The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 56

  Anna was getting more and more nervous. There were too many variables, too many things that could go wrong. And she could tell that Erica was suspicious. She’d noticed her sister studying her, but even Erica hadn’t said anything.

  In the kitchen Dan was whistling as he fixed a late lunch. He’d taken on more of the household duties as her pregnancy progressed, but she knew he was glad to do it. They had come so close to losing everything, but now they had regained their daily life, their family, and each other. The scars in her heart and in his still existed, but they’d learned to live with them. And she had accepted the physical scars. Her hair had grown out, and the scars had slowly begun to fade. They would always be there, and she could cover them with make-up if she chose to do so, though she frequently did not. The scars were part of her.

  Dan had once asked Anna how she managed not to turn bitter. Her life had turned out so different from Erica’s. Sometimes it seemed as if misfortune constantly hounded her, while Erica’s life was so harmonious. But Anna refused to fall into the trap of feeling sorry for herself and envying Erica; hard as it was to admit it, a lot of her troubles had stemmed from her own poor decision-making. She was the one who had chosen Lucas, the father of her children, ignoring Erica’s warnings and misgivings about him. And the infidelity that had nearly destroyed the love she and Dan shared was her fault and hers alone. Everything else that had happened – the car accident that scarred her body and claimed the life of her unborn child – was just bad luck. Any time she felt like giving into the temptation of feeling bitter or jealous of Erica, she only had to remind herself of the way her big sister had taken care of her and watched over her ever since they were kids. Anna knew that she had been allowed to be a child at Erica’s expense, and she had always been grateful to her sister for that.

  But now she had broken a promise to Erica. A promise never to keep secrets from her. She listened to the clatter of plates as Dan set the table for lunch. He was singing along with the radio. She envied his carefree and cheerful attitude. Unlike him, she was a worrier. And she wondered whether she’d made the right decision. She was afraid of hurting Dan, and she knew she was already on thin ice because she’d had to lie to him. But it was too late to undo what was done.

  With an effort she got up off the sofa. When she went into the kitchen and saw Dan’s smile, she felt the warmth of his love and for a moment her worry was erased. In spite of everything she’d been through, she considered herself lucky. And when the children came streaming into the kitchen from different parts of the house and from playing outdoors, she knew she was truly blessed.

  ‘Do you think James could have been the one who killed Stella?’ asked Paula, studying Gösta’s profile. ‘And then he killed Leif because Leif was about to expose him?’

  Gösta had asked to drive, and she had reluctantly given in, even though she knew he would go at a snail’s pace all the way to Fjällbacka.

  ‘I’m not sure what to believe,’ he said. ‘I don’t recall his name ever coming up when we were working on the original investigation. It may be that Leif was so quick to focus attention on the two girls and when they confessed there was no reason to consider other possibilities. As for Marie’s claim to have seen somebody in the woods … Well, she didn’t mention it until after she retracted her confession, so we all thought it was a child’s clumsy attempt to divert suspicion elsewhere.’

  ‘Did you know who he was? Back then, I mean?’ asked Paula, realizing she was pressing her right foot on an imaginary accelerator. Gösta was so painfully slow, she would have preferred Patrik’s erratic driving.

  ‘Of course. Fjällbacka’s a small town, most people know each other. And James has always been something of a character. His big goal in life was to become a soldier. If I remember right, he signed up for some macho unit when he did his mandatory military service – he was a diver or paratrooper, something like that – and then he stayed on in the army.’

  ‘It strikes me as very odd that he married his best friend’s daughter,’ said Martin from the back seat. ‘Especially with such a big age difference.’

  ‘You’re not alone in that,’ said Gösta, slowing down even more. Though there were no other vehicles in sight, he indicated before turning left on to the gravel road. ‘No one had ever seen James with a girlfriend, so it came as a real surprise. And Helen was only eighteen. But you know how these things go. At first people can talk of nothing else, then another scandal comes along and they all lose interest. They had Sam and became just another family. And they’ve been married for all these years now, so the marriage must be working.’

