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

  Martin raised his hand again. His bloodshot eyes matched his hair.

  ‘When will Pedersen be done with his final report?’

  ‘Every time I ask him, he says “in a couple of days”,’ said Patrik. His frustration was evident in his voice. ‘They’ve got a backlog, and he’s working as fast as he can.’

  ‘What are the parents saying?’ said Mellberg, concentrating hard on assembling a towering sandwich with six slices of bread and several kinds of filling. ‘You know how I always say we should start by looking at the closest family members.’

  Paula had to chuckle. Mellberg invariably went home to Rita in the evening and claimed he was starving because he’d hardly eaten a thing all day. And then he’d add that he couldn’t understand how he could be putting on weight when he ate like a bird.

  ‘We haven’t yet told them what we’ve found,’ said Gösta. ‘They both say they never used the barn and that Nea was the only one who ever went inside. And they didn’t notice anyone hanging around or going into the barn on the morning Nea disappeared. Or during the whole time they’ve lived there, for that matter.’

  Gösta gave Patrik an enquiring look and then added: ‘Well, there was one occasion when Peter thought he saw someone inside the barn, but when he went over to have a look, he found only the cat. So it was probably nothing, but I thought I should mention it.’

  ‘Is it possible someone was hiding in the barn and they attacked Nea?’ asked Paula. ‘Was there any evidence of sexual assault? Any trace of sperm?’

  Crimes involving the sexual molestation of children were her worst nightmare. Much as she hated to ask the question, it had to be done.

  ‘We’ll find out when we get the post-mortem report,’ said Patrik. ‘Our killer could have been waiting for Nea in the barn. Maybe he bribed her with the chocolate and … Well, only the gods know what happened next.’

  ‘I went into the woods behind the house to have a look around,’ said Gösta. ‘I wanted to see if it was possible for anyone to come from that direction and steal the knickers from the clothes line without being seen from the house. Which is what I think the individual in question did. Crossing the open yard would have left them too exposed. Anyway, I discovered it is possible to sneak out from the bushes and over to the side of the house to the clothes line without getting caught. And there are plenty of hiding places where you could keep an eye on the yard and no one would know. Someone may have been watching Nea and taking note of her routines, including the fact that she often played in the barn. That individual could also have seen Nea’s father drive off, so they’d have known her mother was the only other person on the farm. If the perpetrator is a man, he might view a woman as much less of a threat than the father.’

  ‘It’s not unusual for sexual predators to observe their victim for a while before committing the crime,’ Paula remarked quietly.

  Suddenly her appetite had vanished. She pushed her sandwich away, struggling to swallow the last bite she’d taken.

  ‘The tech team also searched the woods behind the house yesterday,’ said Patrik. ‘But they didn’t find anything of significance. They collected a few odds and ends, but nothing of particular interest.’

  He looked at Paula.

  ‘What about the fire? And the attempt to frame Karim? Have you found out anything?’

  She wished she had more to tell her colleagues, but their enquiries kept coming to one dead end after another. No one knew anything. No one wanted to claim responsibility or take the blame. A few people had muttered that the refugees ‘got what they deserved’, but that was a long way from an admission of guilt.

  ‘No, we haven’t made any progress, but we’re not giving up. Sooner or later somebody will let something slip.’

  ‘Do you have the impression this was something planned?’ asked Mellberg. ‘Or could it have been some teenager acting on impulse?’

  He’d been unusually quiet during the meeting, possibly because he still felt ashamed of the role he’d played.

  Paula paused for a moment before replying.

  ‘The only thing I’m sure of is that it was an act of hatred. But I can’t say at this stage whether it was planned or not.’

  Mellberg nodded. He patted Ernst, who was lying at his feet, and didn’t ask any other questions. Paula was grateful to see he was taking the matter so seriously. And she thought she knew why. He’d spent all morning playing with Samia and Hassan and Leo, chasing them around the flat, pretending to be a monster, and tickling them to make them laugh. Presumably laughing in a way they hadn’t done in a long time. That was why, deep in her heart, and in spite of everything, she loved this man with whom her mother had chosen to share her life. She would never admit it out loud, but Bertil had become a sort of grandfather to her children. Because of that side of his personality, she was willing to forgive him for all his pompous stupidity. She would probably find him annoying until he took his last breath, but she knew he would give his life for her children.

  Someone tried to come in the front door, so Annika went to open it. She returned with an out-of-breath Erica, who gave everyone in the room a brief nod before she turned to Patrik.

  ‘I remember what I discovered yesterday: Leif Hermansson didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered.’

  Everyone looked at her in stunned silence.

  Bohuslän 1672

  Two days had passed. Every time Elin heard someone approach the door, she anxiously waited to see who it might be. She had not been given any food since she arrived, only a little water. The chamber pot had not been emptied. If she turned slightly, the stench was overwhelming. The only thing that made the situation bearable was knowing that Preben would soon return home and put everything right.

  Finally a key rattled in the lock and the door opened. And there he stood. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, but she was ashamed of her filthy attire.

  She could see he was sickened by the stench.

  ‘Preben!’ she attempted to cry, but his name came out as hardly more than a croak.

