The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

He does spend a lot of time outdoors, but still. I’ve tried phoning early in the morning and late in the evening. Yesterday I went over there because I was getting really worried. That’s when I discovered that his boat was missing.
    ‘His boat?’ queried Jacobsson.
    ‘Yes, the rowing boat he always uses when he goes out fishing. It’s not there.’
    ‘Did you notice anything out of the ordinary inside his house?’
    ‘The coffee thermos wasn’t in its usual place on the counter. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it. He always takes it with him when he goes fishing. That’s what made me really worried, the fact that the boat and the thermos were gone. Something must have happened out at sea. There was a strong wind all week. I’m afraid that something bad has happened to him. We only have each other, Valter and I. Everyone else is gone. There’s nothing else left.’ Tears filled the old woman’s eyes. ‘I also went down to his fishing shack, and it looks like he took his nets along. And the binoculars were gone too. They weren’t hanging on the hook.’
    ‘Could we borrow the key to Valter’s house?’ asked Jacobsson. ‘We’d like to have a look around.’

IT TOOK KNUTAS less time than he expected to plough his way through the interview transcripts that he’d brought home over the weekend. But reading through the material hadn’t produced any new leads. He felt discouraged when he awoke in the empty house on Saturday morning. To take his mind off things, he decided to drive up to the family’s summer cottage in Lickershamn. He needed to get away and have a change of scene. Why should he stay home alone in Visby when he’d finished the work he needed to do and the weather was so nice? Lina and the children were all away. Besides, he needed to repair the roof of the cottage. Several roof tiles had blown off during a spring storm. He’d been meaning to replace them for a long time, but so far nothing had come of his good intentions. If nothing special happened in the investigation, he planned to stay overnight.
    He drove north, relieved to be leaving the city behind. Even though it wasn’t a long drive, only 25 kilometres, he always had a feeling of liberation upon arriving at the cottage, located on the rocky shore in north-west Gotland. There was no phone and only a few neighbours, so he would be undisturbed. And he wouldn’t have to talk to a soul.
    A warm, happy sensation came over him when the grey plastered limestone house appeared a kilometre beyond the picturesque harbour area. It was surrounded by a stone wall, isolated, and with no neighbours within sight. Bright red poppies gleamed against the fence. He noted that the grass had sprouted up to an unacceptable height. It was going to be a tough job for their halting old lawnmower, which he should have replacedlong ago. He parked in front of the cottage and got out of the car. There he stood for a moment, filling his lungs with fresh air that smelled of the salt water and seaweed. He got out the bags of groceries and then unlocked the front door, breathing in the usual smell of damp stone. He loved the smell that always lingered inside until he threw open all the windows to air the place. Slightly stuffy, with a hint of indolence and a sense of anticipation. A longing for something else.
    He put the groceries in the fridge and pantry. He was planning to cook himself a steak for supper. With potato wedges and red wine. For lunch he would have sliced meatballs and pickled beets on the famous flat bread that his parents made at their farm just a little further north, in Kappelshamn. He realized that it had been a while since he’d visited them. So he decided to drop by and have coffee with them tomorrow before he went back to town. But first he needed to get busy with the tedious task of repairing the roof. He made coffee and poured himself a cup. Then he set the transistor radio on the table outside so he could listen to the programme
Melodikrysset
while he was working.
    He went out to the tool shed to fetch a hammer and nails, as well as the roof tiles that he’d bought some time ago. He leaned the ladder against the eaves, but then realized it was too hot for the clothes he was wearing. He went back inside to change his jeans and shirt for a pair of shorts and a polo shirt. He glanced at the thermometer in the kitchen window. Already 24 degrees centigrade, even though it wasn’t even ten o’clock. An area of high