The Lost Boy (Patrick Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 7) Read online

  He was wandering aimlessly through the building. People were running around, taking care of all the last-minute preparations. Anders knew that he ought to lend a hand, but the knowledge of what he was about to undertake left him feeling paralysed. He wanted to do it, and yet he didn’t. The question was whether he was brave enough to handle the consequences of his actions. He still wasn’t convinced, but soon he wouldn’t be able to spend any more time mulling it over. Soon he would have to decide.

  ‘Have you seen Vivianne?’ asked a female staff member as she rushed past. Anders pointed to the next room. ‘Thanks. Everything’s going to be so great tonight.’

  Everybody was scurrying and bustling. But Anders felt as if he were moving under water.

  ‘There you are, my future brother-in-law,’ said Erling, putting his arm around his shoulders. Anders had to fight the impulse to shrug him off. ‘It’s going to be terrific. The celebrities will be here around four, so they’ll have time to get settled in their rooms. At six o’clock we open to the other guests.’

  ‘I hear the whole town is talking about the event.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. This is the biggest thing to happen in the area since …’ He didn’t finish his sentence, but Anders knew what he had planned to say. He’d heard about the reality show Sodding Tanum and what a disaster it had turned out to be for Erling.

  ‘So where’s my little turtledove?’ Erling craned his neck and looked around.

  Again Anders pointed to the next room, and Erling raced off in that direction. Vivianne was certainly in demand today. He went out to the kitchen, sat down on a chair in the corner and rubbed his temples. He could feel a bad headache coming on. He found the first-aid box and took two aspirin. Soon, he thought. Soon he would make up his mind.

  Erica could still feel the lump in her throat as she steered the motorboat out of the harbour. The engine had started up immediately, and she was enjoying listening to the familiar sound of the motor. The boat had been her father’s baby. Even though she and Patrik weren’t nearly as conscientious as her father had been, they tried to keep it in good repair. This year the wooden deck needed to be sanded down and re-varnished. It was starting to peel in places. If she could persuade Patrik to babysit the children, she had a mind to do the work herself. Since writing books was such a sedentary job, she loved to do work that required more muscle-power once in a while. And she was better at practical things than Patrik, although that didn’t really say very much.

  She glanced to the right to catch a glimpse of Badis. She was hoping that they could go to the dedication event, at least for a little while, but they hadn’t yet decided. Patrik had looked very tired this morning, and Erica didn’t know whether Kristina would feel like babysitting all evening.

  At any rate, she was looking forward to this visit to Gråskär. When she and Patrik had gone out there before, she had felt captivated by the atmosphere. Now that she’d read about the island, she was even more fascinated. She had looked at a lot of pictures of the archipelago, and there was no doubt that the Gråskär lighthouse was one of the most beautiful. Erica wasn’t surprised that Nathalie liked being out there, although she thought that personally she’d go crazy after a few days without seeing any other people. Then she thought about Nathalie’s son, and hoped he was feeling better. Presumably he was on the mend, since Nathalie hadn’t phoned to ask for help.

  A short time later Gråskär appeared on the horizon. Nathalie hadn’t sounded very enthusiastic when Erica called, but after a little coaxing, she’d agreed to the visit. Erica was convinced that she would enjoy hearing more about the island’s past.

  ‘Can you manage to bring the boat in on your own?’ Nathalie shouted from the dock.

  ‘No problem. As long as you’re not worried about the pier.’ She smiled to show she was joking and smoothly brought the boat alongside. She switched off the motor and tossed the mooring line to Nathalie, who carefully fastened it.

  ‘Hi,’ Erica said as she climbed out of the boat.

  ‘Hi.’ Nathalie smiled but didn’t meet her eye.

  ‘How’s Sam?’ Erica looked up towards the house.

  ‘Better,’ said Nathalie. She looked thinner than the last time Erica saw her, and the outline of her collarbone was visible through her T-shirt.

