Erica and Anna went over to stand next to her in front of the mirror.
Anna smiled.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘You look fabulous.’
Erica nodded, and Anna saw she had tears in her eyes. The three of them stood there in silence, taking in every detail. Kristina had chosen a silvery-grey, form-fitting gown. It was definitely not too low-cut; it was perfect, with a beautiful heart-shape neckline. The sleeves were short with a simple hemmed edge. The skirt was slightly shorter in the front than in back, emphasizing Kristina’s figure to perfection.
‘You look smashing,’ said Erica, discreetly wiping away her tears.
Kristina suddenly leaned forward to give her a hug. That was unusual. She was not a demonstrative person, except with her grandchildren, whom she showered with kisses and hugs. So this was an exceptional moment, though it didn’t last long.
‘So, let’s see what we can find for you girls. Anna, you’re going to be a challenge. My God, are you sure you’re not having twins?’
Anna gave Erica a desperate look behind Kristina’s back.
But her big sister merely grinned and whispered: ‘The Fjällräven logo.’
James scanned the treetops. There was no wind, and the only sound was the cawing of crows and an occasional rustling in the bushes. If it had been hunting season, he would have been more alert, but right now he was sitting here mostly to get away. Deer hunting wouldn’t begin for a few more weeks, but he could always find something else to shoot, just for practice. A fox or a dove. One time he’d even shot a snake out of a tree.
He had always loved the woods, for much the same reason he felt so comfortable in the military: it allowed him to leave emotions aside and focus instead on strategies and logistics. Threats came from outside rather than within, and the answers were not to be found in talk but in action. James and his men never entered the picture until all possibilities for talk had been exhausted.
The only person he’d ever felt close to was KG. His late father-in-law had been the only one who understood him. Well, actually, they had understood each other, and that was not something he had experienced since.
When Sam was young, James had tried to take him hunting, but like everything else connected with his son, it had gone all wrong. The boy was three years old and unable to sit still or keep quiet for more than a few minutes at a time. Eventually James could stand it no more; he grabbed Sam’s jacket and tossed him to the ground. And the damn kid broke his right arm. He shouldn’t have suffered any harm at all, since kids were so malleable and agile. But typically, Sam landed on a stone jutting out of the ground. James told the doctor and Helen that Sam had fallen off the neighbour’s horse. And Sam knew better than to contradict him. He merely nodded and said, ‘Stupid horse.’
If he could choose, James would spend all his days out in the field. The older he got, the less reason he saw to go home. The military was his home. This did not mean he looked upon his men as family; anyone who thought soldiers regarded their comrades as brothers couldn’t be more wrong. The troops serving under him were pawns, a means to an end. And that was what he longed to return to. Logic. Pure, simple lines. Easy answers. He was never involved in the process that required difficult questions. That was politics. That was power. And money. Nothing ever had to do with humanity, aid, or even peace. Everything had to do with who had power over whom, and to whom the flood of money would be steered through political manoeuvring. That was the extent of it. People were so naive, always wanting to ascribe nobler motives to their leaders.
James adjusted his knapsack and headed further up the path. The naivety of people had played right into their hands. No one suspected the truth about Helen, or what she was actually capable of.
Torbjörn turned away from the big barn belonging to the Berg family.
‘What does the search warrant cover?’ he asked.
‘All the buildings on the property, including the barn and the garden shed,’ said Patrik.
Torbjörn nodded and issued instructions to his team, which today consisted of two women and one man. They were the same technicians who had searched the glade where Nea was found, but Patrik was better at remembering faces than names. He couldn’t for the life of him recall what their names were. Everyone on-site, whether forensics or police officers, was wearing plastic coverings on their shoes, and their expressions were grim. The role of Patrik and his colleagues was mostly to observe, as well as keep other people away. The fewer people trudging through the area, the better. With that in mind, Patrik thanked heaven that Mellberg had decided to stay at the station this time. Though it wasn’t like him to forgo an opportunity to be in the centre of the action, the heat combined with his girth and lack of fitness had apparently persuaded Bertil to opt for the comfort of his office where the fans whirred nonstop and he could doze in peace.
Patrik pulled Gösta aside as they stood in front of the farmhouse. He had allowed the older man to speak to the family while he remained outside, listening to the agitated voices within.
‘How’s the family doing?’
‘They’ve calmed down now,’ said Gösta. ‘I explained that it’s standard procedure in cases like this. That we need to rule out all possibilities.’
‘And they accepted that?’
‘They realize they have no choice. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.’
‘I know,’ said Patrik, patting his arm. ‘We’ll do what we have to as fast and efficiently as we can. Then we can leave them in peace.’
Gösta took a deep breath as he watched Torbjörn and his team begin carrying equipment into the house.
‘I found something last night,’ he said, ‘while I was going through those reports about crimes of a sexual nature.’
Patrik raised his eyebrows.
‘Tore Carlson, a sex offender who lives in Uddevalla, was visiting Tanumshede in early May.’ Gösta went on: ‘According to the report, he tried to molest a five-year-old girl in the shopping centre toilets.’
Patrik shuddered. ‘Where is he now?’
