Anders Knutas 03 - The Inner Circle aka Unknown Read online

"No, not as far as we know."

  "The question is whether this was directed at the farmer personally, or whether it's a madman who's attacking animals," said Jacobsson.

  "Could this be some kind of boyish prank?" Wittberg tossed out the question.

  "With a butcher knife and an axe and a means of transporting the head?" said Jacobsson. "Not on your life. On the other hand, I do wonder if there are any mental patients with a history of animal abuse who have been released."

  "Actually, we've already managed to check up on that," said Knutas. "Do any of you recall Gustav Persson? The guy who used to roam around the pastures putting nails into horses' hooves? He would pound the nail in partway, and when the horse set his foot down to walk, the nail would go in farther and farther. Persson didn't just make do with one hoof, either. He would put nails in several so that in the end the horse couldn't stand upright. He eluded the police for several weeks until he was finally caught. By then he had injured a dozen animals. There's also Bingeby-Anna. She would kill any cat that she saw and hang them on the fence."

  "But she's super tiny and thin," Jacobsson objected. "She'd never be able to carry out this sort of crime, at least not alone. I'm the size of an elephant compared to her. She can't weigh more than ninety pounds."

  Knutas raised his eyebrows at the exaggeration. Jacobsson herself was small-boned and stood no more than about five foot three.

  "I don't think this has anything to do with an impulsive act by some mental patient," Wittberg protested. "It was too well planned. To commit such a crime, during the lightest nights of the summer and with people and houses nearby, must have required meticulous planning, just as Erik said. I'm amazed that the perpetrator even dared, when there was such a big risk of being seen. The road to the pasture runs along all the farm buildings. It's practically like driving right through their yards. Anyone who woke up could have seen or heard the car."

  "You're right," said Sohlman, "but we've discovered that it's possible to reach the pasture from another direction." He clicked through the pictures until he came to the ones showing maps of the area. "The road ends and splits in two when you reach Petesviken. Instead of turning right and driving past the farms, you go left. A short distance away there's a tractor path along the fields that circles the whole area and goes past the pasture on the other side. If the perpetrator chose that route, and I'm convinced that he did, then he would have avoided being seen from the farms. He could have driven out to the pasture and back in peace and quiet, with no risk of being discovered. From the farms in Petesviken you can't see if a car is driving along that path. We've checked. Right now we're examining the tire tracks out there, but it's difficult because the ground is so dry."

  "Good," said Knutas. "We'll continue to interview the neighbors and anyone else in the area. Let's hope we find out something. The perp must have had a car. He had to transport an axe and a knife and possibly other tools as well, along with the horse's head."

  "And he was probably covered with blood," Sohlman added.

  "Maybe he took a dip and washed it off. The sea is so close, after all," Jacobsson suggested.

  "Wouldn't that be kind of reckless?" Wittberg gave her a dubious look. "Would he really go for a swim, with a very strong risk of being discovered? Even though the crime was committed after eleven, on these light summer nights people go out for a dip at all hours. Especially since it's been so hot."

  "On the other hand, the area is relatively isolated," Knutas interjected. "There can't be more than three or four families living on those farms and moving about, plus maybe a few people from the houses farther up the road. It's not an area that anyone would just happen to stroll through. Well, we're going to have to look more closely into the family background of the farmer. Either there's a particular reason why it was Larsson's horse that was killed, or else it was just by chance. We still have to investigate all possibilities."

  "Do you think the guilty person is part of the family?" asked Jacobsson. "The wife taking revenge on the husband, or vice versa?"

  "That seems rather far-fetched," said Knutas. "A person would have to be awfully sick to commit this type of crime. But we can't rule it out. We've been surprised before. We need to talk to the farmer again. He's unusually talkative, but we were there only a short time. I think someone needs to drive back out there. The girls who found the horse have to be interviewed as soon as possible."

  "I can leave right now." Wittberg was already getting to his feet.

  "I'll go with you," said Jacobsson. "If there isn't anything else you need me to do?"

  "Go, both of you," said Knutas. "I'll stay here and deal with the press."

  Martina Flochten rushed around the cramped room, grabbing up toiletries and a towel. She was going to take a quick shower and change her clothes. The students had the afternoon off from their excavating work, because an American archaeology professor was in Visby to give a lecture at the college. Martina was in a hurry for entirely different reasons, though, although her fellow students had no idea why.

  They were going to take advantage of the situation. Her longing for him was burning and urgent.

  She had suppressed all thought of the boyfriend she had back in the Netherlands. He kept calling her cell phone more and more often. The more she ignored her phone, the more persistent he became. One evening when she had left her phone behind in the room, he had called twenty-eight times. It was sick, and she found it embarrassing because her roommate, Eva, had been home that evening, lying in bed and trying to read. Martina planned to end the relationship when she got back home. She couldn't bring herself to do it over the phone. That would be too wretched.

