large parts of their summer vacation here in Petesviken in southwestern Gotland while their parents stayed home in Visby to work.
'Wait a minute. Let's say hi to the horses,' Agnes suggested as she stopped at the fence.
She clicked her tongue and whistled, which had an immediate effect. The animals stopped grazing, raised their heads, and came trotting over to the girls.
The biggest ram started bleating. Then another and another, until they all joined in. The animals crowded around the gate, hoping for a treat. The girls patted all of them as best they could. They didn't dare venture inside the fence when they were alone.
'Where's Pontus?'
Agnes surveyed the pasture. There were only three horses. Their favorite pony, a black-and-white dappled gelding, was missing.
'Maybe he's over in the trees.'
Sofie pointed to the narrow grove of trees that stretched like a dark green ribbon down the middle of the pasture.
The girls shouted and then waited a few minutes, but the pony didn't appear.
'Forget about it,' said Sofie. 'Let's go swimming.'
'How strange that he doesn't come.' Agnes frowned, looking worried. He was always so affectionate. Her eyes swept over the hillside, past the water trough, the salt licks, and the trees farther down the slope.
'Oh well, never mind about him. He's probably lying down somewhere asleep.' Sofie poked her sister in the side. 'You're the one who wanted to go swimming. Come on.' She got on her bike.
'There's something wrong. We should at least be able to see where Pontus is.'
'They've probably taken him inside. Maybe Veronica is planning to go out riding.'
'But what if he's lying down somewhere and he's sick and can't get up! He could have broken his leg or something. We have to go and see.'
'Don't be silly. We'll say hi to him on our way back.'
Even though the ponies were gentle and small in size, Sofie had respect for them and wasn't eager to go into the pasture. The fjording was big and powerful and didn't seem trustworthy; he had kicked her once. The sheep were also a little scary with those big horns of theirs.
Agnes paid no attention to her sister's protests. She opened the gate and went into the pasture.
'Well, I, at least, have no intention of forgetting about Pontus,' she snapped angrily.
Sofie groaned loudly, to show her disapproval. Reluctantly she hopped off her bike and followed.
'You'll have to go first,' she muttered.
Agnes clapped her hands and yelled to shoo off the animals, and they bounded off in all directions. Sofie kept close to her big sister and looked around uneasily. The tall grass tickled and scratched at their legs. They didn't say a word to each other. The pony was nowhere in sight.
When they reached the grove of trees without having found anything unusual, Agnes climbed up on the fence on the other side of the pasture to get a better view.
'Look,' she cried, pointing.
Farther off, at the edge of the trees, she could see Pontus lying on his side. He seemed to be asleep. Overhead a flock of crows cawed and screeched.
'There he is. He's sleeping like a log!'
Eagerly she ran toward the horse.
'Then it's all right. There's nothing wrong. We don't need to go any farther, do we?' Sofie objected.
Their view was partially blocked. The horse didn't move a muscle.
The only sound was the noisy screeching of the crows. Agnes, leading the way, had time to think that it was odd to see so many crows. When she got closer she stopped so abruptly that her sister ran right into her.
Pontus was lying there on the grass, and his coat gleamed in the sun. The sight would have reassured them if it weren't for one thing. The place where his head was supposed to be was now empty. His neck had been severed. All they saw was a big bloody hole and the flies that were swarming in a black cloud around the fleshy opening.
Behind her Agnes heard a thud as her sister fell headlong to the ground.
Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas discovered to his dismay that patches of sweat had already started to appear under his armpits by the time he parked his run-down Mercedes at police headquarters. It was one of those rare days in the year when it became painfully obvious that the old car had no air-conditioning. Now his wife, Lina, would once again have grist for the mill when she lobbied for purchasing a new car.
Under normal circumstances it would never occur to him to drive to work. His house was located just outside the South Gate, only half a mile from his office. Knutas had worked in the Visby police department for twenty-five years, and he could easily count the days when he had not walked to work. Sometimes he would stop at the Solberga Pool and go inside to swim a mile or more. This summer was no exception. In August he would celebrate his fiftieth birthday, and over the past few years he had noticed the difference the minute he stopped exercising. He'd been more or less thin all his life, and that wasn't something he wanted to change. It just required a little more effort nowadays. Swimming kept him in shape and helped him to think. The more complicated the case he was working on, the more often he paid a visit to the swimming pool. He hadn't been there in quite a while. He wasn't sure whether that was good or bad.
On this last day in June his family was planning to drive up to their summer house in Lickershamn to mow and water the grass. Knutas was intending to leave work early and pick up his wife at the hospital when she was done with her shift at the maternity ward. Contrary to all expectations, their twins, Petra and Nils, who would soon turn thirteen, had agreed to come along, even if they weren't thrilled about it. Lately they usually preferred to spend their time with friends.
Cool air struck Knutas as he stepped through the front door. Silence reigned in the hallway of the criminal investigation division. Summer vacations had started, and it was noticeable.
Knutas's closest colleague, Detective Inspector Karin Jacobsson, was sitting in her office talking on the phone when he walked past. Knutas and Jacobsson had worked together for fifteen years, and they knew each other well on a professional level. When it came to their private lives, Jacobsson was much more reticent.
She was thirty-eight and single, or at least Knutas had never heard her talk about any boyfriend. She lived alone with her white cockatoo in an apartment in Visby, and she devoted most of her free time to playing soccer. Right now she was sitting there waving her arms around and speaking in a loud and furious voice. She was petite, with dark hair. She had warm, lively brown eyes and a big gap between her front teeth. Her mood could change dramatically, and she didn't make much of an effort to rein in her hot temper. She was a splash of color and a bundle of energy, and her sweeping gestures were in sharp contrast to the less than uplifting backdrop of closed blinds and gray-painted bookshelves.
Knutas sank down on the chair in his office and started going through the mail from the past few days that was still untouched. Among the anonymous official letters he found a colorful postcard from Greece. The picture showed a typical Greek meal: grilled chicken on a spit with a bowl of tsatziki and a bottle of wine on a round cafe table. In the background was a glimpse of sunset, and light was glinting off one of the two wineglasses on the blue-painted tabletop.
The message said: 'Not exactly the same thing as grilled lamb's head with mashed turnips-what do you say, Knutie? On Naxos for two weeks, taking it easy. Hope you're well, and maybe we'll have a chance to meet again soon. Martin.'
Knutas couldn't help smiling. How typical for Martin Kihlgard to send a postcard with a picture of food on it. The inspector from the National Criminal Police was the biggest glutton Knutas had ever met. He was always eating. They had worked together several times on various homicide cases when Knutas had asked for reinforcements from the NCP.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. The next moment the door was opened by his colleague Thomas Wittberg, who was more than twenty years his junior. Wittberg refused to cut his thick blond hair, in spite of constant kidding from everyone at work. The tight white T-shirt accentuated his suntanned torso, which was subjected to regular sessions in the gym at police headquarters. Wittberg had real charm, and he knew how to use it on vacationing women as soon as the season got started. The young detective liked to joke that his goal was to meet women from every region of Sweden, from Samiland in the north to Skane in the south. Knutas
