The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Read online

  With a heavy sigh, Mellberg picked up the bag and began walking away. The whole world seemed to be against him.

  Patrik was bone-tired when he opened the front door. But stepping into the hallway was like stepping into a warm embrace. Outside the porch, the view of the sea was ablaze with an evening sunset, and he could hear the crackling of a fire in the living room. Some people might call him and Erica nuts for lighting a fire in the fireplace on these warm summer nights, but they thought a cosy atmosphere was more important, and they simply opened a couple of windows when it got too hot.

  He saw light from the TV was flickering as he went into the living room. If there was ever a time when he needed to snuggle up to Erica, it was an evening like this one.

  Her face lit up when she saw him. He sank on to the sofa next to her.

  ‘Bad day?’ she asked, and he merely nodded.

  The phone had been ringing nonstop. Annika had taken one call after another from the media, from ‘concerned citizens’, and from crackpots. They’d all asked the same question: was it true the police had arrested someone from the refugee centre for the murder of the little girl? The evening papers had been especially aggressive, and for that reason Patrik had called a press conference for eight tomorrow morning. He wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight because he needed to prepare and work out what exactly he wanted to say. The alternative would be to push Mellberg in front of a bus, but they always stuck together at the station. That’s just the way it was. For better or worse.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Erica, resting her blond head on his shoulder.

  She held a glass of red wine towards him, but he shook his head. He needed to be as clear-headed as possible tomorrow.

  He told her the whole story, holding nothing back.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking!’ she said, sitting up straight. ‘What are you going to do? How are you going to deal with this?’

  ‘I’ve never felt so ashamed as when I went to the holding cell. Karim had scratched his arms to shreds, and his expression was completely blank.’

  ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of,’ said Erica, patting his cheek. ‘Has the gossip already started?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Right now we’re getting a good look at the dark side of humanity. Everyone is saying they “knew all along it had to be one of those foreigners who did it”.’

  Patrik massaged his forehead.

  Everything was suddenly so very complicated. He loved this place and the people who lived here, but he also knew how easily fear could take hold. In Bohuslän, people clung to tradition and the region had always been a breeding ground for suspicion and distrust of other people. Sometimes he thought nothing much had really changed since the days of Henrik Schartau, the pietistic Lutheran pastor of the eighteenth century. At the same time, people like Bill were proof that there was good in the community too.

  ‘What do the girl’s parents say?’ asked Erica, turning off the TV so the only light in the room came from the candles and the fireplace.

  ‘They don’t know yet, at least not from us. Though they’ve probably heard about it from others by now. But Gösta is going to drive over there to talk to them first thing in the morning. He’s going to show them a picture of the knickers to see if they recognize them.’

  ‘How did the search go at their place?’

  ‘We only managed to search the farmhouse before Mellberg summoned all of us and Torbjörn’s team to the refugee centre. The techs were about to start on the barn, but now that will have to wait. Maybe it’s no longer necessary.’

  ‘What do you mean? Do you think Karim might be guilty, after all?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Patrik. ‘There are too many things that seem a little too convenient. Who made the phone call? How did that person know where the knickers had been hidden in Karim’s home? We’ve listened to the tape, and even though the caller’s voice was distorted in some way, we could clearly hear that the person spoke Swedish without an accent. Which immediately makes me suspicious about the caller’s motive regarding Karim. But maybe I’m being cynical.’

  ‘No, I’d think the same thing,’ said Erica.

  Patrik could practically see the gears turning inside her head.

  ‘Was Karim one of the guys from the centre who joined the search party?’

  Patrik nodded.

  ‘Yes, he was one of the three men who found her body. And it would have presented a good opportunity to erase any evidence. If we find footprints, fibres, or any other evidence pointing to him, he can simply say that they got there after the body was found.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like the actions of a first-time criminal, if he had thought through everything that carefully.’

  ‘No, I agree. The problem is, we don’t know anything about his background except that he came here as a refugee. We know only what he has told us himself, plus anything that might exist in Swedish documents after he arrived here. Which is zero. And I came away with a good impression of him after our conversation. When he understood what it was about, he said that his wife could give him an alibi, and that he had no idea how the knickers ended up in his home. Since his wife and children were so upset, I let him go after he promised to appear for a hearing tomorrow.’

  Erica took a sip of her wine. Pensively she twirled the glass in her hand.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked, reaching for a colourful advert lying among the papers and file folders spread over the coffee table.

  He was too tired to discuss the case any further. He wanted to think about something else before he had to start preparing for the press conference.

  ‘It’s an advert for a gallery opening tomorrow. Leif Hermansson’s daughter, Viola, is exhibiting some of her paintings. She phoned me a while ago, saying she might have something to tell me, and she asked me to meet her at the gallery.’

  ‘Sounds exciting,’ he said, putting down the advert.

  The paintings were nice, but art was not really his thing. He preferred photographs, especially in black and white. His favourite was a big framed poster with a black-and-white picture of ‘The Boss’ in action at Wembley Stadium during the ‘Born in the USA’ tour. That was something worth looking at. That was art.

  Erica placed her hand on Patrik’s knee and got up.

