didn't doubt for a moment that his colleague would succeed. As far as he knew, Wittberg had never had a relationship that had lasted more than a few weeks. Every summer different women would call him at work, and some would even show up unannounced to see him.
On the job he had also made good use of his popularity with the ladies. It had helped the police to make progress in quite a few investigations. Thomas Wittberg had quickly been promoted from a cop on the beat to the violent crimes division and then to police detective, and for the past two years he had been a regular member of Knutas's core group. Right now his intense blue eyes testified to the fact that something special had happened.
'You've got to hear this,' he said as he dropped onto Knutas's visitor's chair holding a sheet of paper in his hand. Knutas noticed that it was covered with Wittberg's illegible notes.
'A decapitated horse was found in a pasture outside Petesviken. Two little girls discovered it this morning.'
'Good Lord.'
'Around nine o'clock the girls were biking to the beach for a morning swim when they noticed that one of the horses was missing. They found it lying farther off in the pasture with its head cut off.'
'Are you sure they didn't just imagine the whole thing?'
'Their grandfather and the owner of the farm went back with them to have a look. They just called in the report.'
'What sort of horse is it? And who owns it?'
'An ordinary pony. The owner is a farmer named Jorgen Larsson. He has four horses that his family keeps for riding. The other three were in the pasture.'
'And they weren't harmed in any way?'
'Apparently not.'
Knutas shook his head. 'That sounds very strange.'
'There's one more thing,' said Wittberg.
'What's that?'
'The head wasn't simply cut off. It's missing. The farmer has searched everywhere for it, but he couldn't find it. It's not anywhere near the body, at any rate.'
'You mean that the perp took the head away?'
'So it seems.'
'Did you talk to the farmer yourself?'
'No, I got the information from a patrolman.'
'I hope he doesn't go rummaging around in the pasture, disturbing all the evidence,' Knutas muttered as he reached for his jacket. 'Let's get going.'
Several minutes later Knutas, Wittberg, and the crime-scene tech Erik Sohlman were sitting in a police car heading south. Sohlman was one of the officers that Knutas valued most, along with Jacobsson. Both of his favorite colleagues shared a temperamental nature and an interest in soccer, but unlike Jacobsson, Sohlman was married and had two small children.
'What a strange thing,' said the technician. He brushed his curly red hair back from his forehead. 'I wonder whether it's some mentally ill person who likes to hurt animals, or whether there's something else behind it.'
Knutas muttered something inaudible in reply.
'Do you remember that trotting horse that bolted during a race at Skrubbs and ran off the track?' Wittberg leaned forward from where he was sitting in the backseat. 'The driver fell out of the sulky and the horse took off. I seem to recall that we searched for a week.'
'Oh, right. The one that was later found dead in the woods in Follingbo,' Knutas interjected. 'The sulky had gotten stuck between two trees, and the horse died of dehydration.'
'My God,' said Sohlman with a shudder. 'That was not a pretty sight.'
They continued in silence along the coast road, past Klintehamn and Frojel and the little village of Sproge with its lovely white church. Then they turned off on a dirt road, a long straightaway heading toward the sea with short pine and spruce trees on both sides. They soon reached Petesviken. Several farms stood in a row, with a view of the sea. In the pastures livestock was grazing. It looked as harmonious and peaceful as could be.
At Jorgen Larsson's property a truck was parked on the gravel in front of the house, along with a newer- model Opel. Several cages for rabbits had been set up on the lawn, and the officers were met by a beagle happily wagging his tail. A man wearing blue overalls and a cap came out on the front porch just as their car turned into the yard. The man took off his cap in the old-fashioned way of greeting as he said hello to the three officers.
'Jorgen Larsson. We might as well go right out there. This sure is a nasty business. I can't believe it happened. My daughter is very upset. It was her pony, and you know how it is with young girls and their horses. Pontus was everything to the poor girl. She just keeps crying and crying. I can't understand how anyone could do something like that. It's completely incomprehensible.'
The words came pouring out, nonstop and all in one breath, and none of the officers had time to respond before the farmer started heading across the yard toward the pasture.
'Both my wife and the kids are really upset. It's a real mess. I think they're all in shock.'
'Of course,' said Knutas. 'I understand.'
'And Pontus…well, he was something special, you know,' Lars-son went on. 'The kids could ride him whenever they liked, and they could do whatever they wanted with him. You couldn't find a more gentle horse. He was almost stupidly nice, you see. They would climb up on him when they were little and pull his mane and tug on his tail and things like that, and he let them do it. Well, he wasn't exactly a youngster anymore, fifteen years old, so sooner or later he would have ended up at the butcher's, but I like to think he still had a few more years left. Anyway, his life shouldn't have ended the way it did. I never could have imagined this.'
'No,' Knutas interjected sympathetically. 'Do you know-'
'I bought that horse after we had our first son, thought it would be fun for him to have a horse to ride, you know. We don't have much else other than livestock out here in the country. Though we do have a dog, and she's had several puppies, you know. And we almost always have kittens-that cat must have had four or five litters by now, so we're going to have to get her fixed; well, you know what I mean. We also have rabbits, and baby rabbits, too. Well, the kids don't have much else to occupy their time, and besides, they're interested and they want to help out with the cows and calves, and that's something a man has to be grateful for. The fact that they're so interested.'
'But-' Knutas ventured.
The farmer took no notice and just kept on talking.
'My oldest boy is sixteen and does the work of a full-grown hired hand when he comes home from school. Yes, he does. Every single day, too. He's as reliable as the amen in church. We have forty milk cows and twenty-five calves. My brother and his wife also work on the farm; we own it together. They live in the other direction, where you turned off the road. They have three kids, so it's a full house, and we take care of everything together. They're away right now, on vacation in Majorca, but they'll be back tomorrow, and I haven't called to tell them about the horrible thing that's happened. It would just upset them for no reason. It can just as well wait. But this whole thing is very unsettling, you know. I've never experienced anything like it before.'
Knutas stared at Jorgen Larsson, who barely managed to take a breath before more words came pouring out of him. They had reached the gate, and the farmer pointed a thick finger toward the narrow grove of trees.
'The horse is lying over there, without a head. That's really the worst thing I've ever seen. The bastard must have had a hell of a time cutting it off. I don't know whether he sawed it off or hacked it off or what exactly he did.'
'Where are the other horses?' barked Knutas to put an end to the farmer's unrelenting torrent.
'Oh, we took them inside. He might try to hurt them, too. You never know. Although we haven't seen any cuts on them. We let the sheep stay out,' said Larsson apologetically. 'They don't seem to be bothered by much.'
Knutas had given up trying to ask the farmer any questions, so he said nothing. That could wait until later.
Larsson unhooked the latch and firmly shooed away the sheep that had crowded around his legs.
The detectives tried to keep up with his long strides through the pasture.
