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them?”
    “She may have done that to distract our attention, as we said earlier. I’ve found out a few more things about Susanna Mellgren, you see.”
    “Okay, let’s hear it,” said Knutas, who had calmed down.
    “When she was younger she worked as a riding instructor. For five summers in a row she worked at the Dalhem Stables during their riding camps, and also with classes that met during the fall. It’s been just over ten years since she stopped doing that. Their oldest son is ten, so that fits. Presumably she stopped when she got pregnant.”
    “What does that prove?” Knutas gave Jacobsson an inquisitive look.
    “Nothing. Except that she’s used to being around horses, and that’s an advantage if you’re going to kill one.”
    “That’s not enough.”
    “Of course not, but there’s something else.”
    “What?”
    “Susanna Mellgren has also worked part-time at the ICA supermarket off and on. Guess in which department.”
    Knutas didn’t say a word.
    “She worked as a butcher.”
    “I see. Interesting. I wonder if that’s good enough to arrest her.”
    Jacobsson glanced at her watch. “The meeting starts in five minutes, so we’ll soon find out. If I know Birger, he’s already here.”

THURSDAY, JULY 29
    BIRGER SMITTENBERG DIDN’T think there was sufficient reason to arrest Susanna Mellgren. Especially not after it became clear from interviewing guests at the pub in Ljugarn that she had been seen there during the entire time when her husband was being murdered. So she had an alibi. Knutas had never really believed that she would turn out to be the murderer. As a woman she didn’t have the physical strength to hoist up the victims as had been done in both cases. It was impossible for her to be the perpetrator—unless she hadn’t committed the murders alone.
    This meant that the investigation was back to square one. The decision was expected, but Knutas still felt disappointed. It would have been too good to be true if the case could have been solved so easily. Especially since then he could have taken his longed-for summer vacation. Now nothing was going to come of it. The hot summer was disappearing outside the window as he sat in his dusty office and racked his brain.
    Maybe it was time to turn everything upside down, to change perspective and point of view, to look at things from a different angle.
    The fact that Martina Flochten and Staffan Mellgren were having an affair was undeniable. Susanna Mellgren had previously acknowledged that she realized her husband was once again being unfaithful. Over the years, she had learned all too well to see the signs. On the other hand, she still claimed that she didn’t know who the woman was, and Knutas believed her. When it came to the footprints in the chicken house, she explained them by saying that she kept an old pair of wooden clogs out in the barn, but now they were gone. Presumably the perpetrator had put them on to mislead the police.
    If it wasn’t Mellgren’s infidelities that had motivated the murders, then what had? And why the strange way in which they were carried out?
    The question was whether the killing was now over. One factor indicated that the perpetrator planned yet another murder, and that was the horse’s head at Gunnar Ambjörnsson’s house. Ambjörnsson was still out of the country, but he was expected home on Sunday. Knutas decided to call him up to warn him. He found the number and was surprised to see how many digits there were. Ambjörnsson had said that it might be hard to reach him. He had left his cell number. He couldn’t provide the name of a hotel because he would be traveling the whole time. Knutas didn’t get through; he got only a strange tone when he punched in the number. After several more attempts he gave up. He’d try again later.
    That evening he and Lina made love for the first time in ages. Even though their love life usually blossomed during the summer, his sex drive had been virtually nonexistent lately. He’d been unusually tired, and when Lina asked him what was wrong, he had blamed the investigation for wearing him out. Deep inside, though, he was suffering from a feeling of anxiety that he couldn’t get rid of. He had tried to contact his therapist without success, so he would have to wait until his appointment in August. From day to day he functioned more or less normally, but he didn’t feel his usual sense of joy. He was thinking and moving like a sleepwalker. It was like