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

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘My husband has such wise things to say,’ she replied, kissing his cheek. ‘At least sometimes.’

  He laughed loudly for the first time in a long while and felt himself relax. The children didn’t understand the joke, but they too began to laugh, because he was laughing.

  ‘You’re right. Everything is possible,’ he said, patting her backside. ‘Move now so I can get to the food. It’s almost as good as my mother’s.’

  Without a word, she gave him a little slap on the shoulder. Then he reached for another dolma.

  ‘Are you going to phone Marie?’ asked Paula, smiling at Martin as he shifted gears ahead of a bend. ‘I’ve heard cougars are the new big thing. And a little birdie tells me that this wouldn’t be your first near-cougar experience …’

  It was no secret that Martin had gone through a lot of women in his younger days, many of them significantly older than him. Paula hadn’t known him then. She met him after he’d settled down with Pia, the love of his life, and she’d seen how much he loved her – and how he had lost her. All the stories from his bachelor days were tall tales to Paula, but she still enjoyed teasing him. And Marie’s blatant flirting with him had left the door wide open.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ he said, blushing.

  ‘There it is,’ said Paula, pointing as they drove past the luxury villa on the water.

  Martin heaved a sigh of relief. She’d been teasing him for nearly twenty kilometres.

  ‘I’m going to park at Planarna,’ he said unnecessarily, since he’d already turned into the big cement dock area and was parking the car.

  Across from them towered Badis, the former seaside hotel, and Paula was glad the old building had been renovated a couple of years ago. She’d seen pictures of the way it had looked before, and it would have been a real shame if it had been allowed to deteriorate beyond repair. She’d heard how it had previously been the setting for so many parties and nightclubs, and no doubt a number of Fjällbacka’s residents had Badis to thank for their existence.

  ‘She might not be home,’ said Martin as he locked the car. ‘But let’s knock and find out.’

  He headed towards the beautiful house that Marie had rented, and Paula followed.

  ‘Jessie is a teenager, yet she has access to a house like this?’ she said. ‘My God, if I were in her shoes I’d never leave the place.’

  Paula shaded her eyes with her hand. Right in front of them was the dazzling sea.

  Martin knocked on the door. They could have phoned in advance to see if Jessie was home, but they preferred to talk to people who were not forewarned. Denied the opportunity to think over what questions might be asked and how best to answer them, they were more likely to tell the truth.

  ‘Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,’ said Paula, stamping her feet. Patience was not her greatest virtue, unlike Johanna who was patience personified.

  ‘Wait a sec,’ said Martin, knocking again.

  After what seemed like an eternity, they heard footsteps approaching inside the house. Then the door opened.

  ‘Yes?’ said a teenage girl.

  She wore a black T-shirt promoting some hard rock band and a pair of short shorts. Her hair was tousled, and it looked as if she’d dressed in a hurry.

  ‘We’re from the Tanumshede police station, and we’d like to ask you a few questions,’ said Martin.

  The girl, who had opened the door only a couple of centimetres, seemed reluctant to open it any further.

  ‘My mother—’

  ‘We’ve just spoken with your mother,’ Paula cut in. ‘She knows we’re here to talk to you.’

  The girl still looked sceptical, but after a few seconds she took a step back and pulled open the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, leading the way into the house.

  Paula could feel her pulse surge at the sight of the room they entered. The view was spectacular. Big glass doors stood open to a dock, and the entire approach to Fjällbacka was visible. Good lord. To think people actually lived like this.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Jessie sat down at a kitchen table made of solid wood without saying a proper hello. Paula silently wondered whether this breach of courtesy was due to poor upbringing or simply teenage truculence. After meeting Jessie’s mother, she tended to think it was the former. Marie hadn’t struck her as the warm, maternal type.

  ‘We’re investigating the murder of a little girl. And it’s … well, we’ve had reason to speak with your mother about it.’

