Unspoken

to everyone. No extensive changes to the church had been made since the Middle Ages, and that seemed to Knutas quite evident as he sat there admiring the high ceiling, the beautifully painted windows, and the pulpit, which had probably been imported from the German city of Lübeck in the seventeenth century.
    Suddenly a faint singing could be heard in the church, and everyone turned their heads to look back toward the entrance. The tones of the traditional Lucia song grew louder, and the white-clad figure of Lucia appeared in the doorway. Slowly she walked forward, wearing a long white dress. On her head was a wreath with candles. Behind her walked the brides-maids, two by two, with tinsel wrapped around their waists. They each held a lit candle. Behind them came the star boys, wearing paper cones on their heads.
    The glow of the candles made it a magical spectacle, as the young people dressed in white walked forward, singing in their clear voices. A star boy who couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven sang so beautifully in a loud and lovely voice that Knutas felt tears fill his eyes. In the middle of the solo, his cell phone began vibrating in the inside pocket of his jacket. Cautiously he pulled out the phone and held it up to his ear. It was hard to make out what Karin Jacobsson was saying on the other end. He managed to squeeze past the other people sitting on the pew and went out to the entryway.
    “This better be important. I’m here watching my daughter in the Lucia celebration at the cathedral,” he said.
    “Fanny Jansson was found dead out on Lojsta Heath.”
    It took almost an hour to reach the site. Jacobsson and Knutas took the 142 down to Hejde and then headed out to Lojsta Heath. Old limestone farm buildings stood at the turnoff into the woods. A flock of black sheep with shaggy winter coats was crowded together at the fence, staring at them as they drove past.
    A police car was waiting to show them the way. They bumped over the unpaved forest road, which was normally used only by tractors. The snow on the ground between the trees was untouched, and there was no wind. The low mixed forest had dense undergrowth, with withered ferns, heather, and lingonberry bushes. Here and there a few remaining berries shone bright red among the snow-covered hillocks. At the end of the road the forest opened into a clearing where another police car was parked. A short distance away, near an embankment, crime scene tape had been put up. The air was cold and fresh.
    Fanny’s body lay in a hollow beneath several thick spruce trees covered with heavy green moss.
    The site was relatively protected. The girl was fully dressed in dark riding pants, a short quilted jacket that was unbuttoned, and a brown woolen sweater that was torn at the neck. Her face was dark against the snow. Her beautiful long hair, which was spread out on the ground, seemed strangely alive. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at the sky. When Knutas took a closer look, he noticed that there were red specks in the whites of her eyes. Dark bruises covered her throat.
    Her body had been found by a woman who was out riding. She had fallen off her horse when it was startled by a fox. The horse had wandered off and led her to the clearing. The woman had hurt her back in the fall, and she was also in such a state of shock that she had been taken to the hospital in Visby.
    On their way back to the city, Knutas’s cell phone started ringing. The third call was from Johan.
    “What happened?” said the familiar voice on the phone.
    “Fanny Jansson has been found dead,” said Knutas wearily.
    Jacobsson was driving the car so he could devote all his attention to answering the journalist’s questions.
    “Where?”
    “In a wooded area out on Lojsta Heath.”
    “When?”
    “At eight thirty this morning.”
    “Who found her?”
    “A woman who was out horseback riding.”
    “Was she murdered?”
    “All indications are that she was, yes.”
    “How?”
    “I can’t go into that right now.”
    “How long has she been there?”
    “That’s something the ME will have to determine. I can’t answer any more questions. We’re going to hold a press conference later today.”
    “When?”
    “Sometime this afternoon. You’ll have time to get here.”
    Johan and Peter landed right after lunchtime at Visby airport. The cab ride into town didn’t take long.
    Police headquarters in Visby had changed radically since they were last there. The ice blue