car. Two uniformed officers were walking along the beach and talking to families with children. The news team went down to the water and admired the view of the nature preserve on the islands of Big Karlsö and Little Karlsö.
"What's that?" asked Johan, pointing at something that was sticking out of the water just beyond the harbor entrance.
"That's the wreck from a freighter, the Benguela, that went aground out there. It must have been at least twenty years ago now."
"What happened?"
"The freighter was coming from Södertälje, on its way to Klintehamn. The accident happened in the winter. I think it was early morning. It was foggy, with a strong wind, and the vessel went aground so hard that they couldn't get her to budge."
"What about the crew?"
"I think they all made it, actually."
"Why hasn't she ever been salvaged?"
"There was something about a loophole in the law that meant the shipping company couldn't be held responsible, and the owner didn't feel he could afford to have the boat towed away. That's why it's still there."
"Incredible." Johan shook his head.
"Yes, isn't it? You used to be able to see a lot more of the boat. She seems to be rusting apart. It won't be long before she completely disappears below the surface."
For the time being they decided not to bother the police officers and walked up to the hotel entrance. They had made an appointment to meet with the manager, Kerstin Bodin. She was a slender, dark-haired woman who gave them a smile but looked tired.
They sat down in the outdoor section of the restaurant, with a view of the harbor. Pia didn't have the patience to sit still, so she went off with her camera.
"This is so unpleasant," said Kerstin. "Of course, it's not certain that anything awful has happened to her, but what if it has? I'm terrified that they're going to find her drowned out there. It's impossible to say what happened. She was apparently very drunk when she left."
"Do you know Martina?"
"We've talked a good deal. I've had more contact with her than with many of our guests. She's extremely nice. A very happy and open sort of girl. Her mother's from Gotland, you know. Martina has been to the island quite often."
"Where is her mother from?"
"Hemse. Both her mother and her grandparents are dead now, and Martina told me that she doesn't have any other relatives on Gotland. But she usually spends a week here every summer, on vacation."
"Do you know where she usually stays when she's here?"
"From what I understood, her family usually stays at the Wisby hotel. Apparently there's a special suite that they always reserve. She told me that her father knows the owner."
"I see. What's his name? Or her name?" Johan quickly added, realizing that he was in fact sitting across from a female hotel manager.
Kerstin smiled. "His name is Jacob Dahlén. We were in the same class in middle school."
"Maybe that's where Martina is."
"I don't think so," said Kerstin, shaking her head. "If so, why hasn't she called anyone? Surely she would know that everyone is worried."
"Yes, you're right," Johan agreed.
The link to the hotel owner in Visby was interesting. He would follow up on it later.
Kerstin took her cell phone out of the pocket of her linen shirt and punched in a number. When someone answered, she got up and went over to the railing that surrounded the restaurant area. She hopped up to perch on the railing as she talked. Sitting there and dangling her legs like that, she looked like a young girl. Johan instantly started thinking about his newborn daughter. In a few years she would be able to sit like that.
Kerstin came back to the table. "Jacob Dahlén doesn't know anything," she said. "He was shocked. He said he didn't even know that Martina was on Gotland."
Because of the photo torn out of a newspaper that Jacobsson had found under Martina's pillow, they decided to drive farther south to Fröjel, which was about six miles from Warfsholm. They wanted to have a talk with the
"What's that?" asked Johan, pointing at something that was sticking out of the water just beyond the harbor entrance.
"That's the wreck from a freighter, the Benguela, that went aground out there. It must have been at least twenty years ago now."
"What happened?"
"The freighter was coming from Södertälje, on its way to Klintehamn. The accident happened in the winter. I think it was early morning. It was foggy, with a strong wind, and the vessel went aground so hard that they couldn't get her to budge."
"What about the crew?"
"I think they all made it, actually."
"Why hasn't she ever been salvaged?"
"There was something about a loophole in the law that meant the shipping company couldn't be held responsible, and the owner didn't feel he could afford to have the boat towed away. That's why it's still there."
"Incredible." Johan shook his head.
"Yes, isn't it? You used to be able to see a lot more of the boat. She seems to be rusting apart. It won't be long before she completely disappears below the surface."
For the time being they decided not to bother the police officers and walked up to the hotel entrance. They had made an appointment to meet with the manager, Kerstin Bodin. She was a slender, dark-haired woman who gave them a smile but looked tired.
They sat down in the outdoor section of the restaurant, with a view of the harbor. Pia didn't have the patience to sit still, so she went off with her camera.
"This is so unpleasant," said Kerstin. "Of course, it's not certain that anything awful has happened to her, but what if it has? I'm terrified that they're going to find her drowned out there. It's impossible to say what happened. She was apparently very drunk when she left."
"Do you know Martina?"
"We've talked a good deal. I've had more contact with her than with many of our guests. She's extremely nice. A very happy and open sort of girl. Her mother's from Gotland, you know. Martina has been to the island quite often."
"Where is her mother from?"
"Hemse. Both her mother and her grandparents are dead now, and Martina told me that she doesn't have any other relatives on Gotland. But she usually spends a week here every summer, on vacation."
"Do you know where she usually stays when she's here?"
"From what I understood, her family usually stays at the Wisby hotel. Apparently there's a special suite that they always reserve. She told me that her father knows the owner."
"I see. What's his name? Or her name?" Johan quickly added, realizing that he was in fact sitting across from a female hotel manager.
Kerstin smiled. "His name is Jacob Dahlén. We were in the same class in middle school."
"Maybe that's where Martina is."
"I don't think so," said Kerstin, shaking her head. "If so, why hasn't she called anyone? Surely she would know that everyone is worried."
"Yes, you're right," Johan agreed.
The link to the hotel owner in Visby was interesting. He would follow up on it later.
Kerstin took her cell phone out of the pocket of her linen shirt and punched in a number. When someone answered, she got up and went over to the railing that surrounded the restaurant area. She hopped up to perch on the railing as she talked. Sitting there and dangling her legs like that, she looked like a young girl. Johan instantly started thinking about his newborn daughter. In a few years she would be able to sit like that.
Kerstin came back to the table. "Jacob Dahlén doesn't know anything," she said. "He was shocked. He said he didn't even know that Martina was on Gotland."
Because of the photo torn out of a newspaper that Jacobsson had found under Martina's pillow, they decided to drive farther south to Fröjel, which was about six miles from Warfsholm. They wanted to have a talk with the
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