Free Unspoken by Mari Jungstedt Page A

me. At the time she weighed only ninety-seven pounds, even though she’s five foot nine inches tall.”
    “How did your husband react?”
    “He didn’t want to know anything about it. This was toward the end of our marriage.”
    “What does your daughter do now?”
    “She lives in Malmö. She’s a librarian at the municipal library.”
    “Is she married?”
    “No.”
    “Children?”
    “No.”
    “So how do you think she’s doing?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “How is she?”
    The woman sitting across from Knutas looked him in the eye without saying a word. Her right eyebrow was twitching. The silence was palpable. Finally it got so oppressive that he was forced to break it.
    “How would you describe your contact with each other?”
    “Regular.”
    “And what form does it take?”
    “She calls me once a week. Always on Friday.”
    “How often do you see each other?”
    “She usually comes to Gotland for a couple of weeks every summer. But she stays with friends.”
    “But you see each other?”
    “Yes, naturally, we see each other. Of course.”
    The APB that was issued for Bengt Johnsson on the police-band radio brought results after a couple of hours. Jacobsson took the call from the local police in Slite. A boy who claimed to have seen Johnsson had come into the station. Jacobsson asked to speak to him.
    “I think I know where the man is that you’re looking for,” said a young boy’s voice on the phone.
    “Really? Where is he?”
    “In Åminne, in a cabin. It’s an area near here, for summer houses.”
    “Have you seen him?”
    “Yes, he was unloading things from a car outside one of the cabins.”
    “When was this?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Why did you happen to contact the police?”
    “My best friend’s father is on the police force in Slite. I told my friend that I’d seen a suspicious-looking guy out by the summer houses, and he told his father.”
    “Why did you think the man was suspicious?”
    “He was dirty and had on ragged clothes. He seemed nervous and kept looking around, as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him.”
    “Did he see you?”
    “No, I don’t think so. I was standing behind a tree. I waited to ride my bike past until he went inside the cabin.”
    “Was he alone?”
    “I think so.”
    “Can you tell me anything else about how he looked?”
    “Pretty old, maybe fifty or sixty. Very fat.”
    “Anything else? What about his hair?”
    “He had dark hair, in a ponytail.”
    Jacobsson felt a vague lurch in her stomach.
    “What was he unloading?”
    “I couldn’t tell.”
    “How did you happen to catch sight of him?”
    “We live right next to the summer-house area. I was on my way home from visiting a friend.”
    “Could you point out the cabin?”
    “Sure.”
    “Could I talk to one of your parents?”
    “They’re not home right now.”
    “Okay. Stay in the house. We’ll be there in half an hour. Where do you live?”
    Five minutes later Jacobsson and Knutas were in a car, heading east toward Åminne, a popular seaside vacation spot in the summer, located on the northeast side of the island. The local police were going out to the boy’s home to await their colleagues.
    Outside the car windows, the winter darkness was nearly impenetrable. There were no streetlights, and their only guides were the headlights of cars, as well as reflector posts that appeared at regular intervals. They passed an occasional house, a warm glow coming from its windows. A reminder that people lived out here in the countryside.
    When they reached the boy’s house, a Slite police car was in the driveway. The boy’s name was Jon, and he looked to be about fifteen. Accompanied by his father, he led the way to the summer-house area. It was hard to see the houses in the dark. Without flashlights they would have been fumbling blindly. When they aimed the beams at the cabins, they saw that all of them were a dark Falun red with white trim. Each of them had a yard surrounded by a