A short distance away, over by some shrubbery, he saw a woman about his own age who was talking on her mobile. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed upset. She was speaking angrily and motioning with her free hand. He waved to her, but she still didn’t notice. Finally he turned to Tuva, whose swing was losing momentum now that he wasn’t pushing it.
‘Wait here. I have to take this baby over to his mamma.’
‘Pappa kicked the baby,’ said Tuva loudly, but he shook his head at her words.
‘No, Pappa didn’t kick the baby. Pappa— Oh, never mind, we’ll talk about it later.’
Martin picked up the screaming boy, hoping he could make it over to the woman before she noticed that a strange man was carrying her son. But he needn’t have worried. She remained completely immersed in her phone conversation. He felt a trace of annoyance as he watched her talking and gesticulating when she should be keeping an eye on her child. The boy was now screaming loud enough to pierce his eardrums.
‘Excuse me,’ he said when he reached the woman, and she stopped in mid-sentence.
She had tears in her eyes, and mascara was running down her cheeks.
‘I have to go now. YOUR son is unhappy!’ she said, and ended the call.
She wiped her eyes and held out her arms towards the boy.
‘I’m sorry, I stepped back and didn’t see him behind me,’ said Martin. ‘I don’t think he’s hurt, but I probably scared him a bit.’
The woman hugged the boy.
‘Don’t worry. He’s at that age when he’s scared of strangers,’ she said, blinking away the last of her tears.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. She blushed at the question.
‘Oh my God, how embarrassing to stand here crying in broad daylight. And I wasn’t watching Jon either. I’m sorry. I must seem like the world’s worst mother.’
‘No, no, don’t say that. He was doing fine. Are you sure you’re okay?’
Martin didn’t mean to pry, but she looked so miserable.
‘Well, it’s not like somebody died, or anything. It’s just that my ex is such an idiot. His new girlfriend apparently isn’t interested in the “baggage” of his marriage, so he’s cancelled the three days he was supposed to have Jon. And his excuse was that she “was looking forward to the two of them spending some alone-time together”.’
‘How pathetic,’ said Martin, irate on her behalf. ‘What an arsehole!’
She smiled and he felt his gaze drawn to her dimples.
‘So what about you?’
‘Oh, I’m okay,’ he replied, and she laughed.
‘No, I meant which one is yours?’
She nodded towards the playground, and he slapped his hand to his forehead.
‘Oh, right. That’s what you meant. Well, my daughter’s over there – the little girl on the swing who’s looking a bit grumpy about not swinging any more.’
‘Oops. You’d better go over and give her swing a push. Or is her mother here too?’
Martin blushed. Was she flirting with him? He caught himself hoping she was. He didn’t know what to say in reply, but he realized he might as well tell her the truth.
‘No, I’m a widower,’ he said.
‘Oh, forgive me,’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘Trust me to go and make some crass remark like “it’s not like somebody died”.’
She touched his arm, and he gave her as reassuring a smile as he could muster. Something inside him didn’t want her to be sad or upset. He wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted to see those dimples again.
‘It’s okay,’ he said and felt her relax.
Behind him, Tuva was calling: ‘Pappaaaa!’ Her voice was getting shriller and more demanding.
‘Looks like you’d better go over and give your little girl’s swing a push,’ the woman said, wiping the snot and sand off Jon’s face.
‘Maybe I’ll see you here again,’ said Martin.
He could hear the hope in his voice. She smiled, and her dimples were even more visible than before.
‘Sure, we come here often. In fact, we’ll probably be back tomorrow,’ she said. Martin nodded happily as he started backing away to rejoin Tuva.
‘We’ll most likely see you then,’ he said, trying not to grin too much.
He took another step and felt his heels bump into something. This was immediately followed by a piercing shriek. Over by the swings he heard Tuva sigh.
‘Pappa, watch out …’
In the midst of the chaos Martin’s mobile rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the display: Gösta.
‘Where on earth did you find this person?’
Marie pushed away the woman who’d spent the past hour making up her face and turned to look at the film director, Jörgen Holmlund.
‘Yvonne is really good at her job,’ said Jörgen with that irritating quaver in his voice. ‘She’s worked on most of my films.’
Behind her, Yvonne was quietly sobbing. The headache that had plagued Marie since she arrived at her trailer was getting worse.
‘I’m supposed to be Ingrid Bergman down to her fingertips in every single scene. She was always flawless. I can’t look like one of the Kardashians. Contouring? Have you ever heard of anything so dreadful! My features are perfect. I don’t need fucking contouring!’
She pointed at her face, which had distinct patches of white and dark brown.
‘They’ll be blended together. It’s not going to look like that when I’m finished,’ said Yvonne, so faintly Marie barely heard her.
‘I don’t give a shit. My features don’t need fixing!’
‘I’m sure Yvonne can do it over,’ said Jörgen. ‘Just tell her what you want.’
Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead even though it was cool inside the trailer.
The big film team and the production office were being housed at TanumStrand, a tourist and conference centre situated between Fjällbacka and Grebbestad. But on location in Fjällbacka, various trailers served as the make-up and wardrobe quarters.
