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  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 and his colleagues hurried past.

  They drove straight back to police headquarters.

  He stood in the middle of the woods, leaning against the rough bark of the tree. His eyes were closed and he was listening. The wind rushing through the trees, a pine cone that fell to the ground with a soft thud, a crow cawing. There was a strong fragrance here in the shadows. Resin, pine needles, dirt, and blueberries. Slowly he bent his knees and slid his back down the tree trunk until he ended up in a sitting position. The uneven surface of the tree didn't bother him. He began muttering to himself, quietly and monotonously. Gradually he sank into the state that he
was trying for, into a trance. He merged with the tree. His soul could stay there while he projected his consciousness into something else.

  The transference was important for him; it was actually essential if he was going to complete his task.

  He became one with the tree. There were no boundaries, none at all. He had slipped into another reality. The rest of the world no longer concerned him. Whatever had been worrying him before no longer had any importance. He had freed himself from all commonplace and trivial problems-everything that had to do with other people. He no longer needed to care about them, because he had entered into a different alliance that had nothing to do with human relationships. It was as if walls had fallen, obstacles had been swept aside, and the path lay straight and clearly marked before him. He realized that he possessed unusual powers.

  Suddenly a twig snapped and a fox emerged from a thicket. It sat down like a cat right in front of him and began to wash, taking its time. Now and then the fox glanced up and studied him for a moment. When it headed back into the woods, it passed quite close without paying any attention to him. He took a deep breath.

  That was the final proof that he had succeeded.

  Knutas's phone rang nonstop after he got back to his office. He had his hands full dealing with questions from the press about the murder of Martina Flochten. Finally, after calling Patrick Flochten and notifying him of the discovery of his daughter's corpse, he was forced to tell the switchboard not to put through any more calls. He needed time to concentrate on his work.

  It was decided that a press conference would be held later that afternoon. Lars Norrby offered to make the arrangements instead of taking part in the investigative meeting.

  Knutas had notified the prosecutor, who took a seat next to him in the conference room. Birger Smittenberg was an experienced chief prosecutor, and he had worked for the Gotland district court for many years. Over time a solid trust had been established between him and Knutas. They had a long series of investigations behind them. Smittenberg was originally from Stockholm, but in the late seventies he had married a Gotland woman who was a ballad singer. He was deeply committed to his work, and he participated in the investigative meetings as often as he could.

  "As you all know, twenty-one-year-old Martina Flochten from Rotterdam in the Netherlands was found murdered out at Vivesholm," Knutas began. "She was found around five thirty this morning by the owner of one of the summer houses in the area. A man named Kalle Ostlund. There is no doubt that she was murdered. Erik will describe the injuries in a moment. The ME is on his way from Stockholm and will be examining the body at the scene later today. The fenced-in area has been cordoned off and is now being searched by the canine patrol. We're also searching for clues around Warfsholm, as best we can. We can't very well demand that they close up the whole place. I think that's where I'll stop for the time being."

  He nodded to Sohlman, who got up and went over to the computer. He clicked on a key and an aerial view of the area appeared on the white screen at the front of the room.

  "This is Vivesholm. The land is privately owned by a farmer who lets his cows graze out here, but the area is open to the public. Lots of people come here to watch the birds or to see the view."

  "It's also popular with windsurfers," interjected Thomas Wittberg. "I've been out there to surf several times. A hell of a great place."

  "Out on the promontory there's a small wooded area surrounded by a fence. There's also an old birdwatching tower."

  Sohlman changed pictures.

  "This was where the body of Martina Flochten was found, hanging from a tree. Generally only the farmer or someone who might want to get a better view from the bird tower would enter this area at all. That's why it's not so strange that it took several days for the body to be found. Let's take a look at the injuries. This isn't exactly your usual sort of murder."

  Several of the detectives began to fidget as soon as the pictures of Martina appeared.

  "What's significant is that she seems to have been killed in more than one way," Sohlman went on pensively. "The victim was both strangled and knifed. One qualified guess is that she was first hanged from the noose, and afterward the perpetrator slashed her with a knife. The appearance of the incision indicates that it was probably done after death. Since she has no other injuries, it looks as if the perpetrator was able to cut her open in peace and quiet, so to speak. She didn't offer any resistance. But there's another issue."

