The police had contacted Ambjörnsson's relatives in Stockholm, but none of them had spoken to him in a long time. His girlfriend in Stånga was beside herself with grief, and she had no idea where he had gone after he got off the plane at Arlanda airport. He hadn't been in touch with her since he returned to Sweden.
After the ME had examined the body at the scene, it would be taken to the forensic medicine lab in Solna for autopsy. Knutas already had some idea what the autopsy report would contain. All indications were that Ambjörnsson had met the same fate as the previous victims. Knutas had now received confirmation from many different angles that the theory about the threefold death was correct. No doubt everyone would be discussing that very topic on the morning talk shows the next day.
Even so, he almost choked on his coffee when heard Dagens Eko on the radio at 4:45 p.m. Both the symbolism of the nidstång and the threefold death were mentioned. Knutas was even more surprised when he heard Susanna Mellgren being interviewed. There seemed to be no limit to what was reported. It remained to be seen how all the media attention would affect the murderer. Maybe he would crawl into the nearest hole and bide his time until the storm blew over.
Earlier in the day the police had received a call from an Estonian by the name of Igors Bleidelis who worked aboard a freighter that frequently called at Visby. He'd heard talk of the ritual murders, and he said that he'd noticed something mysterious at Högklint almost six months ago. He'd seen a fire and people with blazing torches moving around on top of the cliff in a ritual dance. He thought they were conducting some type of ceremony. He remembered the date: March 20. That's all he could tell them. He had thought it was odd. That's why he had called, because there might be some connection with the murder of the politician who was found at the very same place.
Jacobsson came into Knutas's office. He asked her if she knew whether there was anything special about March 20. She leafed through her calendar.
"Nothing really special, except that it's the vernal equinox."
Knutas leaned back in his chair. "Would that have any significance? A form of ritual that takes place on the vernal equinox? Who celebrates that day?"
"I have no idea, but it shouldn't be so hard to find out. Couldn't you ask your expert on the Æsir religion whether that particular day has some special meaning for people who worship the Æsir?"
Five minutes later he had his answer from Malte Moberg in Stockholm. The vernal equinox turned out to be one of the most important days in the year for Æsir worshippers.
"All the puzzle pieces are falling into place," said Knutas. "This has to do with some religious fanatics who believe in the Æsir gods and who have gone too far. But I just can't figure out what their motive could be for murdering those individuals."
"This Estonian may have seen the very sect that the killer belongs to, a sect that has managed to remain so secret that no one even knows it exists. It sounds like something occult, with the fire and the dancing people. We already have a connection between Martina Flochten and Gunnar Ambjörnsson through the hotel project at Högklint. The fact that his body was found there just confirms that the connection has significance."
"So then we have Staffan Mellgren. There has to be something else besides the fact that he was having an affair with Martina."
"Could he have been a member of this Æsir sect?"
"I think it's likely, and that's exactly where we're going to find the killer."
SATURDAY, AUGUST 7
When Johan woke up, he didn't know where he was at first. Then he felt a tiny body next to his and realized that he was home with Emma and Elin. His little daughter was sleeping right next to him, breathing calmly. Emma was asleep, too. Each of them lay on her side, facing him, and he was struck by how alike they looked. The work he'd done the past few days reporting on the murder of Gunnar Ambjörnsson had been intense. It had taken its toll on him. He was annoyed that he hadn't managed to find out the part about the decapitated horse heads, but all the other journalists were in the same boat. The police had really succeeded in keeping that information to themselves. It was actually quite impressive.
Fortunately more Swedish TV reporters had come over to Gotland to help cover the story. Johan had asked to have the weekend off to work on his report on the thefts of ancient artifacts, even though it was regarded as a sidetrack. Grenfors hadn't been unreasonable. It might turn out to have something to do with the murders.
His meeting with the fence had been arranged the day before Ambjörnsson was found, and Johan didn't want to miss the opportunity to meet him in person.
He put on some coffee, took a shower, and then went to get the morning newspaper before he woke Emma with a kiss.
"Good morning. I can change Elin," he offered.
"Thanks," she mumbled, turning over and crawling farther under the covers.
On his way to the bathroom he kissed his daughter's soft cheeks, which were still warm with sleep, and blew on the back of her neck. Johan thought that the moments he spent at the changing table were so cozy. He would talk to Elin and cuddle her as he allowed her bottom to air out for a moment.
When he had finished changing her diaper, he picked the tiny baby up and carried her close to his chest, humming softly in her ear.
Before he'd had a child, he never would have imagined how nice it could be. Most of what he heard from the parents of small children was how trying and difficult everything was. Late hours and dirty diapers, crying and colic. Of course, he knew it was different if you had to take care of a baby full-time, but Emma actually said the same thing— that Elin was an unusually happy baby who was easy to care for.
They ate breakfast and read the paper in peace and quiet. Nothing new had come out about the murder of Ambjörnsson. According to the police spokesperson, they were working on a broad front, conducting a thorough investigation, but so far there was no suspect in the murder. On the other hand, the police admitted that they were working on the theory that the same perpetrator was behind all three murders, although they still refused to confirm that a horse's head was found at the homes of two of the victims shortly before their deaths. Instead the spokesperson stated that the investigation had reached a sensitive stage.
