‘She said Viola was in the water and about to drown,’ murmured Märta.
‘Who? Who said Viola was in the water?’ asked Elin, frowning.
But she knew what the answer would be. She met Preben’s eyes over the girl’s head.
‘Was it Britta who told you that?’ asked Preben.
Märta nodded.
‘Yes, and she went with me to show me where the lake was. Then she said she had to go back, but I must stay and save Viola.’
Elin gave Preben a furious look, and she saw that his eyes had turned as black as the lake.
‘I shall speak to my wife,’ he said quietly.
They were approaching the vicarage by this time. Much as she longed to storm in there and claw and strike at her sister, Elin knew she must listen to Preben. If she were to lash out at Britta she would only bring misfortune upon both herself and her daughter. So she took several deep breaths and prayed to the higher powers for enough strength to remain calm. But inside she was seething.
‘What happened?’
Lill-Jan came running, followed by more farmhands and maids.
‘Märta went down to the lake, but Elin pulled her out of the water,’ said Preben, striding purposefully towards the vicarage.
‘Take her to our quarters,’ said Elin. She did not want Märta to be anywhere near Britta.
‘No. Märta shall have a hot bath and dry clothes.’ Preben turned to the youngest of the vicarage maids. ‘Could you prepare a bath for her?’
She curtseyed and ran ahead into the house to begin heating the water.
‘I will fetch dry clothes for her,’ said Elin.
Reluctantly she left Preben and Märta, but not before stroking the girl’s hair and kissing her ice-cold forehead.
‘I will be back in no time,’ she told Märta, who whimpered in protest.
‘What is going on here?’ asked Britta indignantly from the doorway. She had heard all the commotion in the yard.
When she caught sight of Märta in Preben’s arms, she turned as white as a sheet.
‘What … what …?’
Her eyes grew big with surprise. Elin was silently praying, frantically praying as she had never done before, that she would have the strength not to strike Britta dead, right there on the spot. And her prayers were heard. She managed to keep still, but for safety’s sake she turned on her heel and went to fetch dry clothes for her daughter. She did not hear what Preben said to his wife, but she did see the look he gave her. And for the first time in her life, she saw her sister was afraid. But behind the fear lurked something else that terrified Elin. A hatred that burned as hot as the fires of hell.
Chapter Seventeen
The children were playing downstairs. Patrik was at the police station, and Erica had asked Kristina to stay for a while so she could work undisturbed. She had tried to work when she was alone with the kids, but it was impossible to concentrate when a child’s voice was constantly calling her, wanting something every five minutes. One of them was always hungry or needed to pee. But Kristina had been more than willing to stay with the children, and Erica was deeply grateful for that. Whatever else she might say about her mother-in-law, Kristina was great with the kids and never hesitated to offer to babysit. Sometimes Erica wondered what sort of grandparents her own parents would have been. Since they’d died before the children were born, Erica would never know, but she thought her kids might have been able to make her mother soften a bit. Unlike Anna and herself, perhaps they could have penetrated the hard shell she’d spent all those years hiding behind.
After learning her mother’s story, Erica had forgiven Elsy, and she had decided to believe she would have been a warm and playful grandmother to her children. And Erica didn’t doubt for a minute that her father would have been an amazing grandfather. Just as amazing as he’d been as her pappa. Occasionally she would imagine him sitting in his favourite chair on the porch with Maja and the twins, puffing on his pipe as he told them eerie stories about ghosts out on the islands. He probably would have scared the daylights out of the kids with his tall tales, just as he had done with her and Anna. But they would have loved it too. And they would have loved the smell of his pipe and the heavy knitted jumpers he wore because Elsy had always insisted on saving on their heating bill.
Erica felt the sting of tears in her eyes, so she had to stop thinking about her parents. She looked at the big bulletin board that covered one wall of her home office. She’d gone through the stacks of papers on her desk and pinned up all the copies, printouts, photos, and notes. That was step one in the process when she was writing. After the chaos of gathering material and piling up documents so she could take it all in, this was where she set about establishing structure and order. She loved this phase of her work. This was when the fog would start to clear, and what had initially seemed an unfathomable story would start to take shape. Every time she started work on a book, it was as if she would never be able to make sense of it. But somehow she always did.
This time, however, there was more than a book at stake. This was no longer a retelling of an old tragedy; it was also the story of a new murder investigation, the death of another little girl, and more grieving friends and relatives.
Erica clasped her hands behind her head, squinting as she tried to find connections between the bits and pieces posted on the bulletin board. These days it required more of an effort to read from this distance, but she refused to acknowledge that she needed glasses.
