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

  ‘I know Erica is looking into that. I only hope she’ll find something.’

  ‘Civilians doing the work of the police,’ muttered Mellberg, scratching Ernst behind the ear.

  ‘And doing a better job than some people I might mention,’ said Martin.

  Patrik cleared his throat. ‘We need to work together. We all have to be on the same page,’ he said. ‘All of us.’

  Clearly embarrassed, Martin swiftly changed the subject: ‘When will we get the analysis of the anonymous phone call? Do you think it’ll take a long time? And what can we expect it to tell us?’

  ‘I’m not sure what’s possible,’ replied Patrik. ‘My hope is they’ll be able to wipe away the filter so we can hear the caller’s real voice. And if we’re lucky there might be something in the background that will help us identify them.’

  ‘Like in the films, where there’s always the sound of a train whistle or a church bell tolling?’ teased Martin.

  ‘Right. It’s possible we’ll get some crucial information from the recording,’ said Patrik.

  He looked around the room and noticed Gösta stifling a yawn.

  ‘I think we’ll call it a night now – we all need to get some rest. So go home, spend time with your family, eat, sleep, and then we’ll start fresh in the morning.’

  Everyone gratefully got up. He could see the enormous stress of the past few days etched into their faces. They needed to be with those who were near and dear to them tonight. They all did. He hesitated and then turned to Gösta, but Martin beat him to it.

  ‘Could you come over and have dinner with me and Tuva tonight? She’d love to see you.’

  ‘Sure,’ Gösta said with a shrug. But he couldn’t hide how happy that made him.

  Patrik stayed behind as, one by one, his colleagues left the room. They were a family. In many ways a dysfunctional, demanding, and unruly family. But at the same time a family that was loving and considerate.

  Bohuslän 1672

  Her body had recovered faster than she had thought possible. It ached and stung for a few days, but then it was as if nothing had happened. Yet she felt the loss. She went about her duties and carried out her tasks, but without joy.

  Märta was uneasy and slept close to Elin at night, as if trying to warm her mother with her body. She gave Elin little gifts to make her smile again. Small bouquets of flowers she picked in the meadow, a lovely white stone she found on the gravel path, a handful of yellow mica in a jar. And Elin did try. She smiled at Märta and thanked her for the presents as she patted the child’s soft cheek. But she was aware that her smile never reached her eyes. And her arms felt stiff and clumsy when she pulled Märta close.

  Preben no longer spoke to her or to Märta. The girl had finally accepted the situation and made no further effort to attract his attention. She continued her reading lessons with the parish clerk, but it felt as if all the time she had spent in the library with Preben had never happened. The news that Britta was with child had changed everything, and Preben treated his wife like a fragile porcelain doll.

  Now that she had her husband’s full attention, Britta’s power grew ever stronger. Yet the resentment she felt towards Elin also grew. Elin constantly felt her sister’s watchful eyes on her, even though there was no longer any reason for her to keep watch. Elin did what she was told to do. On those occasions when she was not at Britta’s beck and call, she did her best to avoid her. It was a constant reminder and torment to see Britta’s stomach grow, while her own was flat and barren.

  One morning Britta decided she needed to go into Fjällbacka. It was mostly because she was tired of staying in bed, and now that the doctor had said she might get up, she needed a change of scene.

  Elin stood and watched as her sister left. Britta had spent an hour getting dressed, which Elin regarded as wasted effort, since she was only going to Fjällbacka. But Uddevalla was too far for someone in her condition, so Britta had to settle for Fjällbacka, and she clearly enjoyed getting out of her nightgown and donning her finery.

  The day passed quickly. It was wash day, and everything at the vicarage had to be taken out to be scoured and scrubbed, hung outside in the sun to dry, and then carried back indoors. It felt good to be so busy that there was no time to think. And Elin was happy that neither Britta nor Preben was home. Preben was in Lur on church business and would be gone for two days, while Britta was expected home in the evening.