  Paula saw that Martin was struggling to find the right words. They weren’t sure how much Jessie knew about her mother’s past.

  She answered that question herself.

  ‘Yeah, I heard about that. A girl was found in the same place as the other girl, the one people say Mamma and Helen killed.’

  Her eyes wavered, and Paula gave her a smile.

  ‘We need to know where your mother was from Sunday night until Monday afternoon,’ she said.

  ‘How would I know?’ Jessie shrugged. ‘She went to some party with the film crew on Sunday night, but when or whether she came home afterwards, I haven’t a clue. It’s not like we share the same bedroom.’

  Jessie drew her feet up to the edge of her chair and tugged her T-shirt over her knees. Paula couldn’t see much resemblance between mother and daughter, but maybe the girl took after her father, whoever that might be. She had googled Marie to find out as much as possible about her background, but according to what she’d read, no one knew who Jessie’s father was. She wondered if the girl knew. Or whether Marie herself did, for that matter.

  ‘This isn’t a huge house, so even if you don’t share a room, you should have heard her come in,’ said Martin.

  He’s right, thought Paula. The renovated boathouse was definitely luxurious, but it wasn’t particularly big.

  ‘I play music while I’m sleeping. With a headset on,’ said Jessie, as if stating the obvious.

  Paula, who needed her bedroom to be ice-cold, dark and totally quiet, wondered how anyone could sleep with music pounding in their ears.

  ‘So that’s what you did then? All Sunday night and Monday morning?’ asked Martin, refusing to give up.

  Jessie yawned.

  ‘It’s what I always do.’

  ‘And you have no idea what time your mother came home? Or whether she came home at all? Was she here when you got up?’

  ‘No, she usually leaves early for the studio,’ said Jessie, pulling her T-shirt even further over her knees.

  That T-shirt was never going to regain its original shape. Paula tried to read what it said on the front, but the letters were shaped like some sort of strange flashes, so it was impossible. She probably wouldn’t know the band anyway. She’d had a brief period as a Scorpions fan when she was a teen, but she didn’t know much about hard rock music.

  ‘Don’t tell me you think my mother drove out to that farm and killed some kid. Are you serious?’

  Jessie was picking at the cuticles on her left hand. Paula cringed when she saw how badly bitten the girl’s fingernails were. In some places she had even chewed the skin at the side of the nail, leaving a wound.

  ‘Have you any idea what it’s been like for their families? For us? How much shit we’ve had to take because our mothers were convicted of a crime they didn’t commit? And now you come here and ask questions about another murder that has nothing to do with them!’

  Paula silently studied Jessie, stopping herself from pointing out that her mother had built her whole career on talking about that childhood trauma.

  Martin looked at Jessie.

  ‘Our?’ he said. ‘Are you talking about Helen’s son? Do you know each other?’

  ‘Yes, we know each other,’ said Jessie, tossing her hair. ‘He’s my boyfriend.’

  A sound from upstairs startled all of them.

  ‘Is he here?’ asked Paula, looking towards the steep stairs leading to the first floor.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ said Jessie, as crim
son patches appeared on her throat.

  ‘Could you ask him to come downstairs?’ said Martin in a friendly tone of voice. ‘One of our colleagues was supposed to talk to Helen and her family, but if he’s here …’

  ‘Okay,’ said Jessie. She called upstairs: ‘Sam? The police are here. They want to talk to you!’

  ‘How long have you been together?’ asked Paula, noticing how proud the girl looked at the question.

  She guessed there hadn’t been many boyfriends in her life.

  ‘Not that long,’ replied Jessie, squirming a bit, though Paula noticed she wasn’t averse to talking about it.

  She recalled the joy she’d felt the first time she’d been with someone. As a couple. Although for her, it hadn’t been a Sam but a Josefin. And they definitely hadn’t dared make their relationship known. She didn’t come out until she was twenty-five, and then she wondered why it had taken her so long. The sky hadn’t fallen, the earth hadn’t collapsed, lightning hadn’t struck the ground. Her life had not been destroyed. On the contrary. At long last she had felt free.

