Winter Grave

by Helene Tursten

  Willén seemed satisfied, even though they hadn’t gotten any answers out of Hagen. He looked at Embla and Hampus. “Were you thinking of speaking to Ted Andersson today?”

  “No—we’re going to wait and see what Göran gets from the lab. Ted can stew until then.”

  “Absolutely! How about some lunch?”

  The chief superintendent rose from his leather chair with a brief farting noise before either Embla or Hampus had time to answer.

  After lunch Embla and Hampus returned to Strömstad. Embla was driving and Hampus was busy replying to a text he’d received just before they set off. Once he was done, he turned and looked at her.

  “I was wondering . . . Your brother Frej . . . How did he come out? What . . . what did he say?”

  Embla was completely taken aback. Her middle brother, Frej, was nine years older, and a well-known actor. He’d never hidden his sexuality—quite the reverse. He and his husband, Viktor, who was a news anchor, were often referred to as Sweden’s gay icons. They were always out and about and featured in the gossip magazines. They’d lived in Stockholm for years, mainly because Frej had been offered wonderful theater roles there, but also because he felt the attitude toward the gay community was more positive in the capital.

  Playing for time, she countered, “What do you mean?”

  “How did he tell the family he was gay?”

  Embla burst out laughing. “He didn’t need to tell us—we’ve always known! Mom said he used to totter around in her high-heeled shoes and ask her to make up his face when he was four years old. Plenty of kids do that and don’t turn out to be gay, but he also adored nail polish, and wore it to school every single day right from the start. He fell in love with boys, and told everybody about it. I wasn’t born then, of course, but that’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Was he bullied?”

  “Maybe in junior high, but I was only little, so he never talked to me about it. People have always loved Frej, though. He’s funny, charming, and loves to mess around. And he’s a fantastic singer, too. A born entertainer, in fact.”

  Hampus sat in silence for a little while.

  “When did you realize . . .”

  “Like I said, I’ve always known because he was always open about it. No big deal. He’s just my big brother who loves to tease me and never had time for me. Neither did my other two brothers, to be honest.”

  “How old were they when you were born?”

  “Atle was twelve and Kolbjörn was seven. And Frej was nine. Why are you asking about him, anyway?”

  Hampus stared out the windshield. Eventually he mumbled, “Because I’m . . . gay.”

  Suddenly everything became clear. He’d obviously been texting his new partner. That also explained the glow when she’d picked him up outside the police station. She remembered the way Ahmed the nurse had looked at him the first time they went to the hospital to speak to Kristoffer. This threw a different light on the divorce from Filippa.

  “And?”

  “I don’t quite know how to deal with it.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. His expression was verging on pleading. “What’s the problem?”

  “Everything. How people will react, gossip at work, Filippa, the girls. My parents and siblings—they’re Free Church, instead of belonging to the Church of Sweden. From Småland. Need I say more?”

  “I think you just give an honest answer if anyone asks, but you don’t have to walk around the station waving the rainbow flag. Just don’t try to pretend that nothing’s changed, because it has. And that can only be a good thing.” She gave him an encouraging smile, and he managed a pale imitation in return.

  “You’re right. Lasse is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “So tell me about him.”

  At last he broke into a grin. “You’re not going to believe me, but he’s a firefighter!”

  Embla burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. The car swerved as she attempted to pull herself together, but at least she managed to stay on the right side of the road.

  “A firefighter! You’re joking!” she howled.

  “I know. Total gay cliché,” he muttered, still grinning.

  Embla regained control of both herself and the car. “So how long have you been together?”

  “September.”

  That surprised her. They’d still been working together back then; she hadn’t noticed a thing.

  “Is he your first?”

  “No.”

  The brief response made it clear that this was an area he didn’t want to discuss.

  “So am I the only person you’ve told?”

  “Yes.”

  Hampus had never been particularly open with colleagues about his private life; Embla now understood why. It wasn’t just his personality; he’d been carrying secrets.

  “I’m honored that you chose to confide in me, and I won’t say a word. That’s up to you,” she said.

  “I know. But it’s not easy.”

  “How about Lasse? Does his family know about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has he been in straight relationships in the past?”

  “No, never.”

  “Do his coworkers know?”

  “No. The whole environment, the language they use is so . . . macho. That’s another thing I find difficult.”

  “I get it, but like I said, you don’t need to flag up your sex life at work. Just lie low for a while. And I’m sure you know there’s an association for homosexual police officers. Well, there is in Stockholm, and I think there’s one in Gothenburg, too.”

  “I’m aware of that, but I’m not there yet. Far from it.”

  They turned off onto the narrow track leading down to Sandgrav and dropped the subject by tacit agreement. It was already dark, and Embla had to concentrate on her driving. The countless potholes were filled with water, and the car bumped and jolted along. For any with a tendency to car sickness, this was a nightmare route.

  They had been in the house for no more than fifteen minutes when Hampus’s phone rang. It was Göran, so he switched to speakerphone.

  “I’ve just heard—there’s blood on the tow-bar mount. And”—he paused for effect, and they heard him inhale—“the blood is Viktor Jansson’s!”

