Unknown by Mari Jungstedt Read Free Book Online Page A

interested than if Johan just talks. They would care more, to be quite honest."
    The girls were listening attentively.
    "So we were wondering whether we could ask you a few questions about what happened this morning. I'll run the camera and Johan will ask the questions, and if you can't answer or you think it's too hard, we'll stop. You get to decide. Later we'll edit the interview, so it doesn't matter if there are mistakes. Okay?"
    Sofie used her elbow to poke Agnes in the side and then whispered in her ear. "We're not allowed."
    "No, but I don't care," said Agnes firmly as she jumped down from the rock. "It'll be fine."
    When Pia and Johan drove off, they had an interview on film with the girls describing what they had seen. They had also revealed that the horse's head wasn't merely cut off—it had disappeared without a trace.
    "It won't surprise me if we catch shit for this," Johan said to Pia as she drove.
    "What do you mean?"
    "The police are going to be mad. Not that I care, but I just thought I should warn you."
    "I don't know what you're talking about." Pia cast an indignant glance at Johan. "We're doing our job. That's all. There's no need to exaggerate. This is about a dead horse, damn it. Not a person."
    "True, but interviewing children is a sensitive issue."
    "If we started questioning them right after their mother died, I would understand your reasoning." Pia's voice sounded even angrier.
    "Don't misunderstand me," Johan objected. "I just think we need to be careful about interviewing minors. As journalists we have a huge responsibility."
    "It's not our fault if people want to talk. We haven't forced anyone. Besides, we found out some new information, thanks to talking to those girls. The part about the horse's head being missing."
    She rolled down the window to toss out her wad of snuff. Then she deliberately turned up the music. The discussion was clearly over. Pia was intelligent and bold, but maybe she needed to be a bit more humble, since she was new at the game. Johan sensed that—for good or bad—his colleague was going to be a cameraperson to reckon with in the future.

Emma Winarve was sitting in the hammock in the yard of her house in Roma, leaning against the pillows propped behind her back. She was trying to find as comfortable a position as possible. In her extremely pregnant condition, that wasn't so easy. She was hot and sweaty all the time, even though she stayed in the shade. The high pressure of the past week had taken its toll. Right now she felt huge and shapeless, even though she weighed much less than she had with her other children. So far she hadn't put on more than twenty-five pounds, which seemed to fit in with everything else. This time the pregnancy was different. Previously the children had been eagerly awaited, and there was never any doubt that she would carry them to term. The baby that was now growing in her womb could just as easily have ended up as a bloody lump, scraped out while there was still time. Now, of course, she was glad that hadn't happened. There were still two weeks left before the birth, if everything went as planned.
    She and the baby had just enjoyed a fruit salad, consisting of melon, kiwi, pineapple, and star fruit. Tropical fruit never tasted better than when she was pregnant.
    She watched Sara and Filip, who were busy playing croquet on the lawn. They had just finished first and second grade and had already been forced to endure their parents' divorce.
    Sometimes the feelings of guilt were oppressive. At the same time, Emma didn't think she could have done anything differently. She usually consoled herself with the fact that at least they weren't alone. Almost half the children in their classes had parents who were divorced.
    When she'd met Johan Berg during the previous summer, Emma had fallen passionately in love. Emma—who had never thought she could be unfaithful. At first she blamed it on the shock and the despair she had felt when her best friend,