The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 38

  Bill tossed the keys to Adnan, who caught them in mid-air.

  ‘Sure, we’ll go,’ said Khalil.

  When they got outside to the car park, he held out his hand.

  ‘Give me the keys.’

  ‘I want to drive,’ said Adnan, holding the key ring in a tight grip.

  ‘Forget it. I’m driving.’

  Reluctantly Adnan opened the door on the passenger side. Khalil got into the driver’s seat and looked first at the keys, then at the dashboard.

  ‘There’s nowhere to put in the key.’

  ‘You just press the start button,’ said Adnan with a sigh.

  Cars were his biggest interest other than video games, but he got most of his knowledge from YouTube.

  Khalil looked sceptical as he pressed the button labelled ‘Stop/Start’. The car started up with a rumble.

  Adnan grinned.

  ‘Do you suppose Bill knows neither of us has a driver’s licence?’

  Khalil found himself smiling, in spite of everything.

  ‘Would he have given us his car keys if he knew?’

  ‘This is Bill we’re talking about,’ said Adnan. ‘Of course he would. You do know how to drive, don’t you? If not, I’m getting out right now.’

  Khalil began backing up.

  ‘Don’t worry. My father taught me.’

  He reversed out of the car park and turned on to the road. It was only a few hundred metres to Hedemyrs.

  ‘Swedes are so strange,’ said Adnan, shaking his head.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Khalil, pulling into the car park behind the supermarket.

  ‘They treat us like lepers, they say all sorts of shit about us, they throw Karim in jail, and they try to burn us alive. But then they want to help us. I don’t get it.’

  Khalil shrugged.

  ‘I don’t think everyone is going to bring us blankets,’ he said, pressing the stop button. ‘There are probably a lot of people who wish we’d all died in the fire.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll come back and try again?’ asked Adnan.

  Khalil got out and closed the car door. He shook his head.

  ‘People who sneak around and set fires under the cover of night are cowards. Too many people are watching now.’

  ‘Do you think this would have happened if the police hadn’t taken Karim in?’ asked Adnan, holding open the supermarket door for Khalil.

  ‘Who knows? The anger has probably been smouldering for a while. Maybe that’s all that was needed to make words turn into action.’

  Khalil looked around. Bill hadn’t said who they were supposed to talk to, so after a moment he went over to a young man who was unpacking tinned goods in one of the aisles.

  ‘You should probably talk to the boss,’ he said. ‘He’s in his office.’

  The young man pointed to the back of the shop.

  Khalil hesitated. What if the man knew nothing about donating food? Maybe Bill hadn’t talked to the right person. What if the boss thought they had come here to beg?

  Adnan took his arm.

  ‘Come on. Might as well talk to him, now we’re here.’

  Ten minutes later they were filling the boot of the car with sandwiches, soft drinks, fruit, and even some sweets for the children. Khalil again shook his head. The Swedes certainly were strange.

  It felt as if her feet were flying across the gravel. This was the routine that had kept her alive. Getting up each morning, putting on her running clothes, lacing up her shoes, and going out to run.

  Over the years Helen had improved. Oddly enough, marathons didn’t discriminate in terms of age. The younger runners had an advantage when it came to energy and strength, but the older runners compensated for this with experience. It was always amusing to see cocky young runners on their first marathon get outrun by a woman old enough to be their mother.

  Helen felt the warning signs of a stitch in her side, which forced her to calm her breathing. She had no intention of giving in today.

  The police had taken into custody the man from the refugee centre, and then someone had set fire to the place. Helen was horrified when she saw the pictures, but almost immediately it had crossed her mind that now she and Marie would come under scrutiny again. One of them would be suspected. Or both.

  She and Marie had both had so many dreams, so many plans. When they turned eighteen they were going to leave everything behind and buy one-way tickets to America, where all sorts of wonderful things would await them. Marie had actually gone there. She had fulfilled her dreams, while Helen had stayed here. Dutiful. Obedient. All those traits that had made her a victim from the start. Marie would never have accepted Helen’s fate. She would have fought hard against it.