  They had decided not to tell James they were coming, so Gösta parked a good distance away from the house. They wanted to head straight for the target practice area in the woods without anyone spotting them.

  ‘What do we do if he’s there?’ asked Martin.

  ‘We’ll have to tell him what we’re doing. And hope there aren’t any complications. We’re within our legal rights to take anything we want from that area.’

  ‘True, but I’m not too keen on standing face to face with a professional soldier and potential murderer while we’re looking for evidence to use against him,’ muttered Martin.

  ‘Oh, come on. You could have stayed back at the station, you know,’ said Paula, leading the way to the woods.

  They stopped when they entered the glade. Paula was relieved James wasn’t there, but it now dawned on her what they were up against. Years of target practice had left the entire area littered with bullets and casings. She was no gun expert, but it was obvious an arsenal of different weapons had been fired in this spot.

  Gösta took in the scene and then turned to the others.

  ‘Shouldn’t all this give us reason to believe that James has illegal weapons in his home? We can link him to this spot – we’ve seen him using it for target practice. Judging by all these casings and bullets, he must have more guns in his possession than the ones registered to his name.’

  ‘He has permits for a Colt, a Smith & Wesson, and a hunting rifle,’ said Martin. ‘I checked.’

  ‘I’ll phone Patrik and see whether he thinks this is enough to warrant a search of the house. Don’t touch anything without photographing it in situ first.’

  While Paula and Martin got busy taking photos, Gösta stepped aside to make the call.

  ‘He’s checking with the prosecutor,’ Gösta reported as soon as he finished speaking to Patrik. ‘But he thinks what we’ve found here plus the bullet from the coffin should be enough to justify a look inside James’s house.’

  ‘What do you suppose we’ll find?’ asked Martin. ‘Sub-machine guns? Automatic weapons?’

  He squatted down to study the pile of casings on the ground.

  ‘Looks as though he has quite a collection,’ said Paula as she snapped more photos.

  ‘I can’t say I’m thrilled about seeing James with an MP5,’ said Gösta.

  ‘It would have been difficult to claim it was suicide if he’d used a sub-machine gun,’ said Paula. ‘But I supposed it has happened.’

  ‘Kurt Cobain killed himself with a Remington shotgun,’ said Martin.

  Paula looked at him in surprise. Who’d have thought Martin would know that.

  Gösta’s mobile rang, and he took the call.

  ‘Hi, Patrik.’

  He listened for a moment then held up his hand to indicate they should stop what they were doing. When he came off the phone, he told them:

  ‘The prosecutor wants to bring in the tech team. We’re to leave it to them to examine the area.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Paula, looking disappointed. ‘Does that mean she’s going to issue a search warrant?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gösta. ‘Patrik is on his way. He wants to be here when we go inside.’

  ‘Is Mellberg coming too?’ asked Paula uneasily.

  ‘No. Apparently it’s been sheer chaos ever since he turned over the audio file to Expressen. He’s spending all his time giving in
terviews. And Annika is drowning in tip-offs from callers who think they recognize the voice. The list of names already runs to several pages.’

  ‘Even so, the old guy might just have done something right for once,’ muttered Paula. ‘This might actually bring results. We wouldn’t have had a chance of identifying the voice on our own.’

  ‘What did Patrik say about James?’ asked Martin as they slowly walked back to the car.

  ‘We’ll take him in for questioning after we search the house. But one of us will have to wait outside with him while we’re doing the search.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Martin. ‘I’m curious to find out about him.’

  Nils nibbled at her ear. Usually it would make her shiver with pleasure, but right now Vendela felt only annoyance. She didn’t want him here in her bed.

  ‘So, when Jessie—’ he began.

  ‘What do you think Basse’s parents will say when they get home?’ she interrupted, pulling away from him.

