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Johan had warned Pia that he would be arriving late for work. Nothing special was going on, and he longed to take a walk with Emma and their newborn baby. They went out through the gate and continued along the residential street. It was a quiet neighborhood with little traffic. That didn't stop Johan from looking several times in both directions each time they had to cross the street before he ventured across with the baby buggy. Emma, who'd been through all this before, was significantly calmer.

"Does it feel strange to be out with me and a baby buggy?" he asked. "I mean, you and Olle have walked around here with the kids all these years, taking them to the playground, dropping them off at day care or picking them up, and spending time with the other parents in these houses."

"No, actually it doesn't feel strange." Emma looked surprised, as if it hadn't even occurred to her that this area belonged to her and Olle.

They walked in silence for a while. Johan was overwhelmed by the unfamiliar situation and felt no need to talk.

Last night he had driven Emma and their daughter home from the hospital, and it had been unbelievably hard to leave them. Emma didn't want him to stay overnight. It was still too early, she told him when he objected. He couldn't help feeling hurt. He hadn't yet spent a night in the house in Roma. That was one of the boundaries he longed to cross, one of the obstacles that Emma had set up and that stood in the way of their having a chance to strengthen their relationship.

They continued through the neighborhood. It was good for the baby to be out and get some fresh air. She looked so little as she lay under the cotton blanket. Her head was covered with a turquoise cotton cap even though it was seventy-seven degrees outside. Her dark hair stuck out from under the cap. When Johan poked his head inside the buggy and placed his cheek against her body, he noticed how rapid and light as a feather her breathing was.

He could see that Emma was tired. Her face was very beautiful— those high cheekbones, dark eyes, and distinct eyebrows that had enchanted him so much. Now her complexion was paler and her cheeks slightly rounder than usual. He liked that; it gave her a softer appearance.

He had loved her before they had the baby, and now, after the birth, his love had grown to a painful level.

They'd been through periods when he felt that there was a balance between them, that they loved each other equally, that Emma, too, wanted them to be together. Now he found himself at a disadvantage. Emma didn't want him in the house. Not yet, she said. The children had to get used to things; it was all too much for them at the moment, with the new sister and everything else. They would see each other when they could, which meant when Sara and Filip were staying with their father. Nothing had turned out as he'd hoped.

Johan had been looking forward to the baby's arrival, to taking care of Emma and the child and simply enjoying things. How wrong he had been. The fact that Emma had decided to have the baby didn't mean that she was ready to regard them as an established couple. She had explained to him that she just couldn't throw herself into a new relationship. So much had happened during the past year. Her whole life had been turned upside down. It would take time to digest and rearrange everything, to cut off all ties with her old life.

Now she was walking along beside him and looking very content, in spite of everything. He stopped pushing the buggy to stroke her cheek.

"I love you," he said, feeling how true that was.

Emma looked away without saying a word. In the past she would have told him the same thing, or at least something similar.

They continued on toward the sports field as they chatted about all sorts of things, mostly about the baby and what name they were going to give her. Johan wanted her to be called Natalie, while Emma preferred Elin.

"But she looks like a Natalie," said Johan. "With her dark hair and brown eyes. Slightly exotic. She's going to be a real beauty—with us as her parents," he added and grinned. "Just picture a cute girl with long dark hair named Natalie."

Emma couldn't help smiling. "Maybe right now, yes. At the moment she has dark hair and eyes, but she could just as well end up blond and blue-eyed. Maybe then the name wouldn't suit her as well."

"Oh, what does that matter? It's a beautiful name."

"Sure, but I'm allergic to the idea of giving Swedish children names that try to be as international as possible. Names like Nicole, Angelique, or Yvette. We live in Sweden, not France."

"Don't you think you're being a little narrow-minded? Did you know that one in five Swedes has foreign heritage? Sweden is no fair-skinned paradise anymore, with rye bread dancing the Hambo. It's multicultural. Even though I admit that the development seems to be happening slower over here on Gotland," he teased, giving her a little poke in the side.

"I still think that Elin is nicer," insisted Emma.

Johan stopped again and took her face between the palms of his hands.

"If you feel so strongly about it, then Elin it is—as long as you're happy."

"But I want you to like it, too."

"I do, I assure you I do. I'm so happy to have a daughter named Elin with you, believe me."

Kalle Östlund's parents had bought the summer house near Björkhaga, just north of Klintehamn, in the fifties. Their family was one of the first to move into the small summer-house area. Most of the residents were islanders—some who had moved to the mainland but wanted to keep their summer house, and others who lived in Visby and felt it was the right location for a country place, about twenty miles away. It was a peaceful area for most of the year. During the summer it got livelier when tourists headed out there to walk along the Vivesholm promontory and admire the countless birds that frequented the shoreline. It was also a popular place for watching sunsets, when the whole sky would be colored crimson, with a view of the open sea in both directions. Kalle thought it was splendid, too, even though he had seen the drama thousands of times from here. For him there was no lovelier place on earth. He enjoyed fishing, and on this morning he was going out to pull up his net, which he hoped would be filled with flounder.

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 Östlund 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 Östlund 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.