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  "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.

  "His name is Stefan."

  "And his last name?"

  She shook her head.

  "How long did you stay there?"

  "I listened to the band, and they played for at least two hours. Everyone was in a great mood, and people started requesting songs. Then I sat outside for a while and had a glass of wine. It was such a hot evening, and I felt the need to be alone. I probably stayed for about three hours."

  "When did you get back?"

  "Hm…when was it? Maybe ten or eleven."

  "And you went home alone?"

  "Yes."

  "This may seem like a strange question, but what size shoe do you wear?"

  Susanna looked at Knutas in surprise.

  "Size eight."

  WEDNESDAY, JULY 28

  When Knutas woke up the next morning, he was so anxious to see what the press had found out about the murder of Staffan Mellgren that he could hardly wait to get to the office. He said a silent prayer that the media hadn't gotten wind of the ritualistic elements this time, either. His cell phone had started ringing right after the story was reported on the evening broadcast of Regional News, when Johan Berg referred to several independent sources who had confirmed that the two murder victims had been having an affair. Out of pure self-preservation Knutas had turned off his cell after the third call. The police spokesman, Lars Norrby, was the only one who had to be available to the media. Knutas had had a long conversation with him last night, and they had agreed on what would be appropriate to reveal. Among other things, the police would not mention anything about a possible relationship between Martina Flochten and Staffan Mellgren. At 6:00 a.m. he listened to the financial news, which fortunately didn't mention anything about a ritual murder or a relationship between Martina and Staffan. Knutas sat down at his computer and looked up the online editions of the newspapers. When the front page of the evening papers appeared on his screen, he sighed.

  At the top of both papers were two big photographs-one of Martina Flochten and one of Staffan Mellgren. On one of the papers a red heart had been drawn around the photos.

  This can't be true, thought Knutas, as he clicked to move on. The big headlines worried him: killed for their love and police suspect jealousy drama. The articles that followed were full of endless speculations. Most of them were based on the Regional News report from the night before. It was disastrous for the investigation, and he silently wondered who had helped Johan Berg to track down this lead. Ignoring the fact that it was only six thirty in the morning, he punched in the reporter's phone number.

  "What do you think you're doing?" he asked tersely when he heard Johan's sleepy voice on the other end of the line.

  "Who is this?" asked Johan defiantly.

  "This is Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas, as if you didn't know. How could you broadcast sensitive information like that in your report last night without talking to me first? Don't you realize that you're sabotaging the whole investigation?"

  "I can't very well be responsible for your investigation. I got the information confirmed, and it's of such great interest that of course we wanted to make it public. Two murders have occurred within a matter of a few weeks, and then it turns out that the victims were having a secret affair. People are terrified because the murderer is still on the loose. So of course the story was too important-it had to be told."

  Johan held back his anger as he spoke.

  "But don't you understand that it's going to have consequences for our work? How are we going to catch the perpetrator if confidential information comes out in the press every fifteen minutes? This isn't a game-we're talking about a double homicide, and in the worst-case scenario a serial killer who's on the loose!"

  Knutas's voice was getting louder on the phone.

  "Look, I'm just doing my job," said Johan calmly. "I can't sit on important information out of consideration for your investigative work. You take care of your business, I'll take care of mine. Unfortunately, I don't have time to talk to you any more about this right now."

  To Knutas's great annoyance, Johan hung up.

  He was shaking all over after the conversation, the phone still in his hand, when Lina came downstairs.

  "Who are you talking to on the phone this early?" she asked, ruffling his hair.

  "That damned journalist," said Knutas as he slammed down the receiver. He went to get his jacket, even though it was much too warm for it outside.

  Lina came out into the hall as he was about to leave.

  "Don't you want any breakfast?"

  "I'll get some at work," he said, sounding annoyed. "Bye."

  He left without giving her a hug. It was a lovely summer morning, but the only thing he noticed was the sun blazing down on his back. He realized that he was going to be sweaty again before he even got to the office, and he slowed his step. He now felt ashamed about his conversation with Johan. He should have behaved in a more professional manner; it was embarrassing. He didn't even recognize himself. Maybe it was being frustrated because they hadn't made any progress that had upset his composure. No, the fact was that he hadn't been himself for the past six months. Last winter's case had taken its toll, and he was having a hard time letting go of what had happened to him back then. His marriage was als
o suffering negative effects, even though things were basically good between him and Lina. He loved her, and she hadn't given him any reason to doubt her feelings. Knutas was dissatisfied with himself. It felt as if he'd taken a step back in his recovery, and that bothered him. He wasn't seeing his therapist during the summer, but he was thinking of calling her anyway. If she wasn't away on vacation, maybe he could go and see her.

