Everyone waited tensely without saying a word.
'It was Staffan Mellgren.'
The murder of Staffan Mellgren was the lead story on the television newscasts that morning. The police had sent out a press release about the homicide around midnight, and the night editor at Swedish TV's digital round- the-clock station SVT 24 instantly sent a remote van to catch the next ferry, which left at 3:00 a.m. A little less than three hours later, just before six in the morning, the van rolled onto the Visby dock. In situations like this, it was worth gold to have a news service operating twenty-four hours a day.
The SVT 24 editor had gotten Johan out of bed in the middle of the night. By the time he and Pia met the Stockholm team at the editorial office, Johan had already had the murder confirmed and had been promised an interview with Knutas outside police headquarters. One of the team members who had arrived by van was Robert Wiklander, with whom Johan had worked on Gotland before. Robert worked for the Aktuellt and Rapport broadcasts, and now they were going to collaborate. A cameraman that Johan vaguely knew had come along, too, as well as an editor who installed himself in the office. He would handle things from there during the morning, which they all realized was going to be anything but calm.
They divided up the work assignments. Pia drove up to the Mellgren farm to take pictures while Johan and Robert took turns reporting for the live newscast, using the cameraman who had come from Stockholm. Whoever was not reporting at the moment spent his time tracking down interview subjects. They got the county police commissioner, the president of the college, and the head of the tourist bureau to come to police headquarters to be interviewed. The entire archaeological community on Gotland was in a state of shock. The excavations at Frojel were halted, and no one thought they would start up again that summer. The students in the course were forbidden to leave the island for the near future. The excavations at Eksta, where archaeologists were in the process of digging up a gravesite from the Bronze Age, were also stopped. Anyone who had even the slightest connection with archaeology on Gotland was affected by what had now become a double homicide.
The head of the tourist bureau was concerned that this second murder would frighten away the tourists. The media speculated that a serial killer was on the loose on the island-someone who would continue to kill until he was caught. Anders Knutas had called in extra assistance from the NCP in Stockholm. Thirty or so people were now working on the investigation.
By nine thirty all the morning broadcasts were done, and the editors in Stockholm phoned to praise the reports. In the next breath, they issued new demands. They wanted a piece for the noon show, for all the afternoon programs, and a longer story for the evening newscasts, on both Aktuellt and Rapport, and the segments should preferably be as different as possible.
Max Grenfors, now back from vacation, wanted to make the Regional News broadcast a priority, of course. That was always a dilemma. Each editor put his own program first, and with so many different newscasts and editors, there was a flood of phone calls. For a reporter, it was easy to feel torn. They agreed that Robert and the Stockholm cameraman would handle the national newscasts while Johan and Pia would concentrate on Regional News. As they gathered material and did interviews over the course of the day, they could always share information with each other. The editor from Stockholm would collate all the material as it came in.
In the afternoon Johan received an unexpected phone call. It was from his friend Niklas Appelqvist, who was studying archaeology at the college.
'Did you know that rumors have been circulating that Martina Flochten was Staffan Mellgren's lover?' Niklas asked.
'Is it true?' Johan retorted.
'So many different people are talking about it, there must be some truth to it.'
'Do you know anyone who could confirm it?'
'Maybe. I'll check around. Mellgren was apparently a real Casanova. I heard that he slept with a lot of girls at the college.'
'Is that right? But I can't put pure speculation in my report. I need two independent sources who can confirm this for me. Otherwise it's a no-go.'
'I'll see what I can do. I'll get back to you.'
Susanna Mellgren looked exhausted when she came into Knutas's office that afternoon. She sat down, clasped her hands demurely in her lap, and lowered her gaze, as if she were about to say a prayer.
'I'm sorry for your loss,' Knutas began.
She nodded faintly.
'When did you last see your husband?'
'Sunday evening, when I decided to drive over to stay with my parents.'
'Why did you do that?'
'I thought the whole business with the horse's head was horrible. I didn't want to put myself or my children in danger.'
'Why did you think it would be dangerous to stay in your house?'
'It felt as if someone were threatening us. I've been reading about the whole thing, and I saw the report on TV, too-I mean, that story about the decapitated horse, and then…'
'Why would anyone want to threaten you?'
'I have no idea,' she replied, shaking her head.
'And your husband?'
'I don't know why anyone would want to harm him, either,' she said, looking Knutas in the eye. 'He didn't have any enemies, as far as I know.'
'How did he seem that evening? What was the mood like between the two of you?'
'As I've told you earlier, he seemed cold and indifferent. He said it wasn't anything to worry about, that whole incident with the horse's head.'
'Did you ask him why it didn't bother him?'
'I tried, but he just got annoyed. He said that we shouldn't take it seriously, that we should just forget about it and go on as usual. I'm convinced that he wasn't telling me the truth. Finally I got mad because I was afraid for the children, if nothing else. But he brushed the whole thing off and claimed that it only had to do with him. So that's when he gave himself away: He really did know what it was all about.'
'Do you think he knew who was threatening him?'
'I think he knew who put the horse's head there, but he didn't seem to consider it a threat. At any rate, it ended with me packing up our things and taking the children over to stay with my parents. And just look what happened-now he's dead, and the last thing we did was fight. If I hadn't gone away, maybe he'd still be alive.'
She burst into tears. Knutas got up and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. He got some paper napkins and a glass of water and waited for a while so that Susanna Mellgren would have a chance to calm down.
'What time did you and the children leave for your parents' house on Sunday?' he continued cautiously.
'It was after you came out to see us. Staffan came home around seven, and by then we were ready to go. We probably left around eight,' she told him, sniffling loudly.
'What did you do when you got there?'
'We unpacked in the guesthouse that they have on their property. Then we watched a little TV and went to bed.'
'What about the next day?'
'We went to the beach and spent the whole day there. Me, my mother, and the kids. The weather was so nice.'
'And in the evening?'
'We had a barbecue and sat outside, drinking a little wine. The kids and my parents watched a movie after dinner. They didn't want to come with me to the pub. Smaklosa was playing. They're one of my favorite bands. I thought it would be a good distraction after everything that had happened.'
'So you went alone?'
'Yes.'
'Can anyone vouch for the fact that you were there?'
'I don't know. Maybe the bartender. I've seen him before.'
'Do you know his name?'
Susanna Mellgren thought for a few seconds.
