"Didn't anyone go looking for her when you noticed that she hadn't come back?"
"No."
"How long did you stay there after she left?"
"An hour, maybe two."
"Has anyone seen her since then?"
"No, at least nobody who was sitting on the porch that night."
"And Martina hasn't been heard from since?"
"No."
"Are you sure that she hasn't slept in her bed these past two nights?"
"Of course I'm sure," Eva said in a voice that started to quaver. She couldn't hold back her tears any longer. She was frightened by the fact that he sounded so serious. His reaction confirmed her own feelings, that her concern was justified.
"We need to call the police. It's the only thing to do."
"You think so?"
"Absolutely. Something must have happened, otherwise she would have called. Have you talked to anyone at the front desk in the hotel?"
"No."
"Do that. In the meantime, I'll call the police."
Her legs trembling, Eva ran over to the front desk, which was in the main building. The clerk knew who Martina was but hadn't seen her. She offered to ask the rest of the staff during the course of the morning. Eva sank onto a chair. She punched in the number of her friend's cell phone but no longer got her voice mail. Now a monotone voice informed her: "The party you are trying to reach is temporarily unavailable."
Knutas and Jacobsson decided to drive out to Warfsholm, since Martina Flochten had been missing for more than twenty-four hours and no one seemed to know where she had gone. She hadn't contacted either her family or her boyfriend back home in the Netherlands.
Besides, they didn't have anything better to do. The summertime drought had set in, and the investigation of the decapitated horse had come to a standstill. It was a mystery who the perpetrator could be and where the head might be found.
They first checked at the front desk to see whether Martina's valuables were still in the safe where they'd been kept. Everything was there: her passport, her Visa card, and her insurance documents. So she hadn't left the country-at least not voluntarily.
They met Martina's roommate, Eva Svensson, on the stairs of the main building. She had shoulder-length ash blond hair, and she was wearing a white cotton camisole, a skirt, and sandals. As she led the way over to the youth hostel, they asked her about Martina.
"Does she have a boyfriend?" asked Jacobsson.
"She's seeing this guy back in Holland, or at least she was when she left home. But I actually think she met someone else here on Gotland."
"Why do you think that?"
"She's been gone a lot, and sometimes she slips away without giving any explanation."
"So this isn't unusual? For her to be missing?"
"The difference is that she hasn't called anyone. She always calls."
"How well do you know Martina?" Knutas carefully studied the young woman.
"Not too well. We liked each other at once, and we had a lot of fun right from the start. The course began with two weeks of theory at the college in Visby, so we were in town all the time. Then Martina started going off on her own in the evenings. During the second week I hardly saw her at all."
"Did you share a room in Visby, too?"
"No, we all had our own dorm rooms, so we didn't keep tabs on each other the same way we do here. Since we've been here at Warfsholm, she's often gone off on her own. Her excuse is that she has errands to run or that she wants to meditate, but I don't believe it. She's not the type."
"Has she ever been gone for a whole night before?"
"One night last week she slept somewhere else. She claimed that she was going to meet some friends of her family in Visby. They usually come here on vacation."
"Do you know who they are? These friends?"
"No. I never asked her, and she never told me. I'm not from here, so I wouldn't know them anyway."
"Couldn't that be what's happened now? That she's simply visiting friends?"
"I don't think so. She would have called."
"If she has a boyfriend here, who could it be?" asked Jacobsson.
"I actually have no idea. I've been trying to figure it out, to see if there's something going on between her and someone in the group, but it's hard to tell because she jokes around with everybody."
"Why didn't you ask her?"
"I've tried, but she always changes the subject as soon as I bring it up."
"Who would she have an opportunity to meet other than the students in the course? You don't have contact with many other people, do you?"
"No, although there are other guests staying at the hotel and the campground nearby. And she might have met someone in Visby earlier."
When they stepped into the entryway of the youth hostel, they could tell at once that the building was a venerable old place, even though it had been remodeled. In the hall hung a bulletin board with instructions for everything from parties to fishing trips to the laundry room. From upstairs came the smell of toast, and subdued voices could be heard conversing. The room that Eva and Martina shared was on the ground floor, almost at the end of the corridor. It was long and narrow and cramped, with a window on one wall. A modest, iron-framed bunk bed stood on each side of the room, with barely enough space to walk between them. A sink with a mirror above it was fastened to one wall. Every nook and cranny was filled with clutter. A tape player stood on the wide windowsill along with bottles of hairspray, cosmetic bags, perfume, nail polish, bags of chips, and CDs. Clothing was either strewn about or hanging from the posts of the top bunks. Several books about the Viking Age signaled that archaeology students were staying in the room. Knutas gave up as soon as he stood in the doorway and saw all the mess. He let Jacobsson search the place on her own. There wasn't enough space for both of them anyway.
He sat down outside, actually lit his pipe for a change, and made a number of phone calls to see to it that the site was secured. He spoke to Erik Sohlman, who wanted to wait to do a technical examination of Martina's room. For the time being, they had no reason to suspect that a crime had been committed.
Meanwhile, Jacobsson did her search of the room. Eva had told her which side was Martina's, and Jacobsson began systematically going through the girl's belongings. Her toiletry case was there, containing her toothbrush and a pack of birth control pills, which revealed that Martina hadn't taken any pills since Friday, July 2-which was several days ago. If she had left voluntarily, she would have taken her toiletry case with her, thought Jacobsson as she opened the suitcase that had been shoved under the bed. In addition to clothing it held a number of books, an unopened carton of cigarettes, and some makeup. In a slot she found a photograph of a young man with dark hair and brown eyes. Jacobsson turned it over, but there was nothing written on the back.
She slipped the picture into her pocket so she could ask Eva about it later and then looked around the cramped room. There wasn't much else to search. Except for the bed, of course. Carefully she removed the floral-patterned cover. There was a rustling sound, and under the pillow she found a page torn out of a newspaper. She sat down on the edge of the bed and unfolded the page. It was an article from Gotlands Allehanda, which had done a story on the first excavation course of the summer. The article was about what the students would be doing and where they came from. A picture showed the excavation leader, Staffan Mellgren, and several of the students in action out in the field. Jacobs-son studied the article with surprise. Why would Martina keep it under her pillow?
That was where someone would usually keep something that was especially precious, maybe even hiding it there.
Staffan Mellgren was smiling broadly at the camera; the others could be seen in the background. He had to be twice as old as Martina. Jacobsson knew that Mellgren was married and had children. He was well known on Gotland because of his work at the college and at the archaeological excavations. Had they been seeing each other? Was he mixed up in her disappearance?