The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

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    Moving a bit unsteadily, she left Janne Widén’s back garden.

AS JACOBSSON WAS walking to work on Monday morning, she got a phone call from Wittberg. She could tell from his voice that he had something important to tell her.
    ‘I was out at Svaidestugan last night. You know, that orienteering place in Follingbo. In the sauna I met a guy who told me something very interesting.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Just listen to this. He works as a chef in town and does a lot of running in his free time: ordinary running and orienteering. One evening in May he went out after work to go running. It was late, after ten o’clock, so he chose the route that has electric lights since it was dark. Well, as dark as it gets in May – dusk at any rate. After jogging almost the whole route, he was on his way back when he discovered a couple having sex in the woods, right above the marshy area up there near Svaide.’
    ‘And?’ Jacobsson was wondering what this had to do with the investigation.
    ‘At first he just heard some strange sounds in the dark. He thought it sounded like somebody was sick or needed help. A woman was crying and whimpering. But when he got closer, he saw a couple a short distance away from the path. There was a full moon, so he could see them quite clearly. A naked woman tied to a tree, and a man having sex with her. At first glance, he thought she was being raped, so he was about to rush forward to rescue her. But then he realized that even though she was … making a lot of noise, and bound, she was actually enjoying it. Apparently shewas wearing a blindfold too. So then he just kept on running. The couple never saw him.’
    ‘What’s so interesting about all of this, other than that he had a different sort of running experience that day?’ asked Jacobsson, yawning.
    ‘He saw their car. It was a purple Corvette.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Don’t you remember? Andrea Dahlberg’s sports car. We talked about how cool it was. It’s a purple, or plum-coloured Corvette.’
    ‘Oh, that’s right.’
    ‘And this guy even remembers that the registration on the number plate started with “O”.’
    Jacobsson uttered a sigh of relief. It would be child’s play to find a purple Corvette with a number plate starting with ‘O’ on the small island of Gotland. Finally something was happening in the investigation.
    ‘Did he give you a description of the couple?’
    ‘It all happened so fast, but he recalls that the man looked very fit, without being a hunk. That’s all he could say about him. The woman was thin and apparently had dark hair. And he recalls that she had small breasts.’
    Jacobsson frowned. So that ruled out Andrea Dahlberg. It was impossible not to notice that she wore a size-C cup. Had someone borrowed her car?
    ‘What about their age?’ asked Jacobsson.
    ‘He guessed thirty-five or forty.’
    ‘OK. The meeting starts in fifteen minutes. I’ve also got some news to report.’
    A feeling of anticipation hovered over the meeting of the investigative team. A good deal of new developments had surfaced. Both Kihlgård and Sohlman were present. Lars Norrby wasn’t there, but that was no great loss. Wittberg was in the process of checking out the few Corvettes to be found on Gotland. They had convened in the usual conference room. Jacobsson raised her eyebrows at the sight of two chocolate cakes on the table, decorated with French flags.
    ‘Is it somebody’s birthday?’ she asked her colleagues as they took seats around the table.
    ‘Today is Bastille Day in France,’ Kihlgård told her solemnly. ‘And I think that’s worth celebrating. Help yourselves.’ He motioned for everyone to take a piece of cake.
    Jacobsson smiled to herself. Celebrating this particular holiday with Kihlgård had practically become a tradition at police headquarters in Visby. She strongly doubted whether a comparable celebration of the Swedish independence day ever took place at a police station in France.
    After everyone had taken a piece of cake, Jacobsson began by telling them about the couple that had been seen near Svaidestugan, and the car that was parked nearby.
    At that moment Wittberg stuck his head in the door.
    ‘We’ve found the car. Guess who it belongs to?’
    ‘I’m not going to guess,’ replied Jacobsson with ill-concealed impatience.
    ‘It’s just as we thought. Andrea Dahlberg.’
    ‘OK,’ said Jacobsson, picking up her phone. ‘Let’s bring her in.’
    Then she reported on the wild