Abruptly, the trail he was following ended. The young man must have veered to the right, going deeper into the woods. Knutas paused for a moment to catch his breath. The silence was broken by the sound of wailing police sirens off in the distance. Thank God, reinforcements were on the way. The police dogs would find Hermansson in no time. Knutas shone the beam of his torch on the spot where the footprints had vanished among the trees. He flinched as he heard rustling sound only a few metres away. He stopped, listened intently, unaware of the cold. He noticed a dark silhouette in among the trees. That was where he was hiding.
Knutas took a few cautious steps in that direction. Hermansson no longer had the axe, but he might have other weapons. Maybe even a gun. Knutas knew that the killer must have seen him by now and was probably watching him approach. The beam of his torch could be seen from far away. So there was no longer any need for silence.
‘Per!’ he shouted into the darkness. ‘How are you doing? Are you injured?’
No reply. No sound except his own breathing. And, in the distance, the slamming of car doors. A crow cawing. A faint rustling in the trees. The snow was still coming down, but it was caught by the branches of the spruce and pine trees.
‘You need help, Per,’ Knutas said. ‘You’re injured. I can see that you’re bleeding.’
He waited a moment. Suddenly, he saw that Per was very close.
‘Put down your gun,’ he heard a tense voice say from behind the trees.
‘The police are here,’ Knutas told him. ‘The roads are blocked. We know who you are. You took care of Agnes, and she was very fond of you. We know that. Everyone at the clinic said that the two of you had a special relationship. But now Agnes is gone. It’s time to give up, Per.’
A brief silence.
‘Gone?’ said the voice hollowly. ‘What do you mean, Agnes is gone?’
Knutas felt his blood run cold. Per had no idea that Agnes was dead. A shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t know anything about it!
‘Agnes was found dead this morning in her bed at the hospital. She was murdered. Smothered to death.’
Silence.
After a moment, a man stepped forward, his face pale among the trees. A man holding his hands in the air, staggering towards Knutas, dragging one leg behind him. A man with a look of hopeless despair in his eyes, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. Finally, he managed a whisper, barely audible.
‘Dead? Agnes is dead?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
At that moment, Knutas forgot that he was standing face to face with a murderer. He saw before him a young man whose expression openly revealed his grief. His eyes displayed a sorrow so deep and so heavy it almost felled him to the ground. Per Hermansson shook his head, slowly at first, then with increasing vigour.
His scream started far away, then surged up through his throat and out. A wail that resounded through the dark, silent woods.
THE FLAT IN the seaside town of Hammarby was right on the water, at the foot of Hammarby Terrace, with a view of Södermalm on the other side. She went into the kitchen to make coffee. She took the latest photo album from the bookshelf in the living room before she sat down at the kitchen table. She listened to the laboured hissing and gurgling of the coffeemaker as the water dripped through the filter.
She opened the album, which was bound in black leather. It had been expensive, but the contents were worth it. This was her favourite album. Hers and Rikard’s. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at the pictures. She’d always cried easily. There was a photo of Rikard smiling at her. It was taken last summer. He was suntanned, wearing shorts and a checked shirt with short sleeves, standing on the dock on the island of Ljuströ. They’d been island-hopping for a week, seeing Stockholm’s archipelago together. There he was, sitting on a rock in the evening. How handsome he was. A real man. And there they were together. They had asked the waitress to take their picture in the restaurant where they were having dinner.
To think that, just yesterday, she had almost torn up all these photos. Luckily, Rikard had phoned and stopped her. There was still hope for them. Especially now. Since it was just the two of them. She had done what she had to do. Agnes was keeping her from the love of her life, the man she had finally found. And, besides, the girl didn’t really want to live. Everything was going to be fine. She felt very calm inside. What a difference compared to how she’d felt on New Year’s Eve. For the thousandth time they had quarrelled about Agnes. As usual, Rikard’s spoilt and obstinate daughter was standing in their way.