  ‘I brought you some freshly baked buns,’ said Erica, taking out a bag. ‘Oh no, I forgot to ask if you needed any groceries.’ She was annoyed with herself. She should have asked when she phoned. Nathalie probably hadn’t wanted to bother her with such a request again, since they didn’t know each other very well.

  ‘No, don’t worry. You brought over so much last time, and I can always ask Gunnar and Signe. But I don’t know if I should trouble them right now.’

  Erica hesitated, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Nathalie the news just yet. She would wait until they sat down.

  ‘I thought we could have coffee in the boathouse. It’s such beautiful weather.’

  ‘Yes, it’s not the kind of day to spend indoors.’ Erica followed Nathalie to the open-sided boathouse where coffee cups were set on a weather-beaten table with benches on either side. Fishing gear hung on the walls, along with the gleaming blue and green glass balls that were used as floats. Nathalie filled their cups with coffee from a thermos.

  ‘How do you handle living so isolated like this?’ asked Erica.

  ‘You get used to it,’ said Nathalie quietly, gazing out at the water. ‘And I’m not totally alone out here.’

  Erica gave a start and looked at her inquisitively.

  ‘I mean, I do have Sam, you know,’ Nathalie said.

  Erica had to laugh at herself. She’d immersed herself so deeply in the stories about Gråskär that she’d actually started to believe them.

  ‘So there’s no truth behind the nickname Ghost Isle?’

  ‘I don’t think anybody believes those old ghost stories,’ said Nathalie, again looking out at the water.

  ‘Well, the name does give the island a certain allure.’

  Erica had put all the information she’d collected about Gråskär in a folder, which she now took out of her purse and slid across the table towards Nathalie.

  ‘It may be a small island, but it has quite a colourful past. With a few highly dramatic events.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard a little about that. Mamma and Pappa knew a lot about the island, but I’m afraid I never paid much attention to what they said about it.’ Nathalie opened the folder. A light breeze riffled the pages.

  ‘I put everything in chronological order,’ said Erica. Then she fell silent as Nathalie leafed through the photocopies.

  ‘I can’t believe all the information you’ve found,’ said Nathalie, crimson patches appearing on her cheeks.

  ‘It was fun doing the research. I need to do something other than change nappies and feed crying babies.’ She pointed at an article that Nathalie was looking at. ‘That’s the most mysterious incident in the island’s history. A whole family disappeared without a trace from Gråskär. Nobody knows what happened to them or where they went. The house looked as if they’d got up and walked out the door, leaving everything just as it was.’

  Erica could hear that she sounded a bit too enthusiastic, but she found the incident so intriguing. Mysteries had always sparked her imagination, and this one was a true-life suspense story.

  ‘Look what it says there,’ she said, her voice calmer now. ‘The lighthouse keeper Karl Jacobsson, his wife Emelie, their son Gustav, and the lighthouse assistant Julian Sontag lived here on the island for several years. Then they simply vanished, as if they’d gone up in smoke. Their bodies were never found, and there wasn’t a single clue as to what might have happened to them. Nor was there any reason to believe that they’d left voluntarily. There was nothing. Isn’t that strange?’

  Nathalie glanced at the article with an odd expression on her face.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Very.’

  ‘You haven’t seen them lurking abou
t, have you?’ asked Erica jokingly, but Nathalie didn’t respond. She merely continued to stare at the article. ‘I wonder what happened,’ Erica went on. ‘Maybe somebody came here by boat, murdered the whole family, and then disposed of the bodies. Their own boat was still moored to the dock.’

  Nathalie murmured to herself as she ran her finger over the page. Something about a blond little boy, but Erica couldn’t really hear what she was saying. She turned to look at the house.

  ‘Aren’t you worried that Sam might wake up and wonder where you are?’

  ‘He fell asleep just before you got here. He usually sleeps for a long time,’ said Nathalie, sounding distracted.

  Neither of them spoke for a while, until Erica suddenly remembered the other reason for her visit. She took a deep breath and said:

  ‘There’s something I have to tell you, Nathalie.’

  Nathalie looked up. ‘Is it about Matte? Do they know who …?’