  That was at least one concrete step forward he had made. He was no longer afraid to ask for help.

  When he arrived at police headquarters the corridors were already humming with activity. They had received additional reinforcements from Stockholm, and the group was clearly wide awake that morning.

  Even Kihlgard was present. He was standing next to the coffee machine having a lively conversation with one of the female officers from Stockholm. He stopped talking when Knutas came walking past in the hallway.

  "Good morning to you, Knutie."

  Knutas returned the greeting. He had no desire whatsoever to engage in any social chitchat, and he was rescued by the appearance of Karin Jacobsson.

  "Hi," he said to her. "I need to talk to you."

  He took a firm grip on her arm. Jacobsson looked surprised but let herself be hustled along to Knutas's office.

  "What's up?" she asked. "Has something happened?"

  "No, nothing. Except that we've got a hell of a problem. Do you know about the information leaking out to the media? About the love affair between Martina Flochten and Staffan Mellgren?"

  "It was really only a matter of time before it got out." She shrugged her shoulders.

  "How can you take it so lightly?" Knutas had a hard time hiding his irritation.

  "But my dear Anders." Karin gave him a sympathetic look. "What does it matter, really? Both of them are dead, and we can't do anything about that. Maybe the solution is a simple matter, and Susanna Mellgren is the murderer. Her alibi for the night of the murder is pretty weak. She was gone for more than four hours, according to her parents, and the only one who can vouch for her being at the pub is that bartender, Stefan Eriksson. Who knows whether he's telling the truth? Maybe they're in it together, or maybe he just wants to protect her. And her shoe size matches the prints at the scene of the murder. We have her under surveillance. Maybe she'll make a mistake all of a sudden, and then the case will be solved."

  "What about the horses? How do you explain them?"

  "She may have done that to distract our attention, as we said earlier. I've found out a few more things about Susanna Mellgren, you see."

  "Okay, let's hear it," said Knutas, who had calmed down.

  "When she was younger she worked as a riding instructor. For five summers in a row she worked at the Dalhem Stables during their riding camps, and also with classes that met during the fall. It's been just over ten years since she stopped doing that. Their oldest son is ten, so that fits. Presumably she stopped when she got pregnant."

  "What does that prove?" Knutas gave Jacobsson an inquisitive look.

  "Nothing. Except that she's used to being around horses, and that's an advantage if you're going to kill one."

  "That's not enough."

  "Of course not, but there's something else."

  "What?"

  "Susanna Mellgren has also worked part-time at the ICA supermarket off and on. Guess in which department."

  Knutas didn't say a word.

  "She worked as a butcher."

  "I see. Interesting. I wonder if that's good enough to arrest her."

  Jacobsson glanced at her watch. "The meeting starts in five minutes, so we'll soon find out. If I know Birger, he's already here."

  THURSDAY, JULY 29

  Birger Smittenberg didn't think there was sufficient reason to arrest Susanna Mellgren. Especially not after it became clear from interviewing guests at the pub in Ljugarn that she had been seen there during the entire time when her husband was being murdered. So she had an alibi. Knutas had never really believed that she would turn out to be the murderer. As a woman she didn't have the physical strength to hoist up the victims as had been done in both cases. It was impossible for her to be the perpetrator-unless she hadn't committed the murders alone.

  This meant that the investigation was back to square one. The decision was expected, but Knutas still felt disappointed. It would have been too good to be true if the case could have been solved so easily. Especially since then he could have taken his longed-for summer vacation. Now nothing was going to come of it. The hot summer was disappearing outside the window as he sat in his dusty office and racked his brain.

  Maybe it was time to turn everything upside down, to change perspective and point of view, to look at things from a different angle.

  The fact that Martina Flochten and Staffan Mellgren were having an affair was undeniable. Susanna Mellgren had previously acknowledged that she realized her husband was once again being unfaithful. Over the years, she had learned all too well to see the signs. On the other hand, she still claimed that she didn't know who the woman was, and Knutas believed her. When it came to the footprints in the chicken house, she explained them by saying that she kept an old pair of wooden clogs out in the barn, but now they were gone. Presumably the perpetrator had put them on to mislead the police.