But then she had pulled herself together. Seen an opportunity, now that the police were still hunting for a murderer. And she’d known for a long time who he was.
Late in the afternoon on New Year’s Eve she had gone to the clinic with a gift for Per. But she didn’t go home. She found a patient’s room that wasn’t being used over the holiday, and that was where she hid. The rest had been easy. She was quite pleased with herself. She had removed what was hindering their happiness. She knew that she could handle this. She’d always been able to get herself out of tight spots. She had the power to govern her own life. And Rikard would be more dependent on her than ever. Now that he had no one else.
She got up and poured herself some coffee. Then she took out the box of Aladdin chocolates that had been in the fridge since Christmas.
She felt like treating herself to something sweet after all she’d been through.
She had just eaten the first chocolate praline when the doorbell rang. Her heart leapt with joy. Was he already here? She patted her hair and cast a quick glance in the mirror before she went into the front hall to open the door. She was so impatient she forgot to look through the peephole, as she usually did. She opened the door to find two people standing there. She didn’t know either of them. One held out a police ID.
‘Police. Are you Katarina Hansell?’
Acknowledgements
This story is entirely fictional. Any similarities between the characters in the novel and actual individuals are coincidental. Occasionally, I have taken artistic liberties to change things for the benefit of the story. This includes the pre-press process of a fashion magazine, Swedish TV’s regional coverage, and a few other things. The settings used in the book are usually described as they exist in reality, although there are some exceptions.
Any errors that may have slipped into the story are mine alone.
First and foremost, I would like to thank my husband, journalist Cenneth Niklasson, who is my most important sounding board, for all his support and love. And my wonderful children Rebecka (Bella) and Sebastian, who are warm rays of sunshine in my life.
Also thanks to:
Sofia Åkerman, author and lecturer
Isabelle Kågelius
Lovisa Carlsson
Åsa Sieurin
Ankie Sahlin, Mando Anorexia Clinic, Huddinge Hospital
Maria Bejhem, supervisor, Capio Anorexia Centre, Löwenströmska Hospital
Magnus Frank, detective superintendent with Visby police
Martin Csatlos, the Forensic Medicine Laboratory in Solna
Johan Gardelius, detective inspector with Visby police
Ulf Åsgård, psychiatrist
Lena Allerstam, journalist
Johan Hellström, owner of Furillen
Jenny Mardell, agent and model scout, the Stockholm Group
Haddy Foon, model
Lina Montanari, Grand Hotel
Lars and Marianne Nobell, Gannarve farm, Gotland
A big thanks to all the professional staff at Albert Bonniers Förlag – especially my publishers Jonas Axelsson and Lotta Aquilonius, and my editor, Ulrika Åkerlund.
Thanks to:
my media agent, Lina Wijk, and publicist, Gilda Romero
my cover designer, for the Swedish edition, Sofia Scheutz
my agents Emma Tibblin, Jenny Stjärnströmer, and Poa Broström
And thanks to
all my wonderful author colleagues for support and encouragement and for all the fun that we have!
Mari Jungstedt
Stockholm, March 2010
About the Author
Mari Jungstedt is one of the most successful crime fiction authors in Sweden, and has sold over 3 million copies of her books worldwide. Barry Forshaw writes that her Inspector Knutas novels are ‘among the most rarefied and satisfying pleasures afforded by the field’. This is her eighth novel set on the island of Gotland and featuring Knutas.
Mari lives in Stockholm with her husband and two children.
Also by Mari Jungstedt, featuring Inspector Knutas
Unseen
Unspoken
Unknown
The Killer’s Art
The Dead of Summer
Dark Angel
For more information on Mari Jungstedt and her books, see her websites at www.jungstedtsgotland.se and www.marijungstedt.se
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Doubleday
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Mari Jungstedt 2010
English translation copyright © Tiina Nunnally 2015
Mari Jungstedt has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448154081
ISBN 9780857521507
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