  Embla and Hampus exchanged a startled glance. It had certainly seemed like a breakthrough when Göran had come up with the idea that the killer could have used the removable tow bar, but none of them had dared hope for concrete evidence.

  Before they had time to come up with a sensible response, Göran continued.

  “And the blood on the windshield is Amelie Holm’s. Not a shadow of doubt.”

  “So there’s our proof!” Hampus exclaimed.

  “Yes, Olof Sjöberg ran into her in the Buick. Linda in the DNA lab is brilliant. While she was testing those tiny drops of blood, I decided to take a closer look at the flashlight Embla found at Ted Andersson’s house. As you know, there were no batteries in it, but when I ran my finger along the battery compartment, I could feel a thin layer of powder. Because of what we now know about Andersson and his habits, I thought it was worth checking out. As I suspected, it tested positive for cocaine.”

  The surprises were coming thick and fast.

  “That’s just . . . sick!” Embla said.

  “To say the least. I’m still in Gothenburg, but I’m heading straight back to Strömstad. In the meantime I want you two to go and talk to Pernilla Andersson again. I’ve been thinking about the witness from Mellerud who said he saw a large dark vehicle in the parking lot around the time of Viktor Jansson’s murder, and the two men standing there chatting. As the murder weapon is linked to Ted Andersson, we believe he wasn’t at home with Viggo when he claims he was. I think Ted killed Viktor Jansson, but what was he doing outside Skee? And why did he a
ttack Viktor?”

  “And where was Viggo then? Where is he now?” Embla added.

  “Exactly. We have to make Ted tell us. Finding the children was our aim from the get-go. We’ve found Amelie and we know how she died, but we’re no further with Viggo.”

  “Because the boy’s father has lied to us from day one,” Hampus commented dryly.

  Pernilla’s mother opened the door. She looked tired and disheartened, which was understandable. The last week had been horrendous for both her and her daughter.

  “She’s asleep,” she said.

  “Would you like to go and wake her, or shall I do it?” Embla said in a friendly tone of voice.

  “She needs her rest . . .”

  “And we need to talk to her. We have a possible new lead on Viggo,” Embla said firmly.

  With a sigh Pernilla’s mother embarked on her laborious ascent of the stairs, wheezing with every step. She sounded as if she were climbing Kebnekaise with a full kit. I hope she doesn’t collapse, Embla thought with a tinge of anxiety.

  After a while Hampus and Embla heard the murmur of voices, followed by a familiar shuffling sound. The first they saw of Pernilla was the grubby pink piglet slippers. She made her way down with surprising speed.

  “Have you found him?”

  Her eyes were darting between the two officers. Her hair was still unwashed, and she was wearing black tights and a faded yellow T-shirt under her old bathrobe. Judging by her body odor, she hadn’t showered for several days. Embla’s heart contracted with sympathy for her. They definitely hadn’t brought good news.

  They went into the kitchen and sat down at the scruffy table. Most of the furniture in the house was well past its heyday. The kitchen showed signs of a renovation at some point in the 1970s, with pine cupboard doors and orange tiles above the sink and stove. The only indication that Ted and Pernilla were intending to put their own stamp on the place by adding a patio was the pile of building material under tarps in the yard. Otherwise it was as if time had stood still for at least a couple of decades. Which was odd, given their comparative youth. Then again, it’s expensive to renovate a house; maybe they can’t afford it, Embla thought.

  Pernilla’s mother slumped down next to her daughter. The resemblance was unmistakable.

  Hampus began by asking how Pernilla was feeling. A listless shake of the head was her only response. He leaned forward and caught her eye.

  “Pernilla, we have witnesses who saw Ted in a parking lot outside Skee last Friday. The time was around three forty-five, which means his assertion that he was at home with Viggo can’t be true. The question is where he was going—and where Viggo was at that point.”

  Every scrap of color drained from Pernilla’s face and her eyes widened. Her mother inhaled sharply and clutched at her chest; she looked equally terrified.

  “I can see that you both have some idea of where he was heading,” Hampus added quietly without losing eye contact with Pernilla for a second.

  Through stiff lips that refused to work properly she whispered: “Vasseröd.”

  It took a while to elicit the details, but eventually they learned that Ted had inherited not only this house, but also an old cottage. Pernilla wasn’t sure exactly when his father had died because she and Ted hadn’t been together back then. Ted’s parents had split up when he was little, and his mother had moved to Henån with her new husband. When his father died, the cottage by the lake in Vasseröd was left to him. Ted wasn’t remotely interested in the property, but occasionally he and Pernilla would drive over to check on the place. They had no friends or relatives in the area, which was another reason why they didn’t go there very often.

  According to Pernilla, the cottage was pretty run-down, and was surrounded by dense forest. It was at least a hundred years old and lay at the end of a track. There was an even more dilapidated cabin nearby, and nobody seemed to know who the owner was. It was quite a long walk to the lake if you wanted to swim. Ted had put the cottage up for sale a few years earlier, but no one had been interested. Pernilla had nothing positive to say about any of it.