‘I talked to our colleagues in Uddevalla. They’re going to check up on him,’ replied Gösta.
Patrik nodded and then looked at the house again.
The techs had decided that rather than split up the team, they would work together, moving from room to room. Patrik felt restless as he stood in the blazing sun. He heard Torbjörn instructing the family to leave the house. Peter came out first, followed by his parents and Eva. From the way she blinked at the light, Patrik surmised she hadn’t been outside since Nea was found.
Peter slowly walked over to Patrik, who was now standing in the shade of an apple tree.
‘Will this never end?’ he said quietly, sitting down on the grass.
Patrik sat down next to him. He saw Peter’s parents angrily talking to Gösta a short distance away. Eva was sitting on a patio chair with her hands clasped, staring down at the tabletop.
‘We’ll be done in a couple of hours,’ said Patrik, but he knew that wasn’t what Peter meant.
He meant the grief. And Patrik could do nothing to help him with that. He had no consoling words to offer. He and Erica had experienced a brush with grief after the horrible car accident. But that was nothing compared to the deep abyss in which Nea’s parents now found themselves. It was beyond imagining.
‘Who could have done something like this?’ asked Peter as he mechanically pulled up blades of grass.
The lawn hadn’t been watered in a few days, and patches of it were turning yellow and dry.
‘We don’t know, but we’re doing all we can to find out,’ said Patrik, hearing how meaningless and clichéd the words sounded.
He never knew what to say in these kinds of situations. Gösta was much better at dealing with family members, while he merely felt clumsy and stupid and often found himself delivering one platitude after another.
‘We didn’t try to have any other children,’ said Peter. ‘We thought it was enough with Nea. Maybe we should have had m
ore. In reserve.’ He let out a hollow laugh.
Patrik didn’t reply. He felt like an intruder. The small farm was so peaceful, so beautiful, and they were swarming over it like Old Testament locusts, ripping away the last vestiges of peace. But he had learned the importance of probing beneath the surface. Things were seldom what they seemed at first glance, and the fact that someone was in mourning did not mean he or she was innocent. Sometimes he missed that naive belief in the goodness of people he’d had at the start of his career; since then he’d seen far too many examples of the darkness inside every individual, waiting for the trigger that would allow it to emerge and overpower them. It was undoubtedly inside him too. He was convinced that everyone was capable of murder; it was merely a matter of breaching their threshold.
‘I can still see her,’ said Peter, lying down in the grass, as if his tall body had given up.
He looked up at the sky without blinking, even though rays of the sun were seeping through the leaves and should have blinded him.
‘I can see her. I can hear her. I forget that she’s not coming home. And when I think about where she is now, I worry that she’s cold. That she’s all alone. That she is longing for us and wondering where we are and why we don’t come to fetch her.’
His voice sounded drowsy, dreamlike. His words hovered over the grass, and Patrik felt his eyes sting with tears. The other man’s grief weighed on his heart. As they sat there together, they were not a police officer and the next of kin of a murder victim. They were fathers, equals. Patrik wondered whether anyone ever stopped feeling like a parent. Did the feeling change if you lost your only child? Did you forget as the years passed?
He lay down next to Peter. Quietly he said: ‘I don’t think she’s alone. I think she’s with you.’
As he said those words, he realized he believed absolutely in what he was saying. When he closed his eyes, he thought he could hear a bright child’s voice and a laugh rising to the sky. Then there was only the rustling of the leaves and the shrill cry of a bird. Next to him Peter’s breathing slowed. Soon he was sound asleep beside Patrik, maybe sleeping for the first time since Nea disappeared.
Bohuslän 1672
The spring was a blessed time, but there was a great deal of work to be done, and everyone was busy from early morning until late at night. The livestock and other animals needed tending. The fields had to be prepared for planting. And all the buildings on the farm needed to be carefully examined for signs of decay. Every vicar’s family lived in fear of the wooden beams rotting and sending the roof crashing down. Whenever a vicar died, an inspection was carried out to determine how well he had cared for his farm; if the rot was deemed to be worse than expected, the widow would have to pay a fine. On the other hand, if the farm was found to be exceptionally well maintained, the widow might receive a reward. So there was good reason to examine all the living quarters and barns, as well as the vicar’s residence. The cost was shared by the vicar and the congregation. And Preben was meticulous about ensuring the farm was kept in good condition, so the sound of pounding hammers echoed across the yard.
No one spoke of what had happened at the lake, and Märta seemed to be almost herself again. The puppy was named Sigrid, and she followed Märta as faithfully as Viola had done.
Preben was often away from the farm. He would rise early in the morning and not return home until after dusk. Occasionally he would be gone for several days. Many members of the congregation asked for his advice or were in need of God’s word in order to make their lives more bearable, and Preben took very seriously his role as a spiritual guide. This did not please Britta, and sometimes he would leave the house with harsh words resounding after him. But even Britta’s mood lightened as the springtime sun caused everyone on the farm to seek the warmth of nature.