  If it wasn't Mellgren's infidelities that had motivated the murders, then what had? And why the strange way in which they were carried out?

  The question was whether the killing was now over. One factor indicated that the perpetrator planned yet another murder, and that was the horse's head at Gunnar Ambjornsson's house. Ambjornsson was still out of the country, but he was expected home on Sunday. Knutas decided to call him up to warn him. He found the number and was surprised to see how many digits there were. Ambjornsson had said that it might be hard to reach him. He had left his cell number. He couldn't provide the name of a hotel because he would be traveling the whole time. Knutas didn't get through; he got only a strange tone when he punched in the number. After several more attempts he gave up. He'd try again later.

  That evening he and Lina made love for the first time in ages. Even though their love life usually blossomed during the summer, his sex drive had been virtually nonexistent lately. He'd been unusually tired, and when Lina asked him what was wrong, he had blamed the investigation for wearing him out. Deep inside, though, he was suffering from a feeling of anxiety that he couldn't get rid of. He had tried to contact his therapist without success, so he would have to wait until his appointment in August. From day to day he functioned more or less normally, but he didn't feel his usual sense of joy. He was thinking and moving like a sleepwalker. It was like being in a dream when you're running but your legs feel heavy and sluggish and you never get anywhere. He had the same feeling in his daily life. He had no energy for anything except what was absolutely necessary. Lina had also pointed out that he had gotten quieter and duller, as she put it. She sometimes asked him why he couldn't be happier. Knutas had no good answer to the question.

  FRIDAY, JULY 30

  It was Friday night, and Johan and Pia were finished with their evening report. Johan was eager to leave the editorial office. He was going over to Emma's house, and she had asked whether he'd like to stay overnight. As if she even had to ask.

  She was going to cook dinner for him since he wouldn't be able to get away until around seven. Sara and Filip were staying with their father, and Johan thought that was just as well. They didn't need to do everything at once.

  In the car on his way to Roma, he imagined how it would be to live in that house and drive home like this after work every day.

  Home to Emma and the children. He was surprised at how wonderful he thought that would feel. To be part of a family. For someone like him who had lived all these years alone, it was a new feeling. Of course, he'd had some long-term relationships when he had practically lived with a girlfriend for certain periods of time, but it was never the real thing. He'd never shared a home with anyone else. And with the baby it was an even b
igger deal. Something entirely different.

  The idea of sharing his daily life with Emma in a real way appealed to him more than he ever could have imagined. He heard the clinking sound as the wine bottles in their state liquor store bags rolled back and forth. His stomach was growling. His mouth watered as he thought about the food that would be waiting for him on the table when he arrived. He had been longing so much to spend more time with Emma. To sleep with her and wake up together.

  He automatically pressed harder on the gas pedal. Hopefully Elin would be awake so that he could hold her for a while before she went to sleep for the night.

  Full of anticipation, he rang the doorbell, hiding behind his back the flowers he had bought.

  When the door opened, he felt as if he'd been punched in the face. Emma was not the one standing there; it was her ex-husband. In his arms he held a howling and coughing Filip, whose face was purple with exertion.

  "Hi. Come in."

  "Hi."

  Johan stepped into the hallway, feeling like an idiot.

  "Congratulations, by the way. She's beautiful." Olle tipped his head toward the back of the house.

  For a moment Johan wasn't sure whether he meant Emma or Elin. "Thanks."

  Emma appeared in the doorway. She gave Johan a quick hug and handed the baby to him. He still felt as if he were standing there with his mouth open, a little like a fish gasping for air. He didn't understand a thing.

  "Things are kind of a mess. Filip has a terrible attack of the croup, and we have to take him to the ER. I can't take Elin along. One of us has to drive and the other has to hold Filip when he has a coughing fit. You'll have to take care of Elin and Sara. But I've used the breast pump, so there's milk that you can heat up in the microwave. Sara hasn't had any dinner, either. I'll call you from the ER. Bye."

  Before Johan had time to react, Emma, Olle, and Filip had disappeared down the gravel path. He stood there at a loss, staring after them as the car roared off.