The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 31

  ‘Can you describe the relationship you had with Marie?’

  For the first time since she’d arrived, Helen’s face lit up with a smile. It seemed to Erica that ten years vanished in an instant.

  ‘We clicked right from the start. We came from very different families and had been raised differently. She was an extrovert, while I was shy. We shouldn’t have had much in common at all. Even today I can’t understand why Marie chose to be my friend. Everybody wanted to be around her, even though they teased her about her family. It was all in fun, though. Everyone wanted to be near her. She was so beautiful, so daring, so … wild.’

  ‘Wild. That’s not something I’ve heard about Marie before,’ said Erica. ‘Tell me what you mean.’

  ‘What should I say? She was like a force of nature. Even back then she was already talking about becoming an actress, making films in the States, and being a Hollywood star. I mean, lots of people talk about things like that when they’re kids, but how many actually succeed? Do you realize what determination a person has to have?’

  ‘Yes, the success she’s had is amazing,’ said Erica, though she couldn’t help wondering what the cost must have been.

  In all the articles she’d read about Marie, the actress had seemed a tragic figure, wrapped in a resounding loneliness and emptiness. She wondered whether Marie, as a child, could have imagined that would be the price she’d have to pay to achieve her dream.

  ‘I loved being with Marie. She was everything I was not. She gave me security, she gave me courage. With Marie I dared to be someone I would never have dared otherwise. She brought out the best in me.’

  Helen’s face was radiant, and it was as if she had to force herself to hold back her emotions.

  ‘How did the two of you react when you weren’t allowed to see each other?’ asked Erica, studying her face.

  A thought was forming in the back of her mind, but it was still so hazy that she couldn’t quite capture it.

  ‘We were in despair, naturally,’ said Helen. ‘At least, I was. Marie immediately started working out how we could get around it.’

  ‘So you kept on seeing each other?’ asked Erica.

  ‘Yes. We saw each other in school every day, but we also met secretly in our free time, as often as we could. It felt a little like a Romeo and Juliet story, two people unjustly treated by the rest of the world. But we didn’t let that stop us. We were each other’s world.’

  ‘Where did you meet?’

  ‘Mostly in the barn on the Strand family’s farm. It was empty. They didn’t keep any animals, so we would slip inside and go up to the hay loft. Marie would swipe cigarettes from her brothers, and we’d lie there and smoke.’

  ‘How long did you keep up your friendship in secret? Before … well, before it happened.’

  ‘I think about six months or so. I don’t remember exactly. It was such a long time ago, and I’ve tried not to think about it all these years.’

  ‘So how did you react when the Strand family asked you girls to babysit for Stella together?’

  ‘Well, Stella’s father asked my father, and I think he was a little taken aback and said yes without thinking about it. Appearances were important, you know, and Pappa didn’t want to seem like a narrow-minded person who would judge a child to be an undesirable playmate because of her family. That wouldn’t have looked good.’

  Helen grimaced.

  ‘But Marie and I were thrilled, even though we realized it didn’t mean anything would change. Remember, we were only thirteen. We took one day at a time and hoped that some day we’d get to be together, without having to hide in the barn.’

  ‘So you were looking forward to being Stella’s babysitters?’

  ‘We were,’ said Helen, nodding. ‘We liked Stella. And she liked us.’

  She fell silent, pressing her lips tight.

  ‘I have to go home soon,’ she said, downing the rest of her coffee.

  Erica felt slightly panicked. There was so much more she wanted to ask, so much more she needed to find out. She had questions about all sorts of details and events and feelings. She needed significantly more than this brief interview to bring the story to life. But she also knew that pressuring Helen would be counter-productive. If she made do for now with what she’d learned so far, that would increase her chances of getting Helen to agree to further conversations. So she forced herself to smile cheerfully.

  ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you could take time to talk to me. But could I ask you one more thing?’

  She glanced at her mobile to make sure it was still recording.

