The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

waiting for them on the dock. They went at once to the discovery site, which was a little less than a kilometre from the lighthouse, but in an area that was off-limits during the summer. For that reason, it was a good place for someone to spend the night undisturbed.
    ‘We can’t possibly keep track of everyone who comes over here on the day boats,’ the chief ranger told them as they made their way through the brush-covered terrain. ‘A lot of people pay cash for a ticket at the ferry terminal in Klintehamn. They come over to spend a few hours here and then go back home. It’s impossible to know when people arrive or depart. There are also those who spend the night, and we have a little more contact with them, or at least some of them. But not everyone, by any means. Ten thousand people come through here in the summertime, so I can’t remember all of them.’
    ‘When did you discover these things?’ asked Knutas, who was panting in the heat. He noticed to his dismay that he wasn’t in as good physical condition as he used to be. He’d been lazy about working out lately.
    ‘I was out taking a morning walk and thought I’d go over to the most distant bird mountain to try and find out how many baby birds still haven’t left. So I took a short cut through that area; it takes half the time,compared to following the road. The first thing I saw was something pink fluttering from a bush. That’s what made me go down into the clearing. I never would have done it otherwise. I don’t like to disturb the wildlife here unless it’s really necessary.’
    Knutas raised his eyebrows.
    ‘Something pink?’
    ‘Yes. It turned out to be a hair ribbon. The old-fashioned kind that little girls used to wear when I was at school. Very wide and sort of silky. You’ll see for yourselves. I left it where it was. I didn’t touch anything,’ he added with a trace of pride in his voice.
    Smart dude, thought Jacobsson crossly. You’ve probably watched crime shows on TV, even though you don’t seem like the type. She was already annoyed by the chief ranger’s pedantic attitude. He was close to her own age, but he acted like an old man.
    They turned off on to a smaller path that headed down towards the sea. The ground was dry and covered with stones. They had to hunch over so as not to run into the dense network of tree branches. Soon a clearing opened before them, with soft grass surrounded by protective thickets. A perfect hiding place.
    The next moment they caught sight of the ribbon. It was hanging on a thorny bush. Jacobsson gave a start. She’d seen photos of the missing Stina Ek, and she recalled seeing the woman wearing a similar ribbon in her hair.
    ‘There it is,’ said the chief ranger, pointing.
    Silently they all stopped next to the bush to study the ribbon. It looked out of place in this remote natural setting. And somehow ominous. Are we going to find her now? Jacobsson asked herself. Is she dead or alive?
    The chief ranger continued on through the trees.
    ‘Look over there. In that crevice.’
    And there it was: a light blue sleeping bag. Jacobsson felt her mouth go dry. This could very well be the murderer’s hiding place. Instinctively she glanced around, as if the perpetrator might be lurking in the thickets. But all she saw was a water bottle lying in the grass. Knutas ordered everyone back.
    ‘Not another step closer. We need to cordon off the area.’
    Wittberg immediately began putting up police tape.
    Everyone felt a spark of hope. Finally they had a lead.
    But what does that pink ribbon mean? thought Jacobsson. Then the same question that had been bugging her lately popped up again. Stina Ek: was she a victim or the perpetrator?
    She turned around and let her gaze sweep over the scene. It was a perfect hiding place, well protected from the wind and any prying eyes.
    ‘If these things belong to the killer, why didn’t he take them with him? He should have been terrified about leaving any evidence behind.’
    ‘Maybe something unexpected happened. If the murder was not premeditated, it’s not so strange that he would be panic-stricken and decide to leave in a hurry. But where the hell did that ribbon come from?’
    Knutas leaned forward to study the gleaming strip of fabric. ‘Very strange. Almost as if it were a signal, asking to be noticed.’
    ‘Or else it got caught there by mistake,’ said Jacobsson. ‘I mean if the murderer is a woman who wore a ribbon in her hair. Or maybe Stina