  ‘Hello.’

  A lanky teenager sauntered down the stairs. He was bare-chested, wearing only a pair of shorts. He pointed at Jessie.

  ‘You’ve got my T-shirt.’

  Paula studied him with interest. Most people in town knew his father – there weren’t many UN soldiers in the vicinity – and it hadn’t occurred to her that James Jensen’s son would look like this. His hair was dyed raven-black. He wore kohl eyeliner and a defiant expression, which she instinctively knew must hide something else entirely. She’d seen it many times in kids she’d run into during the course of her work. There were rarely nice things or good experiences hidden behind such an expression.

  ‘Would you mind having a chat with us?’ asked Paula. ‘If you want, you can ring your parents to ask their permission.’

  She exchanged glances with Martin. It was actually against rules to question a minor without the parents being present. But she decided to regard this as a simple conversation rather than an official interview. They weren’t planning to interrogate them; it was merely a matter of asking a few questions. It would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation, since he happened to be here anyway.

  ‘We’re investigating the murder of Nea, the little girl who lived at the farm next to yours. And for reasons that I’m sure we don’t have to explain, we need to know where your mothers were during the time Nea went missing.’

  ‘Have you talked to my mother?’ he asked, sitting down next to Jessie. She smiled at him, her whole appearance changing. She seemed to radiate happiness.

  ‘We’ve met your mother, yes,’ said Martin, getting up and going over to the worktop. ‘Is it okay if I have a glass of water?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Jessie with a shrug. She didn’t take her eyes off Sam.

  ‘So what did she say?’ asked Sam, running his fingers over a knot in the wooden table.

  ‘We’d prefer to hear what you have to say,’ replied Paula, giving him a smile.

  Something about the boy touched her. He was at that halfway stage between a child and an adult, and she could almost see the two sides battling each other. She wondered whether even he knew which side he wanted to be on. It couldn’t have been easy, growing up with a father like James. She’d never cared much for professional soldiers and macho men, no doubt because they’d never cared for the likes of her.

  ‘So what do you want to know?’ Sam asked with a shrug, as if it were of no importance.

  ‘Do you know what your mother was doing on Sunday night until Monday afternoon?’

  ‘I don’t really keep track of the time – or of my mother for that matter.’

  He continued to rub his fingers over the knot in the wood.

  Martin came back to the table with a glass of water.

  ‘Tell us what you remember,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Start with Sunday evening.’

  He drank half the water in one gulp.

  Paula was thirsty too. A fan was whirring from the side of the room, but it did little good. The oppressive summer heat made the air in the room shimmer. Though the doors were open wide, there was no cooling breeze. The water in the harbour was mirror-smooth.

  ‘We had an early dinner,’ said Sam, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to picture Sunday evening. ‘Meatballs and mashed potatoes. My mother made them from scratch. My father hates instant potatoes. Then he left on some business trip, and I went upstairs to my room. I have no idea what my mother did. I usually keep to myself in the evening. And in the morning I slept until … I don’t know. It was late. But I assume Mother went out running. That’s what she does every morning.’

  Paula got up and went to get a glass of water too. Her tongue felt like it was sticking to her gums. She turned around as she ran the water from the tap.

  ‘But you didn’t see her?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Uh-uh. I was asleep.’

  ‘When did you see her later in the day?’

  Martin drank the rest of the water and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  ‘Don’t know. Maybe at lunchtime? It’s the summer holidays. Who keeps track of things like that?’

  ‘We went out in your boat later,’ said Jessie. ‘I think it was around two by then. On Monday.’

  She still hadn’t taken her eyes off Sam.

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ he said, nodding. ‘We went out in my boat. Actually, the boat belongs to my parents. It’s the family boat. But I’m mostly the one who uses it. My mother doesn’t know how to steer it, and my father is almost never home.’

