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remark to the unpleasant campsite owner. Even Johan had to make the utmost effort not to punch the guy in the face. He made a lightning-quick decision about which tactic would be best in this situation, and he chose to focus on their report, which meant assuming an ingratiating attitude. Even at his own expense.
    ‘Right. How cool. So I guess we have something in common.’
    He managed a strained smile. Nilsson didn’t seem to notice his sarcastic tone of voice, and Johan quickly changed the subject.
    ‘How are things going here after that young man was shot yesterday?’
    The campsite owner’s face clouded over.
    ‘I wouldn’t call him young. Peter was over forty. Bloody awful, the whole thing.’
    Johan was all ears. The police hadn’t yet revealed the victim’s identity. It was important to tread lightly.
    ‘Did you know him?’
    ‘Yes I did, quite well in fact. He and his wife have come here several years in a row, and after a while I get to know all the regular campers. It’s a bleeding shame he had to go and get himself shot. Makes me wonder what was behind it.’
    ‘Is it OK if I film you while we’re talking?’ asked Pia.
    ‘Sure, go ahead.’
    ‘What’s Peter’s last name?’
    ‘Bovide.’
    ‘How long had he and his family been here before this happened?’
    ‘Just over the weekend. They arrived Friday night and were supposed to stay two weeks. They do that every year. And they like to have the same camping spot each time. Before they left, he would always reserve it for the following year.’
    ‘Where is it located?’
    He nodded towards the campsite.
    ‘It’s number fifty-three, the very last space, you know, and the one closest to the beach. There’s a sign, but right now the area is blocked off so you won’t be able to see it. It’s the space they had the first summer they were here, and since then they’ve never wanted to park their caravan anywhere else. Even though there’s no electrical hook-up over there; they have to run everything on liquefied natural gas, but that works fine.’
    ‘So he was married and had kids?’
    ‘Of course. His wife’s name is Vendela, and they have two children, a little girl and a boy.’
    ‘How old are they?’
    ‘Not very old. Maybe three and five, something like that. But how the hell would I know? I haven’t got any kids myself.’
    ‘Where are they from?’
    ‘Slite, so they didn’t have far to drive, you might say.’
    ‘Do you know what kind of work he did?’
    ‘Sure, he was a carpenter, and he had his own construction company. He was really good at his job. And always willing to lend a hand. He did quite a bit of carpentry work for me, so I gave him a good discount on the camping fee and made sure he got the spot he wanted. I felt like I needed to pay him back in some way. I know that he also helped out other people here at the campsite if they were having trouble with something. He could fix almost anything.’
    ‘What’s the name of the company?’
    ‘Slite Construction.’
    ‘What was Peter like as a person?’
    ‘A real decent guy. There’s no doubt about that. But he did have some odd habits.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Well, he went out running every single morning, for example. And it was always so damn early. I used to see him sometimes if I had to be here extra early for the bread delivery or something like that. You’d always see him out running before six.’
    Johan was so fascinated by all the information that came pouring out of the man standing in front of him that he almost forgot that he was doing an interview. He pulled himself together and changed direction.
    ‘How did you react when you heard about the murder?’
    ‘I was shocked, you know. To think that somebody could end up getting killed here. And to top it off, it was somebody that I actually happened to know. And to think he was killed in such an awful way. Shot dead, and with multiple bullet wounds. A gangster-style execution right here in our little