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

  ‘Yeah, I know. How are we going to do that? How did you learn?’

  ‘Animals,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘James had me shooting squirrels, mice, birds. Whatever turned up.’

  ‘All right. Let’s do it.’

  The steely glint in Jessie’s eyes made him want to put his arms around her and hold her close. All trace of softness was now gone. He knew she wasn’t eating properly. In the few days since the weekend, her face had lost some of its roundness. He didn’t care. He loved her no matter what. He had loved her naivety, but now her way of seeing the world more closely resembled his own view.

  He had the same hard core inside, and that’s what would see them through this. He’d already crossed the line. Any form of retreat was gone, he could never turn back. Everything had a breaking point. Even people. He’d passed his first one, and now Jessie was following. Now they were both in the same borderland.

  It felt amazing not to be there alone.

  He knew he would have to tell her everything. He had to place his darkest secrets at her feet. That was the only thing that still scared him. He didn’t think she would judge him, but he wasn’t sure. Part of him wanted to continue to forget, while another part knew he needed to remember, because that would help him to move forward. He could not stand still. He could not stop. It was no longer possible for him to be merely a victim.

  He took off his backpack and pulled out the notebook. It was time to tell her his deepest secrets. She was ready.

  ‘There’s something I want to show you,’ he said. ‘Something I have to do.’

  Bohuslän 1672

  A long series of witnesses followed. The customs official recounted how Elin had hurled incantations after him, and how the wind had blown his horse off the road. Neighbours from Fjällbacka and folks from Tanumshede testified that she had used devilish sorcery to heal and cure. Then it was Britta’s turn. She was pale and beautiful as she glided through the room to take her seat up front. She looked sorrowful, but Elin knew she was pleased with what she had done. After all these years she finally had Elin where she wanted her.

  Britta’s eyes were downcast, her dark lashes lying like fans on her cheeks. The slight curve of her stomach could be glimpsed under the fabric of her gown, but there was still nothing maternal in her face. It was as narrow and finely chiselled as always.

  ‘Could you tell us about yourself?’ said Hierne, giving her a smile.

  Elin saw that he was as enchanted by Britta today as he had been on that evening at the vicarage.

  And she understood there was no help to be found. Nothing could save her. Whatever Britta said would make no difference. Yet she also knew that Britta would never give up this moment to speak.

  ‘I am Elin’s sister. Her half-sister,’ she added. ‘We have the same father but not the same mother.’

  ‘And Elin has lived with you since her husband’s death? You and your husband, the vicar Preben Willumsen, generously offered shelter to Elin and her daughter Märta. Is that correct?’

  Britta smiled modestly.

  ‘Yes, we agreed that we should help Elin and sweet little Märta after Per drowned. We are family, after all. That is what families do.’

  Hierne’s eyes brightened as he looked at her.

  ‘A truly generous and loving offer. And neither of you knew …’

  ‘No, we did not.’ Britta shook her head vigorously and let out a sob.

  Hierne pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her.

  ‘When did you first notice anything?’ he asked.

  ‘It took some time. She is my sister, and I did not want to believe …’

  She sobbed again, dabbing the handkerchief to her eyes. Then she straightened her back and lifted her chin.

  ‘She began giving me concoctions every morning, to help me to conceive. And I was grateful for her help. I knew she had aided other women in the surrounding area. Every morning I drank that loathsome sludge. Elin would mutter something over the drink before she handed it to me. But the months passed and nothing happened. I asked Elin many times if it was doing me any good, and she insisted it would help, so I did my best to keep drinking what she gave me.’

  ‘But eventually your suspicions grew?’

  Hierne leaned towards Britta, who nodded.

  ‘Yes. I began to suspect that it was not God but darker powers assisting Elin. We … we had an animal that disappeared from the farm. A cat named Viola. I found it hanging by its tail behind our house, outside my bedroom window. And then I knew. So secretly I began pouring out the drink, behind her back. And as soon as I stopped taking that concoction, I was able to have a child.’