  ‘I’m going to bed. Coming with me? Or are you going to stay up for a while?’

  She gathered up all the papers and files from the coffee table and stuffed them under her arm.

  ‘You go ahead, sweetheart. I need to work for a couple of hours. I’ve called a press conference for eight in the morning.’

  ‘Yippie,’ said Erica dryly, blowing him a kiss.

  The display on Patrik’s mobile lit up. He’d turned off the ringer, but when he saw the name Gösta, he reached for the phone.

  Gösta spoke rapidly, sounding upset, and Patrik felt his heart sink.

  ‘I’m coming,’ he said, ending the call.

  A minute later he was in his car. As the Volvo roared off towards Tanumshede, he caught a glimpse of the lights in his house in the rear-view mirror. And the silhouette of Erica standing in the doorway, watching him go.

  A man jumped right in front of him and shot him in the chest.

  Khalil blinked. His eyes were dry and irritated, not only from all the video games they’d been playing, but also from the wind that had blown in his face during the long sailing lesson. Even though he was still scared, he was looking forward to the practice sessions. At least they were different from everything else he’d ever done.

  ‘I saw Karim come home,’ said Adnan, shooting an enemy soldier in the head. ‘Bill gave him a lift.’

  They had turned off all the lights, and the glow from the TV screen was all that lit up the room.

  ‘Do you know why the police took him in?’ asked Adnan.

  Khalil thought about the children crying and Amina, who had given them all a proud look before closing the door.

  ‘No idea,’ he said. ‘We’ll have t
o ask Rolf in the morning.’

  Another enemy soldier fell, and Adnan pumped his fist in victory. He’d just won lots of points.

  ‘The police here aren’t like back home,’ said Khalil, though he could hear how uncertain he sounded.

  He didn’t actually know much about the Swedish police. Maybe they were as lawless here as they’d been in Syria.

  ‘But what could they have on Karim? I don’t think—’

  Khalil interrupted Adnan.

  ‘Shh! Listen!’

  He turned off the sound of the video game, and they both listened intently. They heard screams coming from outside.

  ‘What could that be?’

  Khalil put down the game console. They heard more screams. He looked at Adnan, who tossed aside his console as well. Together they ran out of the room. The screams got louder.

  ‘Fire!’ someone shouted, and they saw fire rising into the sky fifty metres away. From Karim’s home.

  The flames were racing towards them.

  Farid came running with a fire extinguisher, but he soon threw it down in frustration.

  ‘It doesn’t work!’

  Khalil grabbed Adnan’s arm.

  ‘We need to fetch water!’

  They turned and shouted to everyone they met to bring water. They knew where the hose was that Rolf used to water the lawn around the office building, and that’s where they ran, but they could find no containers to hold the water.

  ‘Fetch saucepans, buckets, basins, everything you have!’ shouted Khalil. He dashed into the room he shared with Adnan and grabbed two saucepans.

  ‘We need to ring the fire department!’ yelled Adnan, and Khalil nodded as he turned on the water.

  At that moment they heard sirens approaching.

  Khalil turned around, lowering the saucepan he was holding. He let the water spill out. The wind had caused the flames to spread quickly across the dry old wooden buildings, and an entire row was now on fire. A child was screaming shrilly.

  Then he heard Karim bellow and saw him come running out of the blazing house. He was dragging someone out. Amina.

  Women wept, raising their hands to the night sky where flames and sparks created their own starry firmament. As the fire engines arrived, Khalil sank to the ground and hid his face in his hands. Karim was still bellowing as he held Amina in his arms.

  Once again everything was gone.

  Bohuslän 1672

  They had been avoiding each other all week. What they had experienced had been so intense, so overwhelming for both of them, that afterwards they had simply put on their clothes, brushed off the grass, and hurriedly returned home, taking separate paths. They had not dared look at each other for fear that God’s lush vegetation and sky might be reflected in their eyes.

  Elin felt as if she were standing on the edge of an abyss that was pulling her forward with irresistible force. She felt dizzy from peering down into the depths, but the mere sight of Preben, seen from a distance as he worked on the farm wearing his white shirt, made her soul long to throw itself in.

  Then Britta left for Uddevalla. She would be away for three days. As soon as she was gone, Preben came to Elin in the kitchen and stroked her hand. He looked into her eyes, and after a moment she nodded. She knew what he wanted, and her whole body and soul wanted the same.

  Slowly he backed out of the kitchen and headed across the farm towards the meadow. She waited a suitable amount of time so as not to draw attention before heading in the same direction. Then she quickly made her way over to the old cowshed where they had met before. The day was just as lovely and sunny as the previous week, and she felt beads of sweat running down her chest, both from the heat of the sun, from the effort it took to dash across the grass in her heavy skirts, and from the thought of what lay ahead.

  He was lying in the grass, waiting for her. His eyes shone with a love so great that she almost flinched. She was frightened, yet she knew this was meant to be. He was in her blood, her limbs, her heart, and in her belief that God had a purpose for everything. Surely the Lord could not have given them this gift of love if He did not mean for them to make use of it. Her God could not be so cruel. And Preben was a man of the church. He, if anyone, must know how to interpret God’s will, and he would have stopped if he did not also know this was meant to be.

