I can understand that. Here’s my police ID. We can also ring your parents to ask them permission. What’s your name?’

  ‘Svante.’

  The boy turned the ID card this way and that.

  ‘You’re a detective superintendent? How cool. I like Inspector Beck. From the books by Sjöwall and Wahlöö, you know. Are you hunting for a murderer?’

  ‘That’s my job. That’s why I’m here in the woods right now. Looking for leads.’

  ‘I’ve seen a bad guy, too.’

  ‘Where was that?’

  ‘Near the house in Dans. A different time I was there. At first, I thought he was a city workman because he was wearing one of those vests that roadworkers wear. One of those bright yellow vests. But he didn’t seem to be doing any work. He just kept walking around the house. I followed him and watched him peering in the windows and trying to open the door. That time there weren’t any motorcycles around.’

  Knutas listened with growing interest to what this peculiar boy was saying.

  ‘When was this? Do you remember what day you saw him?’

  ‘It was last Sunday, because I was out all day. When I have free time I can stay outdoors for hours. I bring a packed lunch with me.’

  Knutas took out his mobile.

  ‘I think we’d better not waste any more time. Let’s ring your parents.’

  JOHAN WAS SLUMPED in front of his computer in the editorial office, searching the news wires and daily papers for anything new about the hunt for the robbers and Jocke Eriksson’s killer. He was having a hard time concentrating. The weekend had been a nightmare. Emma was devastated, the kids couldn’t stop crying, his parents-in-law were shocked and grief-stricken. And there he was in the middle of it all, having to take control of things, make sure the children were fed, and see to the younger kids, who had no idea what was going on.

  Last night after Emma had fallen asleep he had lain in bed and stared into the darkness, unable to sleep. He couldn’t believe how much he missed Stockholm, especially now that everything was in such turmoil here on Gotland. Of course, he felt terribly sorry for Emma, and it was awful that Olle had died, but sometimes he couldn’t help feeling that too much of their life together revolved around Emma and her former marriage to Olle.

  Pia came stomping into the office, rousing him from his daydream.

  ‘Hey, I just talked to Sonny at the Road Warriors. He says he doesn’t know a thing about the assault on Patrik Rosén. The motorcycles that people heard could have come from anywhere. There are lots of folks who ride bikes here on the island.’

  ‘I suppose he’s right,’ said Johan distractedly. ‘On the other hand, I don’t think he’d tell us if he was involved in any way. Does anyone know whether Rosén had anything to do with the motorcycle clubs? Or with Jocke Eriksson, for that matter?’

  ‘No, but there’s no getting around the fact that they were born in the same year and come from neighbouring towns,’ said Pia. ‘It’s only about ten kilometres between Tofta and Klintehamn. Maybe they went to the same primary school. Or secondary.’

  ‘That should be easy to check.’

  ‘By the way, Sonny is on his way over here,’ said Pia, looking pleased. ‘He said there’s something he wants to tell us.’

  Johan looked up from his computer with interest.

  ‘Sonny? Really?’

  ‘I’ve been pestering him about those two other friends of Jocke’s. Maybe all my nagging paid off.’

  ‘Good job, at any rate,’ said Johan appreciatively. He couldn’t help being impressed by his colleague’s powers of persuasion.

  An hour later Sonny Jonsson was sitting at their conference table with a cup of coffee in front of him. With his leather outfit, and multiple tattoos and piercings, he definitely looked out of place in the office setting. He sighed heavily and then began.

  ‘I’ve talked to Maddis, and she thought this might be important. But I’m not sure. She wanted me to go to the cops, but I refused. I don’t trust those bastards.’

  ‘OK,’ said Johan, giving Sonny his full attention. ‘We’re listening.’

  ‘Jocke had a pal named Degen that he brought over to the club several times. And a girl, too. But I don’t remember her name.’

  Pia and Johan exchanged glances but didn’t make a sound, not wanting to interrupt Sonny’s story.

  ‘The three of them were as thick as thieves, even though they didn’t see each other regularly. And they’d been friends for a long time, ever since they were teenagers. I think they got really close after something that happened at the club.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The chick came to one of our summer parties. It was a big bash and a lot of folks from the mainland came over. She got real drunk, and later that night two bastards tried to rape her in a room upstairs. Jocke and Degen managed to overpower them. Jocke sliced up the face of one of the guys with a piece of glass. I found out about all this much later. No one at the party noticed a thing.’

  ‘Did the guy who got his face slashed report it to the police?’ asked Johan with interest.

  ‘No. Probably because then the guy might have been accused of attempted rape. But those yobbos came poking around the club several more times, trying to get hold of Jocke. As luck would have it, they always turned up whenever he wasn’t around. And neither Degen nor that girl ever came back to the club.’

  ‘How did you find out about this?’ asked Pia.

  ‘One evening we were sitting around drinking and Jocke told me what happened. The guy he cut was permanently disfigured. And I can’t help wondering whether what happened back then has something to do with Jocke’s murder.’

