They reassembled in the big hall.
“We’ve spent almost three hours here with nothing to show for it,” Hampus pointed out.
“True. To be efficient I propose that you drop me off at the farm, so I get a little time in front of the computer. It’s high time to start digging more into the death of Ola Forsnaess. You two head on up to the Hunting Castle.”
“It’s going to be pitch black when we get there,” Hampus objected.
“Aww, afraid of the dark, are you?” Embla asked him teasingly.
By the time they finally made it through the mud to the Hunting Castle, the sun had gone down. The so-called road was more like a waterlogged field. But at least it was calm and clear out.
Superintendent Willén had given them a key to the house before they left the police station in Trollhättan. He had been noticeably embarrassed about not being able to go with them or offer any extra reinforcements. His excuse was weak: “We’re understaffed due to illness and parental leaves. And the investigation of a recent homicide is taking up all our resources.” The murder victim was a member of a criminal gang. Such investigations are always both time-consuming and resource-draining, but Embla thought he should have been able to loan at least some of his personnel to VGM. They had a lot of ground to cover in their search.
Göran had soothed the superintendent by saying that the group was used to working independently and that they would be in touch if they needed any reinforcements. Willén was visibly relieved.
Hampus looked up toward the dark house, taking a firmer hold on the handle of his technician’s bag. “The place really looks spooky,” he admitted.
The windows gleamed black in the facade and the pointed gables and dormer windows of the roof stood out ghostlike against the sky. A sharp arrk-arrk-arrk-arrk rang out from nearby. The raven was probably drawn by the offal that had been dumped in the forest and now it was disturbed by their presence.
“Who knows, maybe Count Dracula has taken over the place!” Embla said with a laugh. But she had to admit he was right. There was something ominous about the house. She quickly composed herself and looked at Hampus. “Come on, we can’t just stand here and put down roots,” she said, starting to walk toward the entry.
A blast of cold struck them as the door swung open on creaking hinges. When she tried to turn on the switch nothing happened. She clicked several more times. No luck.
“Where’s the fuse box?” Hampus asked.
“I have no idea.”
They took their flashlights out of their jacket pockets. The beams of light flickered across the walls, but they didn’t see anything that appeared to be a fuse box.
“Let’s try the kitchen,” he said.
They went through the hall and into the narrow corridor that led to the kitchen. He found the box behind the door. Carefully he inspected the old-fashioned porcelain fuses in the panel, then turned on the main breaker. The light in the hall came on, as did the ceiling light in the kitchen.
Embla looked around. Everything was the same since her visit together with Stig Ekström, which felt like ages ago. Even though they were indoors Hampus had not taken off his mittens and cap.
“Do they always keep it this cold here?” he complained.
“When it’s not being used. It must cost a fortune to heat. Although it’s strange that Stig turned off the main breaker. It really is cold as hell.”
Embla’s gaze fell on the door that led to the laundry room. She quickly walked across the kitchen floor and pulled the door open. They both aimed their flashlights down the long corridor. It was empty, but the backdoor that led outside stood wide open.
“No wonder it’s so cold,” said Hampus.
With purposeful steps Embla went up to the kitchen door. On the way she took the opportunity to shine the flashlight into the sauna and the two showers, as well as the two electric toilet stalls. All the spaces were empty. Von Beehn’s and Cahneborg’s jackets were hanging on separate hangers by the door, and on the hat shelf was a fur-lined cap and a pair of mittens. She swallowed hard when she saw the clothes.
Hampus closed the door and turned the lock. They switched off the flashlights and turned on the lamps in the rooms as they moved through the house.
Both of them set a course for the stairs to the top floor. They went directly into Anders von Beehn’s bedroom, opened the door, and stepped in. The room was just as cold as the rest of the house. The book, glasses, wallet, and cell phone that had been on top of the dresser were gone. The techs had also taken the bedlinens and duvet with them, even though nothing indicated that a crime occurred in the room. They had taken everything with them just to be on the safe side to avoid having to come back if matters took a different turn. To put it bluntly: if von Beehn was found dead.
They started to examine the bedroom. First Embla searched in the little closet behind the wallpapered door, but there was nothing of interest. Besides a pair of old jogging shoes, the hunting vest hanging on a hook, a rifle case, and some blankets on a shelf, there was only a braided wicker wastebasket that he probably used as a gun holder. She searched for loose floorboards in the little space, but could not find any. In the meantime Hampus had rooted through the dresser with no result.
Carefully, Embla examined the horsehair-filled mattress —the only thing that was left on the bed. Nothing rustled or felt strange, and all the seams were intact. She threw it down on the floor, so she could focus on the bed itself. It was a fancy Hästens bed with a box spring that looked rather new. She lay flat on her stomach and aimed the flashlight toward the base of the bed.
“Will you help me set the bed on end?” she asked.
“It weighs a ton.”
“I can handle it!”
Together they managed to move the extra-wide bed around and set it on one side. It stood steadily. Embla turned on the flashlight and started finecombing the base. Almost at once she found the tear in the fabric. It was between two wooden ribs, close the edge. When she stuck her finger in she felt a corner of something hard.
