When the head was uncovered, they climbed out of the ditch and stood on the road to look at it.
"There's no doubt about it. Or what do you think?" said Knutas.
"It's obvious that it's a pony, and it definitely looks like it belongs to the horse's body out at Petesviken," said Sohlman.
"It's extremely well preserved," murmured Jacobsson through the handkerchief she held pressed to her mouth. "And it doesn't smell much, does it?"
"No, it's been frozen, just like the horse's head at Ambjornsson's house."
MONDAY, JULY 26
On Sunday evening Knutas had tried numerous times to contact Mellgren, but without success. He didn't answer his cell phone, and when Knutas talked to Susanna Mellgren late that night, she still hadn't heard from her husband.
The whole thing was bewildering, to put it mildly. Mellgren had been subjected to the same terrifying experience as Gunnar Ambjornsson. Yet according to his wife he hadn't seemed particularly upset.
Knutas hadn't bothered with breakfast at home. He was eager to get to work, so instead he got a cup of coffee and bought a sandwich from the vending machine. The only one left was cheese on a rye roll with a few shriveled bits of red pepper. It had been there all weekend, of course.
The phone rang in his office just as he was trying to get the roll out of its tight packaging. As he reached for the receiver, half of his coffee spilled on the floor. He swore, hoping that none of it had splashed onto his pants.
It was Staffan Mellgren.
"I'm sorry that I haven't gotten in touch earlier, but I've been really busy and I forgot my cell phone at home," he apologized.
"Why on earth didn't you tell us about the horse's head?"
"I panicked. I didn't know what to do."
"Do you know anyone who might wish you harm?"
"I don't think so."
"Have you been mixed up in some sort of trouble, or have you made any enemies lately?"
"No."
Mellgren was now claiming that he had panicked. That didn't fit with his wife's version of the story. There was no doubt that the man was holding something back.
"So you have no idea why that horse's head ended up on your property?"
"That's right."
"Can you tell me the real reason why you didn't call the police when you found the horse's head?"
"Good Lord, you heard what I just said," roared Mellgren. "I was so shocked that I didn't know what to do. Then I thought about the fact that one of my students was murdered, and I wondered if there might be some connection."
"What sort of connection, do you think?"
"How the hell should I know?"
"Under no circumstances can this incident with the horse's head get out to the public. Have you told anyone about it?"
"Of course not."
"Then keep it to yourself, for God's sake. Otherwise you're going to have reporters behind every bush."
"Susanna and I have already talked about that, and the children don't know anything. The only ones who do are her parents, and they won't talk."
"Good. Now to another matter-and I want you to give me an honest answer, once and for all. Did you in fact have a relationship with Martina?"
Mellgren gave a loud sigh. "I've already told you. There was nothing going on between us."
"You've already lied to my face before, when you claimed that everything was just fine between you and your wife," said Knutas impatiently. "She's told us about your infidelities, you see. The fact that you're always going after new women. You seem to have, and pardon my bluntness, a mediocre marriage, to put it mildly. Why should I believe you now?"
Knutas never got an answer. Mellgren had already hung up the phone.
Knutas started off the meeting of the investigative team by telling everyone about the horse's head out at Mellgren's place.
"What is going on here?" growled Kihlgard agitatedly, making the bread crumbs fly. His mouth was full of Gotland rye bread, fresh out of the oven.
"Yes, things do seem to be getting worse and worse," said Knutas with a sigh. "Mellgren found the horse's head stuck on a pole outside his chicken coop on Saturday night. We didn't find out about it until yesterday afternoon when his wife called. He clearly didn't want to tell anyone about the incident."
"Why not?" asked Kihlgard.
"He told me that he panicked and didn't know what to do. At the same time, Susanna Mellgren claims that he seemed entirely unaffected by finding the head. They have completely opposite stories. Something definitely doesn't add up. But I think we should leave that part alone for the time being. The more important thing that I want to discuss is: What does it mean that the same bizarre thing has happened to Mellgren as to Gunnar Ambjornsson?"
"It must be a similar kind of threat, just like it was with Ambjornsson," Norrby stated dryly.
"Although Ambjornsson hasn't received any subsequent threats," interjected Wittberg.
"That's not so strange," said Jacobsson, rolling her eyes. "He's been out of the country ever since."
"He'll be home in a week," snapped Knutas. "So the safety of these two individuals could be at risk. We need to consider giving them some protection."
"Do we have resources for that?" Jacobsson raised her eyebrows.
"Not really."
"But should we actually regard Mellgren as under some sort of threat?" Wittberg objected. "Maybe he's mixed up in this whole thing himself. Why didn't he report the incident at once? And why wasn't he more upset? I, for one, have my suspicions."
"Absolutely," Jacobsson agreed. "Mellgren must have some skeletons in his closet. Pardon the pun."
"He's had a lot of adulterous affairs. Could it be a vengeful lover?" Kihlgard had a look of conspiratorial delight on his face.
"Someone who was also involved with Ambjornsson?" Jacobsson protested. "An amorous woman who in the heat of passion kills horses and decapitates them, and then puts the heads on poles at the homes of her former lovers? That doesn't sound terribly plausible, does it?" She gave her colleague a friendly poke in the side.
"Never underestimate the power of love," Kihlgard admonished her in a bombastic voice, shaking his finger like some sort of doomsday preacher.
"Let's stop joking around," Knutas interrupted them, sounding annoyed. "This isn't a game. We need to find out more about Mellgren. Who is he really? What sort of things does he do in his spare time? Is he politically active? What links can we find to Ambjornsson?"
"Yes, that's worth looking into. Maybe they've run into each other in connection with various types of construction. Archaeologists are often brought in on building projects," Kihlgard suggested.
"Here on Gotland that's true with nearly every building," said Jacobsson. "The island is literally overflowing with ancient relics."
"There's something else we should think about, just as Wittberg mentioned. Why did Mellgren seem so unaffected when he discovered the horse's head? At least according to his wife," said Knutas. "Yet he told me that he was panic-stricken, and that was why he didn't contact the police immediately."
"Extremely odd." Kihlgard tugged at a lock of his hair. "The guy is obviously lying."
"He must be a real cold-blooded type," Jacobsson added. "First his wife goes through the shock of seeing a horse's head stuck on a pole near their home. Then what does her husband do? He takes off and leaves her all alone, alarmed and frightened, and with four children. Not only that-he refuses to tell her where he's gone!"
"He doesn't give a shit about her. That much is clear," said Wittberg.
"We've actually already come to that conclusion," said Knutas. "But why was he in such a hurry?"
In his hand he carried an invisible mirror in which he saw his parents. Sometimes their faces disappeared, and he couldn't manage to conjure them up again, no matter how hard he tried. He had been interrupted.