  ‘Okay,’ said Helen reluctantly. Erica sensed that mentally she was already on her way home.

  But of all the questions she wanted to ask, this was perhaps the most important.

  ‘Why did you confess?’ she asked.

  Helen fell silent. She sat motionless at the kitchen table and Erica could almost see the thoughts whirring through her mind. After a moment, she took a deep breath and then exhaled, as if thirty years of accumulated tension were suddenly released.

  She looked Erica in the eye and said quietly:

  ‘So we could be together. And it was a way of telling our parents to go to hell.’

  ‘And now trim the sail!’ shouted Bill into the wind.

  Karim strained to understand. Bill had a tendency to start out in English and then automatically slip into Swedish. Certain words had begun to sink in, and now Karim knew ‘trim the sail’ meant pulling on the line attached to the sail.

  He pulled until he received a nod of approval from Bill.

  Adnan shouted when the boat began to lean and reached out to cling to the side. They had each taken separate turns on a test run with Bill in a small boat, but they were now all gathered in a big white sailboat that Bill called Samba. At first they were wary when they saw it was completely open in the back, but Bill had assured them it wouldn’t take on water. Apparently it had been used for handicapped sailors, and the idea was that it would be easier for them to be pulled into the boat from the water. That explanation alone made Karim uneasy. If it was so safe, why did they have to be pulled out of the water?

  ‘No worry!’ shouted Bill to Adnan, giving him a big smile and nodding eagerly.

  Adnan responded with a sceptical look and gripped the side even harder.

  ‘The boat is supposed to lean, then it moves better through the water,’ said Bill in English, continuing to nod. ‘It’s supposed to do that,’ he added in Swedish.

  The wind drowned out some of his words, but they understood what he was trying to say. How strange. ‘What if someone said the same thing about driving a car?’ Karim muttered. He still wasn’t convinced this whole project was a good idea. But Bill’s enthusiasm was so contagious that he and the others were willing to give it a chance. And it was a welcome break from the tedium of the refugee centre. If only the sense of dread would subside a bit when they got on board the boat.

  He forced himself to breathe calmly and checked for the fifth time that all the straps on his life vest were securely fastened.

  ‘Tack!’ yelled Bill, and they stared at each other in bewilderment. They didn’t understand what Bill meant.

  Bill began waving his arms as he shouted:

  ‘Turn! Turn!’ he cried in English.

  Ibrahim, who was at the wheel, used all his strength to turn it to the right, which threw everybody towards the side of the boat. The boom swiftly swung across, and they barely managed to duck out of the way. Bill almost toppled into the water but managed at the last second to grab the side of the boat and stay on board.

  ‘Bloody fucking hell!’ he screamed, and those were all words they understood.

  Swear words were the first ones they’d learned in Swedish. They’d heard ‘damn roaches’ as soon as they arrived at the train station.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ shouted Ibrahim, letting go of the wheel as if it were a cobra.

  Bill threw himself towards the back of th
e boat as he continued to swear. He took over the wheel from Ibrahim, and when the sailboat was once again stable, he took a deep breath. Then he smiled.

  ‘No worries, boys! No worries! It’s nothing compared to the storm when I crossed the Biscay!’

  He began whistling merrily as Karim, for safety’s sake, once again checked to make sure his life vest was properly fastened.

  Annika stuck her head in the door.

  ‘Bertil, there’s someone who insists on talking only to you. An unknown phone number, and their voice sounds very odd. What do you think? Shall I put the call through?’

  ‘Okay, go ahead,’ said Mellberg, sighing heavily. ‘It’s probably some bloody telemarketer who thinks he can sell me something I absolutely can’t live without, but we’ll see about that.’

  He leaned down to scratch Ernst behind the ear while he waited for the light on his phone to go on. When it did, he answered in an authoritative voice: ‘Yes? Hello?’ If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was dealing with sales people.