  She had not spoken in two days, and her voice sounded hoarse and brittle. Hunger tore at her, but she knew that now she would soon be released. She was yearning to feel Märta’s soft arms around her, and her small body pressed close. As long as they were allowed to be together, it did not matter if they were forced to go on their way and beg to stay alive. So long as she had Märta with her, hunger and cold were of no importance.

  ‘Preben,’ she said again, and this time her voice was firmer.

  He fixed his eyes on the floor as he turned his hat in his hands. Uneasiness clutched at Elin’s stomach. Why did he not speak? Why did he not berate the sheriff and take her away from here, back to Märta?

  ‘Have you come to fetch me home?’ she asked. ‘Britta took against me because of what you and I did. She found out about us when she went to town. Then she called me a witch to exact revenge. But no doubt she has calmed down by now, and I have been punished enough. It has been terrible to sit here in this gaol. I have spent day and night asking God to forgive us for our sins, and I will ask forgiveness from Britta as well. I promise you that. If Britta so desires, I will kiss her feet and beg forgiveness, and then Märta and I will take our leave and she need never see us again. Preben, please. Will you not speak to the sheriff so that we can go home?’

  Preben continued to turn his hat in his hands. Behind him she now glimpsed the parish clerk and the sheriff. She realized they had been standing there the whole time and must have heard what she said.

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Preben said warily. ‘My wife and I have been kind enough to open our home to you and your daughter because you were part of our family, and yet this is how you repay us. It was a shock to return home and hear that Britta had discovered her sister is a witch. And it was no doubt you who caused all the difficulties she has had to conceive a child … It is a great shame, how you have acted against us. That you should now speak lies about your own sist
er’s husband … It merely confirms how evil and wicked you are. It demonstrates all too clearly that you are in the clutches of the devil.’

  Elin could only stare at him. She sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands. The betrayal was so enormous and so shattering that she could not even feel anger. How could she defend herself against such accusations? Preben was a man of the church. His position and his words carried great weight. If he joined forces with those who declared her to be a witch, then she would never get out of here, at least not alive.

  Preben turned on his heel and left, with the parish clerk right behind him. The sheriff came into the cell and gave Elin a scornful look as she lamented her fate.

  ‘You will have your chance to prove the accusation wrong. Tomorrow we will conduct the water test. But I would not hold out much hope, if I were you, Elin. In all likelihood, you will float.’

  Then he closed the door, and once again darkness filled the room.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sam walked slowly along the path. When he’d woken up that morning and reached for his mobile, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of doom the instant he saw the text message from Jessie. His heart felt like it would break. She hadn’t wanted to come to his house, so they’d agreed to meet in the wooded glade at the edge of the property. He took along a bag with the things Jessie had asked for: his mother’s bottle of acetone, which she used to remove nail polish, as well as some tissues and towels. He’d also brought paracetamol, a big bottle of water, some sandwiches, and clean clothes that he’d borrowed from his mother’s wardrobe.

  His notebook was still in his backpack. He hadn’t yet been able to show it to her.

  Jessie was waiting for him in the glade. He hesitated when he caught sight of her. She did not look at him. She seemed to be staring into space. She had on long jogging trousers and a hoodie with the hood pulled up.

  ‘Jessie,’ he said softly as he went over to her.

  She didn’t move or look up. He put his hand under her chin and turned her face towards him. The shame in her eyes was so enormous, it felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  Sam put his arms around her and pulled her close. She didn’t hug him back. She didn’t cry, didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘They’re scum,’ he said in a low voice.

  He tried to kiss her cheek, but she turned away. He hated them for destroying her like this.

  He got out the bottle of acetone and some tissues.

  ‘Do you want to eat something first?’

  ‘No, just take it off. Take all of it off.’

  Cautiously he pushed back the hood, and brushed her hair out of her face. He tucked her hair behind her ears and stroked her head.

  ‘Stand very still so you won’t get any acetone in your eyes.’

  Gently he began rubbing at the words. For Jessie’s sake he stayed calm, but inside he was raging. He’d thought he hated them because of how they’d treated him all these years. But that was nothing compared to what he felt now, after what they’d done to Jessie. To his lovely, warm-hearted, fragile Jessie.

  The ink came off, but it left her skin red and chapped. When he’d removed all the words from her face, he started on her neck.

  Jessie pulled down the neckline of her shirt to help him get to the words.

  ‘Could you take off your shirt? You don’t have to, but …’

  He didn’t know what was the right thing to say or do.

  She took off the hoodie and then pulled off her T-shirt. She wore no bra, and he saw all the words on her breasts, stomach, and back. They covered her whole body.

  He looked up at Jessie’s face. Her eyes were blazing.

  Sam went back to rubbing at the words, and slowly the black ink disappeared. She stood still, swaying a bit when he pressed too hard. After a while he had finished her torso, and he gave her an enquiring look. She didn’t say a word, merely took off the jogging trousers. She wasn’t wearing knickers underneath, so now she stood naked in front of him. Sam knelt down, unable to meet her gaze, which was both hate-filled and distressingly blank. The words danced before his eyes as he rubbed at her skin. There were four or five different kinds of handwriting. He had so many questions, but he didn’t dare ask them. And he wasn’t sure she’d be able to answer.