  Sohlman paused for effect and looked at his colleagues pointedly.

  "We're not positive that she died from hanging. There are several indications that she was already dead when she was hung up in that tree."

  "What sort of indications?" asked Knutas, looking startled.

  "As I said, this is just a hunch-I'll gladly leave the confirming analysis to the ME-but I've seen quite a few hanging deaths when people committed suicide by kicking away the chair or whatever they were standing on and then were strangled by the noose. The deceased typically has specific types of injuries. These include bruises along the groove on the neck where the rope dug in, as well as hemorrhaging at the base of the neck muscles along the collarbone. These signs of vitality, as they're called, are easy to detect. You notice them at once if you've been at that type of death scene before. Martina doesn't have any of them. Something doesn't add up."

  Jacobsson looked in surprise at the crime tech.

  "So that means the murderer might have used several methods to kill Martina instead of settling for just one-and the hanging and stab wound in the abdomen were two of the methods. But what actually killed her?"

  A tense silence followed. Wittberg was the first to speak.

  "It's one thing when a killer stages an assault by using a knife, for example, to stab the victim and then continues to hack away even though the person is already dead. Or he keeps firing unnecessary shots at the victim. That's something that occurs in a fit of rage or because the killer is under the influence of drugs or has simply gone berserk. But this seems to be a different story."

  "The murder feels ritualistic," murmured Knutas as he looked at the pictures.

  "Yes," agreed Smittenberg. "The perpetrator would have had time to stop and think between the various steps; he should have calmed down."

  "What about the motive?" said Jacobsson meditatively. "He had a definite reason for killing her in several ways. It symbolizes something. The modus operandi seems like some sort of ceremony, just as Anders said. The question is: Why is she naked? What does it mean?"

  "There are no outward signs of sexual assault, but if she was assaulted it will show up in the autopsy. Yet the fact that she's not wearing any clothes clearly has sexual connotations."

  "What sort of evidence have you found?" asked Wittberg.

  "Not much so far," said Sohlman. "We're in the process of searching the entire promontory, and there's a lot of area to cover."

  "We're continuing to go door to door in the summer-house area," interjected Knutas. "Let's hope it produces some results."

  "How many summer houses are there?" asked Smittenberg.

  "About twenty."

  "Was the murder committed at the site where the body was found?"

  "It's hard to say at the moment," said Sohlman. "I didn't see any signs of a struggle at the site. On the other hand, we haven't yet had a chance to examine everything thoroughly. The ME has to make his examination before we can move the body. Since the decomposition process has already set in, I would guess that she's been dead for two or three days. I can't give you a more specific time of death at the moment-but it seems likely that she was killed late Saturday night or early Sunday morning. It's virtually impossible to drive into the wooded area, so the perp probably carried her there if he killed her somewhere else. It's at least a couple of hundred yards away on foot, which means that we're dealing with someone who's quite strong. Martina was not a petite girl. She was both tall and muscular."

  "I'm thinking about the decapitated horse in Petesvi
ken," said Jacobsson. "I wonder if there's some connection. That seemed ritualistic, too."

  "Of course we'll look for points of connection between the two cases," said Knutas. "We need to find out more about Martina Flochten's past. Who was she? What was she doing before the murder? Did anything unusual happen? Did her behavior change in any way? What sort of person was she? Can you take responsibility for finding out these things, Karin?"

  "Sure."

  "It's also important that we talk with every single summer-house owner around Vivesholm as soon as possible, and even more important, the guests who were staying at the hotel over the weekend. I'll leave that to you, Thomas. All the archaeologists have to be interviewed, too-the students taking the course, the teachers, and the others at the college. Since I don't want the press to get wind of this ritualistic angle, no one should say anything about it, and I mean not to anybody at all."

  Knutas gazed sternly at his colleagues sitting around the table.

  "If this gets out, we're done for. Then we'll have reporters chasing us all day long."

  He stood up.

  "At four o'clock this afternoon we're holding a press conference. Lars and I will handle it."

  Staffan Mellgren looked haggard when Knutas met him in the reception area of police headquarters. His face was pale and his eyes red-rimmed and shiny. There was something jumpy about him, and his clothes were so wrinkled that it looked as if he had slept in them. They went up to Knutas's office where they could talk undisturbed. Mellgren declined the offer of coffee.