  But the person on the line was not interested in selling him something. At first the distorted voice made him suspicious, but what he heard was undeniably startling information. He sat up straighter in his chair and listened intently. Ernst noticed the change and raised his head with his ears pricked.

  Before Mellberg was able to ask any pertinent questions, he heard a click and the caller was gone.

  Mellberg scratched his head. What he’d just heard made him view the whole case from a different angle. He reached for the phone to ring Patrik but then changed his mind. The other team members were all busy searching the Berg house and farm. And this information was of such magnitude that someone senior ought to take care of the matter. So it would be simpler and safer if he saw to it himself. Later on, when he was showered with gratitude by the public because he had successfully solved the case … well, that was something he could deal with, since he was police chief, after all, and constantly in the spotlight, solving the most complicated cases.

  He got up. Ernst eagerly raised his head to look up at his master.

  ‘Sorry, old boy,’ said Mellberg. ‘Today you’ll have to stay here. I have important matters to tend to.’

  He ignored Ernst’s pitiful whimpers and hurried from the room.

  ‘I’m going out for a while,’ he told Annika as he passed her in the reception area.

  ‘What was the phone call about?’ she asked.

  Mellberg groaned. What a trial it was these days, with staff forever sticking their noses in things instead of showing proper respect for their superiors.

  ‘Er, it was one of those darn telemarketers. Just like I thought.’

  Annika gave him a dubious look, but he knew better than to tell her where he was going. Quicker than he could blink an eye, she would be ringing Hedström, who would undoubtedly insist on tagging along. Power was intoxicating – that’s what he’d learned over the years, and he was always having to fend off the attempts of his younger colleagues to upstage him when he was on the verge of a breakthrough or dealing with the media. It was tragic the way they carried on.

  He grunted when he got outside. If this greenhouse effect keeps heating things up like this, I might as well move to Spain, he thought. Not that he was especially fond of winter. Spring and autumn were more his cup of tea.

  When he got into the police car, the heat inside nearly took his breath away. He was going to have to talk to the idiot who had left the vehicle parked in the sun. It was like stepping into a sauna! He hurried to switch on the AC but the temperature still hadn’t noticeably dropped by the time he arrived at the refugee centre, and his shirt was drenched with sweat.

  Mellberg hadn’t told anyone he was coming. He didn’t know the director of the centre, so he couldn’t rely on the man not to tip off the individuals in question. It was best to handle these types of situation without any advance warning. That was why the police used to conduct dawn raids in the past. To have the element of surprise on their side.

  He headed for the reception area and pulled open the door. It was blissfully cool in here. Mellberg wiped his right hand on his trouser leg before he shook hands with the man in the lobby.

  ‘Hi. I’m Bertil Mellberg from the Tanumshede police station.’

  ‘Hi. My name is Rolf. I’m the director of the centre. To what do we owe the honour?’

  He gave Mellberg an uneasy look. Mellberg let him sweat for a moment, not because he had any reason to do so, but simply because he could.

  ‘I need to have access to one of your residences,’ he said.

  ‘Oh?’ said Rolf, startled. ‘Which one? And why?’

  ‘Who lives in the house furthest away? The one facing the sea?’

  ‘That’s Karim and his family.’

  ‘Karim? What do you know about him?’

  Mellberg crossed his arms.

  ‘Well, he’s from Syria. Came here a couple of months ago with his wife and two children. A journalist. Very quiet and calm. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Did he participate in the search party when the little girl disappeared on Monday?’

  ‘I think so.’ Rolf frowned. ‘Yes, he did. What’s this all about?’ He too crossed his arms.

  ‘I need to have a look at where he’s living,’ said Bertil.

  ‘I’m not sure I can allow that,’ said Rolf, but there was a hesitancy in his voice.

  Mellberg took a chance, knowing that most Swedes were unaware of their rights.

  ‘This is a government-run place, so we have the right to gain access.’

  ‘Oh, er, if that’s the case … I’ll show you the way.’