  For the first time since getting rid of the baby, Elin found herself humming.

  Märta looked at her in surprise. Her little face lit up with such joy that Elin felt a pang in her heart. She was ashamed she had allowed her daughter to suffer for her sake. She dropped the rug she was scrubbing and pulled Märta close as she kissed her blond hair. It would be all right. They had each other.

  Everything else had been a dream. A childish, impossible dream. Elin had tried to convince herself that God was on their side, that He was with her and Preben, but her pride had been knocked out of her. God had punished her in the way He found most suitable. And who was she to question His will? Instead, she should be grateful for what she had. Her daughter Märta. Food to eat and a place to live. Many people did not have even a fraction of what she possessed, and it would be presumptuous of her to wish for more.

  ‘Shall we take a walk this evening? Just you and me?’ she asked as she squatted down in front of Märta, keeping her arms around the child.

  Märta nodded eagerly. Sigrid was running around at her feet, jumping and leaping, seeming to sense that her mistress was happy.

  ‘I thought we could take along a basket, and I could teach you a little of what my grandmother taught me. And what she in turn learned from her mother. How you can help others, the way I sometimes do.’

  ‘Oh, Mother!’ cried Märta, throwing her arms around Elin’s neck. ‘Does this mean I am a big girl now?’

  ‘Yes!’ Elin laughed. ‘It means you are a big girl now.’

  Märta beamed and then ran off with Sigrid at her heels. Smiling, Elin watched her go. It was a couple of years earlier than she had planned, but Märta had been forced to grow up quickly, so it seemed only right.

  She leaned down and began scrubbing the rug again. The muscles in her arms ached from the heavy work, but her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. With the back of her hand she wiped the sweat from her forehead and then looked up when she heard the sound of a wagon coming into the yard.

  She squinted into the sun. Britta had returned home, and her expression was dark as she climbed down from the wagon. She strode over to Elin, her skirts swinging, and came to a halt right in front of her. Everyone on the farm had stopped what they were doing. Britta’s expression made Elin take a step back. She could not understand what was happening until she felt Britta’s hand strike her cheek. Then Britta turned on her heel and stormed inside the house.

  Elin lowered her eyes. She could feel that everyone was staring at her. Now she knew what had happened. Britta had found out why Elin had gone to Fjällbacka. And she was smart enough to have put two and two together.

  Her cheeks burning with shame, and still feeling the sting of the slap Britta had given her, Elin squatted down to continue the scrubbing. She had no idea what would happen now. But she knew her sister. Something evil was in the offing.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘Why do you think your mother agreed to let me talk to you?’ asked Erica, studying the teenager sitting across from her.

  She had been surprised when Sam phoned, but also very happy. Sam might be able to give her a new perspective on Helen as a person and how it had felt to grow up in the shadow of a crime.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I haven’t a clue. But she talked to you herself.’

  ‘Yes, but I had the feeling she wanted to keep you out of it.’

  Erica slid the plate of cinnamon buns towards Sam. He took one. She noticed his fingernails were painted black, although the polish was beginning to flake off. There was somethin
g touching about his attempt to look older than his years. His skin was still downy and oily in patches. His body was gangly and did not yet possess the control of an adult. He was a child who desperately wanted to be grown up; he wanted to be different, and yet he also wanted to belong. Erica was suddenly filled with a great tenderness for this boy. She saw his loneliness and uncertainty, and she also sensed the frustration lurking behind his defiant expression. It couldn’t be easy for him, growing up in the shadow of his mother’s history, being born into a community rampant with whispered gossip and rumours. Though the talk had died down over the years, it had never ceased entirely.

  ‘She couldn’t keep me out of it,’ said Sam gloomily, as if confirming what Erica was thinking.

  Like the teenager he was, he seemed reluctant to meet her eye, but she saw that he was listening intently to everything she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Erica.

  The recording function on her mobile was capturing every word and inflection.

