In the early evening, as he stood there painting with even strokes the rough surface of the facade and the air breathed peace and tranquility, the man had appeared from around the corner of the house.
Not that it came as any surprise. The visitor was expected. The meeting could have ended in disaster, but he had managed to restrain his anger. They had talked, and he was indignant that the intruder had succeeded in his intention of upsetting him.
When the man left, he felt shaken, and it had taken a good amount of time to recover his sense of equilibrium. That made him even stronger in his conviction, and in his mind he was able to anticipate enjoying the sweetness of retaliation.
He sat down on the mound that he'd created only a few weeks earlier-yet another holy place that offered him inner peace.
The earth hid its secrets; truth pounded beneath the surface, wanting to get out. It would soon be time. The labyrinth in which he had wandered all his life was about to come unraveled. The angles and corners, the detours and dead ends, the obscure recesses, everything was crawling out into the light, becoming clearer and simpler and filling him with hope for a much better life.
He happened to think of a poem that he'd read in school and had saved ever since. It was by the great nineteenth-century Swedish author Carl Jonas Love Almqvist. You are not alone. If among a thousand stars only one looks at you, believe in the star's meaning, believe in the gleam in its eye…
Someone was looking at him. Not just one, but many.
Just as Knutas was considering calling it a day and heading for home, someone knocked on the door. It was Agneta Larsvik. She was normally so composed, but right now there was something agitated in her expression, and she moved in an abrupt manner as she sank onto the visitor's chair in Knutas's office.
"I've just come back from the Mellgren place," she explained. "I was in Stockholm over the weekend and didn't get back until around three this afternoon. At any rate, I drove out to their farm in Larbro, even though no one was home. I couldn't get hold of Staffan Mellgren or his wife, so I took a chance and just drove out there." She leaned forward. "This incident with the horse's head on the pole is a serious matter. Very serious. I think that Mellgren needs immediate protection."
"Why?"
"I interpret this as meaning that the perpetrator feels quite euphoric that he managed to pull off the first murder. It may be his way of announcing his arrival this time. He's sending a warning. At the same time, he's very self-confident, so confident he's going to get away with the crime that it doesn't matter if the individual receives a warning. On the contrary, that makes him all the more elated. I'm prepared to go so far as to say that the horse's head may very well represent a threat of homicide."
"But Martina didn't receive a horse's head before she was murdered."
"No, she didn't. For two reasons. Partly because he's gotten tougher. Partly because Martina lived with a lot of other people. It would have been more difficult to send her a personal warning."
"In that case, your analysis would mean that Ambjornsson's life is also threatened."
"Of course. Most likely the only reason that nothing has happened to him yet is because he's out of the country."
"It's lucky that nothing about the horses' heads has leaked to the press. At least we're not going to offer the perpetrator that sort of satisfaction. And no one outside this building knows anything about the horse's head found on Mellgren's property."
"Good. Keep it that way. It's important that the news doesn't get out. That would just make him feel even more exhilarated."
"So you seriously think that this man is going to murder more people?"
"I'm afraid that he will. The question is: How long will it take before he does? There's a real risk that another murder is going to be committed soon. Now that he's had a taste of the experience, he's going to want to do it again."
When the workday was over, Mellgren drove home. His wife had left a message on his cell phone, saying that she was taking the children over to her parents' house in Ljugarn. She didn't want to stay at the farm after the incident with the horse's head.
He stopped off at the college to pick up some papers from his office. The green park of Almedalen, which was down by the water, was filled with sunbathers, dogs, baby buggies, and teenagers listening to music. Crowds of youths were on their way to After Beach, near Kallbadhuset, where they had brought in sand from beaches all over Gotland to create a fine-grained sand beach in the middle of town where the shore was otherwise rocky. After Beach was very popular. After listening to a band and drinking a beer, they could move on to the next pub only a stone's throw away. Mellgren almost felt like going over there himself.
Inside the college he found the place deserted and the reception area locked. He picked up the papers and was on his way back to the car when a group of teenagers walked past. They were talking and laughing, and he thought that one of the girls, a cute little blonde, gave him an especially big smile. He stopped to watch them as they went into Kallbadhuset. At the same moment he heard the live band inside start playing. That was enough to make him decide. He hurried back to his office, grabbed a towel and a bar of soap from his closet, and went down to the locker room to take a quick shower. Upstairs again, he splashed on a little aftershave and changed into clean clothes. This was not the first time that he had chosen not to go straight home.
Back out on the street he was in high spirits as he strolled over to Kallbadhuset. It was true that he was over forty, but he looked young for his age. He was tall, slim, and fit. His hair was just as abundant and thick as when he was twenty. Staffan Mellgren was looking forward to the evening.
It was with a growing feeling of uneasiness in his chest that Knutas had listened to the forensic psychologist's opinion that both Gunnar Ambjornsson and Staffan Mellgren were in danger. Ambjornsson was expected back on Gotland in a week. As long as he stayed in Morocco he was probably safe. Mellgren, on the other hand, needed immediate protection. Knutas had made numerous calls to the cell phones of the investigative team, but without getting any response.
According to Susanna Mellgren, who was staying with her parents in Ljugarn, her husband was working in Frojel, as usual. He was then going to drive home. No one answered their home phone, even though the workday should have ended long ago.
"Could he be the murderer?" Jacobsson's voice sounded doubtful as they got into the car to drive out to the excavation site.
"I have a hard time believing that, but we've been surprised before," said Knutas tensely as he zigzagged between cars on the road. In July there was a lot of traffic on the coastal road between Klintehamn and Visby.
Martin Kihlgard, who was sitting in the backseat, leaned forward to offer his two colleagues a bag of onion chips. The car reeked of them. Knutas made a point of declining the offer, then rolled down the window as Jacobsson cheerfully accepted.
"I have a hard time imagining Mellgren as the murderer," muttered Kihlgard as he chewed. "It would be rather stupid to take the life of one of his own students, especially if he was having an affair with her. On top of that, it seems very unlikely that he would use his own pole to stick a horse's head on. And where the hell did he get the first horse's head from, since it wasn't from the same horse? Are there still no reports about any missing horses?"
"Not a single one," replied Knutas curtly. "And no one is saying that Mellgren is the murderer."
"I'd rather bet my money on the wife," Kihlgard went on, unperturbed. "She had both the opportunity and the motive. The guy is notoriously unfaithful, and he could very well have had an affair with Martina Flochten. We know that she was meeting someone in secret, and maybe that proved to be the last drop. Good Lord, the girl was only twenty-one, after all. Afterward, Susanna Mellgren tries staging the whole business with the horse's head in order to warn her husband, to threaten him. If she wanted to kill him, surely she would have done it at once. This is much more sophisticated. She wants him to realize that it's serious this time. If he doesn't stop his adulterous affairs, then he's going to meet the same fate."