She studied the photos of Marie and Helen. They were so different, both in appearance and personality. Helen was dark-haired and plain, with a cowed air about her. Marie was blonde, beautiful, and always composed as she looked into the camera. It was frustrating that the police hadn’t been able to find the old interview transcripts. No one knew where they were, and it was possible they might have been destroyed. Erica knew from experience that the filing system at the Tanumshede police station hadn’t always been the best. The fact that Annika now kept everything in pristine order unfortunately didn’t help when looking for files from the time before she started as the station secretary. The interview transcripts would have been useful for understanding the girls’ relationship, what actually happened on that day, and what might have prompted their confessions. Newspaper articles from the period did not give much background information that could answer the question: ‘Why?’ And since Leif was dead, she couldn’t ask him for help either. Erica had hoped her visit to his daughter would produce results, but Viola hadn’t called back. She didn’t know for sure whether Leif had saved any investigative materials, but she had a feeling he had, based on the fact that he hadn’t been able to let go of the Stella case. And that was something Erica kept returning to. He was the one who had heard the confessions of Marie and Helen, and he was the one who had informed the newspapers that the case had been solved. So why had he later changed his mind? Why, so many years later, was he no longer convinced the girls had killed Stella?
Erica squinted again, trying to bring the words into sharper focus. From downstairs she heard the children playing hide-and-seek with their grandmother, which was always the twins’ opportunity for some creative counting: ‘One, two, ten – here I COME!’
An article from Bohusläningen suddenly caught her attention. She got up and went over to take it down from the bulletin board. She’d read it many times before, but now she picked up a pen to underline one sentence. The article was from the days after the girls had retracted their confessions, and a reporter had managed to get Marie to answer a question.
‘Someone followed us into the woods,’ she was quoted as saying.
The statement had been dismissed as a lie, a child’s way of trying to cast blame on someone else. But what if the girls had been followed that day? What would that mean for the current investigation?
Erica took a yellow Post-it note and wrote: ‘Someone in the woods?’ Then she stuck the note on top of the article and pinned both up on the bulletin board. She stood there for
a moment, staring at the words, her hands on her hips. How should she proceed? How could she find out whether someone had been following Helen and Marie? And if so, who was it?
Her mobile, lying on the desk, pinged. She turned around to look at the display. She saw an unfamiliar phone number but no name. Yet the message made it clear who had sent the text.
I understand you’ve talked to my mother. Shall we meet?
Erica smiled and put down the phone after sending a brief reply in the affirmative. Maybe now she’d be able to get answers to at least some of her questions.
Patrik finished writing his report about his conversation with Helen and James and pressed the ‘print’ button. They were both home when he went out to their farm, and they’d been willing to answer all his questions. James had confirmed Helen’s statement that no one in the family had heard anything of the search conducted in the woods on Monday night and early Tuesday morning. He had been away on a business trip, arriving at his hotel in Gothenburg on Sunday evening. He’d been in meetings until four o’clock on Monday afternoon. Afterwards he got in his car and drove home. Helen said she went to bed around ten on Sunday night. She took a sleeping tablet and slept the whole night through until nine the next morning. Then she got up and went for her usual run.
Patrik wondered whether anyone could confirm Helen’s statement.
He was pulled away from these speculations by the shrill ring of his phone. He distractedly took the call, trying to keep the contents of his pen holder, which he had accidentally bumped, from spilling across his desk. When he heard who was on the phone, he picked up a pen and reached for a pad of paper.
‘So you managed to move us ahead in the queue,’ he said with relief, prompting a muttered reply from Pedersen.
‘Well, it wasn’t easy. You owe me one. But when it comes to a case involving a child …’ Pedersen sighed, and Patrik could tell the pathologist had been as affected by Nea’s death as he was. ‘I’ll get right to the point. I don’t have a final report, but we’ve been able to establish that cause of death was a head wound.’
‘Okay,’ said Patrik, making a note of it.
He knew that Pedersen would send over a detailed report after they finished talking, but taking notes helped him keep his thoughts in order.
‘Any evidence of what might have caused it?’
‘No, except there was dirt in the wound. Apart from that, her body was clean.’
‘Dirt?’ Patrik made another note, frowning.
‘Yes. I’ve sent samples to the forensics lab. With a little luck, we’ll get a reply in a couple of days.’
‘What about the object that caused the wound? There must have been dirt on that too, right?’
‘Yes …’ Pedersen said hesitantly.
Patrik knew the pathologist did that whenever he was unsure about something and didn’t want to commit himself.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, again pausing. ‘But judging by the wound, it was either something very heavy, or …’
‘Or what?’ asked Patrik.
Pedersen’s lengthy pauses were making his blood pressure rise.
‘Or, it might have been caused by a fall.’
‘A fall?’
Patrik pictured the glade where Nea had been found. There was no place to fall from, unless the girl had fallen out of a tree. But if that had been the case, who had hidden her body under the tree trunk?
‘I think the girl might have been moved,’ said Pedersen. ‘There are signs that she lay for a long time on her back, but when you found her body, she was in a foetal position. She was moved and placed in that position, but only after she’d been lying on her back for a number of hours. It’s difficult to say exactly how long.’
‘Have you found any similarities with the Stella case?’ asked Patrik.
He got ready to write more notes.
