B0031RSBSM EBOK

As he reached for the receiver, half of his coffee spilled on the floor. He swore, hoping that none of it had splashed onto his pants.
    It was Staffan Mellgren.
    “I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten in touch earlier, but I’ve been really busy and I forgot my cell phone at home,” he apologized.
    “Why on earth didn’t you tell us about the horse’s head?”
    “I panicked. I didn’t know what to do.”
    “Do you know anyone who might wish you harm?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Have you been mixed up in some sort of trouble, or have you made any enemies lately?”
    “No.”
    Mellgren was now claiming that he had panicked. That didn’t fit with his wife’s version of the story. There was no doubt that the man was holding something back.
    “So you have no idea why that horse’s head ended up on your property?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Can you tell me the real reason why you didn’t call the police when you found the horse’s head?”
    “Good Lord, you heard what I just said,” roared Mellgren. “I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to do. Then I thought about the fact that one of my students was murdered, and I wondered if there might be some connection.”
    “What sort of connection, do you think?”
    “How the hell should I know?”
    “Under no circumstances can this incident with the horse’s head get out to the public. Have you told anyone about it?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Then keep it to yourself, for God’s sake. Otherwise you’re going to have reporters behind every bush.”
    “Susanna and I have already talked about that, and the children don’t know anything. The only ones who do are her parents, and they won’t talk.”
    “Good. Now to another matter—and I want you to give me an honest answer, once and for all. Did you in fact have a relationship with Martina?”
    Mellgren gave a loud sigh. “I’ve already told you. There was nothing going on between us.”
    “You’ve already lied to my face before, when you claimed that everything was just fine between you and your wife,” said Knutas impatiently. “She’s told us about your infidelities, you see. The fact that you’re always going after new women. You seem to have, and pardon my bluntness, a mediocre marriage, to put it mildly. Why should I believe you now?”
    Knutas never got an answer. Mellgren had already hung up the phone.

 
    Knutas started off the meeting of the investigative team by telling everyone about the horse’s head out at Mellgren’s place.
    “What is going on here?” growled Kihlgård agitatedly, making the bread crumbs fly. His mouth was full of Gotland rye bread, fresh out of the oven.
    “Yes, things do seem to be getting worse and worse,” said Knutas with a sigh. “Mellgren found the horse’s head stuck on a pole outside his chicken coop on Saturday night. We didn’t find out about it until yesterday afternoon when his wife called. He clearly didn’t want to tell anyone about the incident.”
    “Why not?” asked Kihlgård.
    “He told me that he panicked and didn’t know what to do. At the same time, Susanna Mellgren claims that he seemed entirely unaffected by finding the head. They have completely opposite stories. Something definitely doesn’t add up. But I think we should leave that part alone for the time being. The more important thing that I want to discuss is: What does it mean that the same bizarre thing has happened to Mellgren as to Gunnar Ambjörnsson?”
    “It must be a similar kind of threat, just like it was with Ambjörnsson,” Norrby stated dryly.
    “Although Ambjörnsson hasn’t received any subsequent threats,” interjected Wittberg.
    “That’s not so strange,” said Jacobsson, rolling her eyes. “He’s been out of the country ever since.”
    “He’ll be home in a week,” snapped Knutas. “So the safety of these two individuals could be at risk. We need to consider giving them some protection.”
    “Do we have resources for that?” Jacobsson raised her eyebrows.
    “Not really.”
    “But should we actually regard Mellgren as under some sort of threat?” Wittberg objected. “Maybe he’s mixed up in this whole thing himself. Why didn’t he report the incident at once? And why wasn’t he more upset? I, for one, have my suspicions.”
    “Absolutely,” Jacobsson agreed. “Mellgren must have some skeletons in his closet. Pardon the pun.”
    “He’s had a lot of adulterous affairs. Could it be a vengeful lover?” Kihlgård