  She didn’t want to talk about Jessie. It had been her idea, and everything had gone exactly according to plan. Yet somehow it didn’t feel good. She had wanted to punish Marie. Wanted to punish her daughter. Why wasn’t she happy?

  ‘I think Basse’s weekly allowance is going to get cut,’ he said with a smirk.

  He stroked her stomach, and she suddenly felt sick.

  ‘Do you think he’ll put the blame on us?’ she asked.

  ‘Never. He’ll just clam up. He won’t want his parents hearing all the details about what went on that night.’

  They had closed the door to the bedroom and left Basse there with the unconscious Jessie. Back then, when Vendela was drunk, it had felt right, but now she’d sobered up … it felt like they were headed for disaster.

  ‘Do you think she’ll tell anyone? Her mother, maybe?’

  That was what Vendela had wanted. To punish both of them.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ said Nils. ‘She’ll be too ashamed. The last thing she wants is even more people knowing.’

  ‘I don’t think she and Sam will show up on Saturday.’

  At least she’d succeeded with that. Made it so Jessie would never want to show herself again.

  Nils nibbled more on her ear and grabbed her breast, but she pushed him away. For some reason she didn’t want to be with him tonight.

  ‘She must have told Sam. Isn’t it strange that he’s not—’

  Nils put a hand over her mouth and began pulling off his shorts with the other hand.

  ‘Enough already! Stop talking and suck me.’

  With a moan he pressed her head to his crotch.

  Helen looked up as the cars appeared on the drive. The police. What did they want? Why were they here now? She went to the front door and opened it before they had a chance to knock.

  Patrik Hedström stood there with Paula, Martin, and an older officer she hadn’t previously met.

  ‘Hi, Helen,’ said Patrik. ‘We have a warrant to search your house. Is James home? And your son?’

  Her knees buckled, and Helen had to put a hand on the wall for support. She nodded as thirty-year-old memories flooded over her. The policeman’s voice with the same tone as Patrik’s. The solemn expression. The penetrating gaze that seemed to want to force the truth out of her. The air in the interview room, stifling and hard to breathe. Her father’s heavy hand on her shoulder. Stella. Little Stella. The reddish blond hair bobbing in front of them as she scampered ahead, happy to be on an outing with two big girls. Always filled with curiosity. Always so lively.

  Helen swayed, then realized Patrik was talking to her. She forced herself to remain calm.

  ‘James is in his office, and Sam is in his room.’

  Her voice sounded surprisingly normal even though her heart was hammering in her chest.

  She stepped aside to let them into the front hall. They went to talk to James, while she called Sam.

  ‘Sam! Could you come down here?’

  She heard a surly reply, but after a minute he sauntered down the stairs.

  ‘The police are here,’ she said, meeting his eye.

  His blue eyes rimmed with black were impassive. They were completely blank. She shivered, wanting to reach out a hand towards him, stroke his cheek and tell him everything would be fine. That she was here. Just as she always had been. But she merely stood there, her arms at her sides.

  ‘We’d like you to step outside, said Paula, opening the front door for them. ‘You won’t be able to come back in until we’re finished.’

  ‘What … what’s this about?’ asked Helen.

  ‘We can’t discuss it at the moment.’

  Helen felt her pulse slowly returning to normal.

  ‘You can decide for yourself what to do,’ Paula went on. ‘You might want to visit a family member or friend – it could be a long wait.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said James.

  Helen didn’t dare look at him. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would jump out of her chest. She gave Sam a nudge. He was standing motionless in the middle of the hall.

  ‘Come on, let’s go outside.’

  In spite of the heat, the air felt refreshing as she stepped outside and took several deep breaths. She reached for Sam’s arm, but he pulled away.

  Standing in the sunlight, she looked at her son – really looked at him for the first time in a long while. His face was so white next to the black hair and all the black eye make-up. The years had passed so quickly. Where had the chubby tow-headed boy with the bubbling laugh gone? Deep down, she knew the answer. She had allowed James to sweep away all trace of that boy and the man he could have become. He had made Sam feel he was no good. The truth was that they were standing here because they had nowhere else to go. No friends. No family. Only her mother, who never wanted to hear about anything bad.