  ‘I’ve heard about it ever since I was little. I don’t remember how it began, but people would ask me about things. Their kids would taunt me. I don’t know how old I was when I started finding out more details. Maybe when I was nine? I did a search on the Internet, looking for articles about the case. It wasn’t hard to do. And after that I collected whatever I could find. I have folders at home filled with newspaper clippings.’

  ‘Does your mother know?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Has she ever talked to you about what happened?’

  ‘No, not a word. We’ve never talked about it at home.’

  ‘Did you want to talk about it?’ asked Erica gently as she got up to pour herself more coffee.

  Sam had said yes to her offer of coffee, but she saw now that he hadn’t touched his cup. She guessed he would rather have had a can of Coke or something but didn’t want to seem childish.

  Again Sam shrugged. He cast a longing glance at the plate of buns.

  ‘Help yourself,’ said Erica. ‘Take as many as you like. I’m trying not to eat so many sweet things, so you’ll be doing me a favour. If they’re not there, I won’t be tempted.’

  ‘Oh, you look great. You shouldn’t worry about that,’ Sam said magnanimously, with the innocence of a child.

  She smiled as she sat back down. Sam was a nice boy. She wished he could let go of the burden he’d been forced to carry all his life. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t chosen to be born into a web of guilt, accusations, and sorrow. The sins of his parents were not his burden to bear. Yet she could see how it weighed on his shoulders.

  ‘Would it have been easier if you and your family could have talked openly about what happened?’ asked Erica.

  ‘We don’t talk. Not about anything. We … we’re not that kind of family.’

  ‘But was it something you would have wanted?’ she persisted.

  He raised his eyes and looked at her. The black eye make-up made it hard for her to focus on his gaze, but somewhere inside a light was gasping for oxygen.

  ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, that’s what I would have wanted.’

  Then he shrugged. The gesture was his armour. His defence. His indifference was a cloak of invisibility behind which he could hide.

  ‘Did you know Linnea?’ asked Erica, changing the subject.

  Sam gave a start. He took a big bite of cinnamon bun and looked down as he chewed.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ he said. ‘What does that have to do with Stella?’

  ‘I’m just curious. My book is going to deal with both cases, and since you’re a neighbour of the Berg family, I thought you could tell me a little about what Nea was like. What you thought of her.’

  ‘I saw her often,’ said Sam, his eyes filling with tears. ‘That’s not so strange, since we lived so close to each other. But she was only a kid. I can’t say I knew her. I liked her, and I think she liked me. She used to wave when I cycled past their farm.’

  ‘But you can’t tell me anything else about her?’

  ‘No. What would I say?’

  Erica shrugged. Then she decided to ask the question she really wanted an answer to.

  ‘Who do you think murdered Stella?’ she asked, holding her breath.

  Did Sam think his mother was guilty? She still hadn’t decided what her own opinion was on the matter. The more she read, the more she talked with people, and the more she checked the facts, the more confused she felt. So it was important to hear what Sam would say.

  He paused for a long time before answering. He drummed his fingers on the table. Then he raised his eyes and the flickering light in his gaze steadied as he looked at her.

  His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, ‘I have no idea. But my mother didn’t murder anyone.’

  When Sam left on his bike a little while later, Erica stood in the window and watched him go. Something about him had touched her deeply. She felt such sympathy for the black-clad boy who hadn’t been allowed the upbringing he deserved. She wondered how it would shape him. What sort of man he would become. She sincerely hoped that the pain she saw emanating from him wouldn’t set him on the wrong track, and that along the way he would meet someone who would fill the hole created by the past.

  She hoped someone would love Sam.

  ‘How do you think she’s going to react?’ asked Anna. ‘Do you think she’ll be cross?’

  They were standing in the dining room of the Stora Hotel, waiting for Kristina to arrive.

  Erica hushed her. ‘She could be here any minute.’

  ‘Yes, but Kristina isn’t exactly fond of surprises. What if she gets angry?’

