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Twenty minutes after the call came in to police headquarters, Knutas and Jacobsson climbed out of their car at Högklint. Without uttering a word, they made their way through the crowd of agitated tourists, who had been given a sightseeing tour far beyond the usual fare. Police officers were cordoning off the area. More tourist buses had arrived, only to be stopped in the parking lot by officers who ordered them to turn around and drive off. No explanation was given. The astonished guides and their drivers did as they were told without getting any answers to their questions. Knutas heard in passing how some people were murmuring about suicide; it was not an unlikely theory. Högklint was a place that was regularly used by people wanting to kill themselves.

As they reached the plateau, Sohlman, Wittberg, and Kihlgård came up to join them. From a distance they could see the body as it swung freely in the air with the glittering sea and the cornflower-blue sky in the background. Knutas slowly shook his head as he recognized every single sign from the previous victims.

Gunnar Ambjörnsson had returned to Gotland.

The murder of the Visby Social Democratic politician was the lead story all over Sweden on that Thursday. At the press conference the police held in the afternoon, reporters from the Norwegian, Finnish, and Danish press were also present. Given the large number of witnesses this time, it was impossible even to try to keep secret the macabre circumstances surrounding the murder. The air was buzzing with speculations about sects, ritual killers, and occultism, and the police were bombarded with questions about the way in which the previous murders had been committed. They had to admit that there were certain similarities, but they declined to be specific.

Knutas felt drained after the press conference, which was the longest one he had ever attended—and it was going to get worse.

During the afternoon, word had leaked out that Gunnar Ambjörnsson had received a horse's head stuck on a pole. Then the news that Staffan Mellgren had been subjected to the same thing before he was killed spread like a wave through the media services in Sweden. Journalists from all the national media organizations caught the first available plane to Gotland.

After the press conference Knutas and the other members of the investigative team became unavailable—except for the much put-upon Lars Norrby, that is. In his position as police spokesperson, he had to take them on all by himself. The police realized that the intensive media attention was going to make it even harder to catch the killer.

The investigative team, along with the NCP, began the huge task of interviewing demonstrators who were opposed to the construction project, groups interested in the Æsir religion with ties to Gotland, Ambjörnsson's political colleagues, and anyone else who in any conceivable way might have something to do with the case.

Knutas sensed that the perpetrator was somewhere close by, partly because the places where the victims and horses' heads had been found testified to a good knowledge of the local area. He didn't think that someone from the mainland would have chosen the sites that had been used.

The police had completely given up any thought that the murderer might be a woman. Dragging Gunnar Ambjörnsson's body up the hill at Högklint and then managing to hoist it up into a tree required a physical strength that far exceeded a normal woman's ability. If their assumption that the perpetrator was a Gotlander was right, it meant that he would have had to leave the island for Stockholm late Saturday night or early Sunday morning in order to meet Ambjörnsson when he arrived on his connecting flight from Paris. Somehow they must have met in Stockholm, maybe even out at the airport. There were no indications that the meeting had been planned earlier, since Ambjörnsson arrived from Paris at 12:45 p.m., and the plane he had booked to Visby was supposed to leave an hour later. He would barely have had time to get his luggage, go through customs, and head over to the domestic terminal to check in.

Someone had gone to Stockholm and most likely met Ambjörnsson when he disembarked from the plane. Would he have gone voluntarily with a stranger when he knew that he had been threatened? Hardly. So it had to be someone that he knew and trusted. This person had persuaded him to leave the airport instead of flying home. Why would he do that?

Later Ambjörnsson had returned to Gotland, either dead or alive. They didn't yet know whether he was killed on the mainland and then transported to the island, or whether he had lost his life on Gotland. From what he could tell, Erik Sohlman thought that Ambjörnsson had been dead for at least several days. The ME was on his way by plane, so it wouldn't be long before they knew more.

The police had contacted Ambjörnsson's relatives in Stockholm, but none of them had spoken to him in a long time. His girlfriend in Stånga was beside herself with grief, and she had no idea where he had gone after he got off the plane at Arlanda airport. He hadn't been in touch with her since he returned to Sweden.

After the ME had examined the body at the scene, it would be taken to the forensic medicine lab in Solna for autopsy. Knutas already had some idea what the autopsy report would contain. All indications were that Ambjörnsson had met the same fate as the previous victims. Knutas had now received confirmation from many different angles that the theory about the threefold death was correct. No doubt everyone would be discussing that very topic on the morning talk shows the next day.

