The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 51

  ‘Do you believe her?’ asked Paula.

  ‘Patrik and I are both sceptical,’ he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  He went over to stand behind Erica and looked down at the open diary.

  ‘Are you getting anywhere?’ he asked.

  ‘No. It seems to be some incomprehensible code. Can you understand what “55” and “11” might signify?’

  Erica showed Gösta the cryptic notes.

  ‘What do you mean, “55” and “11”?’ he replied. ‘It says “SS” and “JJ”.’

  Paula and Erica stared at him. Gösta laughed at their surprised expressions.

  ‘I realize it’s a little hard to see, but that’s the same handwriting as my mother’s. Those are letters of the alphabet, not numbers. My guess is they’re somebody’s initials.’

  ‘You’re right!’ exclaimed Erica. ‘They’re letters!’

  ‘SS and JJ …’ said Paula.

  ‘James Jensen, maybe?’ said Gösta.

  ‘That’s possible,’ Paula replied. ‘But the question is, why would Leif write down the initials of Helen’s husband in his diary? Were they supposed to meet? Did they meet?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask James Jensen,’ said Erica. ‘What about the SS? Who could that be? Viola said that the Stella case was the only thing of importance on Leif’s mind before he died, so I imagine these initials are somehow connected.’

  ‘Seems plausible,’ Gösta agreed.

  ‘I’ll phone Viola and check, just to be sure. We may be making too much of this. It could be she’ll recognize immediately what these initials stand for.’

  ‘While we’re waiting to solve this puzzle, let’s hope that a new examination of Leif’s body will produce results,’ said Gösta.

  ‘Yes. It’s always difficult trying to work on a case from so long ago,’ said Paula. ‘People forget, evidence is destroyed, and, to be honest, the exhumation is a real long shot. At any rate, we have no idea whether it might lead us to finding proof that Leif was murdered.’

  Erica nodded.

  ‘Leif must have been facing the same challenges when he decided to re-examine the Stella case. So many years had passed. And we still don’t know whether he found out any new information or discovered anything in the old case files. I so wish I’d had access to transcripts of those original interviews with Marie and Helen.’

  She ran her hand through her hair.

  ‘If JJ does stand for James Jensen, maybe he could at least explain why they were supposed to meet on the day Leif died,’ said Gösta. ‘And whether they did meet or not.’

  He looked at Paula.

  ‘What do you say? Shall we drive over to Fjällbacka and have a talk with James Jensen? We can drop you off at home on the way, Erica. Unless you’d rather take the bus back …’

  ‘No, thanks. I’d be happy if you’d drive me,’ said Erica, feeling sick at the mere thought of another bus ride.

  ‘We’ll phone ahead, to see if he’s home. But let’s not say why we want to talk to him. We’ll leave in a few minutes. Okay?’

  Paula and Erica both nodded.

  ‘We have barf bags in the back seat of the police car, in case you need one, Erica.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ she said.

  Paula grinned and got up to make the phone call.

  Basse woke with the sun on his face. Cautiously he opened one eye. That simple movement made his head feel as if it would explode. His mouth felt sticky and dry. He managed to open his other eye and then forced himself to sit up. He was on the sofa in the living room, and he must have been lying at an odd angle because his neck hurt.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. Outside, the sun was high in the sky. He glanced at his watch. Twelve thirty. How long had the party lasted?

  Basse stood up but immediately sat back down. People were sleeping everywhere. Two lamps lay on the floor, broken. The parquet floor was scratched up. The sofa he was sitting on was littered with food and half-empty beer bottles. The upholstery was completely ruined. The white armchair was covered with red-wine stains, and the shelf that used to hold his father’s whisky collection was empty.

  My God. His parents would be home in a week, and he’d never be able to fix up the house in time. They were going to kill him. He’d never planned to invite so many to the party. He didn’t even know half the people who were sprawled around the living room. It was a miracle the police hadn’t turned up.

  It was all Vendela’s and Nils’s fault. It was their idea. At least part of it. He couldn’t really remember now. He needed to find them. They’d help him sort this out.

