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traveled under another identity, but why would he do that? Had he been forced to do so? Had someone threatened him? One reason he might not have come back to the island alive was that it would have exposed the perpetrator to risk, both by arousing attention and because someone might have caught sight of Ambjörnsson and recognized him. No, that wasn’t what had happened. Knutas sighed and put the papers aside.
    The body had been transported to the forensic medicine lab in Solna. The preliminary autopsy report should arrive on Monday.
    Knutas decided to take a walk in order to clear his head. It was a beautiful afternoon. A new high-pressure ridge had moved in from the east, promising a warm week for the medieval festival. The events had already started in town. From Strandgärdet he could hear the announcer’s voice and applause from the tournament that was held in classic chivalric style. A juggler group was performing at the East Gate, and at Hästgatan Knutas was practically run over by a group of people moving through the lanes dressed in medieval garb.
    He crossed Stora Torget and decided to take a stroll down to the sea. On the way he passed by Skogränd, where Aron Bjarke lived. As he neared the teacher’s house, Knutas slowed down. He had a sudden impulse to visit Bjarke. He rang the bell several times, but no one came to the door. Bjarke was apparently not at home. As he stood there on the porch, Knutas’s eye was caught by one of the objects on the windowsill. Among the pots and old jars stood a wooden figure that was only a hand’s breadth tall. He went over to the window for a closer look and was struck by how risqué it was. It was a male figure with a disproportionately large, erect penis. Knutas was sure that he’d seen it before, and he frantically searched his memory. He had the feeling that it might be important. Something fluttered past in the back of his mind, but it vanished just as quickly.
    He rang the bell one last time, then waited a moment, but the house looked dark and silent inside. Again his gaze fell on the figure in the window. Somewhere he had seen that figure before.

 
    Johan had agreed to meet the unknown seller at four in the afternoon. He felt tense all day, and he talked to Pia several times on the phone to make sure that they had everything under control. He had explained to the seller that he wasn’t going to bring any money to their first meeting. It was a precautionary measure. First he wanted to see some samples of the sort of Gotland artifacts that were being offered for sale.
    The camera was in the editorial office. Pia was going to get it and then bring it out to Johan in Roma so that he could practice using it. He had hardly ever filmed anything before, and he needed all the help he could get to make sure everything functioned properly. The agreement was that if Johan was satisfied with the goods, he would pay cash on Monday.
    He counted on being checked out, so he had given a phony name and address. Fortunately he had a wealthy friend, who happened to be a nobleman, in Skåne. This was not the first time that Johan had used his friend’s identity for his job. Having his name in the Peerage Book and belonging to one of the richest families in Sweden had its advantages. Now it was just a matter of Johan playing his role well when he met with the fence.

 
    Knutas wanted to read through the passenger lists one more time before leaving the office for the day. It was possible that, in spite of everything, he had missed Ambjörnsson’s name. So far he had just looked for the first syllable of his last name, but now he read through the whole list, running his index finger carefully over the names so as not to miss anything.
    Suddenly he caught sight of a name he recognized. It was Aron Bjarke. The archaeology teacher had traveled from Nynäshamn to Visby on Monday, August 2. That meant that Bjarke had been in Stockholm at the same time that Ambjörnsson was expected home from Morocco.
    With his pulse racing, Knutas looked through the names of passengers from Visby to Nynäshamn. He had the lists from Sunday, August 1, but he couldn’t find Bjarke’s name. He phoned his contact at Destination Gotland, who had sent over the information, and asked for the lists from Saturday, July 31. That was the same day that he’d had coffee with Bjarke in his garden, which meant that he couldn’t have left any earlier.
    The lists were going to show up within half an