  ‘No, not yet, although they have a few leads. But this does have to do with Matte.’

  ‘What is it? Tell me,’ said Nathalie. Her hand still rested on top of the article.

  Erica took another deep breath and told her what had happened to Gunnar.

  ‘No. That can’t be true. Why?’ Nathalie looked as if she could hardly breathe.

  With a heavy heart Erica told her about the little boys who found the cocaine, about Matte’s fingerprints on the bag, and about what happened after the press conference.

  Nathalie started shaking her head. ‘No, no, no. That can’t be, that just can’t be.’ She turned away.

  ‘Everyone says the same thing. And I know that Patrik was sceptical too. But everything points in that direction, and that might also explain why Matte was murdered.’

  ‘No,’ said Nathalie. ‘Matte hated drugs. He hated everything that had to do with drugs.’ She clenched her teeth and then said, ‘Poor, poor Signe.’

  ‘Yes, it must be terrible to lose both your son and your husband in a matter of weeks,’ Erica murmured.

  ‘How is she?’ Nathalie’s eyes were filled with empathy and sorrow.

  ‘I’m not really sure. All I can tell you is that she’s in hospital, and apparently not doing well.’

  ‘Poor Signe,’ said Nathalie again. ‘So much misfortune. So many tragedies.’ She looked down at the article lying on the table.

  ‘Yes.’ Erica didn’t know what else to say. ‘Do you think I could go up in the lighthouse?’ she asked at last, wanting to change the subject.

  Nathalie gave a start, as if she’d been lost in thought.

  ‘Oh … sure. I just need to get the key.’ She hurried off towards the house.

  Erica stood up and walked over to the lighthouse. When she stood at its base, she tilted her head back to look up. The white paint gleamed in the sunlight. A few seagulls circled overhead, shrieking.

  ‘Here it is.’ Nathalie was panting a bit as she approached. She was holding a big, rusty key.

  The key did not turn easily in the lock, but finally she pulled open the heavy door. It creaked and groaned on its hinges. Erica stepped inside and began climbing the narrow, winding stairs, with Nathalie right behind her. Halfway up, Erica was breathing hard, but when she reached the top, she saw that it was worth the effort. The view was spectacular.

  ‘Wow,’ she said.

  Nathalie nodded proudly. ‘Yes. It’s amazing, isn’t it?’

  ‘But imagine spending hours in this cramped space,’ said Erica, looking around.

  Nathalie came over to stand next to her, so close that their shoulders almost touched.

  ‘A lonely job. Like being on the very edge of the world.’ She seemed far away in her thoughts.

  Erica sniffed at the air. She smelled something strange, and yet it seemed familiar. She knew that she’d smelled it before, but she couldn’t really place it. Nathalie had taken a step forward to look out of the window at the open sea. Erica moved closer too.

  Her brain was working feverishly to identify that smell. Then she realized where she’d encountered it before. Thoughts continued whirling through her mind, and slowly the pieces began falling into place.

  ‘Would you mind waiting here while I run down to the boat to get my camera? I’d like to take a few pictures.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Nathalie reluctantly. She went over to the small bed and sat down.

  ‘Great.’ Erica ran down the stairs and then raced down the hill on which the lighthouse stood. But instead of heading for the dock, she dashed for the house. She tried to tell herself that this was all just one of her crazy ideas. At the same time, she needed to find out for sure.

  After casting a glance over her shoulder at the lighthouse, she pressed down the handle and opened the front door to the cottage.

  Madeleine had heard them yesterday from upstairs. She hadn’t known they were police officers until Stefan appeared and told her. In between hitting her.

  She dragged her bruised body over to the window. With great effort she pulled herself up and looked out. The small room had a slanted ceiling, and the only light came from the narrow window. Outside, she saw farmland and woods.

  They hadn’t bothered to blindfold her, so she knew that she was at the farm. This room had been the children’s when they lived here. Now the only reminder of their presence was a discarded toy car lying in one corner.