  She stroked her stomach.

  ‘That was when I understood that Elin did not want me to conceive. On the contrary. She did not want me to give birth.’

  ‘And why was that?’

  ‘Elin has always been jealous of me. Her mother died when she was little, and my mother was our father’s favourite. And yes, I was the apple of my father’s eye. I was not to blame, but Elin took against me. She always wanted to have whatever I had, and that became even clearer when I married a vicar while she had to settle for a poor fisherman. So I assume that Elin did not want me to have a child. I also think she had set her sights on my husband.’

  Britta looked at the crowd in the courtroom.

  ‘Imagine what a victory that would have been for the devil, if his woman succeeded in stealing a man of the church. Yet, as luck would have it, Preben is a strong person, and all her sly ploys and seductive tricks had no effect on him.’

  She smiled at Preben, who briefly met her eye before again fixing his gaze on the floor. Elin was studying him intently. How could he simply sit there, listening to such lies? She had heard that he would not testify. The vicar would be spared that experience. And that was no doubt fortunate, because she did not know how she could have stood it if he were the one telling lies before the court, instead of allowing Britta to do it for him.

  ‘Tell us about the devil’s mark,’ said Hierne.

  The spectators were listening closely. They had heard about this. It was said that the devil left a mark on the bodies of his wives. A form of branding. Did Elin Jonsdotter have such a mark? If so, where was it? They eagerly waited to hear Britta’s reply.

  She nodded.

  ‘Yes, she has a mark just below one breast. The colour of fire. It looks like a map of Denmark.’

  Elin gasped. It had barely been visible when they were children. And she had never known it looked like such a map. There was only one person who could have made that comparison.

  Preben.

  He had given Britta this proof to use against her. Elin tried to make Preben meet her eye, but the coward merely stared at the floor. She wanted to stand up and recount everything that had happened, but she knew it was pointless. No one would believe a word she said. In their eyes, she was a witch.

  All she could do now was try not to make things worse for Märta. The girl had no one except Britta and Preben. They were the only family she had left. Elin could only hope that Britta and Preben would allow Märta to grow up with them. So she kept silent. For Märta’s sake.

  As Britta continued to speak of the devil’s mark on her body and tell a thousand other lies which one by one sealed her sister’s fate, Elin longed for the trial to be over. She would go to her death. She knew that now. But she still had hope that her daughter might have a good life. Märta was everything. Nothing else mattered.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘Things are starting to come together,’ said Patrik, feeling that familiar prickling sensation that came when all the knots in a case began to unravel. ‘Pedersen called me earlier. You won’t believe this, but the missing bullet was found inside the coffin. Because of an oversight on the part of the pathologist, the bullet ended up being left in the wound.’

  ‘So that explains why no one could find it,’ said Gösta.

  ‘The bullet’s been sent to Tor
björn, and I’ve just received his preliminary report. It’s a full-jacketed .45 calibre bullet. I could go over what that signifies, but you probably know more than I do. The most important finding so far is that the bullet can be linked to a Colt.’

  ‘So does this mean Leif did not commit suicide?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Leif was left-handed, but the bullet hole was in his right temple, and he was holding the gun in his right hand, not his left.’ Patrik found it difficult to keep the excitement out of his voice as he continued: ‘The gun in question was his own, a Walther PPK, .32 calibre. The .45 calibre bullet found in the coffin cannot have been fired by that particular gun. So we are dealing with murder, not suicide. And we also have a suspect. Leif jotted down the initials “JJ” in his diary, and we know that James Jensen owns a Colt M1911, which is compatible with the .45 calibre bullet found with Leif’s remains.’

  ‘When we went to see him, James showed us a Colt M1911. Said his father gave it to him when he was seven,’ said Paula grimly.

