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fence when they were alone.
    “Where’s Pontus?”
    Agnes surveyed the pasture. There were only three horses. Their favorite pony, a black-and-white dappled gelding, was missing.
    “Maybe he’s over in the trees.”
    Sofie pointed to the narrow grove of trees that stretched like a dark green ribbon down the middle of the pasture.
    The girls shouted and then waited a few minutes, but the pony didn’t appear.
    “Forget about it,” said Sofie. “Let’s go swimming.”
    “How strange that he doesn’t come.” Agnes frowned, looking worried. He was always so affectionate. Her eyes swept over the hillside, past the water trough, the salt licks, and the trees farther down the slope.
    “Oh well, never mind about him. He’s probably lying down somewhere asleep.” Sofie poked her sister in the side. “You’re the one who wanted to go swimming. Come on.” She got on her bike.
    “There’s something wrong. We should at least be able to see where Pontus is.”
    “They’ve probably taken him inside. Maybe Veronica is planning to go out riding.”
    “But what if he’s lying down somewhere and he’s sick and can’t get up! He could have broken his leg or something. We have to go and see.”
    “Don’t be silly. We’ll say hi to him on our way back.”
    Even though the ponies were gentle and small in size, Sofie had respect for them and wasn’t eager to go into the pasture. The fjording was big and powerful and didn’t seem trustworthy; he had kicked her once. The sheep were also a little scary with those big horns of theirs.
    Agnes paid no attention to her sister’s protests. She opened the gate and went into the pasture.
    “Well, I, at least, have no intention of forgetting about Pontus,” she snapped angrily.
    Sofie groaned loudly, to show her disapproval. Reluctantly she hopped off her bike and followed.
    “You’ll have to go first,” she muttered.
    Agnes clapped her hands and yelled to shoo off the animals, and they bounded off in all directions. Sofie kept close to her big sister and looked around uneasily. The tall grass tickled and scratched at their legs. They didn’t say a word to each other. The pony was nowhere in sight.
    When they reached the grove of trees without having found anything unusual, Agnes climbed up on the fence on the other side of the pasture to get a better view.
    “Look,” she cried, pointing.
    Farther off, at the edge of the trees, she could see Pontus lying on his side. He seemed to be asleep. Overhead a flock of crows cawed and screeched.
    “There he is. He’s sleeping like a log!”
    Eagerly she ran toward the horse.
    “Then it’s all right. There’s nothing wrong. We don’t need to go any farther, do we?” Sofie objected.
    Their view was partially blocked. The horse didn’t move a muscle.
    The only sound was the noisy screeching of the crows. Agnes, leading the way, had time to think that it was odd to see so many crows. When she got closer she stopped so abruptly that her sister ran right into her.
    Pontus was lying there on the grass, and his coat gleamed in the sun. The sight would have reassured them if it weren’t for one thing. The place where his head was supposed to be was now empty. His neck had been severed. All they saw was a big bloody hole and the flies that were swarming in a black cloud around the fleshy opening.
    Behind her Agnes heard a thud as her sister fell headlong to the ground.

 
    Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas discovered to his dismay that patches of sweat had already started to appear under his armpits by the time he parked his run-down Mercedes at police headquarters. It was one of those rare days in the year when it became painfully obvious that the old car had no air-conditioning. Now his wife, Lina, would once again have grist for the mill when she lobbied for purchasing a new car.
    Under normal circumstances it would never occur to him to drive to work. His house was located just outside the South Gate, only half a mile from his office. Knutas had worked in the Visby police department for twenty-five years, and he could easily count the days when he had not walked to work. Sometimes he would stop at the Solberga Pool and go inside to swim a mile or more. This summer was no exception. In August he would celebrate his fiftieth birthday, and over the past few years he had noticed the difference the minute he stopped exercising. He’d been more or less thin all his life, and that wasn’t something he wanted to