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spoke.
    “But don’t you understand that it’s going to have consequences for our work? How are we going to catch the perpetrator if confidential information comes out in the press every fifteen minutes? This isn’t a game—we’re talking about a double homicide, and in the worst-case scenario a serial killer who’s on the loose!”
    Knutas’s voice was getting louder on the phone.
    “Look, I’m just doing my job,” said Johan calmly. “I can’t sit on important information out of consideration for your investigative work. You take care of your business, I’ll take care of mine. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to talk to you any more about this right now.”
    To Knutas’s great annoyance, Johan hung up.
    He was shaking all over after the conversation, the phone still in his hand, when Lina came downstairs.
    “Who are you talking to on the phone this early?” she asked, ruffling his hair.
    “That damned journalist,” said Knutas as he slammed down the receiver. He went to get his jacket, even though it was much too warm for it outside.
    Lina came out into the hall as he was about to leave.
    “Don’t you want any breakfast?”
    “I’ll get some at work,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Bye.”
    He left without giving her a hug. It was a lovely summer morning, but the only thing he noticed was the sun blazing down on his back. He realized that he was going to be sweaty again before he even got to the office, and he slowed his step. He now felt ashamed about his conversation with Johan. He should have behaved in a more professional manner; it was embarrassing. He didn’t even recognize himself. Maybe it was being frustrated because they hadn’t made any progress that had upset his composure. No, the fact was that he hadn’t been himself for the past six months. Last winter’s case had taken its toll, and he was having a hard time letting go of what had happened to him back then. His marriage was also suffering negative effects, even though things were basically good between him and Lina. He loved her, and she hadn’t given him any reason to doubt her feelings. Knutas was dissatisfied with himself. It felt as if he’d taken a step back in his recovery, and that bothered him. He wasn’t seeing his therapist during the summer, but he was thinking of calling her anyway. If she wasn’t away on vacation, maybe he could go and see her.
    That was at least one concrete step forward he had made. He was no longer afraid to ask for help.
    * * *
    When he arrived at police headquarters the corridors were already humming with activity. They had received additional reinforcements from Stockholm, and the group was clearly wide awake that morning.
    Even Kihlgård was present. He was standing next to the coffee machine having a lively conversation with one of the female officers from Stockholm. He stopped talking when Knutas came walking past in the hallway.
    “Good morning to you, Knutie.”
    Knutas returned the greeting. He had no desire whatsoever to engage in any social chitchat, and he was rescued by the appearance of Karin Jacobsson.
    “Hi,” he said to her. “I need to talk to you.”
    He took a firm grip on her arm. Jacobsson looked surprised but let herself be hustled along to Knutas’s office.
    “What’s up?” she asked. “Has something happened?”
    “No, nothing. Except that we’ve got a hell of a problem. Do you know about the information leaking out to the media? About the love affair between Martina Flochten and Staffan Mellgren?”
    “It was really only a matter of time before it got out.” She shrugged her shoulders.
    “How can you take it so lightly?” Knutas had a hard time hiding his irritation.
    “But my dear Anders.” Karin gave him a sympathetic look . “What does it matter,
really
? Both of them are dead, and we can’t do anything about that. Maybe the solution is a simple matter, and Susanna Mellgren is the murderer. Her alibi for the night of the murder is pretty weak. She was gone for more than four hours, according to her parents, and the only one who can vouch for her being at the pub is that bartender, Stefan Eriksson. Who knows whether he’s telling the truth? Maybe they’re in it together, or maybe he just wants to protect her. And her shoe size matches the prints at the scene of the murder. We have her under surveillance. Maybe she’ll make a mistake all of a sudden, and then the case will be solved.”
    “What about the horses? How do you explain