“I’ve found something,” she said.
Hampus opened the technician’s case and handed her a sturdy pair of tweezers with long pincers. She stuck the tweezers in the tear and lightly grasped the edge of what she had felt with her fingertip. Slowly she coaxed out a padded envelope: the same kind they had found in Cahneborg’s suitcase. A small plastic bag of white powder came out with it, too, and fell to the floor.
“My goodness,” Hampus said, raising his eyebrows.
Shows what you know about people, she thought. She wasn’t certain the substance was cocaine, but it was likely.
“We’ll pick that up later. If you take out another pair of tweezers we’ll check what’s left in the envelope,” she said.
After a little fumbling Hampus managed to fish out a key ring. No key was hanging on it—just a plastic tag.
“To a BMW,” he observed.
He placed it in an evidence bag, peeked down into the envelope again, and then drew out a slip of paper.
I remember. M.
For what must be the hundredth time, he asked the question out loud.
“Who is M?”
“Not a clue. Let’s go.”
Outside the house the darkness was dense. They switched on their flashlights and were walking toward the car when suddenly they heard a short yelp, followed by a howl.
Hampus stopped short. “What the hell was that?”
Loudly and off-key Embla started singing the chorus to Ylvis’s song “What Does the Fox Say?” When she was done she gave him a teasing look. “Now you know what the fox sounds like,” she said with a laugh.
“A fox? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. We’ve hunted lots of fox up here. Two years ago there was a serious outbreak of rabies, and we shot most of them. The stock hasn’t really recovered yet, so we’re not shooting any this season.”
“Good news for the foxes.”
He tried to sound cocky but she noticed he
was looking around anxiously.
“On the other hand there are a number of wolves around here. They howl, but they hunt silently. You don’t hear them attack,” she said in a casual tone.
“Nice to know.”
He walked faster and she smiled to herself as she opened the door on the driver’s side and climbed in. They had not even discussed who would drive, it was obvious that this was her territory. Embla started the car’s powerful engine, and with a sigh of relief Hampus leaned back and relaxed. Slowly she started driving down the rutted road.
“Almost eight,” she said after a glance at the clock on the instrument panel.
“Another day in paradise.”
Hampus leaned his head heavily against the neck support. Neither of them said anything for a while. She had to concentrate on driving; it was difficult to get around the worst pools of mud. Suddenly Hampus came to life.
“Look! Taillights!” he shouted excitedly.
Embla could also make out a pair of red taillights ahead. Carefully she tried to increase speed. “The car must have come out from the road to our cabins.”
“Our cabins? Which ones?”
“The hunting cabins. My hunting party. Three of them,” she said between clenched teeth.
Now it was crucial to focus on driving. It was impossible to go much faster. She would have to be content if they moved forward without getting stuck in the mud.
Out of nowhere it shot out into the beam of the headlights. For a fraction of a second the fox stopped, blinded, before it leaped into the bushes and disappeared. She automatically braked hard and the car skidded. The heavy vehicle slid down into a big muddy pool by the side of the ruts. The wheels spun and dug down deep into the mud. Feverishly she tried to straighten the tires and back up, but it was fruitless. With a few audible oaths she slapped her palm on the steering wheel. Then she took a deep breath.
“You’ll have to take over the wheel, I’ll get out and push.”
“Push? Then we’ll drive right into the forest.”
He was right, they would have to back the car up somehow to get back on what was supposed to be a road.
They discussed this for a while before Hampus hatched the idea that they should open one of the first aid kits that was in the car to see if there was something they could put under the tires. In each one there was a thin aluminum blanket—the kind you wrap around injured people to keep them warm. Because Embla didn’t have any better suggestions they worked together to coax the blanket under the back tires as far as possible. Hampus got in the driver’s seat, put the car in reverse and accelerated, while Embla pushed from the front. They had to make several attempts before they managed to get loose, and by then Embla was heavily coated with mud after slipping and falling several times.
“Damn! The taillights got away!” she moaned, trying to wipe away the mud from her hands.
“And there’s no point in searching for tracks in this mud.”
“Hardly.”
Embla’s cell phone beeped, and she reached into her pocket for her phone. A text from Peter: see you this evening? Her heart leaped and made a few extra beats, but she realized it was impossible. It would take more than an hour before they were back at Nisse’s farm again. And yet another hour before she was presentable to the outside world. And she was exhausted besides. Quickly she texted: working. tomorrow? She had barely sent it before he answered, ok. xo. She found herself smiling. That was sweet. Right now she needed that.
The rest of the way they sat without speaking and listened to the radio, where Håkan Hellström kept insisting, “It will never be over for me.”
As they stepped across the threshold to Nisse’s kitchen at last, Göran looked up from the computer screen. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Embla.
“Is it nice?” he asked.
“What?”
“The mudpack.”
Both he and Hampus started laughing, but she was not even tempted to join in the merriment.
“That’s not funny!” she snarled.
As she stomped off angrily toward the shower on the top floor he called after her, “I’ve made paella marinara!”
At once, she forgave him. He knew that was one of her favorite dishes.