  ‘So how can we link him to the bullet? And to Leif’s murder?’ asked Gösta. ‘This is all supposition. There must be thousands of people in Sweden who have Colts in their possession, both legally and illegally. And it’s pure guesswork that “JJ” refers to James Jensen. There’s no proof.’

  ‘We need to link the bullet to the gun,’ said Patrik. ‘I doubt we could get a search warrant from the prosecutor, based on what we have right now. So that’s the big question – how can we find a way to link the bullet to the gun?’

  Paula raised her hand. Patrik nodded.

  ‘He’s been doing target practice on public land. He was actually firing the Colt when Gösta and I found him in the woods. There must be plenty of bullets out there, and we could go and pick them up without needing a warrant.’

  ‘Great,’ said Patrik. ‘You and Gösta can go collect the bullets, then we’ll send them to the lab for analysis.’

  Patrik glanced at his mobile. He had ten missed calls. What was going on? He didn’t recognize any of the phone numbers, and he tried to think what might have led to such a flood of interest from the media. He took a minute to listen to his voicemail. When he was finished, he glared at Mellberg.

  ‘Apparently we’ve appealed to the public to help us identify a voice. The audio file was posted on the Expressen website. Anybody know about this?’

  Mellberg squared his shoulders.

  ‘Yes. I received the file while you were out. It was a woman who solved the technical issues and removed the distortion filter. Can you believe it?’

  He glanced around the room, but didn’t receive the response he expected.

  ‘Anyway. I didn’t recognize the voice,’ he went on, ‘so I could tell we needed a little help, and the public can be a good resource. I took it upon myself to phone a contact of mine at the tabloid, and they were happy to help us! Now all we have to do is wait for the tips to come rolling in!’

  He leaned back with a pleased expression.

  Patrik silently counted to ten and then opted for the path of least resistance. He took a deep breath and said:

  ‘Bertil …’ But then he didn’t know what to say next.

  There was so much he wanted to say, but it wouldn’t be productive.

  He began again.

  ‘Bertil. In that case, you’re in charge of handling all the tips.’

  Mellberg nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

  ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve nailed him,’ he said cheerfully. Patrik managed a strained smile.

  Then he gave Mellberg an enquiring look.

  Mellberg looked puzzled and said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t you think it would be a good idea if the rest of us heard the audio file?’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ said Bertil, reaching for his phone. ‘I sent the file from my mobile. Did I tell you it was a female who solved the technical problem?’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned that,’ said Paula. ‘So let’s hear the recording.’

  ‘Okay, okay. You’re all so impatient,’ said Mellberg.

  He scratched his head.

  ‘Now how do I play the file? These bloody modern phones …’

  ‘Would you like some help from a female?’ asked Paula sweetly.

  Mellberg pretended not to hear and kept pressing buttons.

  ‘There it is!’ he said triumphantly.

  Everyone listened intently to the conversation.

  ‘So?’ said Mellberg. ‘Anybody recognize the voice? Or hear anything interesting?’

  ‘Not really …’ said Martin. ‘But the voice sounds young. And judging by the dialect, I’d say it’s someone from around here.’

  ‘In other words, you have no clue either. It’s lucky I’ve already asked for help from the public!’ said Mellberg with satisfaction as he pushed the phone away.

  Patrik ignored him.

  ‘Okay, let’s continue. Erica called. This morning she interviewed Sanna Lundgren for her book. Sanna Lundgren, née Sanna Strand. She told Erica that Leif made an appointment to speak to her a week before he died, so we now have confirmation that she was the “SS” in Leif’s diary.’

  ‘What did he want?’ asked Gösta.

  ‘Well …’ Patrik wasn’t sure he could make any sense of what Erica had told him, and he was uncertain how to present the information to his colleagues. ‘It appears Leif wanted to know more about an imaginary friend that Stella had …’

  Martin choked on his coffee. He looked at Patrik in disbelief.

  ‘An imaginary friend? Why?’