‘Okay, take it off and start over. Then we’ll see,’ she said, and she couldn’t help smiling when she saw how relieved Yvonne looked.
During her early days in Hollywood, Marie had always complied with other people’s wishes, doing whatever was asked of her. But she was a different person nowadays, and she knew how her role should be shaped, how she should look.
‘We need to be ready in an hour, at the latest,’ said Jörgen. ‘We’re going to film some of the easier scenes this week.’
Marie turned to look at him. Yvonne had used a damp cloth to remove an hour’s worth of work in ten seconds, and her face was clean of all make-up.
‘You mean we’re doing the cheaper scenes this week? I thought we had a green light from everybody.’
She couldn’t keep the concern from creeping into her voice. This was not one of those obvious film projects with investors queuing up in their eagerness to be part of it. The film climate had changed in Sweden, with priorities shifting to indie films, while the bigger pictures went begging. This project had already come close to folding several times.
‘They’re still having discussions about … priorities …’ Again the irritating quaver in his voice. ‘But that’s nothing for you to worry about. Concentrate on doing an amazing job on the scenes we film. That’s the only thing you need to think about.’
Marie turned back towards the mirror.
‘There are lots of reporters who want to interview you,’ said Jörgen. ‘About your connection to Fjällbacka, and the fact this is the first time you’ve been back in thirty years. I can understand if it feels … uncomfortable to talk about that time, but if you’d like to—’
‘Go ahead and schedule them,’ said Marie without taking her eyes off the mirror. ‘I have nothing to hide.’
If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that any publicity was good publicity. She smiled at herself in the mirror. Maybe the damned headache was finally starting to fade
.
After relieving Patrik, Erica had packed up the children and then they slowly walked up the hill towards home. Patrik had taken off as soon as she arrived, and she’d noticed a trace of worry in his eyes. Erica shared his concern. Just considering the possibility of something happening to a child was like falling into an abyss.
She had given her own kids a few extra kisses when they reached home. She put the twins down for their afternoon nap and turned on the DVD player so Maja could watch Frozen. Now she was sitting in her home office. When Patrik had told her the name of the farm where the missing girl lived and the uncanny similarity in age, Erica had immediately felt a pressing need to go over her research material. She was a long way from being ready to start writing the book, but her desk was covered with maps, photocopies of newspaper articles, and handwritten notes about Stella’s death. She sat for a moment, staring at the piles of papers. At this stage, she was still gathering facts, making no effort to shape, arrange, or sort through all the material. That would be the next step in the long and winding path that would lead to a completed book. She reached for the copy of an article and studied the two girls in the black-and-white photographs. Helen and Marie. Their expressions sullen and truculent. It was difficult to tell whether she was seeing anger or fear in their eyes. Or evil, as many people had claimed. But Erica had a hard time believing children could be evil.
The same kind of speculation occurred in all the famous cases where children committed horrible acts: Mary Bell, who was only eleven when she killed two children. The murderers of three-year-old James Bulger. Pauline Parker and Juliet Hulme, the two girls in New Zealand who killed Pauline’s mother. Erica loved the Peter Jackson film Heavenly Creatures, which was based on the case. After the event, people would say things like: ‘She was always such a horrible child.’ Or: ‘I saw the evil in his eyes even when he was young.’ Neighbours, friends, and even family members had been more than willing to give their views on such cases, pointing to factors they believed indicated some innate evil. But surely a child couldn’t be evil. Erica was more apt to believe what she’d read somewhere: ‘evil is the absence of goodness’. A person was undoubtedly born with a tendency towards one or the other, but whether that tendency was enhanced or diminished would depend on where and how the individual was raised.
For that reason she needed to find out as much as she could about the two girls in the photographs. What sort of children were Marie and Helen? How had they been brought up? She wasn’t planning to settle for what other people knew about them and their families. She was equally interested in what had gone on behind closed doors. What sort of values had been instilled in the girls? Were they treated well? What had they learned about the world prior to that terrible day in 1985?
Eventually both girls had retracted their confessions and stubbornly insisted on their innocence. Even though most people had remained convinced Helen and Marie were guilty, there had been plenty of speculation. What if someone else was responsible for Stella’s death? An opportunist killer. And what if an opportunity had once again presented itself? It couldn’t be a coincidence that a girl of the same age should disappear from the very same farm. What were the odds of that happening? There had to be a connection between the two events. What if the police had missed a clue the killer had left behind, and what if the perpetrator, for some reason, had decided to strike again? Maybe inspired by Marie’s return? But if so, why? And were other girls in danger?
If only she’d made more progress in her research. Erica got up from her desk. The heat was stifling in her office, so she leaned across to open the window. Outside, life was going on as usual. The sounds of summer reached her. Children shrieking and laughing down at the beach. Seagulls screeching as they hovered over the water. The wind rustling the crowns of the trees. Outside, everything seemed idyllic. But Erica hardly noticed.