  But Helen was not Marie. All her life she had done what others told her to do.

  She had followed Marie’s career, read about her life and her reputation for being difficult, cold, and at times even nasty. A bad mother who sent her daughter to boarding schools all over the world and was constantly photographed partying with different men. But Helen saw something else. She saw the girl who was never afraid of anything, who always tried to protect her, who would have given her the sun and the moon.

  That was why Helen had never been able to tell her. How could she? Marie had been powerless, a mere child. What could she have done?

  She thought she’d caught a glimpse of Marie when she was grocery shopping yesterday. She’d seen only a slight movement in her peripheral vision, but Marie’s presence was so strong. When Helen looked up, she saw only an elderly man with a cane, but she could have sworn Marie had been there, looking at her.

  The gravel road passed swiftly as her feet rhythmically pounded the ground. Her right foot forward, her right arm back. She glanced at her pulse watch. She was making better time than ever, maybe because the rhythmic pace forced out everything else.

  There were so many memories she tried to avoid. And there was Sam. Her wonderful Sam. He had never had a chance. He was condemned before he was even born, infected by her sins. How could she have believed that the years would make everything disappear, that it would all slip into the dark water of forgetfulness? Nothing ever disappeared. She, more than anyone, should have known that.

  Helen ran with her gaze fixed on the horizon. She was thirteen when she started running. And she didn’t dare slow down now.

  Jessie pushed aside the last folder containing articles about Helen, Marie, and Stella. She looked at Sam. His expression could be so open one moment, so closed the next. In the very back of the folder he had included a handwritten sheet with his thoughts about the murder. Reading them was like seeing her own thoughts in print. But there was a difference. He had taken everything one step further.

  What should she say to him now? What did he want to hear?

  Sam reached for his backpack.

  ‘There’s something I’d like to show you,’ he said.

  He took out a worn notebook and leafed through it. All of a sudden he looked so vulnerable.

  ‘I …’ Jessie began.

  That was as far as she got. A loud knock on the door made both of them jump.

  When Jessie opened the door, she took a step back in surprise. Vendela was standing on the porch. She didn’t look at Jessie. Her eyes were fixed on her shoes, and she was nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  ‘Hi,’ she said in a low voice, sounding almost shy.

  ‘Hi,’ Jessie managed to say.

  ‘I … I don’t know what Sam has told you about us, but I thought that … maybe …’

  Jessie heard Sam give a snort behind her. He was leaning against the wall in the entryway. His expression was almost wickedly dark.

  ‘Oh hi, Sam,’ said Vendela.

  Sam didn’t reply, so Vendela turned her attention back to Jessie.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my place and hang out for a while. It’s only ten minutes away by bike. Do you have a bike?’

  ‘Yes, I have
a bike.’

  Jessie could feel her cheeks burning. Vendela was one of the most popular girls. One look at her was enough to tell you that. And none of the popular kids had ever come to see her like this. Or asked her to come over and hang out.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re buying any of this,’ said Sam.

  He was still glaring at Vendela, and Jessie was starting to feel annoyed. It was a big deal that Vendela had come to see her, and this was an opportunity for both Jessie and Sam to ensure that their school days would be more tolerable. What did he think she should do? Slam the door in the girl’s face?

  Vendela held up her hands.

  ‘Believe me, I’m really ashamed of what we did to Sam. Nils and Basse are too, but they didn’t dare come over here to apologize. You know how boys are …’

  Jessie nodded. She turned to Sam.

  ‘Let’s meet later. Okay?’ she said in a low voice.

  Why couldn’t he drop his stupid pride and tell her it was okay, that of course she should go hang out with Vendela? But his eyes narrowed. Then he went over to the table and gathered up all the folders and stuffed them in his backpack and bag. She thought she saw him wipe away a tear from his cheek as he tossed the worn notebook into his backpack.

