Kalle Ostlund's parents had bought the summer house near Bjorkhaga, just north of Klintehamn, in the fifties. Their family was one of the first to move into the small summer-house area. Most of the residents were islanders- some who had moved to the mainland but wanted to keep their summer house, and others who lived in Visby and felt it was the right location for a country place, about twenty miles away. It was a peaceful area for most of the year. During the summer it got livelier when tourists headed out there to walk along the Vivesholm promontory and admire the countless birds that frequented the shoreline. It was also a popular place for watching sunsets, when the whole sky would be colored crimson, with a view of the open sea in both directions. Kalle thought it was splendid, too, even though he had seen the drama thousands of times from here. For him there was no lovelier place on earth. He enjoyed fishing, and on this morning he was going out to pull up his net, which he hoped would be filled with flounder.
He had set the alarm clock for 5:00 a.m., and his wife, Birgitta, was sound asleep when he got up, but the dog was happy and wide-awake. Their Italian retriever, Lisa, was like a whirlwind. She loved to go everywhere with him, which she did. She scampered around his legs as he trudged off.
He opened the big gate facing the promontory, where the dairy cows were grazing in the summer pasture. The sky was a bright blue, and the clouds were woolly and harmless, hovering above the boathouses over by Kovik on the other side of the shore. The dirt road that ran along the promontory was light in color, bearing witness to the fact that the soil was rich in lime. Out here the landscape was heathlike. The vegetation was low-lying and consisted mostly of juniper and short-stemmed flowers.
At the moment the meadow along the shore shimmered with flowers of sea thrift, which looked like little pink balls.
He had brought Lisa's leash, just in case, but he let her run free on the path down to the boat. The birds' breeding season was over, so she wouldn't find any bird eggs. The promontory was the breeding ground for a large number of herons, cormorants, and various kinds of gulls.
When they had reached the middle of the shoreline meadow facing the sea, Lisa caught sight of a rabbit and took off in the opposite direction. He glimpsed the little bunny bounding away for dear life with the dog barking wildly right on its heels. Kalle called several times, but the dog was much too engrossed in the chase to pay any attention. He shook his head and kept on going. She'd come back soon enough. He got the boat ready, now and then casting an eye over the promontory and calling the dog, but Lisa was nowhere in sight.
Kalle decided to wait. He sat down on a rock and took out a can of Ettan snuff. He put a thick wad under his lip. Every now and then he heard a rustling in the grass and bushes from birds or from rabbits scampering in and out of their holes. A couple of shelducks with their characteristic red bills swam along the shoreline. Cows occasionally walked past the wooded area in the middle of the promontory, although right now they were out at the very end of the point. That was lucky. Lisa was so frisky today that she might even start chasing cows, and then she could end up getting kicked to death.
After Kalle had been sitting there for well over fifteen minutes without any sign of the dog, he decided to go and look for her. He was annoyed. If he didn't find her soon, it would be too late to go out fishing. He walked back across the meadow, over the cattle grid in the fence surrounding the woods, and in among the trees. Then he heard Lisa barking. She must have gone a good distance into the woods since he hadn't heard her until now. The fenced-in area contained remnants of a moat, a reminder of the days when Vivesholm was a Viking harbor and a defensive fort had stood on the site.
The woods got denser. He passed the old, rickety bird observation tower that stood on the edge of the woods. Farther along, the ground turned to marsh and then the sea began. He could glimpse the Warfsholm hotel from here, and the bird path wasn't far away. The barking got louder. The dog must be very close now. Then he caught sight of something champagne-colored between the trees, and there stood Lisa, barking wildly at a pine tree. What in the world could be so interesting?
He walked forward another ten feet and then stopped short. For several trembling seconds he tried hard to comprehend what he was looking at. He couldn't make himself take in the image of the young woman who was swaying freely in the air, naked, with a noose around her neck. Her head was bent forward, and her long blond hair hid her face. Kalle's first thought was that it must be a tragic suicide. He suddenly felt violently ill and was forced to sit down on the ground. Then he noticed that the woman was covered in blood. Someone had sliced open the lower part of her belly with a knife.
Just over an hour later Knutas turned onto the dirt road that ran past the summer houses to the sea and Vivesholm. With him were Karin Jacobsson and Erik Sohlman. Before they left, Knutas had gotten hold of the medical examiner, who was going to fly over from the mainland later in the day.
Standing next to the gate was a man of about sixty-five. He was wearing shorts and a knit shirt, and with him on a leash was a dog with curly, light-colored fur. The detectives parked outside the gate and walked on the grass next to the dirt road leading out to the promontory so as not to disturb any tire tracks.
Kalle Ostlund raised his hand and pointed. 'He must have driven past the turnoff,' he said. 'Otherwise he would have been seen from the houses that are closest to the water.'
They followed the older man toward a small wooded area and continued along a well-worn path that ran parallel to the old moat. Here and there grew sloe and rosehips.
There was almost no wind, and the only sound was the screeching of the birds above the sea. They didn't see the body until it was right in front of them.
Dangling in the air, surrounded by the lush summer greenery, was a young woman. Her hair fell over her face, and the slender body that hung lifelessly from a noose was a blotchy red. Across the smooth abdomen someone had made a cut over a foot long. Blood had run out of it and down over her crotch and legs.
There was a brutal contrast between her youthful beauty and the violence that she had suffered.
The detectives studied the body in silence.
'Well, this was how I found her,' said Kalle Ostlund at last.
'And you haven't left the area since?' asked Knutas.
'No, I called my wife, but I didn't dare leave.'
'Did you see or hear anyone on your way here?'
'No. I was here alone. Along with Lisa,' said Kalle, patting the dog.
Knutas called to the police officers who had now joined them and were beginning to put up crime-scene tape.
'We need to cordon off the fenced-in area. I want some of you to start knocking on doors at the nearby houses right away. What about the canine unit?'
'It's on the way,' said Jacobsson.
'Good. There's no time to waste. You can go home in the meantime,' he told the man with the dog, 'but stay there. We'll be talking to you and your wife shortly.'
'It can't be anyone but Martina Flochten, can it?' said Jacobsson. 'The body matches the age and the description.'
'Yes, it's her. Without a doubt,' Knutas agreed.
'What the hell kind of lunatic did she run into?' said Sohlman tersely. 'Why would anyone hang a person after he'd already killed her?'
'Or why slash a person you've already hanged?' countered Jacobsson.
Knutas moved cautiously around the body, studying it from every angle. Martina looked like a terrifying doll. Her face was bright red, as if she had been straining hard. Her eyes were open but dull and lackluster. Her lips were brownish black and dry, her skin blotchy red, her calves and feet a mottled purple.
Flies were visible in the incision in the lower portion of her abdomen. Knutas's stomach turned over when he saw little maggots squirming in the wound.
'I wonder if she's been hanging here since Saturday,' murmured Jacobsson behind the handkerchief that she had pressed to her mouth.
'What day is it today? Wednesday. If she was murdered on Saturday night, that would mean that it's been over seventy-two hours,' said Sohlman. 'It's possible.'
'She'll have to stay like this until the ME gets here,' said Knutas. 'I want him to see how she looks at the scene.'
Curious spectators had already gathered at the gate. Knutas declined to answer any of their questions as he