A sensitive stage, thought Johan. I wonder what that means.
After breakfast he put Elin to bed; she had fallen asleep again after her second feeding. She had a crib next to their bed, and she usually slept soundly, without any fuss. Johan went over to Emma, who had on only her bathrobe, and pulled her close. He looked into her warm eyes. There was something vulnerable about them that he found fiercely attractive. That's how it had been from the very first time he saw her.
Now he held her in his arms, and she pressed herself against him. Without her doing anything else, he knew what she wanted. Her response was passionate when he kissed her. Johan felt instantly dizzy and wildly excited. They tumbled onto the bed, kissing more intensely than he ever remembered doing before. Maybe the force of their kisses was part of his feeling of desire.
She reached for him, fumbling her hands over his body, pressing against him as if he were saving her life. The intensity surprised him, and he lost all sense of space and time. All of a sudden he heard himself moaning loudly, and he tore off her bathrobe. Her body was soft and warm with sleep. She was plumper than usual, and her breasts were heavy with milk. He burrowed into her, digging his fingers into her flesh and tasting her breasts with his lips. As if it were the first time, he found his way inside of her, and he nearly lost consciousness when they both came at once.
He had thought that she would feel less like herself than she did. In fact, it wasn't her body that was so different. It was something else entirely.
Knutas had never before encountered such rushing about in the corridors on a Saturday. The investigation had expanded, and the work was taking up everyone's time.
This was the most miserable summer he'd experienced in years. He'd hardly had a chance to enjoy it at all. He'd gone swimming in th
e sea only a couple of times, and he could count on one hand those occasions when he'd had a barbecue outdoors with his family, even though it had been the most beautiful summer in a long time.
Now it seemed as if the investigative work was finally making headway. There was definitely a new energy in the air.
When Knutas came back from lunch, someone had placed the Destination Gotland passenger lists on his desk, as he'd requested. Officers had already checked the lists on Friday without finding Ambjörnsson's name or the name of anyone connected to him, but Knutas wanted to go through them personally, just to make sure. He had the names of the passengers from all the departures starting with Sunday, August 1, which was the day when Ambjörnsson was expected to return from his travels abroad.
Knutas got a cup of coffee from the machine and sat down at his desk to read.
He went over the lists of names of everyone who had traveled from Nynäshamn to Visby on the same day that Ambjörnsson was supposed to come home. Knutas didn't discover any name that might give him a lead.
Of course, Ambjörnsson could have traveled under another identity, but why would he do that? Had he been forced to do so? Had someone threatened him? One reason he might not have come back to the island alive was that it would have exposed the perpetrator to risk, both by arousing attention and because someone might have caught sight of Ambjörnsson and recognized him. No, that wasn't what had happened. Knutas sighed and put the papers aside.
The body had been transported to the forensic medicine lab in Solna. The preliminary autopsy report should arrive on Monday.
Knutas decided to take a walk in order to clear his head. It was a beautiful afternoon. A new high-pressure ridge had moved in from the east, promising a warm week for the medieval festival. The events had already started in town. From Strandgärdet he could hear the announcer's voice and applause from the tournament that was held in classic chivalric style. A juggler group was performing at the East Gate, and at Hästgatan Knutas was practically run over by a group of people moving through the lanes dressed in medieval garb.
He crossed Stora Torget and decided to take a stroll down to the sea. On the way he passed by Skogränd, where Aron Bjarke lived. As he neared the teacher's house, Knutas slowed down. He had a sudden impulse to visit Bjarke. He rang the bell several times, but no one came to the door. Bjarke was apparently not at home. As he stood there on the porch, Knutas's eye was caught by one of the objects on the windowsill. Among the pots and old jars stood a wooden figure that was only a hand's breadth tall. He went over to the window for a closer look and was struck by how risqué it was. It was a male figure with a disproportionately large, erect penis. Knutas was sure that he'd seen it before, and he frantically searched his memory. He had the feeling that it might be important. Something fluttered past in the back of his mind, but it vanished just as quickly.
He rang the bell one last time, then waited a moment, but the house looked dark and silent inside. Again his gaze fell on the figure in the window. Somewhere he had seen that figure before.
Johan had agreed to meet the unknown seller at four in the afternoon. He felt tense all day, and he talked to Pia several times on the phone to make sure that they had everything under control. He had explained to the seller that he wasn't going to bring any money to their first meeting. It was a precautionary measure. First he wanted to see some samples of the sort of Gotland artifacts that were being offered for sale.
The camera was in the editorial office. Pia was going to get it and then bring it out to Johan in Roma so that he could practice using it. He had hardly ever filmed anything before, and he needed all the help he could get to make sure everything functioned properly. The agreement was that if Johan was satisfied with the goods, he would pay cash on Monday.
He counted on being checked out, so he had given a phony name and address. Fortunately he had a wealthy friend, who happened to be a nobleman, in Skåne. This was not the first time that Johan had used his friend's identity for his job. Having his name in the Peerage Book and belonging to one of the richest families in Sweden had its advantages. Now it was just a matter of Johan playing his role well when he met with the fence.