Even so, he almost choked on his coffee when heard
Dagens Eko
on the radio at 4:45 p.m. Both the symbolism of the
nidstång
and the threefold death were mentioned. Knutas was even more surprised when he heard Susanna Mellgren being interviewed. There seemed to be no limit to what was reported. It remained to be seen how all the media attention would affect the murderer. Maybe he would crawl into the nearest hole and bide his time until the storm blew over.

Earlier in the day the police had received a call from an Estonian by the name of Igors Bleidelis who worked aboard a freighter that frequently called at Visby. He'd heard talk of the ritual murders, and he said that he'd noticed something mysterious at Högklint almost six months ago. He'd seen a fire and people with blazing torches moving around on top of the cliff in a ritual dance. He thought they were conducting some type of ceremony. He remembered the date: March 20. That's all he could tell them. He had thought it was odd. That's why he had called, because there might be some connection with the murder of the politician who was found at the very same place.

Jacobsson came into Knutas's office. He asked her if she knew whether there was anything special about March 20. She leafed through her calendar.

"Nothing really special, except that it's the vernal equinox."

Knutas leaned back in his chair. "Would that have any significance? A form of ritual that takes place on the vernal equinox? Who celebrates that day?"

"I have no idea, but it shouldn't be so hard to find out. Couldn't you ask your expert on the Æsir religion whether that particular day has some special meaning for people who worship the Æsir?"

Five minutes later he had his answer from Malte Moberg in Stockholm. The vernal equinox turned out to be one of the most important days in the year for Æsir worshippers.

"All the puzzle pieces are falling into place," said Knutas. "This has to do with some religious fanatics who believe in the Æsir gods and who have gone too far. But I just can't figure out what their motive could be for murdering those individuals."

"This Estonian may have seen the very sect that the killer belongs to, a sect that has managed to remain so secret that no one even knows it exists. It sounds like something occult, with the fire and the dancing people. We already have a connection between Martina Flochten and Gunnar Ambjörnsson through the hotel project at Högklint. The fact that his body was found there just confirms that the connection has significance."

"So then we have Staffan Mellgren. There has to be something else besides the fact that he was having an affair with Martina."

"Could he have been a member of this Æsir sect?"

"I think it's likely, and that's exactly where we're going to find the killer."

When Johan woke up, he didn't know where he was at first. Then he felt a tiny body next to his and realized that he was home with Emma and Elin. His little daughter was sleeping right next to him, breathing calmly. Emma was asleep, too. Each of them lay on her side, facing him, and he was struck by how alike they looked. The work he'd done the past few days reporting on the murder of Gunnar Ambjörnsson had been intense. It had taken its toll on him. He was annoyed that he hadn't managed to find out the part about the decapitated horse heads, but all the other journalists were in the same boat. The police had really succeeded in keeping that information to themselves. It was actually quite impressive.

Fortunately more Swedish TV reporters had come over to Gotland to help cover the story. Johan had asked to have the weekend off to work on his report on the thefts of ancient artifacts, even though it was regarded as a sidetrack. Grenfors hadn't been unreasonable. It might turn out to have something to do with the murders.

His meeting with the fence had been arranged the day before Ambjörnsson was found, and Johan didn't want to miss the opportunity to meet him in person.

He put on some coffee, took a shower, and then went to get the morning newspaper before he woke Emma with a kiss.

"Good morning. I can change Elin," he offered.

"Thanks," she mumbled, turning over and crawling farther under the covers.

On his way to the bathroom he kissed his daughter's soft cheeks, which were still warm with sleep, and blew on the back of her neck. Johan thought that the moments he spent at the changing table were so cozy. He would talk to Elin and cuddle her as he allowed her bottom to air out for a moment.

When he had finished changing her diaper, he picked the tiny baby up and carried her close to his chest, humming softly in her ear.

Before he'd had a child, he never would have imagined how nice it could be. Most of what he heard from the parents of small children was how trying and difficult everything was. Late hours and dirty diapers, crying and colic. Of course, he knew it was different if you had to take care of a baby full-time, but Emma actually said the same thing— that Elin was an unusually happy baby who was easy to care for.