  His socks got wet as soon as he took a few steps on the carpet, which was sticky and damp and smelled of stale beer. The smell was sickening, and he gagged but was able to keep himself from vomiting. He didn’t see Vendela or Nils anywhere. One boy’s fly was open, and Basse wondered whether he should cover him up with something, but he had bigger problems to deal with than some guy’s exposed cock.

  He dragged himself up the stairs. Even the slightest effort brought out a cold sweat. He refused to look over his shoulder because he didn’t want to see more of the devastation below.

  Three people were sleeping in his bedroom, but Vendela and Nils weren’t among them. The whole room reeked. Someone had barfed on his keyboard, and the contents of his desk were scattered on the floor.

  In his parents’ bedroom the destruction was less, but the stench of vomit was overwhelming. The sheets and blanket were covered with dark stains.

  Basse stopped abruptly. Images appeared in his mind, like pale Polaroid photographs. They’d been in here. He pictured Nils grinning at Vendela, who was holding a plastic cup. And he heard boys’ voices. Who else had been here? The more he strained to remember, the more the images faded.

  He stepped on something hard and swore. A marker was lying on the floor, without its cap, and it had left a stain on the light-coloured wood that his mother loved so much. A marker. Jessie. Vendela’s plan. What was it they’d intended to do? What had they done? He pictured bare breasts. White and big and voluptuous. He was lying on top of someone, with his eyes right above those breasts. He’d grabbed them. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind, but his skull felt as if it would split in two.

  He felt his mobile vibrating in his trouser pocket, and he fumbled to get it out. A text from Nils. Lots of pictures. And with each picture he saw, his memory came back to him. Pressing his hand to his mouth, he dashed for his parents’ bathroom.

  Patrik was sitting in his office at the station writing a report about the bizarre meeting with Marie. But his thoughts kept wandering to what he’d heard about the notes in Leif’s diary. Gösta had briefed him about their theories, and now even Patrik was wondering about the mysterious initials. He’d immediately given his okay for Gösta and Paula to have a talk with James. It was a long shot, but sometimes these types of guesses proved right and allowed an investigation to move forward.

  His mobile rang, snapping him out of his brooding. He reached for the phone.

  ‘Pedersen here,’ said a brisk voice. ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘No. Nothing that I can’t put aside for a moment. Are you working on a Sunday?’

  ‘Can’t take much time off in the summer. We set a record for the number of bodies in July, and August isn’t looking much better. The old record had stood for thirty years.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Patrik.

  But his curiosity was piqued. Whenever Pedersen phoned, he usually had something substantial to report. And physical evidence was what they were definitely lacking at the moment. All they had were hypotheses and speculation, gossip and assumptions.

  ‘By the way, I heard you’ve arranged to have another body brought over here. Something about an old suicide?’

  ‘Yes. Leif Hermansson. He was in charge of investigating the Stella case. We’re exhuming his body the day after tomorrow to see what we can find.’

  ‘That’ll take time,’ said Pederse
n. ‘As for the little girl, I’ll be finished with my final report this week, probably on Wednesday. That’s what I’m hoping, at least. But I wanted to talk to you about something. I think it may be of help.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve found two fingerprints on the body. On her eyelids. Her body had been washed, so there was nothing there. But whoever washed her forgot about the eyelids. My guess is that the perpetrator closed her eyes.’

  ‘Oh …’ said Patrik, pausing to consider what he’d just heard. ‘Could you email me the prints? At the moment we have nothing to compare them with, but we found fingerprints at the primary crime scene, and I want Torbjörn Ruud to have a look at both sets.’

  ‘I’ll send them right over,’ said Pedersen.

  ‘Thanks. And thanks for taking the time to call me. I know you’re swamped. I hope it lets up soon.’

  ‘I do too,’ said Pedersen with a sigh.

  Patrik put down the phone and stared impatiently at his computer screen. Why was it that the more anxiously you were waiting for something, the longer it seemed to take? But finally Pedersen’s message came through via the secure email server.

