The realization was painful.
TUESDAY, JUNE 19
Knutas quickly greeted his colleagues as he entered the conference room, arriving out of breath and fifteen minutes later than all the others. He had overslept this morning. Kihlgard had called to wake him.
He sank onto a chair and almost tipped over the coffee cup that stood in front of him on the table. “So what have you found out about Hagman?”
Kihlgard was sitting at one end of the table with a cup of coffee and a huge open-face cheese sandwich on top of a plate that was much too small for it. Knutas stared at the sandwich in disbelief, thinking that he must have sliced the loaf of bread lengthwise.
“Well, we’ve found out a few things, all right,” said Kihlgard after taking a big bite followed by a gulp of coffee, making a loud slurping noise. “He worked at a high school called the Save School up to and including the spring semester of 1983. Then he left voluntarily, according to the principal, who is actually the same one they had back then. That was a lucky break for us,” Kihlgard said with satisfaction, and then took another bite of his sandwich.
The others in the room waited impatiently for him to finish chewing and swallow.
“The fact that he was having an affair with a student quickly spread, and it became an enormously difficult situation for Hagman. People started to talk, of course. As mentioned, he was married and had two kids. He took a job at a different school and moved his whole family to Grotlingbo. That’s in southern Gotland,” Kihlgard explained, as if he had forgotten that everyone in the group except himself was a Gotland native.
He glanced at his notes. “The school where he taught there is called Oja School. It’s near Burgsvik. Hagman worked there until he took early retirement two years ago.”
“Does Hagman have a police record?” asked Knutas.
“No, not even a speeding ticket,” replied Kihlgard. “But it’s true that he did have a love affair with Helena Hillerstrom. The principal confirmed it. All the teachers knew about it. Hagman resigned before the school had a chance to take any action against him.”
Kihlgard leaned back, holding his sandwich in his hand and looking around expectantly.
“Let’s go out and have a talk with him right now,” said Knutas. “I’d like you to come with me, Karin, all right?”
“Sure.”
“Would you mind if I came, too?” asked Kihlgard.
“No, not at all,” said Knutas, surprised. “You’re welcome to come along.”
Johan and Peter had finished editing a rather lengthy report about the mood on the island after the latest murder. They had conducted several good interviews: a nervous mother, a restaurant owner who had already noticed a drop in business, and several young girls who were afraid to go out at night. Even so, their editor wasn’t happy. That Max Grenfors. Never completely satisfied if a story didn’t take the exact form that he himself would have given it. What a son of a bitch, thought Johan. At least he had agreed to let them stay a few more days, even though nothing new had happened. There were still plenty of things to get done. Johan had scheduled another interview for tomorrow with Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas to find out the latest developments in the investigation.
The fact that Johan could stay on the island meant that he would have more opportunities to see Emma. If she wanted to see him, that was. He was afraid that he had scared her off by moving too fast. At the same time, a feeling of guilt was gnawing at him. She was married, after all. In spite of that, he thought about her practically all the time, saying her name out loud. Emma. Emma Winarve. It felt so right on his lips. He had to see her again. At least one more time.
He decided to take a chance. Maybe she was home and her husband wasn’t. She picked up after only one ring, sounding out of breath.
“Hi, it’s me. Johan.”
A brief pause.
“Hi.”
“Are you alone?”
“No, the children are here. And my mother-in-law.”
Shit.
“Could we meet?”
“I don’t know. When?”
“Right now.”
She laughed. “You’re crazy.”
“Can your mother-in-law hear what we’re saying?”
“No, they’re outside.”
“I have to see you. Do you want to see me?”
“I want to, but I can’t. This is insane.”
“Who cares if it’s insane. It’s fate.”
“How do you know I feel the same way?”
“I don’t. But I’m hoping you do.”
“Oh God, I really don’t know.”
“Please. Can you get away?”
“Wait a second.”
He heard her put down the phone and walk away. It took about a minute. Maybe two. He held his breath. Then she was back and picked up the phone.
“Okay, I can do it.”
“Shall I pick you up?”
“No, no. I’ll drive into town. Where should we meet?”
“I’ll meet you at the parking lot by Stora Torget. In an hour?”
“Okay.”
I don’t know what I’m doing, thought Emma when she hung up the phone. I’m totally out of my mind. At the moment, though, she didn’t care. It had all worked out much too easily. She told her mother-in-law that one of her women friends was depressed and couldn’t stop crying and that she had to go see her right away. “That’s all right,” her mother-in-law had assured her. She would take care of the children and make them pancakes for dinner. How awful, that poor woman. Of course Emma had to go. Her mother-in-law offered to stay all evening and even overnight if necessary. Olle wouldn’t be home until the next day.
Emma rushed off to take a shower. They had been out in the sun all day, so she was hot and sweaty, she explained, at the same time that warning lights were going off in the back of her mind. She washed her hair, rubbed scented lotion into her skin, and applied a few drops of perfume as she felt her heart pounding with excited anticipation. Swiftly she put on her best bra and a blouse and skirt. She kissed the children and said goodbye. She drew in a deep breath and promised to call later. By the time she sank into the driver’s seat she was starting to sweat again.
As she drove out onto the road to Visby, she turned up the car stereo as loud as it would go and rolled down the window. She let the warm air of early summer sweep into the car and blow her feelings of guilt right out the window.
When she turned the car into the empty parking lot, she caught sight of him outside the state liquor store. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair was disheveled.
What happened next seemed so natural. They didn’t need to say a thing. They simply walked side by side along the street, and their steps took them automatically toward the hotel where Johan was staying, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Through the lobby, up the stairs, over to the door, and then they were inside. Alone for the first time in a private space. They still didn’t say a word. He took her in his arms the minute he closed the door. She noticed that he locked it.
Knutas drove fast along the road to Sudret. Karin Jacobsson and Martin Kihlgard were sitting in the back seat. They had decided to take county highway 142, which cut straight across the center of the island past Trakumla, Vall, and Hejde, then across the Lojsta heath, where the Gotland ponies live almost wild out on the moors. Jacobsson, who had worked as a guide in her younger days, told Kihlgard about the ponies, or the “forest rams”, as they were also called.
“Did you see the sign that said ‘Pony Park’? If you keep going in that direction for a few miles, you come to the part of Lojsta reserved for the ponies. They roam around out there in herds all year round and in all kinds of weather. There are about fifty mares and one stallion. The stallion stays for between one and three years, depending on how many mares he manages to impregnate. There are usually about thirty foals each year.”