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Knutas, Erik Sohlman, and Karin Jacobsson all rode in the same car up to Lärbro.

The farm was located a mile or two outside town. It consisted of a farmhouse, a smaller wooden building that appeared to be some kind of workshop, and a barn. About two dozen hens were strutting around, pecking at the yellowed summer grass.

Susanna Mellgren opened the door at the first ring of the doorbell. A big woman with short black hair, she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Knutas thought her beautiful with those dark eyes and that olive complexion.
She can't be a hundred percent Swedish,
he had time to think before she held out her hand and greeted him.

"Could you show us where you found the pole with the horse's head?" he asked.

"Sure, it's this way."

She led the way over to the barn. The hens clucked and flocked around her.

"It was right there, next to the door to the chicken coop," she said, pointing at the wall.

"You haven't seen any strangers around here lately?"

"No, and neither has Staffan. I asked the children, a bit cautiously, of course, because they actually have no idea about what happened, but they don't seem to have seen anything unusual, either. Whoever put the horse's head there must have done it sometime between eight and nine o'clock last night. Just before eight I called the kids inside— they'd been out playing—and at that time I didn't see anyone. Then Staffan came home right after nine o'clock."

"Good," said Knutas, offering her encouragement as he took notes. "The narrower the time frame, the easier it will be for us. There's one thing that I want to say right from the start. Don't tell anyone about this. It's important that not a word gets out. Especially for the sake of the children."

"Of course," said Susanna Mellgren hesitantly. "Although my mother..."

"That doesn't matter, as long as she keeps it to herself. So where is the horse's head?"

"It's kind of a long walk," she said.

"We'd better drive. We're going to take the head with us," said Sohlman.

"Really?" She looked doubtful, and a new anxiety appeared in her eyes.

"Of course. It has to be properly examined. When we compare samples from the head with the decapitated horse's body, it may help us to solve the case, if things go our way," Sohlman explained pedantically.

"Before we drive over there, I'd just like to have a look inside your house. Would that be all right?" asked Knutas.

"Yes, of course."

Susanna Mellgren showed them in. The house had an old-fashioned feel to it with oiled wood floors, unpainted furniture, and a mostly white decor, which created a bright and cozy impression. The wide window ledges were filled with earthenware pots and wooden and ceramic sculptures of various sizes. Clothes, balls, and toys were strewn everywhere. In the kitchen sat an elderly woman reading from a book of fairy tales to a child sitting on her lap. The woman glanced up and greeted them with a friendly nod when the three detectives appeared in the doorway.

"This is my mother," Susanna explained. "She's here to help me with the kids today."

They took two cars. Jacobsson drove with Susanna Mellgren in the first one, while Sohlman and Knutas followed in the second.

After half a mile on the paved road that took them even farther away from Lärbro, they turned onto a bumpy tractor path. Susanna stopped the car next to a field and a cluster of trees. There was a ditch next to the path. She climbed down in the ditch and started removing grass and branches.

Knutas and Sohlman immediately joined her to help. Jacobsson chose to stand on the side of the road to watch. She had a hard time coping with the sight of dead bodies, whether animals or people. She had foolishly believed that she would eventually get over it, but instead it had gotten even more difficult over the years. The more bodies she saw, the more unbearable it became.

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 Ambjörnsson's house."

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 Ambjörnsson. 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 Kihlgård 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 Kihlgård.

"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 Ambjörnsson?"

"It must be a similar kind of threat, just like it was with Ambjörnsson," Norrby stated dryly.

"Although Ambjörnsson 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?" Kihlgård had a look of conspiratorial delight on his face.

"Someone who was also involved with Ambjörnsson?" 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," Kihlgård 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 Ambjörnsson?"

"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," Kihlgård 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." Kihlgård 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.

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 Lärbro, 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 Ambjörnsson'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."