Britta’s bleeding continued to arrive as regularly as the moon turned full each month. She had stopped taking Elin’s concoctions, and this was not something Elin chose to discuss with her. The mere thought of Preben’s child growing in Britta’s womb filled her with loathing. She had managed to maintain the attitude demanded of her position with regard to the vicar’s wife, but her hatred for Britta burned with ever hotter flames. She had no idea what had gone on between Preben and Britta after Märta nearly drowned. She had not asked, and he had not said a single word on the subject. But ever since, Britta had been very friendly towards Märta, often ensuring that the girl received extra portions from the kitchen, or even giving her sweets she had brought home from her excursions to Uddevalla. Several days a month Britta would go there to visit her aunt, and on those days it felt as if the whole vicarage breathed more easily. The servants stood taller and walked with lighter steps. Preben hummed and frequently spent the days with Märta. Elin would steal glances at them as they sat in the library with their heads together, immersed in their conversation about some book he had taken from the shelf. It warmed her heart in a most special way. She had not thought she would ever feel like that again. Not since the day when Per disappeared into the deep. That day when Per took her harsh words with him when he died.
Chapter Nineteen
‘My God, did you run all the way here?’
Erica gave Helen an alarmed look. She got out of breath chasing the kids around the living room. The thought of running all the way from Helen’s house made her sweat.
‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ said Helen with a crooked smile. ‘Just a little warm-up.’
She put on the thin hoodie she had tied around her waist and sat down at the kitchen table, gratefully accepting a glass of water.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ asked Erica.
‘That would be great.’
‘Do you get a stitch in your side if you drink anything?’ asked Erica with interest as she poured coffee for Helen and then sat down across from her.
The kids had gone to a friend’s house while she and Anna went to Grebbestad. When she got the text from Helen, she decided to let them stay there a while longer. She’d take over a bottle of wine for the parents or some other sort of bribe when she went to pick up the children.
‘No, my body is used to running, so it doesn’t affect me.’
‘Personally, I’m of the belief that people should have been born with wheels. So far I’ve avoided exercise like the plague.’
‘Running after kids is no easy job,’ said Helen, sipping her coffee. ‘I remember when Sam was a toddler and I had to keep chasing after him. It feels so long ago now, like a different lifetime.’
‘Sam is your only child?’ asked Erica, pretending not to know everything there was to know about Helen’s family.
‘Yes, it turned out that way,’ said Helen, her expression shutting down.
Erica dropped the subject. She was grateful that Helen had agreed to talk to her, but she knew she had to be careful. Helen could decide to flee at the first question she didn’t like. This wasn’t a new situation for Erica. During the research for her books, she always met one or more people who seemed to teeter between a desire to talk and a wish to remain silent. Then it was a matter of proceeding cautiously, step by step, getting them to open up and preferably say more than they had planned to tell her. Helen had come to see her, but her whole body was signalling her reluctance. Clearly she was already regretting her decision to be interviewed.
‘Why did you agree to talk to me?’ asked Erica, hoping the question wouldn’t spark Helen’s flight reflex. ‘I’ve sent you so many requests, but up until now you didn’t seem interested.’
Helen sipped her coffee for a moment. Erica placed her mobile phone on the table to show she was recording their conversation. Helen merely shrugged.
‘I thought, and still think, that the past should remain the past. But I’m not naive. I realize I can’t stop you from writing this book, and that has never been my intention. Plus I know Marie is considering writing about what happened, and she hasn’t exactly been silent over the years either. We both know, you and I, that she has built her whole c
areer on our … tragedy.’
‘Yes, because it was a tragedy, wasn’t it?’ said Erica, picking up the thread of the conversation. ‘It wasn’t only Stella’s family members who had their lives destroyed by what happened. Both of you girls, and your families, suffered too.’
‘Most people wouldn’t share that view,’ said Helen, and a hard glint appeared in her grey-blue eyes. ‘Most people have chosen to believe the first version of what happened. When we confessed. Everything after that lost all importance.’
‘Why do you think that was?’ Erica discreetly checked to make sure her mobile was still recording.
‘Probably because there was no other answer. No one else to blame. People want simple solutions tied up in a nice, neat package. By retracting our confessions, we shattered their illusion that they were living in a safe world where no one would harm them or their children. By continuing to believe we were the ones who did it, they could also hold on to their belief that everything was fine.’
‘What about now? When a little girl from the same farm was found in the same place? Do you think it’s a copycat murder? Has someone been reawakened after lying dormant so long?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Helen, shaking her head. ‘I honestly have no idea.’
‘I read an interview in which Marie says she saw someone in the woods that day. What about you? Do you remember anything like that?’
‘No,’ said Helen quickly, looking away. ‘No, I didn’t see anyone.’
‘Do you think she did see somebody, or do you think she made it up? To divert interest to someone else, perhaps? To reinforce her story when she retracted her confession?’
‘You’ll have to ask Marie,’ said Helen, picking at a loose thread on her black running tights.
‘But what do you think?’ Erica persisted as she got up to refill their cups.
‘All I know is that I didn’t see anyone. Or hear anything. And we were together the whole time.’
Helen was still picking at the loose thread. She seemed very tense, so Erica changed the subject. She had more questions and didn’t want to drive Helen away before she could work through her list.
The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 30