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like the back of her hand. Through her large extended family she had relatives and friends scattered over many parts of the island. She had no less than six siblings, and all of them had stayed on Gotland and established their own families, so her network of contacts was enormous. In terms of quality, the shots that she took might not have been quite as top-notch as Johan was used to, but she took plenty of them, often from interesting angles. Over time she would undoubtedly be brilliant, as long as she kept her sense of commitment and strong drive. She was young, ambitious, and determined to get a permanent position with one of the big TV stations in Stockholm. She had been working less than a year, yet she’d already managed to get a long-term temporary job with Swedish TV, which was nothing to sneeze at. Right now she had disappeared around a bend in the road.
    Johan had a real urge to crawl under the police tape farther away, but he knew that if he got caught, he would have burned his bridges with the police. And he definitely couldn’t afford to do that. He was aware that his bosses back in Stockholm were considering reinstating the local news service on Gotland on a full-time basis, and the results of his summer assignment would weigh heavily in the balance. Johan wanted nothing more than to stay on the island.
    He looked for Pia, but she seemed to have been swallowed up by the earth. Surprising, since the TV camera was so big and cumbersome—hardly something that you could carry around just anywhere. He started walking along the fence.
    It was a big pasture, and he couldn’t see where it ended. The wooded area was in the way. He surveyed the strip of trees and suddenly caught sight of Pia. She was inside the cordoned-off area and was busy getting a panoramic shot of the pasture. At first he was angry—he was going to pay the consequences if it was shown on TV—but the next second he changed his mind. She was just doing her job, getting good shots in the best way she knew how. That was exactly how he wanted a cameraperson to work. The danger of worrying about offending the police was that you could start being too considerate . Then the focus shifted from looking out for the best interests of the viewers to staying on good terms with the authorities. That was not at all where he wanted to end up. He was aware that he had to look out for himself. The irritation that had flared up inside him gave way to gratitude. Pia was a damn good camerawoman.
    When she was finished, they stopped by the nearby farms. No one was willing to be interviewed. Johan suspected that they’d all been given instructions by the police. Just as they had decided to give up and were about to drive off, a boy about ten or eleven came walking along the road. Johan rolled down the window.
    “Hi! My name is Johan, and this is Pia. We work for the TV station, and we’ve been here filming the pasture where the horse was killed. Did you hear anything about what happened?”
    “Of course I did,” said the boy. “I live right over there.”
    He nodded at the road behind them.
    “Do you know the girls who found the horse?”
    “A little. But they don’t live here. They’re just visiting their grandmother and grandfather.”
    “Do you know where their house is?”
    “Yes, it’s right nearby. I can show you.”
    The boy declined their offer to let him ride along in their car. He led the way down the road, and they drove behind at a snail’s pace.
    They quickly reached the home of the girls’ grandparents.
    A well-trimmed hedge surrounded the house, and outside sat the two girls on a big rock, dangling their legs.
    Johan introduced himself and Pia, who was right behind him.
    “We’re not allowed to talk to reporters,” said Agnes. “That’s what Grandpa said.”
    “Why are you sitting out here?” asked Johan, ignoring her comment.
    “No reason. We were thinking of picking some flowers for Mamma and Pappa. They’ll be here tonight.”
    “How lovely for you,” said Pia sympathetically. “After such an awful thing happened. I can’t understand how anyone could do something like that to a horse. To such an innocent animal. And he was so adorable, a real sweetheart from what I heard.”
    “The world’s sweetest horse, that’s what he was. The world’s most adorable pony …”
    Agnes’s voice faded away.
    “What was his name?”
    “Pontus,” said the girls in unison.
    “We’re going to do our best to help out so