  ‘You mean that guy whose face was cut wanted revenge, and so he killed Jocke?’ said Johan, sounding dubious. ‘And now the others are next in line?’

  Sonny shrugged.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘When exactly did this happen?’

  ‘A hell of a long time ago. Before Jocke became a full member, and that was when he turned twenty-one. So sometime before that. Maybe one or two years earlier, I guess.’

  ‘So about fifteen years ago,’ said Johan, doing a quick calculation in his head. ‘Why would he strike now?’

  ‘No idea. It does seem like a long shot,’ Sonny admitted. ‘But after that, Jocke changed. He got real tight with Degen and that chick, and he was sort of secretive about them. I got the feeling there was something more that he didn’t want to tell me about those two, but I don’t know what it was.’

  JACOBSSON HAD NEVER been to a Thai boxing club before. She went down the steps that led to a basement entryway littered with shoes tossed in heaps. The small reception area was squeezed into a corner. A young guy wearing a knitted cap in garish colours greeted her. How can he wear that in this heat? she thought. She introduced herself and asked to see the boss. She had an appointment. Unfortunately, he wasn’t there at the moment, but he was supposed to arrive soon. She could go inside and watch while she waited, although first she needed to remove her shoes. Obediently, she unlaced her trainers and took them off.

  Inside the workout room a group of beginners was getting ready for a session. It was mostly guys in their twenties, but also a couple of girls who looked to be a few years older. They wore sleeveless tops and leggings, and they’d pulled their hair back into ponytails. The guys wore shorts and T-shirts. The basement room had a low ceiling and no windows. The floor was covered with hard green mats. The walls were lined with mirrors and posters showing a number of Thai boxers. Jacobsson surmised they must be stars of the sport, although she knew absolutely nothing about it. Dusty pipes were visible on the ceiling, and in several places hung various rings and sandbags that were used for training.

  Hard-rock music blared from the speakers, but the twenty or so students who were warming up were completely focused on what they were doing. The instructor was a short, thin, muscular guy who wore his thick, curly hair in a topknot. He was scurrying around the room, keeping an eagle eye on everyone to make sure they were doing everything properly.

  ‘Faster, faster!’ he shouted to be heard over the music. ‘Keep up the pace. This is not a playground. You can sleep at night. Move, move, move.’

  Everyone was training hard, doing push-ups, sit-ups and shadow-boxing. Jacobsson sat down on a stool to watch, impressed with the level of energy in the room.

  Then the actual session started, and the instructor kept up the same frenzied pace as he guided and motivated his students. He tried to get them to work even harder by making use of some rather strange metaphors, which to Jacobsson’s ears sounded like a real stretch.

  ‘Footwork, people, footwork! Babies crawl, we walk. Faster, faster! Shoulders down, turn, chin down, eyes up. Think water. Water flows.’

  Sweat was pouring off everyone. Some of the participants moved mechanically, trying to imitate the instructor’s movements as best they could. Others seemed naturally more aggressive and gave it their all, bloodthirsty looks in their eyes.

  Jacobsson was so fascinated by it all that she almost forgot why she’d come. But then a man who appeared to be close to her own age approached, and she remembered why she was there.

  ‘Hi. Sorry I’m late. I’m Niko,’ he said, speaking loudly and leaning close to her ear so she would hear him over the music.

  He motioned for her to follow him, and they went into the clubroom and sat down.

  Niko wore black slacks and a wrestler’s top. He had a dark complexion and bulging muscles. Jacobsson did her best not to stare.

  ‘I’m looking for a man who works out here,’ she began. ‘He’s in his thirties and probably Latino.’

  ‘Lots of guys like that here. Don’t you know his name?’

  ‘No. But several times he’s brought along a guy from Gotland. A guy with thick, curly blond hair.’

  Jacobsson handed him a photograph of Jocke Eriksson.

  Niko took a moment to study the picture but then shook his head.

  ‘No idea. We have a lot of people coming and going here. Do you know how long he’s been training? Is he a beginner or advanced?’

  ‘I think he’s been training for a while, at least, but that’s just a guess on my part. I don’t really know.’

  ‘We have several groups for advanced boxers, and three different instructors, so maybe one of them would know the person you’re talking about.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Joa will be done with the beginners soon, so you can talk to him yourself. Amanda has the group after his, so she’ll be busy for the next hour. Are you in a hurry?’

  ‘I can wait.’

  When Joa was finished with the session, the participants all seemed completely wrung out and there was a strong smell of sweat in the room. If the air smelled this bad after the first class, Jacobsson wondered what it would be like for the poor students in the last class. Clearly, there was no air-conditioning.

