Unspoken

Visby Harbor.
    He thought about Emma and couldn’t comprehend how he had managed without her for so long. All his feelings had now been reawakened, and he realized that it would be rough to go on waiting. Even though their relationship had now entered a new phase. The anxious waiting was over, and he knew how she felt about him. And knowing this made him feel both calm and strong.
    What he needed to do now was to come up with some good story ideas so that he could come back to the island as soon as possible. It was harder for Emma to find an excuse to go to Stockholm.
    He passed the Maiden Tower, one of the ring wall’s many defensive structures. There was an old legend about this particular tower. In the fourteenth century, King Valdemar Atterdag of Denmark was attempting to capture Visby and strip the city of its riches. A young woman helped him to gain access through one of the gates in the ring wall. The woman had fallen in love with the king, and he had promised to marry her and take her back to Denmark if she opened the gate for him and his men. She did as he asked, and the Danes then plundered Visby. But the king broke his promise and left the young woman to her fate after she had done what he asked. When her role was discovered, the townspeople punished her by walling her alive in the Maiden Tower. According to legend, her cries for help can still be heard. As Johan walked past in the dark, he could easily imagine her inside. The wind was howling, and perhaps it was her desperate cries that he heard in the wind. Even though he was freezing, he was enjoying the weather.
    As he passed the Botanical Gardens, the rocks of Strandgärdet appeared, and in the distance shone the lights from the hospital.
    Suddenly he heard a shout. A very real shout.
    He stepped forward into the darkness and discovered an elderly woman lying on an embankment with a yapping terrier at her side.
    “What happened?”
    “I fell down and can’t get up,” complained the woman, her voice quavering. “My foot hurts terribly.”
    “Wait, let me help you,” Johan reassured her, taking a firm grip on her arm. “Careful now, stand up slowly.”
    “Thank you so much. That was awful,” moaned the woman as she got to her feet.
    “Are you hurt? Can you put any weight on your foot?”
    “Yes, it’ll be fine. You’re not the kind of man who mugs old women, are you?”
    Johan couldn’t help smiling. He wondered how he must look, in his black jacket, unshaven, and with his hair disheveled.
    “You don’t have to worry. My name is Johan Berg,” he said.
    “Thank goodness. I’ve had enough drama for one day. My name is Astrid Persson. Do you think you could walk me home? I live over on Backgatan, up there across from the hospital.”
    She pointed with a gloved finger.
    “Of course,” said Johan, taking her by the arm. In his other hand he held the little terrier’s leash, and together they set off toward Backgatan.
    Astrid Persson absolutely insisted on inviting him in for a cup of cocoa. Her husband, Bertil, had started to get worried, and he thanked Johan warmly for his help.
    “You’re not from Gotland, are you?”
    “No, I’m here on an assignment. I’m a journalist for Swedish TV in Stockholm.”
    “Is that right? Are you here to report on the murder?”
    “You mean the murder of Henry Dahlström?”
    “Yes, exactly. Do you know anything about who did it?”
    “No, we hardly know anything at all about the case. The police aren’t saying much. At least so far.”
    “Ah, so that’s how it is.”
    Bertil slurped his cocoa.
    “He was a nice guy, that Dahlström.”
    “Did you know him?”
    “Sure, of course I did. He helped me with some carpentry. He built our carport, and he did a really good job.”
    “He also did some work on the dormer window,” his wife added. “He worked as a carpenter in his younger days, you know. Before he became a photographer.”
    “Is that right? And he managed to do carpentry work, in spite of his alcohol problem?”
    “Oh yes, he did fine. It was as if he pulled himself together while he was working. I did notice that he smelled of liquor one time, but it didn’t affect his work. He did the job he was supposed to do, showed up when he promised he would, and so on. Yes, he did an excellent job. And he was pleasant, too, not much of a talker but nice.”
    Astrid nodded in agreement. Her husband had carefully taped up her foot, which she was now resting on a stool.
    “How long ago