"From what I've heard, there's much to indicate that we're dealing with the same perpetrator, but I'd like to see the victim and the crime scene before I draw any conclusions. The fact that he's naked and his clothes are missing also points in that direction. Presumably the perpetrator keeps the clothes to hold on to the feeling that he gets from killing. A sort of fetish. Just like the blood. But there's one other question that's important to focus on here."
They all gave their full attention to the forensic psychologist.
"I wonder why Staffan Mellgren didn't call the police himself about the horse's head. There must be some reason for this. Could it be that he knew or at least suspected who had put the head there? Maybe he thought that he could resolve the situation himself by talking to the person in question."
"And just who might that be?" Kihlgård tossed out the question without getting any answer.
Knutas broke the silence.
"Susanna Mellgren has been summoned for questioning. I'm going to meet with her at ten o'clock. I hope that then we'll be able to clear up a thing or two. Of course her alibi for the night of the murder has to be checked also—as well as for the time of Martina Flochten's death."
"This means that we have to take a fresh look at the incident of the horse's head at Gunnar Ambjörnsson's place," said Kihlgård. "His life could very well be in danger, too. Should we contact him?"
"At the very least he's going to need protection the minute he gets back home," said Knutas grimly. "We need to go out and meet him at the airport."
He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. When he finished the conversation he gave his colleagues a solemn look.
"Martina's cell phone was found under the porch at the Warfsholm hotel. She must have dropped it on the night of the murder. Her calls have been checked. The last one was a message that was received by her voice mail on the night of the murder at 11:35 p.m. Guess who called her."
Everyone waited tensely without saying a word.
"It was Staffan Mellgren."
The murder of Staffan Mellgren was the lead story on the television newscasts that morning. The police had sent out a press release about the homicide around midnight, and the night editor at Swedish TV's digital round-the-clock station SVT 24 instantly sent a remote van to catch the next ferry, which left at 3:00 a.m. A little less than three hours later, just before six in the morning, the van rolled onto the Visby dock. In situations like this, it was worth gold to have a news service operating twenty-four hours a day.
The SVT 24 editor had gotten Johan out of bed in the middle of the night. By the time he and Pia met the Stockholm team at the editorial office, Johan had already had the murder confirmed and had been promised an interview with Knutas outside police headquarters. One of the team members who had arrived by van was Robert Wiklander, with whom Johan had worked on Gotland before. Robert worked for the Aktuellt and Rapport broadcasts, and now they were going to collaborate. A cameraman that Johan vaguely knew had come along, too, as well as an editor who installed himself in the office. He would handle things from there during the morning, which they all realized was going to be anything but calm.
They divided up the work assignments. Pia drove up to the Mellgren farm to take pictures while Johan and Robert took turns reporting for the live newscast, using the cameraman who had come from Stockholm. Whoever was not reporting at the moment spent his time tracking down interview subjects. They got the county police commissioner, the president of the college, and the head of the tourist bureau to come to police headquarters to be interviewed. The entire archaeological community on Gotland was in a state of shock. The excavations at Fröjel were halted, and no one thought they would start up again that summer. The students in the course were forbidden to leave the island for the near future. The excavations at Eksta, where archaeologists were in the process of digging up a gravesite from the Bronze Age, were also stopped. Anyone who had even the slightest connection with archaeology on Gotland was affected by what had now become a double homicide.
The head of the tourist bureau was concerned that this second murder would frighten away the tourists. The media speculated that a serial killer was on the loose on the island—someone who would continue to kill until he was caught. Anders Knutas had called in extra assistance from the NCP in Stockholm. Thirty or so people were now working on the investigation.
By nine thirty all the morning broadcasts were done, and the editors in Stockholm phoned to praise the reports. In the next breath, they issued new demands. They wanted a piece for the noon show, for all the afternoon programs, and a longer story for the evening newscasts, on both Aktuellt and Rapport, and the segments should preferably be as different as possible.
Max Grenfors, now back from vacation, wanted to make the Regional News broadcast a priority, of course. That was always a dilemma. Each editor put his own program first, and with so many different newscasts and editors, there was a flood of phone calls. For a reporter, it was easy to feel torn. They agreed that Robert and the Stockholm cameraman would handle the national newscasts while Johan and Pia would concentrate on Regional News. As they gathered material and did interviews over the course of the day, they could always share information with each other. The editor from Stockholm would collate all the material as it came in.
In the afternoon Johan received an unexpected phone call. It was from his friend Niklas Appelqvist, who was studying archaeology at the college.
"Did you know that rumors have been circulating that Martina Flochten was Staffan Mellgren's lover?" Niklas asked.
"Is it true?" Johan retorted.
"So many different people are talking about it, there must be some truth to it."
"Do you know anyone who could confirm it?"
"Maybe. I'll check around. Mellgren was apparently a real Casanova. I heard that he slept with a lot of girls at the college."
"Is that right? But I can't put pure speculation in my report. I need two independent sources who can confirm this for me. Otherwise it's a no-go."
"I'll see what I can do. I'll get back to you."
Susanna Mellgren looked exhausted when she came into Knutas's office that afternoon. She sat down, clasped her hands demurely in her lap, and lowered her gaze, as if she were about to say a prayer.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Knutas began.
She nodded faintly.
"When did you last see your husband?"
"Sunday evening, when I decided to drive over to stay with my parents."
"Why did you do that?"
"I thought the whole business with the horse's head was horrible. I didn't want to put myself or my children in danger."
"Why did you think it would be dangerous to stay in your house?"
"It felt as if someone were threatening us. I've been reading about the whole thing, and I saw the report on TV, too—I mean, that story about the decapitated horse, and then..."
"Why would anyone want to threaten you?"
"I have no idea," she replied, shaking her head.
"And your husband?"
"I don't know why anyone would want to harm him, either," she said, looking Knutas in the eye. "He didn't have any enemies, as far as I know."
"How did he seem that evening? What was the mood like between the two of you?"
"As I've told you earlier, he seemed cold and indifferent. He said it wasn't anything to worry about, that whole incident with the horse's head."
"Did you ask him why it didn't bother him?"
"I tried, but he just got annoyed. He said that we shouldn't take it seriously, that we should just forget about it and go on as usual. I'm convinced that he wasn't telling me the truth. Finally I got mad because I was afraid for the children, if nothing else. But he brushed the whole thing off and claimed that it only had to do with him. So that's when he gave himself away: He really did know what it was all about."
"Do you think he knew who was threatening him?"
"I think he knew who put the horse's h
ead there, but he didn't seem to consider it a threat. At any rate, it ended with me packing up our things and taking the children over to stay with my parents. And just look what happened—now he's dead, and the last thing we did was fight. If I hadn't gone away, maybe he'd still be alive."
She burst into tears. Knutas got up and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. He got some paper napkins and a glass of water and waited for a while so that Susanna Mellgren would have a chance to calm down.
"What time did you and the children leave for your parents' house on Sunday?" he continued cautiously.
"It was after you came out to see us. Staffan came home around seven, and by then we were ready to go. We probably left around eight," she told him, sniffling loudly.
"What did you do when you got there?"
"We unpacked in the guesthouse that they have on their property. Then we watched a little TV and went to bed."
"What about the next day?"
"We went to the beach and spent the whole day there. Me, my mother, and the kids. The weather was so nice."
"And in the evening?"
"We had a barbecue and sat outside, drinking a little wine. The kids and my parents watched a movie after dinner. They didn't want to come with me to the pub. Smaklösa was playing. They're one of my favorite bands. I thought it would be a good distraction after everything that had happened."
"So you went alone?"
"Yes."
"Can anyone vouch for the fact that you were there?"
"I don't know. Maybe the bartender. I've seen him before."
"Do you know his name?"
Susanna Mellgren thought for a few seconds.
"His name is Stefan."
"And his last name?"
She shook her head.
"How long did you stay there?"
"I listened to the band, and they played for at least two hours. Everyone was in a great mood, and people started requesting songs. Then I sat outside for a while and had a glass of wine. It was such a hot evening, and I felt the need to be alone. I probably stayed for about three hours."
"When did you get back?"
"Hm...when was it? Maybe ten or eleven."
"And you went home alone?"
"Yes."
"This may seem like a strange question, but what size shoe do you wear?"
Susanna looked at Knutas in surprise.
"Size eight."
WEDNESDAY, JULY 28
When Knutas woke up the next morning, he was so anxious to see what the press had found out about the murder of Staffan Mellgren that he could hardly wait to get to the office. He said a silent prayer that the media hadn't gotten wind of the ritualistic elements this time, either. His cell phone had started ringing right after the story was reported on the evening broadcast of Regional News, when Johan Berg referred to several independent sources who had confirmed that the two murder victims had been having an affair. Out of pure self-preservation Knutas had turned off his cell after the third call. The police spokesman, Lars Norrby, was the only one who had to be available to the media. Knutas had had a long conversation with him last night, and they had agreed on what would be appropriate to reveal. Among other things, the police would not mention anything about a possible relationship between Martina Flochten and Staffan Mellgren. At 6:00 a.m. he listened to the financial news, which fortunately didn't mention anything about a ritual murder or a relationship between Martina and Staffan. Knutas sat down at his computer and looked up the online editions of the newspapers. When the front page of the evening papers appeared on his screen, he sighed.
At the top of both papers were two big photographs—one of Martina Flochten and one of Staffan Mellgren. On one of the papers a red heart had been drawn around the photos.
This can't be true, thought Knutas, as he clicked to move on. The big headlines worried him: killed for their love and police suspect jealousy drama. The articles that followed were full of endless speculations. Most of them were based on the Regional News report from the night before. It was disastrous for the investigation, and he silently wondered who had helped Johan Berg to track down this lead. Ignoring the fact that it was only six thirty in the morning, he punched in the reporter's phone number.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked tersely when he heard Johan's sleepy voice on the other end of the line.
"Who is this?" asked Johan defiantly.
"This is Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas, as if you didn't know. How could you broadcast sensitive information like that in your report last night without talking to me first? Don't you realize that you're sabotaging the whole investigation?"
"I can't very well be responsible for your investigation. I got the information confirmed, and it's of such great interest that of course we wanted to make it public. Two murders have occurred within a matter of a few weeks, and then it turns out that the victims were having a secret affair. People are terrified because the murderer is still on the loose. So of course the story was too important—it had to be told."
Johan held back his anger as he spoke.
"But don't you understand that it's going to have consequences for our work? How are we going to catch the perpetrator if confidential information comes out in the press every fifteen minutes? This isn't a game—we're talking about a double homicide, and in the worst-case scenario a serial killer who's on the loose!"
Knutas's voice was getting louder on the phone.
"Look, I'm just doing my job," said Johan calmly. "I can't sit on important information out of consideration for your investigative work. You take care of your business, I'll take care of mine. Unfortunately, I don't have time to talk to you any more about this right now."
To Knutas's great annoyance, Johan hung up.
He was shaking all over after the conversation, the phone still in his hand, when Lina came downstairs.
"Who are you talking to on the phone this early?" she asked, ruffling his hair.
"That damned journalist," said Knutas as he slammed down the receiver. He went to get his jacket, even though it was much too warm for it outside.
Lina came out into the hall as he was about to leave.
"Don't you want any breakfast?"
"I'll get some at work," he said, sounding annoyed. "Bye."
He left without giving her a hug. It was a lovely summer morning, but the only thing he noticed was the sun blazing down on his back. He realized that he was going to be sweaty again before he even got to the office, and he slowed his step. He now felt ashamed about his conversation with Johan. He should have behaved in a more professional manner; it was embarrassing. He didn't even recognize himself. Maybe it was being frustrated because they hadn't made any progress that had upset his composure. No, the fact was that he hadn't been himself for the past six months. Last winter's case had taken its toll, and he was having a hard time letting go of what had happened to him back then. His marriage was also suffering negative effects, even though things were basically good between him and Lina. He loved her, and she hadn't given him any reason to doubt her feelings. Knutas was dissatisfied with himself. It felt as if he'd taken a step back in his recovery, and that bothered him. He wasn't seeing his therapist during the summer, but he was thinking of calling her anyway. If she wasn't away on vacation, maybe he could go and see her.
That was at least one concrete step forward he had made. He was no longer afraid to ask for help.
When he arrived at police headquarters the corridors were already humming with activity. They had received additional reinforcements from Stockholm, and the group was clearly wide awake that morning.
Even Kihlgård was present. He was standing next to the coffee machine having a lively conversation with one of the female officers from Stockholm. He stopped talking when Knutas came walking past in the hallway.
"Good morning to you, Knutie."
Knutas returned the greeting. He had no desire whatsoever to engage in any social chitchat, and he was rescued by the appearance of Karin J
acobsson.
"Hi," he said to her. "I need to talk to you."
He took a firm grip on her arm. Jacobsson looked surprised but let herself be hustled along to Knutas's office.
"What's up?" she asked. "Has something happened?"
"No, nothing. Except that we've got a hell of a problem. Do you know about the information leaking out to the media? About the love affair between Martina Flochten and Staffan Mellgren?"
"It was really only a matter of time before it got out." She shrugged her shoulders.
"How can you take it so lightly?" Knutas had a hard time hiding his irritation.
"But my dear Anders." Karin gave him a sympathetic look. "What does it matter, really ? Both of them are dead, and we can't do anything about that. Maybe the solution is a simple matter, and Susanna Mellgren is the murderer. Her alibi for the night of the murder is pretty weak. She was gone for more than four hours, according to her parents, and the only one who can vouch for her being at the pub is that bartender, Stefan Eriksson. Who knows whether he's telling the truth? Maybe they're in it together, or maybe he just wants to protect her. And her shoe size matches the prints at the scene of the murder. We have her under surveillance. Maybe she'll make a mistake all of a sudden, and then the case will be solved."
"What about the horses? How do you explain them?"
"She may have done that to distract our attention, as we said earlier. I've found out a few more things about Susanna Mellgren, you see."
"Okay, let's hear it," said Knutas, who had calmed down.
"When she was younger she worked as a riding instructor. For five summers in a row she worked at the Dalhem Stables during their riding camps, and also with classes that met during the fall. It's been just over ten years since she stopped doing that. Their oldest son is ten, so that fits. Presumably she stopped when she got pregnant."
"What does that prove?" Knutas gave Jacobsson an inquisitive look.
"Nothing. Except that she's used to being around horses, and that's an advantage if you're going to kill one."
The Inner Circle (aka Unknown) Page 20
