Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

are, the whole lot of you! It’s a chilling thought that the police would come to such an infantile conclusion: that I was a cold-blooded murderer who would kill my own dream. Unbelievable!’
    Veronika Hammar was now sitting up in bed, shouting at the top of her lungs. Suddenly she didn’t seem fragile at all.
    ‘How dare you come here and accuse me of first one crime and then another! Here I am, suffering from smoke inhalation, the victim of arson, and I could just as easily have died in that fire. And you have the nerve to barge in here and accuse me of murder! Get out! I want you out of here! Get out, and I don’t ever want to set eyes on you again! You fucking cop! Go to hell!’
    Knutas was astonished not only by the woman’s sudden outburst but by the strength of her voice.
    Within seconds two nurses came running into the room and tried to calm their patient, who continued to scream and cry and wave her arms about.
    They glared at Knutas but didn’t say a word to him.
    In the midst of all the commotion, he left the room, relieved to make his escape.

ELISABETH ALGÅRD WAS INTERVIEWED by the police on Friday, but nothing new came of it. She had an alibi for the night of the fire since she was in Stockholm with her children. They had gone to see a film, then to a restaurant, and she had stayed overnight with her daughter. Knutas had never believed that she had had anything to do with the murder; there was something about her that made him doubt she could be the killer. And his gut feeling was usually right. At least when it came to his work.
    No one had witnessed the setting of the fire, but the techs found ignition points at several different places inside the cabin. They had also recovered a petrol can and some rags. A neighbour who was out walking his dog had noticed a motorcycle parked outside the Pensionat Holmhällar, which was just a stone’s throw from the cabin. The bed and breakfast was closed at this time of year, and the car park was usually deserted. Unfortunately, the man couldn’t identify the model of the motorcycle, nor was he able to recall the licence number.
    Veronika Hammar had been discharged from the hospital and was given an escort to her home on Tranhusgatan inside the ring wall. The police had installed a security alarm and added an extra lock to her front door. For the next few days she would be under police surveillance around the clock. An unmarked police car was present at all times outside her home. The authorities were hoping that the perpetrator might turn up over the weekend when he realized that once again he had failed to kill her.
    * * *
    As soon as the meeting was over, Knutas and Jacobsson left to interview Veronika’s son, Andreas.
    Andreas Hammar owned one of the biggest sheep farms in southern Gotland. His property was on the road between Havdhem and Eke. His house wasn’t built in the typical Gotland style; instead, it was a stone villa that looked more as if it belonged in Provence. The yellow stucco was flaking off in places, and the roof needed to be replaced. In front was a beautiful veranda with stately pillars and a flower garden. Two border collies were lying on the front lawn, keeping an eye on the chickens pecking at the ground.
    Knutas had called ahead to tell him they were coming. Andreas Hammar said that he was very busy weighing the ewes, so they’d have to meet in the farmyard and talk as best they could while he continued to work. He didn’t have time to take a break.
    When Knutas and Jacobsson parked, the collies began barking and a large man appeared from around the corner of the house. He wore blue overalls and heavy boots. He peered at them from under the visor of his cap and gave them a less than enthusiastic greeting.
    ‘Follow me in your car,’ he told the officers.
    They drove along a tractor path into the fields next to the house and then stopped near a gate. Hundreds of sheep were out in the pasture and they came trotting from all directions, making an enormous din. Knutas watched in fascination as the huge flock gathered in a matter of minutes and came running towards them en masse. More disciplined than soldiers, he thought. A lorry was parked near the field. Inside the pasture, two smaller areas had been fenced off. The two dogs helped herd the sheep into the first enclosure. Andreas then shoved one sheep at a time through a chute that was covered with chicken wire and into the next pen, which was so small that there was barely