  “But why would he go there? Do you think he . . . and Viggo . . .” Her voice trailed away.

  Hampus was still holding her gaze, and he saw her eyes fill with tears.

  “Has he taken . . . has he taken my Viggo there? Has he . . .” She shot to her feet, arms flailing as she tried to get the words out. “You have to . . . go and get him!” she managed at last.

  Embla got up and stood beside the trembling woman. Gently she placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “We will. If he’s there. I promise.”

  It was another thirty minutes before they were able to leave. Pernilla wanted to drive up to Vasseröd immediately, but they convinced her that this wasn’t a good idea. It was late, and pitch dark outside. It would be better if the police went there first thing in the morning, when they’d had time to organize a search party. Daylight would also make things easier.

  Pernilla calmed down and gave them a rough idea of how to get there. They promised to keep her informed of developments.

  Back in the car Embla took a deep breath. “Pernilla didn’t make the connection between the parking lot outside Skee and the time of Viktor Jansson’s murder,” she said.

  Hampus nodded. “I noticed that, too. Jansson’s death has been big news—as big as Viggo’s disappearance, but I guess she’s blocked it out. She’s had more than enough to deal with.”

  “Absolutely. Both she and her mother immediately jumped to the conclusion that Ted had taken Viggo. Neither of them had any problem accepting that idea.”

  “Which makes me think the boy could well be in Vasseröd.”

  Embla started the car. “So what do we do now? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  “First of all I’m going to call Göran, bring him up to date. Then I’ll call the pizzeria and order three pizzas—we’ll pick them up on the way.”

  All the lights were on when they got back to the Shore House. Göran was on the phone, sitting in front of the fire.

  “. . . and I’ve spoken to the guy in charge of the local Home Guard, his name’s Flod. He’s organizing a search party, plus there’ll be eight officers from Strömstad, and the three of us from VGM. All we need now is a couple of dogs . . . Can you fix that? Terrific!”

  He ended the call and turned to his colleagues with a satisfied smile. It would take a while to gather everyone, so he and Flod had arranged to meet up at 7:30 in the morning at the T-junction in Holekärr. It would still be dark, but it would start to get light around an hour later—at least as light as it was going to be in the middle of winter . . .

  “Holekärr is just a tiny dot on the map, and I don’t know much about it, but it’s less than a mile from Vasseröd, so we can all head over to Andersson’s cottage together.”

  Embla got out glasses. She didn’t bother with plates; they usually ate pizza straight out of the box. She looked out the window. It was pitch dark, with sleet sliding down the glass. Her heart sank at the thought of tomorrow’s task.

  “He can’t possibly be alive,” she said.

  “No,” Hampus agreed.

  A small child couldn’t survive without food or water for over a week. Not to mention the cold.

  “What if he’s not there?” she went on.

  “This is the first real lead we’ve had, and it explains why we haven’t found him in the local area. It’s worth a shot.”

  Göran sounds determined, but even he must have his doubts, Embla thought. She filled a jug with water and added a handful of ice cubes from the freezer. As she put it down on the table she asked the question that had been troubling her ever since the conversation with Pernilla.

  “Why would Ted kill Viggo?”

  Neither of her colleagues had an answer.

  Embla and Hampus couldn’t stop yawning; G�
�ran had woken them at six. The weather was still appalling: strong wind and horizontal sleet. They met very few cars along the road.

  They could see the blue lights from some distance away as they approached the T-junction in Holekärr. It turned out to be the dog team, and behind their vehicle was the Home Guard’s minibus. Two patrol cars from Strömstad arrived seconds after the Volvo, which meant a total of twenty-two people. Pretty good, given the short notice.

  Göran spoke to the guy in charge of the Home Guard and to the police officers involved. They agreed that VGM would lead the way because they had some idea of the route. Embla switched on the car’s GPS just to be on the safe side. Pernilla had thought the area in which the cottage lay was called Skogkas, and to Embla’s surprise a flashing dot appeared when she keyed in the name.

  The convoy set off. They knew that the lake was on the right-hand side of the road, but it was impossible to catch even a glimpse of the water in the compact darkness. There were no lights in any houses; the few individuals who lived there in the sticks were obviously still sleeping. Then again, according to Pernilla the area consisted mainly of summer cottages, and of course most of those would be down by the lake. The forest itself was desolate and deserted—ideal for anyone who wanted to move around unseen in the winter gloom.

  Hampus was the map reader, and had Pernilla’s directions on his knee.

  “Take a left opposite the white building up ahead; that’s the one that used to be a grocery store.”

  “GPS says yes,” Embla confirmed.

  They turned onto a steep, narrow dirt track. Brush and overhanging branches scraped against the sides of the car as they bumped along over deep potholes filled with water.

  Embla was acutely aware that they might well find Viggo today—and that he was probably dead. There was also an illogical feeling that if they didn’t find him, there was still a faint hope that he was alive. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn’t shake it.

  They jolted uphill for around a third of a mile before the terrain finally began to level out. They were still surrounded by dense forest, and the rain was hammering on the roof of the car. Visibility beyond the beam of the headlights was zero.