Göran had gotten the shellfish from the frozen foods case at the ICA grocery store. There he had also shopped for saffron, olive oil, and artichoke. None of that was among the staples in Nisse’s kitchen.
Over dinner they discussed the taillights they had seen on the road and the fact that the kitchen door at the Hunting Castle had been open.
“I think that the person who left the door open was also the one driving the car we saw. He, or she, was in the house when we arrived. To delay us the intruder turned off the main power switch, which provided extra time to slip out the back door,” said Hampus.
“How did that person get in?” Göran asked.
“There were no marks on any of the doors. And the front door was locked when we arrived. Whoever was in there had a key,” Embla asserted.
“Could it have been Anders von Beehn?”
All three thought for a few moments and came to roughly the same conclusion: it was impossible to rule that out. But why would he take the risk of returning to the Hunting Castle? If he really had killed Jan-Eric Cahneborg he would have every reason in the world to stay as far away from the scene of the crime as possible.
“I don’t think it was von Beehn. If the key ring and cocaine were important, he had plenty of time to take those things with him before he split,” said Hampus.
Embla nodded. “I really don’t think it was him either,” she said.
“So who was it?” their boss asked.
She shrugged and threw out her hands. “I have no idea. But this intruder must have gotten ahold of Anders von Beehn’s keys to the cabin somehow. And the car must have been parked down the road to our hunting cabins because I didn’t see it when we drove up to the Hunting Castle.”
“I didn’t either,” said Hampus.
“So if this person walked back to the car when we arrived, there ought to be a chance of finding footprints,” Göran thought out loud.
Both of his inspectors shook their heads.
“I don’t think so. It’s all one big muddy mess up there. Dozens of people must have tramped around there over the past few days. Not to mention all the cars . . . No, I wouldn’t bother searching for footprints,” said Hampus.
“What do you think about the possibility of finding fingerprints inside the house then?”
Göran looked encouragingly at them. They in turn looked at each other. Again it was Hampus who answered.
“The same problem inside the house as outside. Lots of people have streamed through it the past few days and without gloves or plastic protectors on their feet.”
“So we’ll have a hard time producing evidence. Then we’ll have to rely on our little gray cells.” Göran tapped his temple.
“Mine have already gone to bed,” said Embla. She did not even try to conceal a big yawn.
“Maybe we should call it a day and get up early tomorrow,” Hampus suggested.
“You do that. I’ll sit here a while longer,” said Göran, nodding toward the computer.
the sign said “Staff Only.” She pushed open the door and peeked in. A bare bulb shone weakly at the far end of the dark corridor. She glanced over her shoulder to check that no one on the churning dance floor was looking in her direction. Then she turned her head to assure herself that the girl at the bar was fully occupied by the customers who were hanging over the counter. Quickly she slipped in through the door and tried to close it as quietly as possible. On tiptoe she started walking toward the light. Her pulse was pounding in her ears and she had a hard time perceiving what was actually happening around her. But she must make her way to the light. Lollo was there. And presumably the others. Although she didn’t want to think about them now. It was Lollo who counted, she must get her out of this place. The corridor seemed endless. T
he floor no longer felt solid, and her feet were sinking deeper and deeper with every step. She couldn’t stop; then she would get stuck. Go on, go on! This is urgent! Lollo, I’m coming! The light came closer and through the pounding in her ears she thought she could hear voices. She saw three big shadows. They were leaning over a little, curled-up figure that she knew was Lollo. Good Lord, don’t let it be too late! I will never do it again . . . Dear God . . . if you just help us! The cry she tried to let out never passed her lips, but one of the shadows suddenly turned in her direction and she realized she’d been discovered. At first she was paralyzed by fear, then she turned around to flee. But she had stopped for a fraction of a second, and that was enough. Her feet were stuck. The threatening shadow approached at a furious speed, but she was unable to move from the spot. When he came up to her she felt him take a hard grip around her throat.
“If you say a word to anybody you’re dead! We know who you are and where you live!” he hissed.
Desperately she managed to force out, “Lollo, Lo—”
“Forget her!”
He threw her down on the floor. The walls around her collapsed, and she sank down into the ice-cold slime; her nostrils and mouth were covered. Breathe . . . it was impossible to breathe!
Embla woke up when she sat up in bed and screamed. Her heart was pounding like a piston, and the sweaty T-shirt stuck to her body. It’s the same old nightmare, calm down, it’s just a dream, she exhorted herself. She took a few deep breaths and hoped she hadn’t wakened her colleagues. It wouldn’t be the first time if she had. They occasionally stayed in small guesthouses or hostels when they were out on a job and sometimes heard her scream. On a few occasions Göran had asked worriedly what it was that tormented her in her sleep. But she’d answered evasively, saying she’d had nightmares her whole life and didn’t know why. Her boss did not look convinced, but he had never tried to press her. Perhaps he understood she was lying.
A glance at the phone showed she had only slept about an hour. It was obviously the encounter with Milo Stavic that had provoked the dream. That man and his two brothers had been in her nightmares for fourteen years. Always the same dream: how Lollo disappeared. The worst thing was that when she woke up her childhood friend was still gone. The real nightmare never ended.
Hunting Game Page 14