The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 7

  ‘She’s okay,’ he said at last.

  For a few seconds he thought about what he was refusing to think about, and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. Then he opened his eyes and fumbled in his pocket for the cigarettes he’d brought along. He took out two, lit both of them, and handed one to Jessie.

  Calm spread through his body, the buzzing faded from inside his head, and the memories were carried away by the smoke. He leaned forward and kissed Jessie. At first she froze. From fear. From surprise. Then he felt her lips soften and let him in.

  ‘Oh, how adorable!’

  Sam gave a start.

  ‘Look at the little lovebirds!’

  Nils came sauntering down from the rocks with Basse and Vendela in tow. As always. They didn’t seem to be capable of surviving without each other.

  ‘So who’s this?’ Nils sat down right next to Sam and Jessie, staring at her intently as she pulled up her bikini top. ‘Looks like you’ve found yourself a girlfriend, Sam.’

  ‘I’m Jessie,’ she told him, holding out her hand, which Nils ignored.

  ‘Jessie?’ said Vendela behind him. ‘You must be Marie Wall’s daughter.’

  ‘Aha. The daughter of your mother’s pal. The Hollywood star.’

  Nils was now looking at Jessie with interest as she kept on tugging at her bikini top. Sam wanted to protect her from their prying eyes. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her to pay them no mind. Instead he reached for her T-shirt.

  ‘I guess it’s no surprise that the two of you would find each other,’ said Basse, giving Nils a poke in the side.

  His voice was a shrill, feminine falsetto, but no one ever teased him about it for fear of drawing the wrath of Nils. His real name was Bosse, but in middle school he’d got everyone to call him Basse instead, because it sounded cooler.

  ‘Yeah, I guess it’s not really that strange,’ said Nils, looking from Jessie to Sam.

  ‘Okay, I’m fucking hungry,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Vendela smiled at Jessie. ‘See you later.’

  Sam looked at them in surprise. Was that it?

  Jessie leaned towards him.

  ‘Who were those guys?’ she said. ‘They’re weird. Nice, but weird.’

  Sam shook his head.

  ‘They’re not nice. Not at all.’

  He pulled his mobile out of his pocket, opened the photo file, and skimmed through the videos. He knew why he’d saved this particular video. It was a reminder of what people could do to each other. And to him. But he’d never planned to show it to Jessie. Enough people had already seen it.

  ‘They posted this on Snapchat last summer,’ he said, handing his mobile to Jessie. ‘I managed to film it before it was removed.’

  Sam looked away as Jessie clicked on the start button. He didn’t need to watch it. When he heard the voices the whole scene clearly unfolded in his mind.

  ‘You’re so out of shape!’ Nils had shouted. ‘Wimpy like a girl. Swimming is good exercise.’

  Nils had headed for Sam’s boat, which was moored not far from where it was today.

  ‘You can swim back to Fjällbacka. It’ll build muscles.’

  Vendela laughed as she filmed everything with her camera. Basse came running alongside Nils.

  Nils tossed the mooring line into the boat, then set his foot on the bow and gave it a push. The small wooden boat began slowly backing away from the island, but it got caught in a current a few metres out, and the distance increased rapidly.

  Nils turned towards the camera, grinning broadly.

  ‘Have a nice swim.’

  At that point the video ended.

  ‘Holy shit,’ said Jessie. ‘Holy shit.’

  She looked at Sam with tears in her eyes.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I’ve been through worse.’

  Jessie blinked away her tears. He suspected that she too had survived worse experiences. He put his hand on her shoulder and felt how she was shaking. But he could also feel the bond between them. And what united them.

  One day he would show her his notebook and share all his thoughts with her. Including his big plan. One day everyone would see.

  Jessie wrapped her arms around his neck. She smelled so wonderful, of sun and sweat and marijuana.

  It was getting late, but still light, like a memory of the sun that had shone all day from a clear blue sky. Eva looked towards the farmyard where the shadows were beginning to lengthen. Cold fingers seemed to clutch at her heart as she thought about Nea, who always hurried inside before dark fell.

