and sixty centimeters tall, wearing a hat with a tassel or pompom made of green and red yarn.”
Irene laughed and took a doggie poop bag from her pocket. She carefully placed the two woolen threads inside. Maybe the technicians could get something out of them.
The path led down to the lake. They estimated that if they walked fifty meters along the edge of the lake and then turned their backs to it and walked into the vegetation, they should arrive at the cottage.
To their relief, the lake shore widened into a small sandy beach, and a narrow gravel path led into the woods from the beach. The path ended about ten meters from the Schyttelius cottage’s gate.
“It’s probably a community path to the beach for all of the cottage owners in the area,” Irene suggested.
“Maybe. But there’s nothing keeping someone from turning off the path earlier and climbing over the Schytteliuses’ fence at the back of the property. No one would see. Should we check?”
Fredrik had already turned on his heel and was on his way back in the same direction they had just come. Thirty meters away, he stopped and pointed.
Irene could also see a barely noticeable walkway between some raspberry bushes. It followed the rotten wooden fence along the lake side of the Schytteliuses’ property. The fence sagged to the ground in the middle from age and poor maintenance.
“We can step right onto the property,” Fredrik determined. They did so, taking a good look at where they put their feet.
“If the murderer went this way on Monday, the ground would still have been frozen. It has rained since then, and the frost has started rising out of the topsoil. The murderer didn’t have as much trouble getting here as we did,” said Irene.
“Think about the position of the car and the trails. He knew he was going to get here without risking being seen. Everything points to familiarity with the area.”
Fredrik was right. The murders had been planned, and the murderer had known how to make his way to and from the cottage without being seen.
They walked toward the back of the cottage. The Schyttelius family had built a large glassed-in veranda running the length of the wall. So this was where the superintendent had sat at the crayfish party seventeen years ago. Irene turned her back to the veranda and looked down at the lake. She could glimpse water through the thicket.
“Too bad they didn’t own the property all the way down to the lake. Then they could have cleared it for the sake of the view,” she remarked.
“Must have been irritating for them.”
“Probably.”
“Should we take the road back? It’s longer . . .”
“. . . but it will be faster,” Irene finished.
THEY STOPPED at a hot dog stand and ate before heading for Eva Möller’s house. It was easy to find Landvetter Church, but trickier to locate the right small road. They were on a gravel road that rose steadily. According to Eva Möller’s directions, they were supposed to go over the crest of the hill and then they would almost be there. The coniferous trees didn’t grow as thickly up here. Deciduous forest and fields could be seen.
“Turn to the right after the split oak,” Irene read from her notes.
“I see it,” Fredrik said, indicating the silhouette of a large mangled tree. Most of the crown was gone, and the branches that were left splayed out in all directions. No branches grew at all on one side, since only half of the tree remained. Right after they passed this oak tree, they turned onto an uneven dirt road.
“How can someone live in a place like this?” Irene asked, holding on to the dashboard as they slowly jounced down the rutted road.
After they had lurched forward a good distance, a Falu-red cottage appeared in the back of a glade bathed in sunlight. The forest came up to the eaves on three sides, but there were no woods at all on the western exposure. They parked next to a relatively new bright-red Honda and got out. Because the cottage was located on the crest of the hill, the view to the west was fantastic. Irene and Fredrik stood for a moment to admire it. Irene took the opportunity to look at Eva Möller’s car before they walked up to the house. What Louise Måårdh had said was correct: There was a black knob with a silver-colored pentagram on the gearshift lever.