  ‘This is police business, so I’d prefer to do this alone,’ said Mellberg. He wasn’t keen on having an anxious director looking over his shoulder. ‘Just point out the house.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Rolf, following him out the front door. ‘It’s the last building, over there.’

  Mellberg once again struggled through the infernal summer heat. No doubt the refugees thrived in these high temperatures. It probably felt like home to them.

  The small white-painted house looked well-maintained. Toys were neatly stacked up outside and pairs of shoes were lined up in front of the steps. The door stood wide open, and he could hear children laughing inside.

  ‘Hello?’ he called, and a beautiful woman with long dark hair appeared, holding a saucepan and a dishtowel.

  She gave a start when she saw him and immediately stopped drying the pan.

  ‘What you want?’ she said in English.

  She spoke with a strong accent, and her voice sounded cold and hostile.

  Mellberg hadn’t thought about the language problem. If he was being honest, English was not his strong suit. And maybe the woman didn’t really speak English. She kept talking in a language he didn’t understand at all. Good lord, how hard can it be to learn the language of the country where she’d ended up?

  ‘I have to … see in your house …’ he managed.

  Trying to find even a few words in English made his tongue feel thick and clumsy.

  The woman looked at him, uncomprehending, and threw out her hands.

  ‘I have some … information … that your man is hiding something in the house,’ he said, and tried to push past her.

  The woman crossed her arms and blocked the doorway. Her eyes flashed as she burst into an angry tirade.

  For a moment Mellberg felt a flicker of doubt. But he was used to dealing with angry females at home, so he wasn’t about to be frightened off by this young woman. He realized he should have brought along an interpreter, but decided there wasn’t time to fetch one now. No, he needed to be cunning. As cunning as a fox. Even though a warrant wasn’t required in Sweden, he knew that was not the case in many other countries. He had a flash of genius and reached in his breast pocket to pull out a piece of paper, which he carefully unfolded.

  ‘I have permission to look in your house,’ he said, holding up the paper with an authoritative expr
ession. ‘You know this? A permission?’

  Frowning, he waved it in front of her eyes. She stared at the paper and began looking uncertain.

  Then the woman stepped aside and nodded. Pleased, he stuffed Ernst’s veterinary certificate back in his breast pocket. When it came to important business like this, any means were permitted.

  Bohuslän 1672

  One of the things Elin’s grandmother had taught her was how to follow the seasons of the year. Late spring was when she had to gather the herbs and flowers she would need for the rest of the year, so whenever she had some time to herself she would go out into the fields. Today she’d won two hours for herself by bribing the youngest maid, Stina, to take over her chores with the promise that she would help her say the proper words of supplication to entice a suitor.

  There were plenty of plants to choose from. The early spring days had been rainy, followed by many sunny days, and now everything was in bloom. It was lovely roaming over the land belonging to the vicarage and for the first time in a long while she felt something akin to happiness. There were meadows, pastures, marshy areas, and forests. Everything looked so lush, and Elin hummed to herself as she put in her basket the best specimens of those plants with the properties needed to heal and cure, offer comfort and solace. On her return, she would carefully dry the contents of her basket in the small space allotted to her in the servants’ quarters.

  The rough terrain was hard to traverse, and even though she was strong and healthy, she was out of breath. She stopped at the old cowshed and sat down for a moment. The air smelled so good, the sun was so warm, and the sky was so blue, that she persuaded herself it would do no harm to allow her soul to rest. She lay down in the grass with her arms outstretched and her gaze fixed on the sky. She knew that God was present everywhere, but she could not help thinking that He must be even closer at this moment. He must be sitting right here with all the colours of the earth, painting the day.

  Her body grew heavier. The fragrance of the grass and flowers filled her nostrils. The clouds were slowly gliding across the blue sky. The softness of the ground embraced her. Everything lulled her to sleep. Her eyelids kept trying to close until she could no longer resist and let them fall shut.