She sat back down and began sorting through the materials she’d collected. But she hadn’t even started on the interviews. She had a long list of people she planned to talk to, and naturally Marie and Helen were at the top of the list. She’d already tried to approach Helen, sending her several letters without receiving a response, and she’d been in contact with Marie’s PR agent. On the desk were copies of various interviews Marie had given about the Stella case, so Erica didn’t think the actress would be averse to talking to her. In fact, it was commonly thought that Marie’s career would not have taken off as it had if the news about her past hadn’t been leaked to the press after she’d appeared in small roles in a few minor productions.
If there was one thing Erica had learned from the previous books she’d written about true crime cases, it was that people had a deep-seated longing to speak out, to tell their story. Almost without exception.
She switched on the ringer on her mobile in case Patrik happened to call, though he’d probably be too busy to keep her updated. She had offered to help search, but he’d said they would have more than enough volunteers, and it would be better if she stayed with the children. Erica had voiced no objections. From downstairs in the living room she could hear that the film had reached the point where Elsa had built an entire castle out of ice. Erica slowly put down the papers she was holding. It had been far too long since she’d kept Maja company in front of the TV to watch a film. I’ll just have to put up with that ego-tripping princess, she thought as she stood up. Besides, Olaf is so charming. The reindeer too, for that matter.
‘What have you arranged so far?’ asked Patrik, getting right to the point when he arrived at the farm.
Gösta stood outside the farmhouse, next to a group of wooden patio furniture painted white.
‘I rang Uddevalla and they’re sending a helicopter.’
‘What about the Coast Guard?’
Gösta nodded. ‘Everybody has been notified, and help is on the way. I phoned Martin and asked him to get together some volunteers for the search party. He got right on it, calling people in Fjällbacka, so we should have lots of people here very soon. And our colleagues from Uddevalla are bringing the search dogs.’
‘So what do you think?’ said Patrik, keeping his voice low because the girl’s parents were standing a short distance away, holding on to each other.
‘They want to go out and search on their own,’ said Gösta, who had noticed Patrik looking at the couple. ‘But I told them they needed to wait until we get organized, otherwise we might end up squandering resources if we have to go looking for them too.’
He cleared his throat.
‘I don’t know what to think, Patrik. Neither of them has seen the little girl since she went to bed last night, which was around eight o’clock. And she’s so young: four years old. If she’d been anywhere close by, she would have showed up sometime during the day. If nothing else, she would have come home when she got hungry. So she must have got lost. Or …’
He left the word dangling in the air.
‘It’s such a strange coincidence,’ said Patrik. Thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge kept creeping into his mind.
‘I know. The same farm,’ said Gösta, nodding. ‘And the girl is the same age. It’s impossible not to think about that.’
‘I assume we’re not working solely on the premise that she got lost. Right?’
Patrik was careful not to look at the parents as he spoke.
‘Right,’ said Gösta. ‘As soon as possible we’ll start talking to all the neighbours around here, at least those who live along the road leading to the farm. We need to find out whether they saw anything last night or today. But first we need to focus on the search. It gets dark a lot sooner now that it’s August, and I can’t stand the thought of her sitting somewhere in the woods, all alone and scared. Mellberg wants us to contact the media, but I think it would be better to wait.’
‘Good God, yes. But of course that’s what he’d want,’ said Patrik with a sigh.
Their boss was looking quite full of himself as he welcomed the volunteers who were starting to arrive.
<
br /> ‘Okay, we need to get organized. I brought along a map of the area surrounding the farm,’ said Patrik, and Gösta’s face lit up.
‘Let’s divide the search area into sections,’ he said, taking the map from Patrik.
He placed it on the patio table, took a pen from his shirt pocket, and began drawing.
‘What do you think? Is this about the right size section for a group? If we assign three or four people to each group?’
‘Sure, that’s good,’ said Patrik, nodding.
Over the past few years he and Gösta had worked well together, and even though Patrik’s usual partner was Martin Molin, he enjoyed teaming up with the older police officer. That had not been the case back in the days when Gösta’s partner was Ernst, their now deceased colleague. But it turned out it actually was possible to teach an old dog new tricks. Gösta’s mind still had a tendency to drift to the golf course instead of focusing on police work, but when it really mattered, like now, his mind was razor-sharp and completely focused.
‘Want to give everyone a briefing?’ asked Patrik. ‘Or do you want me to do it?’
He didn’t want to tread on his colleague’s toes by taking over.
‘You do it,’ said Gösta. ‘The main thing is to prevent Bertil from saying anything.’
Patrik nodded. It was seldom a good idea to allow Mellberg to speak to the public. Invariably he’d upset or offend someone, and they’d have to waste time on crisis-management instead of getting on with the task at hand.
He glanced over at Nea’s parents, who were now standing in the middle of the farmyard, still holding on to each other.
‘I’ll go say hello to the parents first,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll brief everybody who’s here so far, and we’ll have to repeat the briefing as more people arrive. Volunteers are going to be turning up the whole time, so it’ll be impossible to get everyone together at once. And we need to see about getting the search under way as soon as possible.’
He cautiously approached the girl’s parents. It was always difficult to deal with family members at times like this.
The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 5