  With fumbling fingers she began to undress. Preben watched her, his chin propped in his hand, never taking his eyes off her even for a second. Finally she stood naked and trembling before him, though without any sense of shame or any desire to hide.

  ‘You are so lovely,’ he said, breathlessly.

  He held out his hand towards her.

  ‘Help me out of my clothes,’ he said as she slowly sank down beside him. Eagerly she began unbuttoning his shirt as he pulled off his trousers.

  At last they lay naked together. Gently he ran his finger over the curves of her body. He stopped at the birthmark she had below her right breast and laughed.

  ‘It looks like a map of Denmark.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe Sweden will take it away from me,’ she said with a smile.

  He caressed her face.

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  Elin shook her head. ‘Let us not think of that now. This is God’s will. Of this I am convinced.’

  ‘You truly believe so?’

  His eyes were sorrowful. She leaned forward and kissed him, stroking him at the same time. He groaned and opened his lips to her, and she felt him respond to her touch.

  ‘I know it,’ she murmured before slowly sinking down to receive him.

  Preben’s gaze was fixed on her as he put his hands on her waist and drew her close. As they clung to each other, the sky and sun overhead exploded in light and heat. This must be God’s work, thought Elin before she dozed off with her cheek resting against his chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘How’s Amina doing?’ asked Martin when he and Paula entered the waiting room.

  Patrik stretched and shifted position on the uncomfortable chair.

  ‘In critical condition,’ he said, getting up to fetch a cup of coffee.

  It was his tenth cup. He’d been drinking the disgusting hospital coffee all night in order to stay awake.

  ‘What about Karim?’ asked Paula after he sat down again.

  ‘Minor smoke damage to his lungs and burns on his hands from dragging Amina and the children out of the house. The children seem to be fine, thank goodness. They inhaled a lot of smoke and have been treated with oxygen. The doctors are keeping them here for twenty-four hours for observation.’

  Paula sighed. ‘Who’s going to take care of them while their parents are in hospital?’

  ‘I’m waiting for someone from social services to get here. Then we’ll find out what they recommend. But they have no relatives, no family at all, from what I understand.’

  ‘We can take them,’ said Paula. ‘Mamma took the summer off so she could help us with the baby, and I know she’d say the same thing if she was here.’

  ‘Sure, but what about Mellberg?’ said Patrik.

  Paula’s face darkened.

  ‘When he told Mamma what he’d done, speaking with such pride and claiming to be a victim, Mamma threw him out.’

  ‘She did what?’ said Martin.

  Patrik stared at Paula. ‘Rita threw Bertil out? So where’s he staying?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Paula. ‘But as I said, the children can stay with us. Provided social services give their approval.’

  ‘I can’t see any reason why they’d object,’ replied Patrik.

  A doctor came down the corridor towards them, and Patrik stood up. It was Anton Larsson, the consultant who was treating Amina.

  ‘Any news?’ asked Patrik, downing the rest of his coffee with a grimace.

  ‘No. Amina’s condition is still critical. She inhaled a lot of smoke and suffered third-degree burns to large parts of her body. She’s on a respirator and an IV drip to replace the fluid loss cause
d by the burns. We’ve been working on her injuries all night.’

  ‘What about Karim?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Well, as I told your colleague, he has injuries to the skin on his hands, and his lungs suffered minor smoke damage, but apart from that he is relatively unscathed.’

  ‘Why was Amina much more affected than Karim?’ asked Paula.

  As yet they knew little about last night’s events at the refugee centre. Fire experts were still investigating the cause of the blaze, but arson was suspected.

  ‘That’s a question you’ll have to put to Karim. He’s awake now, so I can ask him whether he feels up to talking to you.’

  ‘We’d appreciate that,’ said Patrik, sitting down again.

  The three of them waited in silence until the doctor returned and motioned them to follow.

  ‘I didn’t think he’d talk to us,’ said Martin.

  ‘Me neither. If I was in his shoes, I’d never want to talk to the police again,’ said Paula, standing up.

  They walked over to the room where Dr Larsson was waiting and hesitantly stepped inside. Karim was lying in the bed next to the window. When he turned towards them, his face was furrowed with fatigue and fear. His hands, wrapped in gauze, rested on top of the covers.

  The tube leading to the bed hummed as it pumped oxygen.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to speak to us,’ said Patrik quietly, pulling a chair over to the bed.

  ‘I want to know who did this to my family,’ said Karim groggily, his English more fluent than Patrik’s.

  He coughed and his eyes filled with tears, but he kept his gaze fixed steadily on Patrik.

  Martin and Paula stayed in the background, having silently agreed to let Patrik steer the conversation.

  ‘They say they’re not sure whether Amina will survive,’ said Karim, suffering another attack of coughing.

  Tears ran down his cheeks. He fumbled with the nasal tube delivering oxygen to him.

  ‘They’re doing their best to save her,’ said Patrik.

  The lump in his throat forced him to swallow several times. He knew exactly how Karim was feeling. He was thinking about the time after the car accident that nearly took Erica’s life. He would never forget how scared he’d felt.