  Patrik opened the attached file. Two pristine fingerprints.

  He immediately rang Torbjörn.

  ‘Hedström here. Hey, I’m on my knees begging you for help with some evidence Pedersen’s just found. There were two fingerprints on Nea’s body, and I’d like you to compare them to the ones on the chocolate wrapper found in the barn.’

  Torbjörn grunted. ‘Can’t it wait? I’d like to get through the rest of the search results, then check the fingerprints against the police database.’

  ‘I understand, but my gut instinct is telling me the fingerprints will match.’

  There was silence at the other end of the line. He only hoped Torbjörn was considering his request.

  At last Torbjörn said morosely, ‘All right. Send them over and I’ll set about comparing them as soon as possible. Okay?’

  ‘Thanks!’ said Patrik. He was about to say more, but Torbjörn had hung up.

  ‘Hello?’ Erica called as she stepped inside.

  Anna was talking on her phone in the kitchen. When she caught sight of her sister, she swiftly ended the call.

  ‘Hi!’

  Erica gave her a suspicious look.

  ‘Who were you talking to?’

  ‘Nobody. Well, er … it was Dan,’ said Anna, blushing.

  Erica felt her stomach knot. Of one thing she was certain – Anna had not been talking to Dan, for the simple reason that she herself had just been speaking to him on the phone. She wanted to confront Anna and ask her what she was hiding, yet she also wanted to show her little sister that she trusted her. Anna had fought hard to repair her misstep, and they had all put it behind them. Questioning Anna or letting on that she knew she was lying would destroy the trust they had built. Her sister had been so fragile for so long. Now that she seemed whole again, the last thing Erica wanted was to risk a setback. So she took a deep breath and put her suspicions aside. At least for now.

  ‘So how are you feeling, you poor thing?’ asked Anna.

  Erica dropped on to a kitchen chair.

  ‘Terrible, but it’s my own fault. And it hasn’t helped that everyone insists on pointing out how awful I look.’

  ‘Well, I have to say you’ve certainly looked better,’ said Anna, giving Erica a crooked smile as she sat down across from her.

  She pushed a plate of cinnamon buns towards her sister. Erica stared at them as she fought an internal battle. But she decided if there was one day she deserved an excess of carbs, it was today. Besides, her whole body was screaming for pizza, so that meant a trip to Bååhaket tonight. The kids would be overjoyed. Patrik would pretend to object, but inside he’d be turning cartwheels.

  She picked up a bun and ate half in one bite.

  ‘What did they say about your theory that it wasn’t suicide?’

  Anna also ate a bun, and Erica noted that her baby bump made an excellent crumb collector.

  ‘They agreed. Patrik has already made arrangements to have Leif’s body exhumed. They’re hoping to do it day after tomorrow.’

  Anna coughed.

  ‘Day after tomorrow? That fast? Is that possible? I thought there’d be a lot of red tape.’

  ‘He got the prosecutor to put through an emergency request to the court, so with luck they’ll open the grave on Tuesday. Based on that assumption, Patrik is making all the practical arrangements. In other words, it hasn’t been approved yet, but the prosecutor didn’t think there’d be any problem.’

  ‘I suppose by now they’re used to Patrik wanting to dig up bodies,’ said Anna. ‘They probably have a standing request filled out in his name, just to be on the safe side.’

  Erica couldn’t help grinning.

  ‘It’ll be interesting to see what a new examination shows,’ she said. ‘And the family is supporting the effort, which is great.’

  ‘In their shoes, I’d do the same. If it wasn’t suicide, the police need to start looking for whoever was responsible.’

  While Anna reached for another bun, Erica glanced around the kitchen. Only now did she realize how quiet it was in the house.

  ‘Where are the kids? Are they taking a nap somewhere?’

  ‘No, they’re at the neighbours’ house,’ said Anna. ‘And Dan’s at the beach with our kids, so I can hold down the fort here a little while longer. Why don’t you have a lie down? You don’t look too good, as I already mentioned.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ said Erica, sticking out her tongue.

