"How did the perp get into the yard? Don't most people in Klinten keep their places locked up?" asked Wittberg.
"He picked the lock in the gate facing the street. It was easily done. Ambjornsson didn't even notice any damage to it when he opened the gate." Sohlman pushed his chair back from the table. "If there are no more questions, I'd like to get back there."
"Go ahead," said Knutas.
With a nod to his colleagues, Sohlman hurried out the door.
"The fact that the head belongs to a different horse and not to the one we found out in Petesviken is perplexing, to say the least. We haven't received any reports of a decapitated horse or one that's missing," Knutas went on. "As for Ambjornsson, he was born in 1942, he's not married, and he doesn't have any children. But he does have a big family, a hell of a lot of siblings and nieces and nephews scattered all over the island. His parents passed away a few years ago. He's not a controversial figure and has never been mixed up in any major political trouble, as far as I can recall, but, of course, that's something we need to look into. At the moment he's staying with his girlfriend in Stanga. The thing is that he was actually planning a trip abroad, which couldn't come at a better time, if we're supposed to interpret the horse's head as some sort of threat. The day after tomorrow, on Sunday, he's going to Morocco for three weeks."
"With his girlfriend?" asked Kihlgard.
"No, he's traveling alone. Apparently that's what he usually does."
"What does Gunnar Ambjornsson have in common with Martina Flochten? That's the first question that we need to answer," said Jacobsson. "First Martina was killed, and the murder clearly has ritualistic elements. Then, barely a week later, a horse's head is found stuck on a pole at Gunnar Ambjornsson's house. That seems extremely odd."
"It would be very strange if there was no connection between these two events," Wittberg agreed. "But the nastiest part about the whole thing is that the head doesn't belong to the horse in Petesviken. Someone is going around decapitating horses and deep-freezing the heads. Someone who might also be a ritual murderer." He nodded toward the window. "Who is he going to strike next?"
Silence settled over the room. The summer greenery outside the window didn't seem as idyllic as it had before.
"All right," said Knutas, as if to break the uncomfortable mood. "We have a statement from the teacher Aron Bjarke that Staffan Mellgren was romantically interested in Martina. The teacher claims that Mellgren is a real womanizer and that he's constantly getting involved with various young students, even though he's a married man. He even went so far as to describe Mellgren as a sex addict."
"It's just odd that no one else mentioned any infidelities," said Wittberg.
"Yes, especially since they seem to have been so frequent. Is there anyone else who might confirm this information?" asked Kihlgard.
"Not so far. Although you never know. Maybe the other teachers want to protect him. It's a sensitive situation right now, with the murder and all."
"What about the students in the course?"
"Several of them have said that they suspected Martina was secretly meeting someone, but none of them can say who it might be. We haven't talked to the rest of the students at the college. Everyone attending classes right now is a summer student, and they wouldn't know Mellgren."
"What does Mellgren say?"
"He flatly denies it, of course."
"And his wife?"
"The same thing. According to her, they have no marital problems."
Knutas gave his colleagues a solemn look. "Whatever you do, don't let anything get out about the incident at Ambjornsson's place," he said emphatically. "The day after tomorrow he's going abroad, which will hopefully give us an opportunity to work in peace and quiet. We also took great pains to be discreet when we were out there yesterday. We've got to keep that up. From now on, all questions regarding the investigation should be referred to either Lars or myself."
After the meeting Knutas went to his office and closed the door. He took out his pipe and began filling it. He needed to be alone to collect his thoughts. The calm that had reigned at the beginning of the summer had now been replaced with a chaos of sensational events, and at the moment he couldn't imagine how everything fit together. The mere fact that somewhere on Gotland there was another decapitated horse was distressing. Why hadn't anyone reported it?
He felt a strong need to light his pipe this time. He went to stand at the window, opened it wide, and struck a match, even though smoking was prohibited indoors. The only exception was in the interview rooms.
Knutas thought about Ambjornsson: a friendly and unobtrusive politician who lived a quiet life and kept to himself. When it came right down to it, what did he really know about the man? He'd been a politician in the area for thirty years. Knutas had no clue what his private life was like.
Was the threat work-related or personal? They needed to find out quickly what political business Ambjornsson had on his desk. Maybe that's where the answer would be found.
Knutas puffed on his pipe and slowly let the smoke seep out the corner of his mouth. From somewhere an idea gradually emerged, and all of a sudden it was crystal clear. There was a connection between Martina Flochten and Gunnar Ambjornsson. It was the prestigious hotel project being planned right outside Visby. Martina's father, Patrick Flochten, was one of the architects and financiers of the biggest and most exclusive hotel complex ever to be built on Gotland. The very hotel complex that the building commission had approved just before summer started. Gunnar Ambjornsson was chairman of the commission. Of course, the city councillors would have to reach a decision, and then the matter would be taken up by the county board, but the fact that the building commission had given the green light was the first step in implementing the plans.
Knutas searched his memory. There had been some protests against the project, although he'd gotten the impression that most Gotland residents took a positive view of it. He thought there was a political consensus in favor of the hotel. Which groups might be opposed? Undoubtedly neighbors who lived at Hogklint, conservationists, and ethnogeographers-but surely none of them would be prepared to commit murder over it. Knutas didn't know if there was anything of archaeological interest at the site. All the groups that had any involvement in the project would have to be checked. Maybe there were political opponents that he didn't know about. He was going to see to it that the matter was investigated at once.
The evening couldn't have been more perfect. They had prepared themselves well. Each of them knew what to do. Everything had been meticulously conceived and planned, down to the smallest detail.
They were going to spend the night out there, at the remote site, near to the gods and under the protection of nature. Every tree trunk, boulder, and bush was blessed with a spirit that would keep them company during the ceremony. They had put up the tent and prepared the food, and within each of them a feeling of excitement was now growing, in anticipation of what was to come.
The crickets were chirping loudly in the thickets that lined the narrow path leading up to the ridge. It was a difficult hike. The slope was steep and not easily accessible. The group of people merged into one by virtue of what they were wearing: ankle-length cloaks with black sashes around their waists. The men's heads were covered with cowls and the women's with kerchiefs. They all walked with their heads bowed, perhaps to avoid stumbling over the tree roots on the ground, or perhaps to pray.