  She pressed her hands against the wall and felt the pattern of the wallpaper under her palms. This was where Vilda’s cot had stood. Kevin’s bed had stood against the wall at the end of the room. That all seemed so long ago. She could hardly recall living here. It had been a life filled with fear, but at least she’d had the children.

  She wondered where they were now – where Stefan had taken them. Probably they were staying with one of the families that didn’t live here on the farm. One of the other women must be taking care of them. Missing the children was almost worse than the physical pain. She pictured them in her mind: Vilda coming down the slide in the courtyard back in Copenhagen, as Kevin proudly watched his brave little sister, and that lock of hair kept falling into his eyes. Madeleine wondered whether she’d ever see them again.

  Sobbing, she sank down on to the floor and curled up in a foetal position. Her whole body felt like one enormous bruise. Stefan had vented all his anger on her. She had been mistaken, terribly mistaken, when she thought that it would be safer to come back to Sweden, that she would be able to ask forgiveness from him. The second she saw him standing in her parents’ kitchen, she understood. There would be no forgiveness, and she’d been a fool to think otherwise.

  Her poor mother and father. She knew how worried they must be, and how they were probably discussing whether to contact the police or not. Pappa would be in favour of doing that. He would say that was the only option. But Mamma would object, terrified that it would mean the end, that all hope would then be lost. Her father was right, but he would allow her mother to win, as usual. Nobody was going to come here to save her.

  She curled up even more, trying to shape her body into a little ball. But the slightest movement hurt, so she forced her muscles to relax. She heard a key turn in the lock. She lay perfectly still, trying to will him to leave. A rough hand grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.

  ‘Get up, you fucking whore.’

  It felt like her arm was being pulled out of its socket, as if something broke inside her shoulder.

  ‘Where are the children?’ she pleaded. ‘Can I see them?’

  Stefan gave her a contemptuous look.

  ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you could take my kids and run away again. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to take my kids away from me.’ He dragged her out of the door and down the stairs.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed. Her face was streaked with blood and dirt and tears.

  Stefan’s men had all gathered downstairs. The inner circle. She knew them all: Roger, Paul, Lillen, Steven, and Joar. Now they stood in silence, looking at her as St
efan dragged her through the room. She had a hard time focusing. One eye was so swollen that it was practically closed, and blood from a cut in her forehead was clouding the vision of her other eye. And yet she knew exactly what was going to happen. She could see it in the faces of the men – some of them stared at her coldly, while others looked at her with pity. Joar, who had always been the nicest to her, suddenly looked down at the floor. That was when she understood. She considered fighting back, trying to resist, trying to get away. But where would she go? It was hopeless. All it would achieve would be to prolong the agony.

  Instead she stumbled after Stefan, who still had a tight grip on her arm. They hurried across the field behind the house, over towards the woods. In her mind she conjured up pictures of Kevin and Vilda. Newborn, lying at her breast. And much later, filled with laughter as they played in the Danish courtyard. She chose not to remember the time in between, when their eyes became more dazed and resigned with each day that passed. That was the life they were now going to return to, and she couldn’t bear to think about it. She had failed. She should have protected them, but she had grown soft and weak. Now she was about to receive her punishment, and she accepted that – as long as her children would be spared.

  They had entered the woods. Birds were chirping, and sunlight seeped through the crowns of the trees. She stumbled over a tree root and almost fell, but Stefan yanked at her arm and she kept on going. Up ahead she caught sight of a clearing, and for a moment she saw Matte’s face. His handsome, kind face. He had loved her so much, and he too had been punished.

  When they reached the clearing, she saw the hole in the ground. A rectangular hole, four or five feet deep. The shovel was still there, sticking out of the heap of dirt.

  ‘Move over to the edge,’ said Stefan, letting go of her arm.

  Madeleine obeyed. She no longer had any will of her own. She stood on the edge of the hole, shaking all over. When she looked down, she saw several fat worms trying to burrow deeper into the dark, moist earth. With one last effort she slowly turned around so she was standing face to face with Stefan. He would at least be forced to look her in the eye.