before.
'All right,' said Knutas, as if to break the uncomfortable mood. 'We have a statement from the teacher Aron Bjarke that Staffan Mellgren was romantically interested in Martina. The teacher claims that Mellgren is a real womanizer and that he's constantly getting involved with various young students, even though he's a married man. He even went so far as to describe Mellgren as a sex addict.'
'It's just odd that no one else mentioned any infidelities,' said Wittberg.
'Yes, especially since they seem to have been so frequent. Is there anyone else who might confirm this information?' asked Kihlgard.
'Not so far. Although you never know. Maybe the other teachers want to protect him. It's a sensitive situation right now, with the murder and all.'
'What about the students in the course?'
'Several of them have said that they suspected Martina was secretly meeting someone, but none of them can say who it might be. We haven't talked to the rest of the students at the college. Everyone attending classes right now is a summer student, and they wouldn't know Mellgren.'
'What does Mellgren say?'
'He flatly denies it, of course.'
'And his wife?'
'The same thing. According to her, they have no marital problems.'
Knutas gave his colleagues a solemn look. 'Whatever you do, don't let anything get out about the incident at Ambjornsson's place,' he said emphatically. 'The day after tomorrow he's going abroad, which will hopefully give us an opportunity to work in peace and quiet. We also took great pains to be discreet when we were out there yesterday. We've got to keep that up. From now on, all questions regarding the investigation should be referred to either Lars or myself.'
After the meeting Knutas went to his office and closed the door. He took out his pipe and began filling it. He needed to be alone to collect his thoughts. The calm that had reigned at the beginning of the summer had now been replaced with a chaos of sensational events, and at the moment he couldn't imagine how everything fit together. The mere fact that somewhere on Gotland there was another decapitated horse was distressing. Why hadn't anyone reported it?
He felt a strong need to light his pipe this time. He went to stand at the window, opened it wide, and struck a match, even though smoking was prohibited indoors. The only exception was in the interview rooms.
Knutas thought about Ambjornsson: a friendly and unobtrusive politician who lived a quiet life and kept to himself. When it came right down to it, what did he really know about the man? He'd been a politician in the area for thirty years. Knutas had no clue what his private life was like.
Was the threat work-related or personal? They needed to find out quickly what political business Ambjornsson had on his desk. Maybe that's where the answer would be found.
Knutas puffed on his pipe and slowly let the smoke seep out the corner of his mouth. From somewhere an idea gradually emerged, and all of a sudden it was crystal clear. There was a connection between Martina Flochten and Gunnar Ambjornsson. It was the prestigious hotel project being planned right outside Visby. Martina's father, Patrick Flochten, was one of the architects and financiers of the biggest and most exclusive hotel complex ever to be built on Gotland. The very hotel complex that the building commission had approved just before summer started. Gunnar Ambjornsson was chairman of the commission. Of course, the city councillors would have to reach a decision, and then the matter would be taken up by the county board, but the fact that the building commission had given the green light was the first step in implementing the plans.
Knutas searched his memory. There had been some protests against the project, although he'd gotten the impression that most Gotland residents took a positive view of it. He thought there was a political consensus in favor of the hotel. Which groups might be opposed? Undoubtedly neighbors who lived at Hogklint, conservationists, and ethnogeographers-but surely none of them would be prepared to commit murder over it. Knutas didn't know if there was anything of archaeological interest at the site. All the groups that had any involvement in the project would have to be checked. Maybe there were political opponents that he didn't know about. He was going to see to it that the matter was investigated at once.
The evening couldn't have been more perfect. They had prepared themselves well. Each of them knew what to do. Everything had been meticulously conceived and planned, down to the smallest detail.
They were going to spend the night out there, at the remote site, near to the gods and under the protection of nature. Every tree trunk, boulder, and bush was blessed with a spirit that would keep them company during the ceremony. They had put up the tent and prepared the food, and within each of them a feeling of excitement was now growing, in anticipation of what was to come.
The crickets were chirping loudly in the thickets that lined the narrow path leading up to the ridge. It was a difficult hike. The slope was steep and not easily accessible. The group of people merged into one by virtue of what they were wearing: ankle-length cloaks with black sashes around their waists. The men's heads were covered with cowls and the women's with kerchiefs. They all walked with their heads bowed, perhaps to avoid stumbling over the tree roots on the ground, or perhaps to pray.
A ceaseless murmuring was mixed with the drumming done by a man leading the way. In one hand he held a flat drum made of animal hide, in the other a leather-covered wooden mallet that he used to strike the drum with an even beat.
When they reached the open clearing that was their destination, one of the men moved away from the group. From his tunic he pulled out an eighteen-inch signal horn made of bone. He raised it to his lips, pointed it toward the sea, and blew. The sound was monotonous and plaintive. A drinking horn was passed around the group. With closed eyes and solemn faces they each drank the wine from the horn, and when everyone had tasted it, they poured the last drops onto the ground. The man with the signal horn appeared to be the leader. He took up a position in front of the participants. He spoke a few words and then turned to face the east as the drumbeats sounded. He shouted into the bright night. With a strong and clear voice he invoked the deities. Then he faced, by turns, the south, the west, and the north as he spoke. Finally he turned toward the center of the circle, where an altar had been erected with idols painted in blood.
One by one the participants stepped forward to place flowers, fruit, and sacks of grain on the holy altar. Stones had been arranged in a circle around the entire site.
The people in the circle stomped their feet on the ground, and the murmuring started up again, growing louder until everyone was practically screaming. Several of the men lit a fire, which instantly flared up toward the sky.
The drummer struck the drum in time with the people's laments. Someone handed the leader an axe, which he swung in front of him as he uttered incantations. A cage was carried forward, and a well-fed white hen was held up before the participants, who stared at it, enraptured. The hen was placed on the ground in front of the leader, who raised the axe and cut off the bird's head with a precise blow. Blood spattered all around, the lament became even more ecstatic, and the stomping grew more intense.
At last the leader collapsed. The drumming ceased, and the voices stopped. Silence reigned.
One of the participants left the group without drawing attention to himself. No one noticed when he headed back the way they had come. He got into his car and drove off.
SATURDAY, JULY 10
They were going to spend the weekend at the home of Emma's parents on the island of Faro. Just Emma, Johan, and the baby, Elin. Emma's parents had dropped by the house in Roma to say hello before they set off on the long trip that they usually took each year. She had felt nothing but emptiness during their visit. She didn't sense any sincerity from them, just a superficial babbling about how adorable Elin was. Then they went off to the airport and their travels, which would take them to China this time. That was just as well.
Emma had promised to look after their house, and it would be lovely to have a change of scene. She was already feeling cooped up in the house in Roma. There was so much to remind her of her old life there, and yet there was nothing left of it. The walls breathed Olle and all the bitterness that had emerged over the past six