  ‘They did other things too,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t remember what, but I can feel it.’

  For a moment he stopped drying off her skin with a tissue. Part of him wanted to lean his head against her thigh and weep. But he knew he needed to be strong for both of them.

  ‘They were sleeping like pigs when I left,’ she said. ‘How could they sleep? How could they do something like this and then just go to sleep?’

  ‘They’re not like us, Jessie. I’ve always known that. We’re better than them.’

  He knew what they needed to do now. To everybody who had done this, and to everybody who had let it happen.

  ‘You didn’t drive here, did you?’ asked Patrik, giving Erica a stern look.

  She rolled her eyes.

  ‘Hey, I’m not stupid! I took the bus.’

  ‘Why isn’t she supposed to drive?’ asked Martin, peering at Erica.

  ‘Because my dear wife came home … pickled – and that’s putting it mildly.’

  ‘Pickled?’ snorted Erica. ‘Are we still in the 1950s or what?’

  She turned to Martin.

  ‘We had a bachelorette party for Patrik’s mother yesterday, and we may have had … a little too much to drink.’

  Mellberg hooted, but after a warning look from Erica, he didn’t say a word.

  ‘Now that we’ve got all that interesting information out of the way, could we possibly focus on something a bit more important?’

  Patrik nodded. He’d lain awake in the night, pondering what Erica could have meant. She rarely made superfluous claims, and when she had an idea, it was worth listening to.

  ‘So you’re saying Leif Hermansson was murdered?’ he said now. ‘What makes you think that?’

  Erica looked a little pale, and he motioned towards an unoccupied chair.

  ‘Sit down before you faint. A sandwich and a cup of coffee would probably be a good idea too.’

  Gratefully she sank on to a chair near the window. Paula pushed a cheese sandwich across the table to her, and Annika got up to pour her some coffee.

  ‘Leif’s daughter, Viola, is an artist,’ Erica began. ‘As you know, I went to see her to find out whether Leif had left behind any material from the Stella case. I was hoping for notes or something like that. While I was there, she couldn’t recall anything, but afterwards she did find something – Leif’s diary. One of those small diaries people use to take notes. I haven’t looked through the whole thing, but he seems to have recorded the weather conditions and bits and pieces about what happened each day. At any rate, Viola gave me the diary when I went to the gallery opening on Friday. While I was there, I was so taken by one of her paintings that I decided to buy it. The painting is a portrait of her father, Leif.’

  She paused to take a sip of coffee and a bite of her sandwich. Then she went on.

  ‘There was something about the painting that’s been bothering me, but I couldn’t work out what it was. I’ve read all the material about the Stella case, and I’ve also studied the documents and looked at all the photographs pertaining to Leif’s suicide. The whole time I’ve had a vague feeling that something didn’t fit.’

  She took another sip of coffee. Tiny beads of sweat had formed at her temples; the hangover had obviously taken its toll. Patrik felt sorry for her, but he also admired her determination. The bus trip over here could not have been much fun.

  ‘Yesterday I discovered what it was.’

  ‘Although this morning she had no memory of it at all,’ Patrik couldn’t help interjecting.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ said Erica. ‘But finally I did recall what it was. Right and left.’

  ‘Right and left?’ said Paula, puzzled. ‘What do you mean by r
ight and left?’

  ‘Look at this.’

  Erica rummaged in her bag and then placed on the table a series of photos taken by the police photographer after Leif’s suicide. She pointed to his temple.

  ‘See the bullet wound – in his right temple. And his gun is in his right hand.’

  ‘So?’ said Patrik, leaning forward to look at the pictures.

  After all his years on the police force, he still found it unnerving to look at a dead body.

  ‘Don’t you see it?’ Erica got out her mobile and began scrolling through all her photos. ‘I took pictures of the painting because it was too big to bring with me. Do you see now?’

  She pointed at the portrait of Leif. Everyone leaned close to study the painting on the phone display. Paula was the first to see what she meant.

  ‘He’s holding the pen in his left hand! He was left-handed!’

  ‘Exactly!’ Erica exclaimed so loudly that Ernst raised his head in alarm. But after ascertaining that everything was all right, he lay down again at Mellberg’s feet.

  ‘I don’t understand how the police and his family could have missed something like that. So I phoned Viola for confirmation. She said Leif was definitely left-handed. He would never have used his right hand to write or to shoot.’

  She gave Patrik a triumphant look.

  At first he felt a prickle of excitement in his gut, but then he thought one step further ahead and sighed.

  ‘Oh, no. Don’t tell me what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Erica. ‘You’ll have to ring whoever it is you need to contact for permission. Because you’re going to have to get Leif’s body exhumed.’

  Bill and Gun were sitting at the kitchen table when the front door opened. They hadn’t said much to each other while they ate a late breakfast. Bill had taken out his mobile several times and read the text that had come in the middle of the night: Staying over at Basse’s.

  He got up and went out to the front hall, where he saw his son taking off his shoes. Bill wrinkled his nose.