  Her father had also called. He was coming to Gotland the following week. He had business in Visby and was planning to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Maybe he was worried about her. Martina was close to her father, although she thought he could be rather overprotective. Then again, she certainly had given him reason to worry on numerous occasions. Martina was ambitious and a good student. She did well in school, but in her free time she never hesitated to go out partying, and there was no shortage of parties among the various student crowds at the university in Rotterdam. She had even tried drugs, but only the less serious kind.

  Martina's interest in archaeology was sparked when she saw a TV program about an excavation in Peru. She was impressed by the archaeologists' patient, systematic work, and by what the earth could tell them.

  When she began studying the subject, she quickly become intrigued by the Viking Age. She read everything she could get her hands on about the Vikings and how they had lived. Their religion, with its belief in numerous gods, appealed to her. And she was fascinated not only by the Viking ships and their plundering expeditions out in the world but also by the extensive trade the Vikings had carried on, especially on Gotland.

  This course had definitely whetted Martina's appetite, and she had already decided to do further studies in the subject at the college in Visby after finishing her archaeology degree.

  By the time she was done with her shower, the others had gone out to the bus that was going to take them to the lecture. She went out and explained that she wasn't feeling well and wanted to stay home. Eva seemed disappointed. They had all planned to have a beer somewhere afterward, to take advantage of being in town.

  After the bus drove off, Martina rushed back inside to get her purse, casting one last glance at herself in the mirror. She looked good. The Gotland sun had given her skin a lovely sheen, and her long hair was blonder than usual.

  He wanted to meet at the harbor. Walking briskly and full of anticipation, she strode across the wooden bridge behind the youth hostel, heading down to the harbor area.

  Petesviken was a good distance from Visby, on the southwest coast of Gotland. Johan and Pia quickly left the city behind. Pia, who was driving, nodded toward the sign for Högklint as they passed the exit.

  "That's a place we could do a story on, apropos the overheated real estate marke
t. Sometimes I think all the hysteria of the eighties has come back. Have you heard about the luxury hotel they're going to build out there?"

  "Of course. We've done lots of reports about it. I guess they're just waiting for the municipal council's decision in the fall before they get started."

  "That's about right. They'll probably start building before the year's over. It's going to be a giant complex with hotel suites, condos, a gourmet restaurant, and a nightclub. Five star."

  "I wonder if there's really a demand for something like that here."

  "Of course there is. The mainland is swarming with people who have a romantic view of Gotland. People who vacationed here when they were younger and now want to come back with their families and experience the island in a more comfortable fashion. And there are plenty of people with money in Sweden."

  "It'll create jobs, if nothing else. Although I can imagine there must be some opposition, too. Isn't Högklint a nature preserve?"

  "They're not going to build at the edge of the cliffs—they wouldn't be allowed to do that—but it's still unbelievable that the building plans are probably going to be approved. Naturally the biggest protests are from the people who live in the area. They have fierce discussions even when someone just wants to paint their door a different color. Otherwise it's mostly nature lovers who are opposed— people who work to protect the flora and fauna. Lots of different kinds of birds breed on the hillside at Högklint in the springtime, and it also has one of the most beautiful views on the whole island. Plus I think a lot of people feel that this side of Visby has been exploited enough with Pippi Longstocking's Kneippbyn amusement park and everything."

  "Isn't the owner a foreigner?" asked Johan.

  "I think it's a joint venture, between the municipality and several foreign investors."

  "Let's look into it some more when we have time. It's definitely worth a longer story."

  Forty-five minutes later they reached Petesviken.

  The pasture had been cordoned off and was being guarded by several uniformed police officers standing at the gate. None of them would answer any of Johan's questions about a decapitated horse. Instead, they referred him to Knutas.

  Pia was already at work with her camera, which didn't surprise Johan. She never wasted any time. He had liked her from their very first meeting at the editorial office. She looked tough, with her straggly black hair cut short, the ring in her nose, and the heavy eyeliner highlighting her dark brown eyes. She had greeted him without any fuss and immediately offered some of her own ideas. That boded well for the rest of the summer. She had been born and bred in Visby, and she knew Gotland like the back of her hand. Through her large extended family she had relatives and friends scattered over many parts of the island. She had no less than six siblings, and all of them had stayed on Gotland and established their own families, so her network of contacts was enormous. In terms of quality, the shots that she took might not have been quite as top-notch as Johan was used to, but she took plenty of them, often from interesting angles. Over time she would undoubtedly be brilliant, as long as she kept her sense of commitment and strong drive. She was young, ambitious, and determined to get a permanent position with one of the big TV stations in Stockholm. She had been working less than a year, yet she'd already managed to get a long-term temporary job with Swedish TV, which was nothing to sneeze at. Right now she had disappeared around a bend in the road.

  Johan had a real urge to crawl under the police tape farther away, but he knew that if he got caught, he would have burned his bridges with the police. And he definitely couldn't afford to do that. He was aware that his bosses back in Stockholm were considering reinstating the local news service on Gotland on a full-time basis, and the results of his summer assignment would weigh heavily in the balance. Johan wanted nothing more than to stay on the island.

