Read Online The Dead of Summer by Mari Jungstedt - Free Book Online
Authors: Mari Jungstedt
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sorts of material at the expense of their own broadcasts.
‘If we do that, how do you think we’ll have time to drive up to Fårö? To take day-after pictures and do interviews and try to ferret out some of our own information? Besides, the police have announced a press conference for three o’clock. How are we going to attend that if we have to put together some shitty report to keep the national news guys happy? They should send over their own reporter.’
‘Take it easy. It was just a thought. I’ll talk to them. They’ve already mentioned sending somebody over. So I suppose they might as well do it sooner than later. With a camera person. I realize it’s too much for you to handle. I’ll get back to you.’
Johan ended the conversation and glared at Pia, who patted him on the shoulder.
‘Come on,’ she said, trying to console him. ‘Let’s get going.’
AT SUDERSAND CAMPSITE on Fårö, there was hardly any sign of the murder drama from the previous day. At least not at first glance. Tourists were picking up brochures from the check-in desk, taking the path down to the beach and going to the cafeteria. No police officers or police tape in sight.
An elderly grey-haired woman sat behind the front desk.
‘Hello,’ she greeted them automatically. ‘How can I help you?’
Johan introduced himself and Pia, causing the woman to raise her eyebrows with interest.
‘We’d like to know more about the man who was shot yesterday,’ Johan began. ‘Who was he? And how long had he been here?’
‘The police told me not to say a word to any reporters.’
The woman pressed her lips together as if to demonstrate and gave them a suspicious look.
‘Of course, and we respect that. But maybe you could tell us something about the sort of reactions you’ve witnessed here today. When we arrived, Pia and I were surprised to see that nobody seems the least bit upset. Everybody here seems very calm and collected. If nothing else, surely it can’t hurt to do a report for TV on what the day after the murder is like. To show that the campsite is functioning normally, I mean. Have you had any cancellations?’
‘Not very many, actually.’
‘Would you mind talking about that while we film? I’d think it would be in your interest to show the viewers that everything is OK here, right?’
Johan was ashamed of stooping to this sort of veiled threat, but he felt no sympathy for the stern-looking woman sitting behind the counter.
He watched as she debated with herself for a few seconds.
‘No,’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘Not interested. And I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. And take that camera with you.’
The same instant she made her decision, a man came inside. He was tall and lanky, with tousled hair. He was carrying a stack of cigarette cartons. He introduced himself as Mats Nilsson, owner of the campsite.
‘Hi,’ said Johan, ignoring the scowling elderly woman. ‘We’re from Regional News. Have you got a minute?’
‘All right, sure.’
‘Could we go outside to talk?’
‘OK. I need a smoke anyway.’
Outside, they explained what they’d like to film, and after they had talked to the campsite owner for a few minutes, his face lit up.
‘Now I know who you are,’ he exclaimed, jabbing Johan in the stomach. ‘I recognize you from TV.’
‘Oh, really?’
Mats Nilsson let out a bellow of laughter, displaying his nicotine-stained teeth. Johan stared at him, uncomprehending.
‘You and Emma are an item, right? Emma Winarve?’
‘Well …’ Johan said, hesitating.
‘You even have a kid together. I read all about it in the newspaper. I dated Emma in the ninth grade; she was in the other class. She was damned cute back then, a lot prettier than she is now. Even though she had rather small … well, you know what I mean.’
He pointed at his chest.
Johan wondered if he’d heard this guy correctly. He felt Pia looking at him, and sensed how close she was to delivering a crushing
‘If we do that, how do you think we’ll have time to drive up to Fårö? To take day-after pictures and do interviews and try to ferret out some of our own information? Besides, the police have announced a press conference for three o’clock. How are we going to attend that if we have to put together some shitty report to keep the national news guys happy? They should send over their own reporter.’
‘Take it easy. It was just a thought. I’ll talk to them. They’ve already mentioned sending somebody over. So I suppose they might as well do it sooner than later. With a camera person. I realize it’s too much for you to handle. I’ll get back to you.’
Johan ended the conversation and glared at Pia, who patted him on the shoulder.
‘Come on,’ she said, trying to console him. ‘Let’s get going.’
AT SUDERSAND CAMPSITE on Fårö, there was hardly any sign of the murder drama from the previous day. At least not at first glance. Tourists were picking up brochures from the check-in desk, taking the path down to the beach and going to the cafeteria. No police officers or police tape in sight.
An elderly grey-haired woman sat behind the front desk.
‘Hello,’ she greeted them automatically. ‘How can I help you?’
Johan introduced himself and Pia, causing the woman to raise her eyebrows with interest.
‘We’d like to know more about the man who was shot yesterday,’ Johan began. ‘Who was he? And how long had he been here?’
‘The police told me not to say a word to any reporters.’
The woman pressed her lips together as if to demonstrate and gave them a suspicious look.
‘Of course, and we respect that. But maybe you could tell us something about the sort of reactions you’ve witnessed here today. When we arrived, Pia and I were surprised to see that nobody seems the least bit upset. Everybody here seems very calm and collected. If nothing else, surely it can’t hurt to do a report for TV on what the day after the murder is like. To show that the campsite is functioning normally, I mean. Have you had any cancellations?’
‘Not very many, actually.’
‘Would you mind talking about that while we film? I’d think it would be in your interest to show the viewers that everything is OK here, right?’
Johan was ashamed of stooping to this sort of veiled threat, but he felt no sympathy for the stern-looking woman sitting behind the counter.
He watched as she debated with herself for a few seconds.
‘No,’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘Not interested. And I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. And take that camera with you.’
The same instant she made her decision, a man came inside. He was tall and lanky, with tousled hair. He was carrying a stack of cigarette cartons. He introduced himself as Mats Nilsson, owner of the campsite.
‘Hi,’ said Johan, ignoring the scowling elderly woman. ‘We’re from Regional News. Have you got a minute?’
‘All right, sure.’
‘Could we go outside to talk?’
‘OK. I need a smoke anyway.’
Outside, they explained what they’d like to film, and after they had talked to the campsite owner for a few minutes, his face lit up.
‘Now I know who you are,’ he exclaimed, jabbing Johan in the stomach. ‘I recognize you from TV.’
‘Oh, really?’
Mats Nilsson let out a bellow of laughter, displaying his nicotine-stained teeth. Johan stared at him, uncomprehending.
‘You and Emma are an item, right? Emma Winarve?’
‘Well …’ Johan said, hesitating.
‘You even have a kid together. I read all about it in the newspaper. I dated Emma in the ninth grade; she was in the other class. She was damned cute back then, a lot prettier than she is now. Even though she had rather small … well, you know what I mean.’
He pointed at his chest.
Johan wondered if he’d heard this guy correctly. He felt Pia looking at him, and sensed how close she was to delivering a crushing
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