  People were coming and going out there. Voices mixed with barking from the dogs as they took turns to search. The ice-cold fingers again clutched at her heart.

  The older officer, Gösta, came in the front door.

  ‘I was thinking of having a cup of coffee, and then I’ll go back out.’

  Eva got up to pour him some coffee. She’d made countless pots of coffee over the past few hours.

  ‘Nothing yet?’ she asked, even though she knew the answer.

  If he had any news, he would have told her at once instead of asking for coffee. But there was something comforting and soothing about asking the question.

  ‘No, but we’ve got a big team out there searching. It feels like all of Fjällbacka has turned out.’

  Eva nodded, trying to compose herself before speaking.

  ‘Yes, everyone has been amazing,’ she said, sinking down on her chair. ‘Peter went out to join the search too. I couldn’t keep him away.’

  ‘I know.’ Gösta sat down across from her. ‘I saw him in one of the search groups.’

  ‘What …’ The words stuck in her throat. ‘What do you think happened?’

  She didn’t dare look at Gösta. Various scenarios, each one worse than the last, kept running through her mind. Whenever she tried to seize hold of one of them, wanting to understand, the pain was so great she could hardly breathe.

  ‘There’s no use in speculating,’ said Gösta gently, reaching out to place his hand on hers. His calm concern slowly warmed her.

  ‘But she’s been missing such a long time now.’

  Gösta squeezed her hand.

  ‘It’s summer and it’s warm outside. She’s not going to freeze. The woods cover a large area, there’s a lot of territory to search, and we simply need a few more hours. I’m sure we’ll find her, and she’ll be scared and upset, but no harm done. Okay?’

  ‘Except … that’s not what happened to the other little girl.’

  Gösta pulled away his hand and took a sip of coffee.

  ‘That was thirty years ago, Eva. Another lifetime, another era. It’s pure coincidence that you’re living on this farm, and it’s pure coincidence that your daughter is the same age. Four-year-olds get lost. They’re filled with curiosity and, from what I understand, your daughter is a lively little girl with an adventurous streak. Which means it’s probably not so strange that she couldn’t resist venturing into the woods. Obviously it didn’t turn out the way she’d expected, but we’re going to find her. There are so many of us searching.’

  He stood up.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee. I’ll head back out now. We’ll keep searching all night, but it would be a good idea for you to get some sleep.’

  Eva shook her head. How could she sleep while Nea was out there in the woods?

  ‘I didn’t think you’d want to,’ said Gösta, ‘but at least I tried.’

  She stared at the door after he closed it behind him. She was alone again. Alone with her thoughts and the cold fingers gripping her heart.

  Bohuslän 1671

  Elin leaned forward to make Britta’s bed. Then she straightened up and pressed her hand to her lower back. She was not yet accustomed to sleeping on the hard bed in the maid’s quarters.

  As she looked down at the comfortable bed where Britta slept, she allowed herself to feel something like envy, but only for a moment. With a shake of her head, she reached for the empty p
itcher on the night table.

  It had come as a surprise to discover that her sister did not share either a bedroom or a bed with her husband. But it was not her place to judge. For her part, she had always thought the best time of day was when she could climb into bed next to Per. Resting safely in his arms had made her feel that she and Märta would never come to harm in the world.

  How wrong she had been.

  ‘Elin?’

  She started when she heard the gentle voice of the master of the house. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she nearly dropped the pitcher.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, pausing to collect herself before turning around.

  His kind blue eyes were fixed on her, and she felt the blood rush to her face. Quickly she lowered her eyes.

  She did not know how to behave around her sister’s husband. Preben was always so kind to her and Märta. He was both a vicar and master of the house. And she was merely a servant in her sister’s employ. A widow living on the mercy of a household that was not her own.

  ‘Lill-Jan says you can cure milk fever. My best milk cow is afflicted.’

  ‘Is it Stjärna?’ asked Elin, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘The boy mentioned something about it this morning.’