‘I’ve looked at the old post-mortem report,’ said Pedersen. ‘But I found no similarities, other than the fact that both girls died from injuries to the head. In Stella’s case, there were traces of wood and stone in the wounds. It was also clear that she died in the glade close to the pond where she was found. Did Torbjörn find any evidence of where this little girl was killed? She could have been killed somewhere close to the tree and then hidden in the place you found her.’
‘That would point to the wound being caused by a blow to the head and not a fall, assuming it would have been a fall from sufficient height to have killed her. There was nowhere she could have fallen from in that glade – the ground is almost perfectly level. I’ll ring Torbjörn and check with him. But when I was there, I saw nothing to indicate Nea was killed where her body was found.’
Patrik again pictured the glade in his mind. He hadn’t seen any bloodstains, but Torbjörn and his tech team had gone over the area with a fine-tooth comb. If there was anything to be found, he was confident they would find it.
‘Do you have anything else to report?’ asked Patrik.
‘No. The girl was a healthy four-year-old. She was well nourished, and there were no injuries except for the wound to her head. The contents of her stomach were a mixture of chocolate and biscuits. My guess is, her last meal was a Kex chocolate wafer bar.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ said Patrik.
He ended the call and put down his pen. After a moment he rang Torbjörn Ruud. It took so long for someone to answer that he was about to give up, but then he heard Torbjörn’s brusque voice say, ‘Hello?’
‘Hi. It’s Patrik Hedström. I was wondering how you’re doing with the Nea Berg evidence.’
‘We’re not finished yet,’ Torbjörn replied curtly.
He always sounded cross, but Patrik was used to his tone of voice. Torbjörn was among the best in his field in Sweden. Both the Stockholm and Gothenburg police districts had offered him a job, but he had strong ties to his hometown of Uddevalla, and he saw no reason to move.
‘When do you think you’ll be finished?’ asked Patrik, picking up his pen.
‘Impossible to say,’ muttered Torbjörn. ‘We want to make sure we do everything by the book with this investigation. Not that we don’t do that with every investigation, but, well … you know how it is. That little girl didn’t get to have a very long life. It’s …’
He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. Patrik fully understood, but the best thing he could do for the girl was to keep a clear head and remain as professional as possible. And find out who was guilty.
‘Is there anything you can tell me right now? Pedersen did the post-mortem, and he says she died from a wound to the head. Is there anything to indicate something found at the site could have been used to deliver the blow? Or any signs that she was killed near the spot where her body was found?’
‘No …’ said Torbjörn reluctantly.
Patrik knew he didn’t like to give out information until his team had completed their work. But he also understood Patrik’s need to have any information that might help move the investigation forward.
‘We found nothing to indicate she was killed in the glade. There were no traces of blood, nor did we find blood on any objects we recovered from the area.’
‘How big an area did you search?’
‘We examined a large area surrounding the glade. I can’t tell you exactly. That will be in my final report, but we were very thorough. And, as I said, no sign of blood. Head wounds bleed profusely, so one would expect to find a great deal of blood.’
‘Yes. It definitely sounds like the glade is a secondary crime scene,’ said Patrik, jotting down a few notes. ‘So our primary scene has yet to be found.’
‘What about the girl’s home? Should we look for blood traces there?’
Patrik paused before answering:
‘Gösta is the one who interviewed the family. He thinks there’s no reason to suspect them, which means so far we haven’t followed up on that theory.’
‘Hmm … I don’t know,’ said Torbjörn. ‘We’ve seen what can happen in families. Sometime
s it’s an accident. Sometimes it’s not.’
‘You’re right,’ said Patrik with a grimace.
He had an uneasy feeling that they’d made a mistake. A naive and stupid mistake. He couldn’t afford to be either sentimental or naive. They’d seen far too much over the years. They should have known better.
‘Patrik?’
A discreet knock on his office door made him look up. He’d finished the phone call with Torbjörn and was sitting at his desk, staring into space as he pondered his next move.
‘Yes?’
Annika stood in the doorway. She looked uncomfortable.
‘There’s something you ought to know. We’re starting to get phone calls … of a very unpleasant type.’
‘Unpleasant, how?’
Annika took a few steps into the room to stand in front of his desk with her arms crossed.
‘People are accusing us of not doing our job. We’ve even received a few threats.’
‘But why? I don’t understand.’
Annika took a deep breath. ‘They’re saying we should be investigating the people at the refugee centre.’
‘Why? There’s no evidence pointing in that direction.’
Patrik was genuinely mystified. Why were people phoning about the refugee centre?
She held up her notepad and read from her notes.
‘Well, according to one gentleman who prefers to remain anonymous, “some damn wog at the refugee centre” was responsible for Nea’s murder. And according to one woman, who also wants to remain anonymous, it’s “scandalous that none of those criminal types have been brought in for interrogation”. She went on to say, “None of them have fled from any war, that’s just an excuse to come here and sponge off the Swedish people.”’ I’ve had at least a dozen calls along the same lines. Everyone wants to remain anonymous.’
‘Good lord,’ said Patrik, sighing heavily.
This was the last thing they needed.
‘Well, now you know,’ said Annika, heading for the door. ‘How would you like me to deal with them?’
The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 27