The Dead of Summer Read Free Page A

correspondents and witness wars and famines.
    But so far she was considered too young and inexperienced. For the time being she had to settle for documenting more ordinary domestic events, such as disputes about putting in a new road in Burgsvik, or the complaints of students about the poor quality of the food served in the school cafeteria in Hemse, or the drama of the local championship match in throwing the varpa , a flat round stone, to get closest to the pin.
    But no matter what the news report, she somehow managed to take all sorts of exciting pictures. Pia always did her best. In addition, she had a huge network of contacts that was truly astonishing. She was the youngest of seven siblings, and her extended family was spread all over Gotland. Thanks to them, and her highly developed social skills, she seemed to know absolutely everyone.
    In the car on their way over to the Fårösund ferry dock, Johan listened to Grenfors with one ear and to the local radio station with the other, all the while taking notes at lightning speed. The news had come over the TT wire ten minutes earlier. The press was always cautious if there was the slightest suspicion of suicide, but a witness had managed to catch a glimpse of the body and had seen first-hand the bullet hole in the head, as well as the wounds in the abdomen. Anybody could work out that the dead man couldn’t possibly have caused such wounds all on his own. The witness had been interviewed by a journalist from Radio Gotland who just happened to be on Fårö with all of his equipment. The police had confirmed that they were dealing with a suspected homicide.
    The ferry crossing to Fårö took only a few minutes. The sky had cleared and the sun glittered on the surface of the sea. The road north towards Sudersand took them through the rocky landscape of Fårö. Along the way Johan and Pia encountered bicyclists, camping caravans and cars filled with families on holiday.
    When they reached the intersection of four roads near Sudersand and turned right towards the campsite, a picture of Emma’s face flashed through Johan’s mind. If they had turned left at the intersection instead, they would have eventually ended up at Norsta Auren, the beach near her parents’ house.
    Emma Winarve was the great love of Johan’s life. Or at least she had been. They had spent so many wonderful days in that house by the sea when her parents were away, there on the beach between Skärsände and the Fårö lighthouse, on the extreme tip of Fårö. It was the most beautiful of places. But now their relationship was non-existent.
    He was roused from his thoughts as they reached Sudersand campsite. The police had blocked off the entire area. Officers were everywhere, but there was no one available to speak to journalists. Neither Karin Jacobsson nor the police spokesman, Lars Norrby, answered their mobile, and Knutas was on holiday in Denmark with his family.
    ‘Typical.’ Johan stared with dismay at the campsite as they stood outside the police tape. ‘What do we do now?’
    ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Pia as she finished shooting one last panorama of the area. ‘Come with me.’
    They jumped back in the car. Pia drove back to the intersection that would take them to Sudersand East and headed for the nearby colony of summer cottages. She turned on to a small side road, no bigger than a cow path, and the car began jolting along through the woods, thick with underbrush, and across a meadow filled with flowers and tall grass.
    Several times Johan thought they were going to get stuck, but Pia managed to make the car forge its way onward. When she finally stopped next to a big shrub that was blocking their way, he could hear the sea. It was three thirty in the afternoon, and they still had about an hour left to file their report. Johan patted Pia on the shoulder.
    ‘You’re damned good at this.’
    It took them all of two minutes to walk down to the shore. In one direction they could see the