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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 market. 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 would 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."

"It's not our fault if people want to talk. We haven't forced anyone. Besides, we found out some new information, thanks to talking to those girls. The part about the horse's head being missing."

She rolled down the window to toss out her wad of snuff. Then she deliberately turned up the music. The discussion was clearly over. Pia was intelligent and bold, but maybe she needed to be a bit more humble, since she was new at the game. Johan sensed that—for good or bad—his colleague was going to be a cameraperson to reckon with in the future.

Emma Winarve was sitting in the hammock in the yard of her house in Roma, leaning against the pillows propped behind her back. She was trying to find as comfortable a position as possible. In her extremely pregnant condition, that wasn't so easy. She was hot and sweaty all the time, even though she stayed in the shade. The high pressure of the past week had taken its toll. Right now she felt huge and shapeless, even though she weighed much less than she had with her other children. So far she hadn't put on more than twenty-five pounds, which seemed to fit in with everything else. This time the pregnancy was different. Previously the children had been eagerly awaited, and there was never any doubt that she would carry them to term. The baby that was now growing in her womb could just as easily have ended up as a bloody lump, scraped out while there was still time. Now, of course, she was glad that hadn't happened. There were still two weeks left before the birth, if everything went as planned.

She and the baby had just enjoyed a fruit salad, consisting of melon, kiwi, pineapple, and star fruit. Tropical fruit never tasted better than when she was pregnant.

She watched Sara and Filip, who were busy playing croquet on the lawn. They had just finished first and second grade and had already been forced to endure their parents' divorce.

Sometimes the feelings of guilt were oppressive. At the same time, Emma didn't think she could have done anything differently. She usually consoled herself with the fact that at least they weren't alone. Almost half the children in their classes had parents who were divorced.

When she'd met Johan Berg during the previous summer, Emma had fallen passionately in love. Emma—who had never thought she could be unfaithful. At first she blamed it on the shock and the despair she had felt when her best friend, Helena, was murdered. She was the first victim of a serial killer, and Johan was one of the reporters who had interviewed Emma, in her role as friend of the victim.

That was when she began to have serious doubts about her marriage. The feelings that she developed for Johan were something she had never experienced before. Several times she tried to break things off and went back to her husband, Olle, who forgave her in spite of everything.

During one of the occasional relapses to which she later succumbed, when she met Johan in secret, she got pregnant. Her first thought was to get rid of the fetus. When she told Olle, he was even prepared to forget about her repeated infidelities, but the condition he laid down for saving their marriage was that she have an abortion. She made an appointment for the procedure and told Johan once and for all that it was over.

She and her family celebrated a quiet Christmas together. The children were overjoyed that everything was back to normal, and Emma received a much-longed-for puppy from Olle as a Christmas present.

Then Johan suddenly showed up at their home in Roma and turned everything upside down. When Emma saw the two men in her life together, the whole situation appeared in a new light that was blindingly clear. All of a sudden she understood why it had been so difficult to end her relationship with Johan. He was obviously the one that she loved. Her marriage to Olle was over, and it was too late to do anything about it.

Two days later she phoned Johan and told him that she was keeping the baby.

Now here she sat, newly divorced with two children living with her every other week, and a third child on the way. The fact that she had decided to have the baby didn't mean that she and Johan would automatically become a family, as he had apparently imagined. There was nothing Johan wanted more than to move into the house immediately and become a stepfather for Sara and Filip, but Emma needed time. She felt far from ready to throw herself into a new family configuration. How she was going to manage to take care of the baby all alone was something that she would deal with later.

She ran her hand over the lemon yellow cotton of her dress. Her breasts felt big and heavy, already set for their coming task. Her legs were partially numb. Her circulation had gone from bad to worse; this was at least something that she remembered from her previous pregnancies. It felt as if her blood were motionless inside her body. She was pale, her fingers and toes were cold, and the fact that she had become so sluggish and ungainly didn't make things any better. Emma was used to working out at least three times a week. She was an inveterate smoker, but she had stopped as soon as she learned that she was pregnant, just as she had done the other two times. She didn't have the slightest craving, but she sensed that she would start smoking again as soon as she stopped breast-feeding.

Her smoking went hand in hand with the level of problems in her life. To put it simply: The more problems she had, the more she smoked. She had to have some sort of solace when life was so hard. How she was supposed to handle the divorce was impossible to predict; that was something she had been ruthlessly forced to acknowledge.

She'd been prepared for things to be difficult with Olle, but she'd never anticipated that everything would become so nasty, bitter, and miserable. All the exhausting fights and his victim's mind-set had almost put her over the edge during the past spring. It was a miracle that she had managed to get through it without smoking.

At least they'd managed to find a good solution to the question of where to live. Olle had gotten himself a big apartment in downtown Roma, within walking distance of their house. They'd agreed to take turns having the children every other week, at least in the beginning. Later they would see how things went. The children would decide. At least Olle was reasonable enough to see to it that the children weren't affected more than necessary.

Emma raised her eyes from the crossword puzzle that she was staring at, the letters melting together into an incomprehensible blur. Sara and Filip were completely absorbed in their croquet game. They hadn't had a single fight. That was an unexpected benefit of all that had happened: The children seemed calmer now, as if they had taken on more responsibility. There was no longer the same amount of space for them to mess around in when everything else was falling apart. Her guilty conscience again tapped her on the shoulder. The divorce was her fault. That's what the whole family thought, including her parents, although no one would come right out and say so.

She had explained things to the children as best she could, without trying to make excuses. But was that good enough? Would they ever understand?

She looked at their smooth young faces. Sara, with the darker hair and intense brown eyes, was lively but meticulous. She was talking loudly to her little brother while he tried to concentrate on hitting the ball through the hoop. Filip had blonder hair and a fairer complexion; he was a prankster and the family rascal.

She wondered if she would be able to love her unborn child as unconditionally as she loved them.