B0031RSBSM EBOK

theory about the threefold death was correct. No doubt everyone would be discussing that very topic on the morning talk shows the next day.
    Even so, he almost choked on his coffee when heard
Dagens Eko
on the radio at 4:45 P.M. Both the symbolism of the
nidstång
and the threefold death were mentioned. Knutas was even more surprised when he heard Susanna Mellgren being interviewed. There seemed to be no limit to what was reported. It remained to be seen how all the media attention would affect the murderer. Maybe he would crawl into the nearest hole and bide his time until the storm blew over.
    Earlier in the day the police had received a call from an Estonian by the name of Igors Bleidelis who worked aboard a freighter that frequently called at Visby. He’d heard talk of the ritual murders, and he said that he’d noticed something mysterious at Högklint almost six months ago. He’d seen a fire and people with blazing torches moving around on top of the cliff in a ritual dance. He thought they were conducting some type of ceremony. He remembered the date: March 20. That’s all he could tell them. He had thought it was odd. That’s why he had called, because there might be some connection with the murder of the politician who was found at the very same place.
    Jacobsson came into Knutas’s office. He asked her if she knew whether there was anything special about March 20. She leafed through her calendar.
    “Nothing really special, except that it’s the vernal equinox.”
    Knutas leaned back in his chair. “Would that have any significance? A form of ritual that takes place on the vernal equinox? Who celebrates that day?”
    “I have no idea, but it shouldn’t be so hard to find out. Couldn’t you ask your expert on the Æsir religion whether that particular day has some special meaning for people who worship the Æsir?”
    Five minutes later he had his answer from Malte Moberg in Stockholm. The vernal equinox turned out to be one of the most important days in the year for Æsir worshippers.
    “All the puzzle pieces are falling into place,” said Knutas. “This has to do with some religious fanatics who believe in the Æsir gods and who have gone too far. But I just can’t figure out what their motive could be for murdering those individuals.”
    “This Estonian may have seen the very sect that the killer belongs to, a sect that has managed to remain so secret that no one even knows it exists. It sounds like something occult, with the fire and the dancing people. We already have a connection between Martina Flochten and Gunnar Ambjörnsson through the hotel project at Högklint. The fact that his body was found there just confirms that the connection has significance.”
    “So then we have Staffan Mellgren. There has to be something else besides the fact that he was having an affair with Martina.”
    “Could he have been a member of this Æsir sect?”
    “I think it’s likely, and that’s exactly where we’re going to find the killer.”

SATURDAY, AUGUST 7
    WHEN JOHAN WOKE up, he didn’t know where he was at first. Then he felt a tiny body next to his and realized that he was home with Emma and Elin. His little daughter was sleeping right next to him, breathing calmly. Emma was asleep, too. Each of them lay on her side, facing him, and he was struck by how alike they looked. The work he’d done the past few days reporting on the murder of Gunnar Ambjörnsson had been intense. It had taken its toll on him. He was annoyed that he hadn’t managed to find out the part about the decapitated horse heads, but all the other journalists were in the same boat. The police had really succeeded in keeping that information to themselves. It was actually quite impressive.
    Fortunately more Swedish TV reporters had come over to Gotland to help cover the story. Johan had asked to have the weekend off to work on his report on the thefts of ancient artifacts, even though it was regarded as a sidetrack. Grenfors hadn’t been unreasonable. It might turn out to have something to do with the murders.
    His meeting with the fence had been arranged the day before Ambjörnsson was found, and Johan didn’t want to miss the opportunity to meet him in person.
    He put on some coffee, took a shower, and then went to get the morning newspaper before he woke Emma with a kiss.
    “Good morning. I can change Elin,” he offered.
    “Thanks,” she mumbled, turning over and crawling farther under the covers.
    On his way to