  He looked for Pia, but she seemed to have been swallowed up by the earth. Surprising, since the TV camera was so big and cumbersome— hardly something that you could carry around just anywhere. He started walking along the fence.

  It was a big pasture, and he couldn't see where it ended. The wooded area was in the way. He surveyed the strip of trees and suddenly caught sight of Pia. She was inside the cordoned-off area and was busy getting a panoramic shot of the pasture. At first he was angry—he was going to pay the consequences if it was shown on TV—but the next second he changed his mind. She was just doing her job, getting good shots in the best way she knew how. That was exactly how he wanted a cameraperson to work. The danger of worrying about offending the police was that you could start being too considerate. Then the focus shifted from looking out for the best interests of the viewers to staying on good terms with the authorities. That was not at all where he wanted to end up. He was aware that he had to look out for himself. The irritation that had flared up inside him gave way to gratitude. Pia was a damn good camerawoman.

  When she was finished, they stopped by the nearby farms. No one was willing to be interviewed. Johan suspected that they'd all been given instructions by the police. Just as they had decided to give up and were about to drive off, a boy about ten or eleven came walking along the road. Johan rolled down the window.

  "Hi! My name is Johan, and this is Pia. We work for the TV station, and we've been here filming the pasture where the horse was killed. Did you hear anything about what happened?"

  "Of course I did," said the boy. "I live right over there."

  He nodded at the road behind them.

  "Do you know the girls who found the horse?"

  "A little. But they don't live here. They're just visiting their grandmother and grandfather."

  "Do you know where their house is?"

  "Yes, it's right nearby. I can show you."

  The boy declined their offer to let him ride along in their car. He led the way down the road, and they drove behind at a snail's pace.

  They quickly reached the home of the girls' grandparents.

  A well-trimmed hedge surrounded the house, and outside sat the two girls on a big rock, dangling their legs.

  Johan introduced himself and Pia, who was right behind him.

  "We're not allowed to talk to reporters," said Agnes. "That's what Grandpa said."

  "Why are you sitting out here?" asked Johan, ignoring her comment.

  "No reason. We were thinking of picking some flowers for Mamma and Pappa. They'll be here tonight."

  "How lovely for you," said Pia sympathetically. "After such an awful thing happened. I can't understand how anyone could do something like that to a horse. To such an innocent animal. And he was so adorable, a real sweetheart from what I heard."

  "The world's sweetest horse, that's what he was. The world's most adorable pony..."

  Agnes's voice faded away.

  "What was his name?"

  "Pontus," said the girls in unison.

  "We're going to do our best to help out so that the police will catch the person who did this. I promise you," Pia went on. "Was it horrible when you found him?"

  "It was disgusting," said Agnes. "The whole head was gone."

  "I wish we'd never gone into that pasture," added Sofie.

  "Now wait a minute—just think about it. You were the ones who went in, and it was actually a very good thing that you did, because otherwise it might have taken much longer before Pontus...Was that his name?"

  The girls nodded.

  "Otherwise it might have taken much longer before Pontus was found, and for the police it's really important to investigate these sorts of matters as quickly as possible."

  Agnes looked at Pia in surprise.

  "I guess that's right. We didn't think about it like that," she said, looking relieved. Sofie also looked happier.

  Johan pondered for a few seconds the appropriateness of interviewing such young girls without first obtaining permission from their parents. He was always particularly cautious about interviewing children. This was a borderline case. He decided not to interfere. He woul
d let Pia carry on with the conversation.

  "Our job, mine and Johan's," said Pia in a soft voice, "is to make TV reports when something like this happens. We'd like to be able to give the viewers a story, but of course we would never force anyone to be on TV. Although it's best when we have eyewitnesses who can describe what happened, because that might prompt other people to come forward with tips for the police. We think that if people watching TV saw the two of you talking about how you found Pontus, they'd be more interested than if Johan just talks. They would care more, to be quite honest."

  The girls were listening attentively.

  "So we were wondering whether we could ask you a few questions about what happened this morning. I'll run the camera and Johan will ask the questions, and if you can't answer or you think it's too hard, we'll stop. You get to decide. Later we'll edit the interview, so it doesn't matter if there are mistakes. Okay?"

  Sofie used her elbow to poke Agnes in the side and then whispered in her ear. "We're not allowed."

  "No, but I don't care," said Agnes firmly as she jumped down from the rock. "It'll be fine."

  When Pia and Johan drove off, they had an interview on film with the girls describing what they had seen. They had also revealed that the horse's head wasn't merely cut off—it had disappeared without a trace.

  "It won't surprise me if we catch shit for this," Johan said to Pia as she drove.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The police are going to be mad. Not that I care, but I just thought I should warn you."

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Pia cast an indignant glance at Johan. "We're doing our job. That's all. There's no need to exaggerate. This is about a dead horse, damn it. Not a person."

  "True, but interviewing children is a sensitive issue."

  "If we started questioning them right after their mother died, I would understand your reasoning." Pia's voice sounded even angrier.

  "Don't misunderstand me," Johan objected. "I just think we need to be careful about interviewing minors. As journalists we have a huge responsibility."