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sensual vitality. Right now she was sleeping heavily, wearing a long orange T-shirt decorated with a big flower. Her hair was ruffled, her cheeks rosy. Her arms were sprinkled with freckles. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known.
    Her profession was perfectly suited to her personality. She was a midwife. How many children had she helped come into the world? Lina worked part-time in the childbirth center at Visby Hospital, and she loved it. She was used to unanticipated events and having things not turn out the way you expected, and that made her very patient. Many times she would stay with an expectant mother because she didn’t have the heart to leave even though her shift was over, or else out of sheer curiosity. If she had been working for hours with a birth, she didn’t want to let it go before everything was resolved. Sometimes this could irritate her colleagues. Lina didn’t care. She was strong-willed and the most wonderful woman he had ever met.
    Cautiously he closed the door again and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of milk and dug into a package of cookies. He took out a handful and sat down at the kitchen table. He often found it difficult to sleep after an eventful day. He petted the cat, who jumped up on the table and lovingly brushed against him. She’s more like a dog , he thought. Faithful and always in need of company. She also loved to play fetch. He threw a foam-rubber ball a few times. She ran off and got it, then brought it back to his feet. What a funny thing you are , thought Knutas, and went off to bed. Contrary to custom, he fell asleep at once.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6
    Johan Berg was awakened by the merry tune from his cell phone that stubbornly kept on playing. At first he had no idea where he was. The melody stopped. He stretched and saw pastel flowers on the wallpaper. There wasn’t a sound. None of the noisy traffic that he was used to hearing outside his window. Oh, that’s right .
    The beach hotel in Visby. The murder. His eyes fell on the digital alarm clock next to the bed. It was five thirty in the morning. Then the tune from his cell phone started up again. With a groan he climbed out of bed to answer it.
    It was the editor of the morning news. “Hi. Did I wake you? Sorry to call so early. But of course we’d like to have a fresh spot this morning. If you can’t come up with anything new, maybe we could do a phone interview?”
    “Sure,” said Johan wearily. “Not that I know anything more than I did at midnight, but I can always call the duty officer.”
    “Great. How much time do you need? Shall we say in an hour?”
    “That’ll work. I’ll get back to you later.”
    After a quick breakfast, he emerged onto the cobblestone street outside the hotel to head over to the TV offices. It had rained during the night; here and there puddles of water glistened. The air held a scent of the sea.
    The cramped editorial office of the Regional News division, which still existed, was located next to the Radio Gotland building in the center of town. It made Johan mad to think that the local team had been laid off when Swedish TV had to cut costs. Their huge deficit had to be turned around, and this had been done partially at the expense of regional coverage. With the reorganization, the responsibility for covering Gotland had been shifted from the Norrköping newsroom to Stockholm. The new management at Swedish TV headquarters felt that the Gotlanders had more in common with the citizens of Stockholm than with Norrköping. Johan basically agreed with this, but it was a shame that they had laid off the local reporters and cameramen, the people who were truly close to their viewers. At the same time, he was happy to be here. He had always felt a great fondness for Gotland.
    A skinny old man was in the process of putting up Swedish flags outside the hotel. Oh, that’s right, today is National Commemoration Day , thought Johan. The sixth of June.
    It