  ‘You might well ask,’ replied Patrik. ‘He wanted to know more about the imaginary friend Stella called the green man.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ exclaimed Mellberg, laughing. ‘The green man? An imaginary friend? That’s insane.’

  Again Patrik ignored him.

  ‘According to Sanna, Stella often played in the woods, and she talked about seeing this “green man” there,’ he went on. ‘Sanna mentioned her sister’s imaginary friend to the police right after Stella’s body was found, but no one took it seriously. Many years later, Leif phoned Sanna and wanted to hear more. She couldn’t remember the exact date when they met, but she thought it matched the day when Leif wrote “SS” in his diary. A week later she heard that he’d committed suicide. She didn’t give it any further thought until Erica started asking questions about Stella.’

  ‘Are we to go chasing after some make-believe story?’ laughed Mellberg.

  No one joined in with the laughter. Patrik glanced at his mobile. Twelve more missed calls. As if they didn’t have enough problems.

  ‘I think there must be something to it,’ said Patrik. ‘Let’s keep an open mind. Maybe Leif discovered something important.’

  ‘What do we do about James?’ asked Gösta, reminding his colleagues they hadn’t finished with that subject.

  ‘Nothing for the moment,’ replied Patrik. ‘First, you and Paula need to pick up those bullets.’

  He sympathized with their impatience. He would have liked to bring James in at once, but without any proof, they’d never be able to charge him.

  ‘There’s another important matter we need to discuss,’ said Paula. ‘I had a talk with an old lady who is a neighbour of the Berg family. During our previous visit she said she couldn’t recall seeing anything out of the ordinary on the morning Nea disappeared. But then she realized we might have some use for the notebook in which she writes down everything that happens outside her kitchen window. Martin and I went to see her and picked up the notebook. At first glance it seems she was right. I can’t see anything unusual.’

  Paula hesitated.

  ‘But I have the feeling something doesn’t fit. I just can’t work out what it might be.’

  ‘Keep at it,’ said Patrik. ‘You know how it goes. Sooner or later it’ll come to you.’

  ‘Right,’ said Paula doubtfully. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And the motive?’ asked Martin. When he had everyone’s attention, he explained. �
�I mean, if we’re assuming James shot Leif. Why would he do that?’

  No one spoke for a long time. Patrik had already spent the last couple of hours thinking about it, but hadn’t come up with anything. Finally he said:

  ‘For the time being, let’s focus on linking James to the bullet. Then we’ll take it from there.’

  ‘We could leave now,’ said Gösta, looking at Paula.

  She yawned, then nodded.

  ‘Be sure to follow regulations,’ said Patrik. ‘Paper bags, proper labels – document everything. We don’t want anyone questioning our procedures later on.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Gösta.

  ‘I can go with you,’ said Martin. ‘I’m not getting anywhere with my contacts in the anti-immigrant groups. Nobody knows anything about the fire. Or so they say.’

  ‘Fine. Go ahead,’ said Patrik. ‘This is the best lead we have right now. I think there has to be something behind Leif’s questions about Stella’s imaginary friend. Gösta, do you recall anything about this? Anything from the original investigation?’

  Deep furrows appeared on Gösta’s face as he thought back to the Stella case. He seemed about to shake his head when his face suddenly brightened and he looked up.

  ‘Marie. We talked about the fact that Marie claimed someone had followed them into the woods on the day Stella died. I know I may be making too much of this, but … could there be some sort of connection? Could Stella’s imaginary friend be a real person?’

  ‘Could it have been James?’ asked Paula.

  Everyone turned to look at her. She shrugged.

  ‘Think about it. James is in the military. When Sanna says “the green man”, I think instantly of green clothing. Military clothing. Could it have been James that Stella was meeting? And could it have been James that Marie says she heard in the woods?’

  ‘That’s just guesswork at this stage,’ said Patrik.

  He cast another glance at his phone, which now had twenty more missed calls.

  ‘While everybody else is gathering evidence, you and I are going to have a little talk, Bertil,’ he said with a sigh.