  Helen and Sam. They had been living in their own bubble.

  From inside the house she heard James’s agitated voice. She knew she ought to be worried. The police were about to uncover one or all of the secrets that had served as the foundation for their life. She raised her hand to stroke Sam’s cheek. He turned away, and she let her hand fall. For a second she saw Stella turn to look over her shoulder at her in the woods. Her reddish blond hair fiery against her white skin. Then she was gone.

  Helen got out her mobile. There was only one place she could think of going.

  ‘Jessie, I’m leaving!’

  Marie stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few seconds, but there was no response. Jessie was going through a phase where she stayed in her room during the few hours she spent at home. By the time Marie woke in the morning, Jessie had already left the house. She had no idea where her daughter went.

  At least she was starting to lose weight. That boy Sam actually seemed to be a good influence.

  Marie headed for the door. The filming was going well. She’d almost forgotten how it felt to make a film that promised to be worth watching instead of something destined to be forgotten the second the credits rolled.

  She knew that she was giving the performance of her life. She could see it in the eyes of the crew after each scene. No doubt this was partly because she felt a kinship with the woman she was playing. Ingrid Bergman had been a complex woman, strong and kind, yet she could also be ruthlessly driven. Marie could relate to that. The difference was that Ingrid had found love. She had loved. She had been loved. When she died, she was mourned not only by strangers who had seen her on the big screen, but also by those closest to her, showing how much she had meant to them.

  There was no one close to Marie. Not since Helen. Maybe everything would have been different if Helen hadn’t put down the phone that day. Maybe there would have been people in her life who would mourn her when she passed away, just as Ingrid had been mourned.

  But there was no use crying over spilt milk. Certain things could not be changed. Slowly Marie closed the door to the house and set off for the second filming session of the day. Jessie would
manage. Just as Marie had done at her age.

  The Stella Case

  Helen was trembling as she stood on the courthouse steps in the gusty wind. She could no longer ignore it. She was scared. The way someone was scared when they knew they were doing something wrong. The label in the neckline of her simple dress from H&M scratched the back of her neck, but she didn’t mind. It gave her something to focus her attention on.

  She didn’t know when it had been decided. Or when she had agreed. Suddenly it was a fact. In the evenings she’d heard her parents arguing about it. She hadn’t been able to make out what they were saying, but then again she didn’t need to. She knew what the argument was about. It was about her marrying James.

  Helen’s father, KG, had assured her this would be in her best interest. And he always knew what was best for her. She had merely nodded. That’s how it was. KG took care of her. Protected her. Even though she didn’t deserve it. She knew she ought to be thankful; she ought to admit that she was fortunate, that she did not deserve this concern.

  Maybe the world would also be bigger if she did as she was told. She felt as if she’d lived her life trapped in a small cage. The house was her world, and the only people in it were her father, her mother – and James.

  James was often abroad, fighting in other countries. Shooting blacks, according to her father. Whenever James was in Sweden, he spent as much time with them as in his own house. There was such a strange mood whenever he came to visit. James and her father seemed to have their own world, and no one else had access. ‘We’re like brothers,’ KG used to say back then, before everything happened. Before they were forced to move.

  Marie had phoned the house a few days ago. Helen had immediately recognized her voice, even though she sounded older, more mature. It was as if she’d been thrown back in time. To the thirteen-year-old whose life had revolved around Marie.

  But what could she say? There was nothing she could do. She was going to marry James – after everything that had happened, there was no other option. After what James had done for her.

  It did feel strange to be marrying someone the same age as her father, but James looked so handsome as he stood next to her in his uniform. And her mother was happy that for once she could dress up, even though on the night before the wedding, Helen had heard her parents quarrelling yet again. There was never any doubt who would win the argument; Pappa was the one who made all the decisions.