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looked as if it was going to be a beautiful day for the celebration. The sun was caressing the facades of the medieval buildings, and there was no wind. The town was practically deserted. It should take him only a few minutes to reach the TV offices. Right now he was wishing it was a longer walk.
    He decided to allow himself a slight detour, even though he really didn’t have time. Only a few yards away he saw the northern section of the ring wall extending beyond the buildings. There was a break in the wall on this side of the old Gunpowder Tower, which originally had been a defensive stronghold. Johan enjoyed the view until he turned onto Rostockergränd. He walked past the low stone buildings with their budding rose vines and the planking that protected the gardens inside. Many of the buildings had windows that were only a foot or two above the ground. The street doors were so low that anyone taller than five feet had to duck his head to go in.
    A radio was blaring from the open window of a bakery, and he breathed in the fragrance of freshly baked bread. A black cat was sitting on the curving stairs outside a building, watching him as he walked past.
    He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called the duty officer.
    “Good morning. It’s Johan Berg from Regional News, Swedish TV. Any new developments during the night with the murder of the woman in Fröjel?”
    “Yes, the prosecuting attorney has decided to arrest the boyfriend, under suspicion of murder.”
    “No shit. On what grounds?”
    “I’m not at liberty to say. You’ll have to take that up with the head of the investigation, Anders Knutas.”
    “Is he there now?”
    “No, he should be in around eight, but then there’s a meeting scheduled.”
    “Where’s the boyfriend?”
    “He’s still in the hospital. He’s going to be picked up sometime this morning and taken into custody.”
    “Who’s the prosecuting attorney?”
    “Chief Prosecutor Birger Smittenberg.”
    “When did he decide to arrest him?”
    “At four o’clock this morning. Otherwise we couldn’t hold him any longer.”
    “Do you know whether Anders Knutas will be out at the crime scene today?”
    “I can’t say. You’ll have to take it up with him.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    Johan dashed for the TV offices.
    The logos of both Radio Gotland and Swedish TV adorned the facade of the radio building. The blue-and-white awnings above the windows were looking rather the worse for wear in the morning sunlight. Several cars belonging to local radio were parked in the lot in the courtyard. He noticed that one space was reserved for Regional News. It stood empty and gaping, as if it were mocking him. In the past the local TV van was parked there, but, of course, that didn’t exist anymore, either. Johan was ashamed to think about how badly Regional News had been covering the island lately. Most often the only news from here dealt with tourism, oil spills, and the traffic.
    He went in and put together a story running just over a minute for the morning program. He could handle the simpler types of editing himself. When he was ready, he sent the story by e-mail on the new computer system. In a few minutes they would be able to open the file and watch it in Stockholm. He was also interviewed on the phone by Madeleine Haga, one of the reporters he liked best at Swedish TV.
    The morning news had gotten what they wanted. Now it was past seven, and Johan thought it was worth giving Knutas another try. The superintendent himself answered.
    “I heard the boyfriend was arrested last night,” said Johan. “Why?”
    “I’m not at liberty to say.”
    “Surely you can tell me something?”
    “No.”
    “Will you be out at the crime scene today?”
    “Yes, for a while this morning. I’m going out there around ten.”
    “How long will you be there?”
    “A few hours, I would think.”
    “Could I do a short interview with you out there?”
    “I suppose that’s all right.”
    “Good, then