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were out at the crime scene, and officers had started interviewing neighbors and anyone else who might have seen something.
    Lina called. He could tell from her voice that she was stressed. She was going to be late. They were extremely busy at the maternity ward. Knutas told her that he was busy, too.
    Knutas’s Danish wife, Lina, was a midwife at Visby Hospital, and the Gotland women were giving birth like never before. A new baby boom seemed to have swept the island. Lina had worked late every single day for several weeks now, and it never seemed to let up. He and the twins had to manage as best they could. Not that it was a problem. For the most part the children did a great job all on their own. So far Petra and Nils had spent their summer vacation swimming and playing soccer. They had no objections to receiving money to buy pizza and hamburgers instead of eating their father’s poorly cooked meals. The last straw came when he once again offered them what he proudly presented as “Pappa’s special macaroni and cheese.” It was a tasteless, mushy dish and, on top of everything else, it was burned around the edges.
    For Knutas’s part, the spring had been relatively uneventful. He hadn’t felt well for a while after a high-profile murder case in the winter, when a girl had disappeared and was later found dead. The case had gotten under his skin, and he had become involved in a highly personal manner. In hindsight it was impossible to say how that might have affected his judgment, but he was afraid that it had failed him. If so, he had contributed to the girl’s death. The guilt he felt was hard to bear.
    For a while he thought he was sinking into a depression of the very worst kind. Insomnia was the clearest sign—and the fact that he often felt dejected and listless wasn’t like him. Suddenly he had also acquired a temper that made Lina’s loud outbursts seem like mouse squeaks in comparison. He lost his temper at the slightest things, and when his family members reacted to his unprovoked anger, he felt offended and wronged. Like a damn martyr. It ended with Lina dragging him to see a psychologist. For the first time in his life Knutas had accepted professional help for his personal problems. His expectations were low, but he’d been surprised. The therapist was there to help him, and she gave him her undivided attention, listening without offering advice or criticism. She took in what he said, then asked a few questions here and there, which led him onto new avenues of thought. Through the therapy he had gained new insights about himself and his relationship to those around him, and the feelings of guilt gradually decreased. It was actually only recently that he’d started feeling better.
    His thoughts were interrupted when the phone rang again. The switchboard wanted to know if he was willing to meet with the team from Swedish TV. With a sigh Knutas agreed. He had an ambivalent relationship with Johan Berg. The reporter’s persistence could infuriate Knutas , although he had to admit that Berg was good at his job. Berg often managed to dig up information on his own, plus he had a confounded talent for getting people, including the superintendent, to reveal more than they’d originally intended to say.
    Johan seemed stressed when he appeared in the hallway. He probably was in a rush to do his broadcast. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, and his cotton shirt was rumpled and stained. It occurred to Knutas that the reporter had probably already been out to Petesviken and had just come back from there. If only he hadn’t found anyone who had agreed to an interview. Knutas didn’t want to say anything; he had no right to interfere with the work of journalists. Their job was to find out as much as possible, while his was to make sure that information didn’t leak out. He prepared himself for some difficult questions, noticing how his jaw tightened before the interview even began.
    Johan had brought with him that new camerawoman, who looked like a punk with her black hair sticking out in all directions. She also had a ring in her nose.
    Pia refused to make do with standing in the hallway. She directed them out to a balcony that had been built when police headquarters was remodeled. She wanted Knutas to talk about that horrible crime against the idyllic backdrop of the summer greenery, the ring wall, and the sea. Typical TV people—the only thing they thought about was their camera