  ‘It’s a little late to be worrying about that,’ Erica hissed. ‘And stop pushing me.’

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t do anything about my stomach,’ Anna retorted.

  ‘Okay, girls, keep it down or she’s going to hear us.’

  Kristina’s closest friend Barbro was giving them a stern look, so Erica and Anna stopped talking. A small but valiant group had gathered for Kristina’s bachelorette party. In addition to Erica and Anna, four other women were present. Erica had met them only briefly, so in the worst-case scenario, this could turn out to be a very long afternoon and evening.

  ‘She’s coming!’

  Anna waved excitedly to the others. They heard Kristina’s voice at the front desk. The receptionist had been given instructions to tell Kristina to go to the dining room.

  ‘Surprise!’ they all shouted when she came in.

  Kristina jumped and pressed a hand to her chest.

  ‘Good lord! What’s all this?’

  ‘It’s your bachelorette party!’ cried Erica with a big smile, although she was quaking a bit inside.

  What if Anna was right?

  For a moment Kristina didn’t say a word. Then she started laughing.

  ‘Bachelorette party! For an old woman like me! You’re out of your minds! But okay, let’s do it! Where do I start? Selling kisses in a booth?’

  She winked at Erica, who felt overwhelmed with relief. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all.

  ‘No, you don’t have to sell kisses,’ said Erica, giving her mother-in-law a hug. ‘We’ve planned something else. First you have to change your clothes. I’ve put your new outfit in this bag.’

  Kristina looked alarmed as she eyed the bag Erica held out to her.

  ‘You don’t have wear it anywhere else. It’s for our eyes only.’

  ‘Okay …’ said Kristina warily, but she took the bag. ‘I’ll just slip into the ladies and get changed.’

  While Kristina was gone, the receptionist brought in six glasses and a bottle of champagne in a bucket. Anna cast an envious glance at the bottle but then picked up a glass of juice instead.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said and took a few sips.

  Erica put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. ‘It won’t be long now …’

  She poured champagne for t
he other women and then filled a glass for herself as they waited for Kristina to return. Everyone gasped in unison when she appeared in the doorway to the dining room.

  ‘What on earth were you thinking?’

  Kristina threw out her hands, and Erica had to hold back a giggle. Yet she had to admit that her mother-in-law looked amazing in the short red dress with fringe and sequins. And what legs! thought Erica jealously. She’d give anything to have legs half as nice as Kristina’s.

  ‘What are you planning for me to do, dressed like this?’ asked Kristina, but she allowed herself to be ushered into the room.

  Erica handed Kristina a glass of champagne. Her mother-in-law nervously downed half of it at once.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Erica, taking out her mobile and sending a text: Come now.

  While she waited for an answer, she shifted from one foot to the other. This could go either way. Fun or fiasco.

  They heard music coming from upstairs. Hot Latin rhythms slowly approaching. Kristina drank the rest of her champagne. Erica hurried to refill her glass.

  A plump figure wearing a black suit appeared. Gripping a rose in his teeth, he dramatically threw out his arms. Anna giggled, and Erica poked her in the side.

  ‘Oh, my! Gunnar?’ said Kristina in surprise.

  Then she too began to giggle.

  ‘My beautiful lady,’ he said, taking the rose out of his mouth. ‘May I?’

  He went over to Kristina and with a flourish handed her the rose. She was now laughing hard.

  ‘What on earth is all this!’ she exclaimed, accepting the rose.

  ‘You’re going to learn to dance the cha-cha,’ said Erica with a smile.

  She pointed to the doorway.

  ‘And we’ve brought in some expert help.’

  ‘What? Who?’ said Kristina, suddenly looking nervous again.

  But Gunnar was beaming. He could hardly contain himself.

  ‘We’ve hired an expert. Someone you admire on the TV show Let’s Dance. Someone you watch every Friday.’

  ‘Not Tony Irving?’ said Kristina, startled. ‘I’m terrified of Tony!’