The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

proper investigation – which means carrying out a technical examination of the crime scene, interviewing potential witnesses, knocking on doors in the area, and finding out the details of Stina Ek’s life, including what she was doing in the period before she disappeared. In addition, we are of course looking at the significance of the crime scene itself.’
    ‘How is this connected with the murder of Sam Dahlberg?’
    ‘Naturally we see a link between the two homicides, since both victims belonged to the same social circle.’
    ‘Do you think they were killed by the same person?’
    ‘We’re not ruling that out, but we can’t assume that it was the same perpetrator. As I said, we’re working on a broad front, and keeping all doors open.’
    Jacobsson was beginning to tire of all the questions. The police didn’t have much to say. She cast an enquiring glance at the county police chief, who took the hint and gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was time to end the press conference.
    ‘All right then. That’s all we have to say at the moment. Depending on how things develop, we’re planning another press conference for tomorrow since there’s such great interest in the case. We will not be available to do individual interviews, since we need to devote all of our energy to the investigation. I hope you’ll respect this decision. If you have any furtherquestions, please direct them to the police spokesman, Lars Norrby.’ She motioned towards her colleague, who hadn’t uttered a single word during the entire conference. Then Jacobsson got up and quickly left the room.
    In the corridor outside she found her way blocked by Johan Berg and Pia Lilja, who had her eye pressed to the TV camera, as usual.
    ‘Karin, I need to ask you about something,’ he said with a serious expression.
    Foolishly enough, she stopped.
    Johan spoke directly into the microphone.
    ‘Sources tell me that a murdered Swedish man was found drifting ashore in a rowing boat off the Latvian coast. The man was supposedly Ingmar Bergman’s closest neighbour, and from what I understand, he also owns the property where Stina Ek’s body was found. His name is Valter Olsson. What can you tell us about this?’
    He held out the microphone to Jacobsson.
    She was dumbfounded.
    With a wave of her hand she pushed the microphone aside and quickly strode off down the corridor.

JACOBSSON WAS ANNOYED that the press conference had ended in such an ignominious fashion. She hated being caught completely off guard like that. It was a mystery how Johan Berg had found out that Valter Olsson’s body had been discovered in Latvia. Norrby, she thought. Had he blabbed again? The police spokesman had in the past displayed a tendency to talk too much. But surely he couldn’t be that stupid. And she hadn’t known anything about that group called the Friends of Bergman. She had immediately asked Wittberg to check up on the association, which turned out to have a website on the Internet. Stina was listed as a new member.
    She leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands. She shut her eyes, allowing images from the investigation to come and go in her mind. Sam Dahlberg’s mangled body out on Stora Karlsö, pecked apart by seabirds. The well-kept neighbourhood of Terra Nova with the friends who stuck together, come hell or high water. What were they hiding? Valter Olsson, who’d gone out fishing and then floated ashore in Latvia. The Bergman festival with all the social functions and film showings. Stina Ek who disappeared on her bicycle and whose body was found on land next door to Ingmar Bergman’s property. They had finally discovered her bike in the woods outside the fence. What happened to her on her way over there? Who did she meet?
    Then there was the group of friends whose pleasant trip was supposed to mark the beginning of the summer holidays but instead ended in tragedy. She thought about the people in that social circle. During all of the interviews in which Jacobsson had participated, she’d had an uneasyfeeling that they were hiding something. She seemed to detect a vague feeling of guilt.
    New interviews had been conducted with every single one of them over the course of the day, but none had produced anything new. Håkan Ek was subjected to a cursory questioning at the hospital, where he’d been taken after he learned of his wife’s murder. He could barely muster a word. The poor man was totally devastated.
    But there was something about