  ‘Yes, Stjärna. Are you busy or might you come with me to have a look at her?’

  ‘Yes, of course I will come.’

  She set the pitcher on the night table and silently followed Preben out to the cowshed. Stjärna lay on the stable floor at the very back, bellowing. She was clearly in pain and unable to stand. Elin nodded to the boy named Lill-Jan who stood nearby, looking dismayed.

  ‘Go to the kitchen and get me some salt.’

  She squatted down and cautiously caressed the cow’s soft muzzle. Stjärna’s eyes were wide with fear.

  ‘Will you be able to help her?’ asked Preben quietly as he too patted the brown-and-white spotted cow.

  For a second their hands touched. Elin swiftly pulled hers away, as if she had been bitten by a snake. Again she felt the blood rush to her face, and she noticed a slight flush on the master’s face before he straightened up as Lill-Jan returned, out of breath.

  ‘Here you are,’ said the boy with that lisp of his, and he handed the container of salt to Elin.

  She poured a mound of salt into the palm of her left hand. With the index finger of her right hand she stirred the salt in a clockwise direction as she loudly spoke the words her maternal grandmother had taught her:

  ‘Our Lord Jesus, he journeys far and wide, curing pox and blight, water bane and all manner of banes between heaven and earth. In God’s name, amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Preben, and Lill-Jan hurried to chime in.

  Stjärna bellowed.

  ‘What happens now?’ asked Preben.

  ‘All we can do now is wait. Praying over salt most often will do the trick, but it can take time, and it also depends on how bad the fever is. But have a look at her early in the morning. I think this will have helped.’

  ‘Hear that, Lill-Jan?’ said Preben. ‘Look in on Stjärna as soon as you get up in the morning.’

  ‘That I will, master,’ said Lill-Jan, backing his way out of the cowshed.

  Preben turned to Elin.

  ‘Where did you learn such things?’

  ‘From my grandmother,’ said Elin tersely.

  She could still feel the touch of his hand.

  ‘What else can you cure?’ asked Preben, leaning against one of the stalls.

  She scraped her toe on the ground, pausing before she answered.

  ‘Most things as long as the pain is not too far gone.’

  ‘Both people and animals?’ asked Preben curiously.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Elin.

  It surprised her that Britta had never mentioned this to her husband. Yet the boy Lill-Jan had heard rumours about Elin’s skills. Perhaps that was not so strange, after all. When they lived together under their father’s roof, her sister had always spoken scornfully about Elin’s grandmother and her wisdom.

  ‘Tell me more,’ said Preben as he headed for the door.

  Elin followed reluctantly. It was not proper for her to be chatting with the master of the house in this manner, and it was all too easy for gossip to begin spreading on the farm. But Preben was the one in charge, so she had no choice but to follow him. Britta was standing outside, her arms hanging at her sides, a dark look on her face. Elin’s heart sank. This was what she had feared. He risked nothing, but she could easily land in disfavour. And Märta along with her.

  Her trepidation about how it might be to live at the mercy of her younger sister had been fully realized. Britta was a stern and unkind mistress, and both she and Märta had felt the sting of her sharp tongue.

  ‘Elin has been helping me with Stjärna,’ said Preben, calmly meeting his wife’s eye. ‘Now she is on her way to set the dinner table for us. She suggested that we might spend some time together, you and I, since I have been away so much lately, tending to church business.’

  ‘Did she now?’ said Britta, still suspicious, though not quite as stern as usual. ‘Well, that was a good suggestion.’

  She briskly took hold of Preben’s arm.

  ‘I have been missing my lord and master terribly, and I think he has been neglecting his wife of late.’

  ‘My dear wife is perfectly right about that,’ he replied, heading for the house along with Britta. ‘But we will now make amends. Elin said we might sit down at the table in half an hour’s time, which suits me well, as I will have time to wash and dress properly so I will not appear like a shabby ruffian next to my beautiful wife.’

  ‘Oh, come now, you can never look shabby,’ said Britta, slapping him on the shoulder.

