B0031RSBSM EBOK

preserve up along the rocky coast. There’s hardly anything out there. It’s desolate and barren.”
    Johan glanced at his watch. It was nine fifteen.
    “I’m going to drive out there.”
    “Right now?”
    Johan printed out the information about Eskil Rondahl.
    “I’ll go with you,” said Niklas resolutely.
    “No, it’s better if Pia comes along, so she can film things if we need it,” said Johan. “You can stay here with Emma while we’re gone.”
    Pia was in high spirits as she drove, and she greatly exceeded the speed limit. She had cut back on the amount of wine she drank because she had to get up early the next day, and now she was glad that she had. They drove via Visby and then north past Lickershamn. It was still light out, and when they passed Ireviken the landscape started to change. The area looked more barren; the vegetation got scruffier. Here and there dead trees stretched their bare branches toward the sky. They searched for the place for a long time. They had to ask for directions to the farm, which they finally found at the end of the road. Darkness had begun to set in, and they didn’t dare drive all the way up to the farm. As soon as it appeared from behind a hill, Pia stepped on the brakes and backed up. She parked the car a short distance away in the woods.
    The farm was impressive in size but clearly in need of repair. To their surprise, they saw five or six cars parked in the yard. Eskil Rondahl apparently had visitors. Farther away a red pickup was visible, along with an old, rusty horse trailer. Pia took the small camera along, although it would have to be used indoors; it was too dark outside. Cautiously they approached the house. They had it in view when they suddenly heard the sound of a car engine behind them. Johan flinched—was there another visitor?
    He was dumbfounded when he saw who got out of the car. It was Anders Knutas. He was alone, and he wasn’t driving a police vehicle. Was he on the track of the thefts, too? Johan cast a quick glance at his watch. It was almost ten o’clock.
    Knutas didn’t seem to have noticed Johan and Pia, who were standing in the shelter of several tall bushes. When Johan stepped forward, Knutas gave a start.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled. What an absurd situation. Here they stood in the dark, in the middle of a nature preserve, close to a remote farm, stupidly glaring at each other.
    “I might ask you the same question,” said Johan.
    “That’s none of your business,” snapped Knutas. “What’s going on here?” he then asked with a nod at the parked cars.
    “No idea. We just got here.”
    Pia stepped into view, and Knutas greeted her.
    “Now you’re going to have to explain what brings the two of you out here.”
    Johan briefly told Knutas how he had found the American Web site and about his meeting with the seller. When he said that the fence was Eskil Rondahl, Knutas’s eyes widened.
    “Not bad,” he said. He actually sounded impressed.
    “But you’re here for some other reason?” said Johan.
    Knutas hesitated for a moment. Maybe it was the intimacy of standing there in the dark, maybe it was because he was so tired, completely worn out after everything that had happened lately—but something made him decide to tell them why he had come.
    “Aron Bjarke, who’s a teacher at the college, was in Stockholm when Gunnar Ambjörnsson was expected home from his trip abroad. We didn’t know this before, but Aron Bjarke and Eskil Rondahl are brothers. Bjarke changed his name twenty years ago when he was studying in Stockholm. Before that his name was Aron Rondahl.”
    “Do the police think that Aron might be the murderer?”
    “Yes. And now you’ve turned up a whole new aspect of the case—the thefts. We just may have the solution to the burglary at the Antiquities Room, too.”
    Pia gave Johan a poke in the side.
    “Look,” she said. “Something’s happening.”
    Inside the house they could see people walking back and forth. Johan heard someone bolt the door from the inside.
Strange
, he thought.
Out here in the country no one locks their doors
.
    Cautiously they crept forward and peeked through a window. They were looking at the kitchen, which was old-fashioned and seemed very poorly outfitted. A decrepit electric stove and a small refrigerator and freezer were the only appliances. A considerable number of dirty dishes were littered about, along with glasses and bottles. Johan crept along