They ate breakfast and read the paper in peace and quiet. Nothing new had come out about the murder of Ambjörnsson. According to the police spokesperson, they were working on a broad front, conducting a thorough investigation, but so far there was no suspect in the murder. On the other hand, the police admitted that they were working on the theory that the same perpetrator was behind all three murders, although they still refused to confirm that a horse's head was found at the homes of two of the victims shortly before their deaths. Instead the spokesperson stated that the investigation had reached a sensitive stage.

A sensitive stage,
thought Johan.
I wonder what that means
.

After breakfast he put Elin to bed; she had fallen asleep again after her second feeding. She had a crib next to their bed, and she usually slept soundly, without any fuss. Johan went over to Emma, who had on only her bathrobe, and pulled her close. He looked into her warm eyes. There was something vulnerable about them that he found fiercely attractive. That's how it had been from the very first time he saw her.

Now he held her in his arms, and she pressed herself against him. Without her doing anything else, he knew what she wanted. Her response was passionate when he kissed her. Johan felt instantly dizzy and wildly excited. They tumbled onto the bed, kissing more intensely than he ever remembered doing before. Maybe the force of their kisses was part of his feeling of desire.

She reached for him, fumbling her hands over his body, pressing against him as if he were saving her life. The intensity surprised him, and he lost all sense of space and time. All of a sudden he heard himself moaning loudly, and he tore off her bathrobe. Her body was soft and warm with sleep. She was plumper than usual, and her breasts were heavy with milk. He burrowed into her, digging his fingers into her flesh and tasting her breasts with his lips. As if it were the first time, he found his way inside of her, and he nearly lost consciousness when they both came at once.

He had thought that she would feel less like herself than she did. In fact, it wasn't her body that was so different. It was something else entirely.

Knutas had never before encountered such rushing about in the corridors on a Saturday. The investigation had expanded, and the work was taking up everyone's time.

This was the most miserable summer he'd experienced in years. He'd hardly had a chance to enjoy it at all. He'd gone swimming in the sea only a couple of times, and he could count on one hand those occasions when he'd had a barbecue outdoors with his family, even though it had been the most beautiful summer in a long time.

Now it seemed as if the investigative work was finally making headway. There was definitely a new energy in the air.

When Knutas came back from lunch, someone had placed the Destination Gotland passenger lists on his desk, as he'd requested. Officers had already checked the lists on Friday without finding Ambjörnsson's name or the name of anyone connected to him, but Knutas wanted to go through them personally, just to make sure. He had the names of the passengers from all the departures starting with Sunday, August 1, which was the day when Ambjörnsson was expected to return from his travels abroad.

Knutas got a cup of coffee from the machine and sat down at his desk to read.

He went over the lists of names of everyone who had traveled from Nynäshamn to Visby on the same day that Ambjörnsson was supposed to come home. Knutas didn't discover any name that might give him a lead.

Of course, Ambjörnsson could have traveled under another identity, but why would he do that? Had he been forced to do so? Had someone threatened him? One reason he might not have come back to the island alive was that it would have exposed the perpetrator to risk, both by arousing attention and because someone might have caught sight of Ambjörnsson and recognized him. No, that wasn't what had happened. Knutas sighed and put the papers aside.

The body had been transported to the forensic medicine lab in Solna. The preliminary autopsy report should arrive on Monday.

Knutas decided to take a walk in order to clear his head. It was a beautiful afternoon. A new high-pressure ridge had moved in from the east, promising a warm week for the medieval festival. The events had already started in town. From Strandgärdet he could hear the announcer's voice and applause from the tournament that was held in classic chivalric style. A juggler group was performing at the East Gate, and at Hästgatan Knutas was practically run over by a group of people moving through the lanes dressed in medieval garb.

He crossed Stora Torget and decided to take a stroll down to the sea. On the way he passed by Skogränd, where Aron Bjarke lived. As he neared the teacher's house, Knutas slowed down. He had a sudden impulse to visit Bjarke. He rang the bell several times, but no one came to the door. Bjarke was apparently not at home. As he stood there on the porch, Knutas's eye was caught by one of the objects on the windowsill. Among the pots and old jars stood a wooden figure that was only a hand's breadth tall. He went over to the window for a closer look and was struck by how risqué it was. It was a male figure with a disproportionately large, erect penis. Knutas was sure that he'd seen it before, and he frantically searched his memory. He had the feeling that it might be important. Something fluttered past in the back of his mind, but it vanished just as quickly.

He rang the bell one last time, then waited a moment, but the house looked dark and silent inside. Again his gaze fell on the figure in the window. Somewhere he had seen that figure before.