  Elin walked behind them, forgotten for the moment, and sighed with relief. The darkness she had glimpsed in Britta’s eyes was all too familiar. She knew her sister would not hesitate to do harm to anyone she thought had wronged her. But this time Preben had saved her and Märta, and she would remain eternally grateful to him for that, even though he should not have placed her in this situation to begin with.

  She picked up her pace and hurried to the kitchen. She had only half an hour to set out the food and ask the cook to prepare something special. She smoothed her apron, feeling again the warmth of Preben’s hand.

  Chapter Six

  ‘What are you doing, Pops?’

  Bill had been so immersed in the text he was writing that he gave a start when his son spoke. He almost knocked over his cup, and some of the coffee sloshed over the side on to his desk.

  He turned to look at Nils, who was standing in the doorway.

  ‘I’m working on a new project,’ he said, turning the computer screen so Nils could see.

  ‘“Nicer People”,’ read Nils aloud.

  Underneath the text was a picture of a sailboat ploughing its way through the water.

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Don’t you remember that documentary we saw? The Filip and Fredrik film, Nice People?’

  Nils nodded.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Those black guys who wanted to play bandy.’

  Bill grimaced.

  ‘The Somalis who wanted to play bandy. Don’t call them “black guys”.’

  Nils shrugged.

  Bill peered at his son standing there in the dim light of the room with his hands in his pockets and his blond fringe hanging in his eyes. Nils had come along late in their lives. Unplanned and, to be honest, not particularly welcome. Gun had been forty-five when Nils was born, while he was almost fifty, and Nils’s two older brothers were in their late teens. Gun had insisted they keep the child, saying there had to be some meaning behind her pregnancy. But Bill had never developed the same connection with Nils as he had with the older boys. He hadn’t really tried. He hadn’t wanted to change nappies or sit in the sandbox or read the first-grade maths book for the third time.

  Bill turned back to the computer screen.

  ‘This is a media pre
sentation. My thought is to do something that will be a positive way of helping the refugees in the area become part of Swedish society.’

  ‘Are you going to teach them how to play bandy?’ asked Nils, his hands still in his pockets.

  ‘Don’t you see the sailboat?’ Bill pointed at the screen. ‘They’re going to learn to sail! And then we’ll compete in the Dannholmen regatta.’

  ‘The Dannholmen regatta isn’t exactly the same thing as the bandy world championship those blacks competed in,’ said Nils. ‘Not the same league at all.’

  ‘Don’t call them blacks!’ said Bill.

  Nils was undoubtedly trying to provoke him.

  ‘I know the Dannholmen regatta is a significantly smaller event, but it has great symbolic importance around here, and it will attract a lot of media attention. Especially now they’re making that film here.’

  Nils snorted. ‘I don’t know if they’re really refugees at all. Only people who have money can make their way up here. I read that on the Internet. And those so-called refugee kids have beards and moustaches.’

  ‘Nils!’

  Bill looked at his son, whose face was now flushed with indignation. It was like looking at a stranger. If he didn’t know better, he’d think his son was … a racist. But that wasn’t possible. Teenagers knew so little about the ways of the world. All the more reason to promote this type of project. Most people were basically good at heart. They just needed to be educated, given a little push in the right direction. Nils would soon realize how wrong he was.

  Bill heard his son leave the room and close the door behind him. Tomorrow was the start-up meeting, and he needed to have everything ready for the press. This was going to be big. Really big.

  ‘Hello?’ called Paula as she and Johanna came in the door with three suitcases and two prams. She was carrying the baby, balanced on her hip.

  Paula smiled at Johanna as she set down the heaviest suitcase. A holiday on Cyprus with a three-year-old and an infant probably hadn’t been the smartest plan, but they’d survived.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen!’

  Paula relaxed as soon as she heard her mother’s voice. If Rita and Bertil were home, she could leave the kids with them so she and Johanna could unpack in peace and quiet. Or else they could forget about unpacking until tomorrow and instead stretch out on the bed to watch a film until they fell asleep.