  Joa was a young man with a serious expression. His whole appearance seemed somehow unreal, with his pale complexion, curly hair and slender and fine-limbed body under the sinewy muscles. Even though he’d just performed the role of a hard-nosed instructor, there was something delicate, almost angelic, about him. As he stood facing her, Jacobsson realized that she was experiencing something that had never happened to her before. For the first time in her life, she was meeting a man who was not taller than she was, and who probably weighed about the same – five foot two and 110 pounds. An inappropriate thought flitted through her mind. I wonder what it would be like to have sex with a man the same size as me, she thought. But the idea vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  They shook hands, and she explained what she wanted to know. Then they sat down on stools in the workout room. The next group of students was getting ready. Several people were sitting or hanging about, talking to each other and watching those who were working out. An adjoining alcove was furnished with a sofa, several chairs, a table and a vending machine.

  ‘Do a lot of people who aren’t students come here?’ Jacobsson asked.

  ‘No. Everyone is active in the club. But there’s a bunch that likes to come here even when they’re not training. The students get to be friends after a while.’

  ‘How long have you worked here?’

  ‘Since I was seventeen, and I’m twenty-three now. I was the Swedish champion in 2008, and the Nordic champion in 2009 in my weight division. Pretty soon I’ll be leaving for Thailand to take part in the world championships.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Jacobsson. ‘That’s impressive.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He gave her a fleeting smile. He’s so cute, she thought. Like a doll. She couldn’t get rid of the unreal feeling.

  ‘I’m looking for someone who works out here and who might be Spanish or Latin American. He was seen here at the club with a friend whose name is Joakim Eriksson, nicknamed Jocke. Last week Jocke was murdered on Gotland. You may have seen photos of him in the newspapers. This is what he looks like.’

  She held up the photograph of Jocke.

  ‘Yeah. I recognize him,’ said Joa quietly.

  Jacobsson’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘He’s been here several times. And I talked to him. So he’s the one who was murdered? I didn’t realize that. I remember him because he was the type of person who talked to everybody. And he was so obviously from Gotland. Plus, he has the same name as me. My real name is Joakim.’

  Jacobsson could hardly sit still. Forcing herself to stay calm, she then asked, ‘What about the guy who brought him here? The guy who works out?’

  ‘He’s called Degen. I don’t know what his real name is. Wait a minute, and I’ll check.’

  Joa got up abruptly and headed for the reception area. Jacobsson followed. He switched on the computer.

  ‘We keep on file the name and address and phone number of everyone who has a membership card, so it shouldn’t be hard to find him.’

  Suddenly, he looked up with alarm, as if a terrible thought had just occurred to him.

  ‘Degen’s not the one who did it, is he?’

  ‘We don’t have any suspects at the moment, but obviously we’d like to ask him some questions.’

  Joa seemed satisfied with her explanation. Apparently, he hadn’t kept up with the news stories that mentioned possible links between the murder and the robbery of the security van. Or maybe he simply hadn’t thought that far.

  Jacobsson was struck by an idea. The initials on Jocke’s wrist were J. T. D. Could the D stand for Degen?

  ‘Do you happen to know whether this Degen has a tattoo?’ she asked as Joa was searching the computer files.

  He paused.

  ‘A tattoo? I don’t really know. But if he did, what sort of tattoo would it be?’

  ‘Not very big.’ Jacobsson held up her thumb and index finger to indicate the size. ‘And just three initials: “J”, “T” and “D”.’ She stretched out her arm and pushed back the sleeve of her shirt. ‘Right here. On the inside of his wrist.’

  ‘No. I’ve never noticed anything like that. But we always wear gloves when we’re working out, so it’d be hard to see. And I’m not his trainer. You should ask Amanda when she’s finished her session. She’s Degen’s trainer.’

  Joa returned his attention to the computer and went back to searching the files. It took a while. Then he uttered an exclamation and stopped, staring at the screen in bewilderment.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ asked Jacobsson.

  ‘I can’t find him. Just a minute.’

  He turned around and reached for an old-fashioned ledger box containing dusty black binders and placed it on the counter with a thud.

  ‘We keep this as a back-up,’ he said with a wry expression. ‘Just in case the computer gets fried.’

  Jacobsson could hardly contain her impatience.

  Joa slowly and meticulously went through the folders, leafing through the pages with ever-growing concern.

  ‘I don’t get it. I’ve looked at the names of everyone who started on the beginner course last spring, just like he did. But he’s not here. This is really strange. He’s gone.’

  Joa turned around and shouted to the young guy with the gaudy cap. It seemed that everyone could see how annoyed Jacobsson was getting, because even Niko turned up and was apprised of the situation. After all three had spent another fifteen minutes searching the pages, Jacobsson began to lose patience.

  ‘How can a member of your club simply disappear? How could he be erased from all the files?’

  ‘I really can’t explain what’s happened. Obviously, we won’t be able to clear up this mystery right now,’ said Niko apologetically. ‘But give us time to work it out. I’ll talk to the other employees who have access to the files, and then I’ll phone you as soon as we find this Degen. Or anyone who knows more about him. Amanda Sierra is the instructor for his group, but she’s just gone home sick.’

  Jacobsson stared at the man standing in front of her. She was practically bursting with impatience. To be so close, and yet.

  ‘See that you do find him. And if he happens to turn up here, ring the police at once.’

 

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