  He walked past Jessie without saying a word, but then he paused in the doorway, standing very close to Vendela.

  ‘If I hear that you guys treat her badly …’

  He fell silent but gave her one last stare before he went over to his bicycle. Then he took off.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse Sam … He …’

  Jessie searched for the right words, but Vendela merely shook her head.

  ‘I get it. We’ve been mean to Sam since he was a kid, so it’s only natural he’s cross. I would be too. But we’re older now, and we understand things we didn’t get before.’

  Jessie nodded.

  ‘I know exactly what you mean. Actually.’

  Did she? Jessie wasn’t sure, but Vendela clapped her hands.

  ‘Okay!’ she said. ‘Hop on your bike, and let’s get going!’

  Jessie went over to her bicycle. It had come with the house and looked shiny and new and expensive, which made her happy when she saw Vendela’s envious look.

  ‘Nice place you live in!’ she said as they cycled towards Hamngatan.

  ‘Thanks!’ called Jessie, feeling butterflies in her stomach.

  Vendela was so … perfect. Jessie could have killed to be wearing short denim cut-offs like Vendela had on.

  They passed the town square, which was bustling with people. She caught a glimpse of Marie behind the film cameras. She was talking to the director. Jörgen. Marie occasionally mentioned him.

  Jessie had a sudden idea.

  ‘My mother’s over there,’ she called to Vendela. ‘Want to say hi?’

  Vendela looked at her. ‘If it’s okay with you, I’d rather go home and hang out. I don’t want to be rude or anything, but …’

  Jessie felt her heart skip a beat. This was the first time, except with Sam, that someone didn’t care who her mother was. If only Sam had been here now, he would have seen how honest and sincere Vendela was.

  As she pedalled hard up the steep slope of Galärbacken, she had a feeling she couldn’t identify. Then she worked out what it was. This must be what happiness felt like.

  Sanna’s head was pounding when she unlocked the front door and went in. It seemed worse than usual. She went over to the worktop in the kitchen and poured herself a big glass of water. She loved to eat among the flowers in the garden centre, but today she’d forgotten to bring a lunch, so she decided to go home. Cornelia could hold down the fort for an hour.

  When Sanna opened the fridge she wanted to cry. Aside from a tube of tomato purée and a jar of mustard, there were only a few sad-looking vegetables that had definitely passed their sell-by date.

  She knew what was haunting her. It was all her thoughts about Marie and Helen. About Stella and that little girl named Nea. About the shadow in the woods. The one that had scared her so badly. Last night these thoughts had tormented her. Thoughts about the man who had come and asked her about the shadow in the woods, and who it was Stella had played with. Had she lied to him? She couldn’t remember. Didn’t want to remember. Then he’d vanished, and her dreams were all about the girl with the green eyes.

  At least he hadn’t come back to ask her more questions.

  Sanna gave a start when she heard girls’ voices approaching. Vendela was rarely home. She spent most of her time running around with those two boys from her class, and she definitely didn’t have any friends who were girls. But here she was now, wheeling her bike across the lawn, as usual, but this time with a big blonde girl walking alongside.

  Sanna frowned. There was something familiar about that girl, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Probably one of the girls Vendela had been friends with when she was younger. Sanna had never managed to keep track of all of Vendela’s friends.

  ‘Hi!’ said Vendela. ‘You’re home?’

  ‘No, I’m back at the garden centre,’ said Sanna, immediately regretting her words.

  She should be the grown-up here. No need for sarcasm. But Vendela had looked so disappointed to see her.

  ‘Hi,’ said the big girl, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Jessie.’

  ‘Sanna. Vendela’s mother,’ she said, looking at the girl.

  She did look familiar. Could she be the one whose mother was a teacher at the school? Or was she the one who lived in the house where the road turned? The one who had played with Vendela when they were kids?