Knutas wanted to read through the passenger lists one more time before leaving the office for the day. It was possible that, in spite of everything, he had missed Ambjörnsson's name. So far he had just looked for the first syllable of his last name, but now he read through the whole list, running his index finger carefully over the names so as not to miss anything.
Suddenly he caught sight of a name he recognized. It was Aron Bjarke. The archaeology teacher had traveled from Nynäshamn to Visby on Monday, August 2. That meant that Bjarke had been in Stockholm at the same time that Ambjörnsson was expected home from Morocco.
With his pulse racing, Knutas looked through the names of passengers from Visby to Nynäshamn. He had the lists from Sunday, August 1, but he couldn't find Bjarke's name. He phoned his contact at Destination Gotland, who had sent over the information, and asked for the lists from Saturday, July 31. That was the same day that he'd had coffee with Bjarke in his garden, which meant that he couldn't have left any earlier.
The lists were going to show up within half an hour.
Knutas leaned back in his chair to wait as thoughts whirled through his mind. Aron Bjarke was an archaeologist and a teacher at the college. That gave him a connection to both Martina and Staffan. The question still remained: What was his link to Ambjörnsson? The e-mail from Destination Gotland appeared after only a few minutes, and he immediately found the name he was looking for. Bjarke had left the island by car on Saturday afternoon, July 31. Knutas raised his eyes from his computer and looked out the window. Once again he had a vague feeling that he was missing something. That annoyed him.
He wondered what Aron Bjarke could have in common with Gunnar Ambjörnsson. With Staffan Mellgren there was a natural connection. Both taught archaeology, and each had been Martina Flochten's teacher.
The instant he had that thought, he realized what he had overlooked: the figure in Aron Bjarke's kitchen window. He now realized what it represented: Frey, the god of fertility in the Æsir pantheon. Hence the penis. Knutas had noticed a similar idol at Mellgren's house. He picked up the phone and ordered that the figure be brought in to headquarters at once.
He didn't have time to do it himself. He was extremely anxious to get hold of Aron Bjarke.
Johan left in good time for his meeting with the seller. He had practiced using the camera all afternoon, and it was now attached to a belt around his waist. One problem was that he risked being recognized. He was pretending to be a nobleman from Skåne, but the seller might have seen him on TV. Occasionally Johan's face appeared on the screen when he did live reports or stand-ups.
He decided to disguise himself behind a big pair of sunglasses and a cap to hide his dark curly hair. In the mirror he looked like a whole different person.
Traffic was heavy on the road to Visby. Lots of people were headed for the city to take part in or to watch some of the countless events that had been organized for the first day of Medieval Week. He had borrowed Emma's car and reached the indoor ice-skating rink twenty minutes before the appointed time. He felt like a regular gangster, one half of a criminal transaction. The mere thought made him feel guilty.
Johan managed to work up a good case of nerves as he waited. He gave a start when a red pickup drove up in front of him soon afterward. He discreetly slipped his hand inside his jacket to turn on the camera. The man driving the truck was also wearing dark glasses. He had gray stubble on his face and was slightly overweight. About fifty years old.
Without saying a word, he reached over and opened the passenger-side door of his vehicle. With some hesitation Johan got into the pickup.
They greeted each other briefly.
"If we're careful, we can take a look at the artifacts here, but it'll have to be quick," said the man, speaking with a marked Gotland accent. He cast a glance out the truck window
s and then looked in the rearview mirror. Maybe he was new at this game.
The seller lifted up a toolbox that was wedged between the seats. He opened the box and took out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside were a number of objects: a chisel, a few axe blades, several silver coins, spear points, and a circular clasp.
Johan assumed an expression that he hoped would give him the look of an expert and slowly picked up each and every artifact.
Niklas had given him some tips about the types of remarks he could make. The seller was watching him attentively.
"As I said on the phone, these are just a few samples. I have many more, but I don't know how much you're interested in."
"Now that I see what you have, and that the goods are genuine, I could be interested in a large number of items," said Johan.
"How much are we talking about?"
"I'd rather not go into that right now. One thing at a time. What do you want for these?"
"All of them?"
"Yes."
"A hundred thousand kronor."
"That's too much. I'll give you fifty."
Niklas had warned him that he would undoubtedly be quoted too high a price, if for no other reason than to check him out.
"Ninety."
"I can go as high as seventy-five thousand. Just to show you my goodwill on the first deal. But next time I'd appreciate it if you'd ask a reasonable price right from the start."
"When can I get the money?"
"On Monday."
"In cash?"
"That's what we agreed, wasn't it?"
Aron Bjarke didn't answer his home phone or his cell.
Knutas switched on his computer and looked up the personal data on Bjarke. He was born in 1961 at Visby Hospital. He went to Säve High School in Visby and then studied archaeology at the University of Stockholm. For a long time he lived in Hägerstan, a suburb south of the city. Knutas confirmed that Bjarke had never married or registered as living with anyone. Nor did he have any children. A few years ago he had moved back to Gotland, and he now lived on Skogränd.
Anders Knutas 03 - The Inner Circle aka Unknown Page 24