  ‘How long has he been home this time?’ asked Paula.

  ‘A few weeks. He’s going back soon. Sometime after school starts, I think.’

  ‘Where’s he going?’ asked Martin.

  Sam shrugged.

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Can either of you recall anything else about Monday?’

  Both shook their heads.

  Paula exchanged glances with Martin, and they got up.

  ‘Thanks for the water. And for talking to us. We might have more questions later on.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Sam. He shrugged again.

  The teenagers didn’t bother to see them out.

  Bohuslän 1672

  When Elin heard Märta’s screams she ran faster than she had ever run before. She saw Preben’s white shirt up ahead among the trees. He was quicker than she was, and the distance between them lengthened. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel her dress snagging on branches, ripping the fabric. She caught a glimpse of the lake and increased her pace even more as Märta’s screams got closer.

  ‘Märta! Märta!’ she shouted, and when she came to the edge of the small lake, she dropped to her knees.

  Preben was on his way out to the girl, wading through the dark water, but when the water came up to his chest, he swore loudly.

  ‘My foot is stuck! I cannot pull it free!’ He gave her a wild look as he struggled in vain to get loose. ‘You will have to swim out to Märta. She cannot hold out much longer!’

  Elin stared at him in despair. Märta had now fallen silent and looked as if she was about to slip below the surface, which was as black as night.

  ‘I cannot swim!’ she cried, but then she looked around for some other solution.

  She knew that if she recklessly threw herself into the lake in an attempt to save her daughter, Märta would certainly drown. And she would drown along with her.

  She ran around to the other side of the lake. It was small but deep, and now she could see only the top of Märta’s head sticking up above the gleaming surface. A big branch hung out over the water, and she threw herself out on to the limb and crawled forward. Yet there was still more than a metre to the girl, and she shouted for Märta to keep fighting. The little girl seemed to hear her because she flailed her arms and began splashing about. Elin’s arms ached as she moved further out on the branch. She was getting clos
e enough to Märta that she could try to grab her.

  ‘Take my hand!’ she yelled, reaching out as far as she could without losing her grip on the branch.

  Preben also shouted loudly.

  ‘Märta! Take Elin’s hand!’

  The girl struggled desperately to grab her mother’s hand, but she had a hard time catching hold and she kept swallowing water.

  ‘Märta! Oh, please, dear God, take my hand!’

  And as if by a miracle, Märta grabbed hold. Elin held on with all her might and slowly began backing up along the tree branch. She was weighed down by the girl, but somehow she mustered the strength she needed. Preben had finally managed to pull his foot loose and swam towards them. As they got close to the shore, Preben reached Märta and took her in his arms so Elin could let go. Her muscles ached, but she felt such enormous relief that tears streamed down her cheeks unhindered. As soon as she felt solid ground under her feet, she threw her arms around Märta and at the same time embraced Preben, who was now crouching down as he held the girl in his arms.

  Afterwards Elin had no idea how long they’d sat there, the three of them holding on to each other. It was only when Märta began shivering that they realized they had to make their way back to find dry clothes for her, and for themselves.

  Preben lifted up Märta and gently carried her through the woods. He was limping, and Elin saw that he had lost one shoe, no doubt when his foot got caught on something at the bottom of the lake.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice trembling, and Preben turned to give her a smile.

  ‘I did nothing. You were the one who found a way to save her.’

  ‘I did it with God’s help,’ said Elin quietly, feeling that what she said was true.

  It was with the help of God that her daughter had been able to grasp her hand, of that she was convinced.

  ‘Then we must offer even more prayers to the Lord this evening,’ said Preben, holding the girl closer.

  Märta’s teeth were chattering, and her lips were blue.

  ‘Why would Märta go out to the lake? She does not know how to swim.’

  Elin tried not to sound reproachful, but she could not understand it. Märta knew she was not to go near water.