Unspoken

He was leaning forward with his head in his hands. Greasy locks of hair had crept out from under his cap.
    Jacobsson introduced herself and Wittberg, even though she was fully aware that the two men knew who they were.
    “We haven’t done anything. We’re just sitting here.”
    The man in the cap glanced up, his eyes crossed. And it’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning , thought Jacobsson.
    “Take it easy,” Wittberg told them. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
    He pulled a photo out of his pocket.
    “Do you recognize this man?”
    The younger drunk kept on staring straight ahead. He refused to give either of the police officers even a glance. The other man stared at the picture.
    “Hell yes. That’s Flash, of course.”
    “How well do you know him?”
    “He’s one of the gang, you know. Usually hangs out around here, or at the bus station. He’s been doing that for twenty years. Of course I know Flash, everybody does. Hey, Jonas, you know who Flash is, don’t you?”
    He poked his pal in the side and handed him the photo.
    “What a fucking stupid question. Everybody knows him.”
    The man named Jonas had pupils the size of peppercorns. Jacobsson wondered what he was high on.
    “When did you last see him?” asked Wittberg.
    “What did he do?”
    “Nothing. We just want to know when you last saw him.”
    “Hmm, when the hell was it? What day is today? Monday?”
    Jacobsson nodded. The man stroked his chin with fingers that had been stained dirty yellow from nicotine.
    “I haven’t seen him in several days, but sometimes he just takes off, you know.”
    Jacobsson turned to the other man.
    “What about you?”
    He was still staring straight ahead. His face is actually quite handsome, underneath all the dirt and stubble , she thought. His expression was defiant, showing a strong unwillingness to cooperate. She restrained a desire to stand right in front of him and wave her arms to force him to react.
    “Can’t remember.”
    Wittberg was starting to get annoyed.
    “What did you say?”
    “Why do you want to know? What did he do?” asked the older man in the cap.
    “He’s dead. Someone killed him.”
    “What the hell? Is that true?”
    Now both men looked up.
    “Yes, I’m afraid so. He was found dead last night.”
    “Are you fucking kidding me?”
    “What we need to do now is try to find the person who did it.”
    “Sure, that’s obvious. Come to think of it, I think the last time I saw him was at the bus station about a week ago.”
    “Was he alone?” “He was there with his buddies—Kjelle and Bengan, I think.”
    “How did he seem?”
    “What do you mean by ‘seem’?”
    “How did he act? Did he seem sick, or was he nervous in any way?”
    “No, he was the same as usual. He never really says much. He was a little drunk, of course.”
    “Do you remember what day that was?”
    “It was probably Saturday because there were a lot of people downtown. I think it was Saturday.”
    “A week ago?”
    “That’s right. But I haven’t seen him since then.”
    Jacobsson turned to the other man.
    “What about you? Have you seen him since then?”
    “Nope.”
    Jacobsson suppressed the annoyed feeling that had begun to prickle at her throat.
    “Okay. Do either of you know whether he’d spent time with any strangers lately?”
    “No idea.”
    “Is there anyone who might want to harm him?”
    “Not Flash, no. He never got into fights with anybody. He kept a low profile, if you know what I mean.”
    “Sure, I understand,” said Jacobsson. “So do you happen to know where his pal Bengan might be? Bengt Johnsson?”
    “Is he the one who did it?”
    Behind the alcoholic fog, the older man looked genuinely surprised.
    “No, no. We just want to talk to him.”
    “Haven’t seen him in a while, have you?”
    “Nope,” said Jonas.
    He was chewing gum so hard that his jaws made a cracking sound.
    “The last time I saw him he was with that new guy from the mainland,” the older man said. “The guy named Örjan.”
    “What’s his last name?”
    “I don’t know because he hasn’t lived here on Gotland for very long. He was in the slammer on the mainland.”
    “Do you know where we can find Bengt Johnsson?”
    “He lives on Stenkumlaväg with his mother. Maybe that’s where he is.”
    “Do you know the address?”
    “Nope.”
    “All right then. Thanks for your help. If you see or hear anything that has to do with Flash, you should contact the police