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It's been a long, dark time since a gruesome discovery drew U.S. Forest Service ranger Lance Hansen into a murder investigation that is now approaching a resolution-although not to his satisfaction. In fact, the mysteries have been multiplying and getting uncomfortably close to home. On the run after a hunting expedition with his brother, Andy, went awry, Lance is haunted by visions of Swamper Caribou, the Ojibwe medicine man whose death a century earlier remains unexplained. Willy Dupree, Lance's former father-in-law, has the ability to interpret dreams-and what he reveals may be key to understanding both deaths, past and present. Reluctantly taking on the role of detective, Lance uncovers troubling connections and grim secrets that will shake him to his very core. In the final installment of his award-winning Minnesota Trilogy, Norwegian crime writer Vidar Sundstøl's affinity for the northern world of Lake Superior is on full display-as Lance's search takes him from the wilds of the Boundary Waters to outposts steeped in voyageur history and Ojibwe culture, from the streets of the Twin Cities to the gritty port of Duluth, to the sleepy tourist towns that dot the North Shore-and as the mysteries of love and nature, history and culture merge in a powerful conclusion.

A Norwegian tourist has been found murdered on the shore of Lake Superior-right where an Ojibwe man may have been killed more than one hundred years earlier. Four months later, the official investigation is supposedly over but still not resolved, and U.S. Forest Service officer Lance Hansen, drawn into the mystery by his grisly discovery of the body, is uncovering clues disturbingly close to home. His former father-in-law, Willy Dupree, may hold the key to the century-old murder of Swamper Caribou. And his own brother, Andy, might know more than he's telling-more than he should know-about the recent homicide. The relationship between the brothers takes a dangerous turn as their annual deer hunt becomes a deadly game. Steeped in the rich history of Lake Superior's rugged North Shore, this follow-up to the Riverton Prize-winningThe Land of Dreamspursues two tales through a bleak and beautiful landscape haunted by the lives and dreams of its Scandinavian immigrants and Native Americans. Hansen finds himself equally haunted by the complex mysteries that continue to unravel around him.

Winner of the Riverton Prize for best Norwegian crime novel and named by Dagbladet as one of the top twenty-five Norwegian crime novels of all time, The Land of Dreams is the chilling first installment in Vidar Sundstøl's critically acclaimed Minnesota Trilogy, set on the rugged north shore of Lake Superior and in the region's small towns and deep forests. The grandson of Norwegian immigrants, Lance Hansen is a U.S. Forest Service officer and has a nearly all-consuming passion for local genealogy and history. But his quiet routines are shattered one morning when he comes upon a Norwegian tourist brutally murdered near a stone cross on the shore of Lake Superior. Another Norwegian man is nearby; covered in blood and staring out across the lake, he can only utter the word kjærlighet. Love. FBI agent Bob Lecuyer is assigned to the case, as is Norwegian detective Eirik Nyland, who is immediately flown in from Oslo. As the investigation progresses, Lance begins to make shocking discoveries-including one that involves the murder of an Ojibwe man on the very same site more than one hundred years ago. As Lance digs into two murders separated by a century, he finds the clues may in fact lead toward someone much closer to home than he could have imagined. The Land of Dreams is the opening chapter in a sweeping chronicle from one of Norway's leading crime writers-a portrait of an extraordinary landscape, an exploration of hidden traumas and paths of silence that trouble history, and a haunting study in guilt and the bonds of blood.

In the three years since the divorce, he’d never once canceled a weekend with Jimmy, but now that everything around him was spinning out of control, he thought it best to keep a certain distance. On the phone he’d just told his son that he’d come down with a sore throat, but he was sure he’d be fine by next weekend. Now he was standing in the middle of the living room, thinking that he ought to be feeling guilty, but he didn’t. One of his first tasks, when this whole thing was over, would be to stop this habit

It was an ordinary-looking bar, equipped with a simple sound system and a microphone on a stand at one end of the room. Next to the microphone was a bar stool and a tall table with a pitcher of water and a glass. Lance noticed that Chrissy didn’t seem to know anyone, or at least she didn’t greet any of the other patrons. Yet there was something about the way she moved through the room that led him to believe she’d been there before. They found a table at the very back and hung their coats over the backs of

He lunged out of bed, striking his head so hard on the floor that flames shot up in the back of his eyes, and he tore at his pajama top, sending several buttons flying. It was pitch dark in the room, and he was dying. His breath had stopped somewhere between his lungs and his mouth, like an elevator stuck between floors. Desperately he began flailing around in the dark, trying to make something happen, although he didn’t know what that might be. Nothing was certain anymore except that he didn’t have long to live. His hand touched something that

She was sitting on the bed with his gun beside her. “Tammy,” said Lance. As she raised the gun with a trembling hand and pointed it at her temple, he saw that she had something wrapped around her wrist. It took a couple of seconds before he realized she’d kept her daughter’s bloody scarf. “Tammy,” he said again, taking a step into the room. “Don’t move,” she shouted, fear in her voice. Lance froze in midstride and stood still as they stared at each other. Aside from Tammy’s shallow breathing, there wasn’t a sound in the house. “I don’t trust

The kitchen was faintly lit by the winter night outside the window. His long absence still hovered over the room. Two months of silence and stillness. Dust that had slowly settled and remained undisturbed. As if the whole house were as yet untouched by the fact that he was back. He recognized the old feeling of being one of the dead visiting the world of the living, incapable of having the slightest effect on it. Someone who couldn’t even stir up the dust. On the counter the coffeemaker was gurgling like a drowning man. He went over and filled a

Inga had awakened from a dream in which Oscar was sitting at the kitchen table in their house on Fifth Avenue. Behind him, outside the window, she could see a snowbank with the sun shining on it. The light had an April-like glow in her dream. But what she remembered most were his eyes, which were a uniform gray except for the big black pupils. That’s not my husband, she had thought as she stood next to the kitchen counter. “I’ve always had eyes like this,” said Oscar, and the second he said that, she knew it was true. She’d

Lance drove south from Ely through the same kind of snow-covered, forested landscape where he’d spent the past two months. Yesterday’s events had shaken him, both the surprising encounter with Clayton Miller and, in particular, Chrissy’s story. Had a blood-spattered man holding a baseball bat actually stood on the side of the road outside Finland? If that was true, it had to have been Andy. But there was something surreal about the story, as if it had been taken from an episode of The Twilight Zone, just as Chrissy had said. Except for the fact that such a series of