  But she was grateful for the offer. Her body was shouting that she was no longer twenty. Yet it took a while for her to fall asleep. She couldn’t help speculating about who Anna had been phoning. And why she had ended the call so quickly when her sister came home.

  Bohuslän 1672

  The morning was cool and hazy. Elin had been given permission to wash herself with a rag and a bucket of water brought to her cell. She had also been given a clean white shift to wear. She had heard rumours of the witch test but did not know what the procedure would be. Would they toss her off the wharf and leave her to flail in the water as best she could? Did they want her to die from drowning? Would her body float to the surface in the springtime?

  The guards roughly escorted her to the edge of the wharf. A crowd had gathered to watch, and she wondered whether it had been decided to do this in Fjällbacka in order to inflict upon her as much humiliation as possible.

  When Elin looked around, she discovered many familiar faces. Everyone appeared to be in high spirits. Ebba of Mörhult stood a few metres away. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

  Elin turned away from Ebba, not wanting the woman to see how frightened she was. She peered down at the water. It was so dark and deep. She would drown if they threw her in, of that she was certain. She was going to die here, on the wharf in Fjällbacka, while old friends, old neighbours, old enemies looked on.

  ‘Tie her up,’ said the sheriff to the guards. She looked at him in alarm.

  If she was tied up she would have no chance whatsoever in the water. She would sink to the bottom and die among the crabs and weeds. She screamed and tried to pull free, but they were stronger and forced her down on to the wharf. They wound a coarse rope around her feet and then bound her hands behind her back.

  Elin caught sight of a familiar skirt very near. She raised her head. In the middle of the crowd stood Britta. And Preben. He was again nervously turning his hat in his hands, the way he had done when he visited her at the gaol. But Britta had a big smile on her face as she looked at Elin lying there bound and wearing a white shift. Preben turned away.

  ‘Now we shall see if she floats!’ said the sheriff, speaking to the crowd.

  It was clear that he was enjoying all the attention and the excited mood. He wanted to make the most of it.

  ‘If she floats, she is without a doubt a witch. If she sinks, she is not, and we will try to p
ull her out.’

  He laughed, and the spectators followed suit. Elin prayed to God as she lay on the wharf, bound with ropes that chafed at her hands and feet. It was the only way for her to keep the panic under control, but her breathing was rapid and shallow, as if she had been running. She heard a roaring in her ears.

  When they lifted her up, the rope cut into her skin, making her scream. A scream that was abruptly cut short when she landed in the water, which instantly filled her mouth. The cold, salty water was a shock to her body, and she expected to disappear below the surface and sink to the bottom. But nothing happened. She lay face down but was able to lift her head to gasp for air.

  Instead of sinking, she bobbed in the water. On the wharf above her, the spectators gasped. Then they began shouting all at once.

  ‘Witch!’ someone cried, and then another. ‘Witch!’

  Rough hands pulled Elin out the water, but she was no longer screaming. The pain was no longer part of her.

  ‘There you see!’ yelled the sheriff. ‘She floated like a swan. She’s a witch!’

  The crowd howled. With a great effort, Elin raised her head. The last thing she saw before she fainted was Preben and Britta walking away. She felt Ebba of Mörhult spitting at her as she slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  James hadn’t answered the phone when they rang, but Gösta and Paula decided to take a chance on finding him at home all the same.

  ‘Oh, is that sweet old lady selling her house?’ said Paula as they passed the red house next to the gravel road.

  ‘Sweet old lady?’ said Gösta, glancing at the house and seeing the ‘For Sale’ sign out front.

  ‘Yes. Martin and I visited her when we were knocking on doors in the neighbourhood. She’s over ninety and was watching the MMA on TV when we dropped by.’

  Gösta laughed.

  ‘Hey, why not? Maybe I’ll be an MMA fan in my old age too.’

  ‘It can’t be easy, finding ways to pass the time when she lives in such a remote area and can’t get out any more. She told us she mostly sits at her kitchen window and watches whatever goes on outside.’