  ‘So, have you and Vendela been friends long?’ Sanna asked. ‘You’ve all grown so big that I hardly recognize any of you.’

  ‘Mamma …’

  ‘I just moved here,’ said Jessie. ‘My mother is working here, so we’ll be staying for a while.’

  ‘I see. How nice.’

  Sanna could have sworn she knew this girl.

  ‘We’re going up to my room,’ said Vendela, already halfway up the stairs.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Jessie, following Vendela.

  A door slammed and soon music started blasting away. Sanna sighed. So much for a peaceful lunch break.

  She opened the freezer to see what she could find. It was a little more promising than the fridge. She found some frozen beef hash in the very back. She got out a frying pan, added a big dab of butter, and then put in the hash.

  A short time later she was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. She cast a pensive glance up at the ceiling where she now heard dance music pounding from her daughter’s bedroom. Where had she seen that girl before?

  She reached for a tabloid that lay on the table and began leafing through it. An issue of Veckans Nu. A trashy publication Vendela insisted on bringing home. Page after page of meaningless news about meaningless celebrities. She turned the page and there was Marie, smiling. And suddenly Sanna knew who the girl was.

  Black spots danced before her eyes. Jessie. Marie’s daughter. The girl she’d seen in the window at Marie’s place. She had Marie’s eyes. Those same green eyes that Sanna had seen so many times in her dreams over the years.

  From upstairs came the sound of girlish laughter above the music. Sanna’s mouth had gone dry. Marie’s daughter was here, in her house. Should she do something? Should she say something? The girl was not to blame for what her mother had done. That was obvious. But the walls were closing in on her, and her throat tightened.

  Sanna grabbed her car keys and rushed out of the house.

  ‘All right. There’s something we need to decide,’ said Patrik, clasping his hands over his stomach and staring at his shoes.

  No one said a word.

  ‘What do you think? Should Mellberg be included in the meeting?’

  ‘He realizes he brought this on himself,’ said Annika in a low voice. ‘I’m not usually the one to come to Bertil’s defence, but in this case, I actually think he realizes his mistake
and genuinely wants to help.’

  ‘Sure, but wanting to help and being able to help are two different things,’ said Paula dryly.

  ‘He’s the station’s chief of police,’ said Patrik, standing up. ‘Whatever we may think about it, that’s the reality.’

  He was gone a few minutes before returning with a subdued Mellberg. Ernst padded a few steps behind his master, hanging his head as if he too had fallen into disfavour.

  ‘So,’ said Patrik, sitting down again. ‘Now we’re all here.’

  Mellberg took his seat at the foot of the table, and Ernst lay down on the floor beside him.

  ‘From now on, I’d like all of us to work together in the same direction. We will do our job in a professional manner and not allow emotions to get the better of us. We need to focus on two things. First, the ongoing investigation into the murder of Linnea Berg. And second, the matter of who set fire to the refugee centre.’

  ‘How should we proceed?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Yes, how do you want to divide up the work?’ said Gösta.

  ‘There are a number of things we need to do. Annika, will you take notes?’

  Annika held up her pen in confirmation.

  ‘First, we need to interview everyone from the refugee centre. We’ll start with the people who lived closest to Karim and his family. From what I understand, those whose homes were destroyed have been given shelter at the community centre until permanent housing can be found for them. Paula and Martin, could you take this assignment?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘Gösta, what did Eva and Peter say about the knickers? Could they identify them as Nea’s?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gösta. ‘They said she had those kind of knickers, and they could very well be the ones she had on the day she disappeared. But …’

  ‘But what?’ asked Patrik, pricking up his ears.

  Gösta was the most experienced of his colleagues, and it was always worth listening to what he had to say.

  ‘Well, I don’t know … It’s nothing specific, but there’s something bothering me. I just can’t work out what it is …’

  ‘Keep thinking about it and see what you can come up with,’ said Patrik. He checked his notes and continued: