‘At the top of my list is contacting Torbjörn again. It’s been bothering me that we abandoned the search of the Berg family’s property halfway through. I discussed this with the prosecutor this morning, and she wants us to finish the search, in spite of what was “found” at Karim’s home.’
‘I agree,’ said Gösta.
Patrik gave him a surprised look. Gösta had been reluctant about the search to begin with. What could have happened to make him so eager for it to be resumed?
‘Good,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll ring Torbjörn and we’ll drive out there as soon as we can. With a little luck, we can go today or tomorrow, depending on Torbjörn’s caseload.’
‘Are they working on the fire?’ asked Paula.
Patrik shook his head.
‘No, the fire department’s arson experts are handling that. But until we know more, the preliminary information is that a Molotov cocktail was thrown through Karim’s window.’
‘What are we doing about the recording of the anonymous phone call?’ asked Paula.
‘Annika has it,’ said Patrik. ‘Feel free to listen and let me know if anything strikes you. The voice is distorted, but I’m going to send it off for analysis today. Hopefully they can do something about the distortion or at least isolate some background sound that will help us identify the caller.’
‘Okay,’ said Paula.
‘What about Helen and Marie?’ asked Martin. ‘We still don’t know whether there’s any connection with the Stella case.’
‘No, but we’ve already talked to them, and right now I have nothing concrete that would warrant questioning them further. We’ll just have to wait until we know more. I still think there has to be a connection.’
‘In spite of what was found at Karim’s home?’ asked Paula.
‘Yes, in spite of what was “found”,’ said Patrik, and he couldn’t resist casting a glance at Mellberg.
Bertil had his eyes fixed on the table. He hadn’t said a word during the meeting.
‘I think it’s a false lead,’ Patrik went on. ‘But at the moment we can’t rule anything out. It feels too convenient that we should get an anonymous phone call and then for Mellberg to make that discovery. If Karim was guilty, who else would know that the knickers were there? Who would be in a position to tip us off?’
Gösta had been sitting quietly for the past few minutes, lost in his own thoughts. Just as Patrik was about to end the meeting, he looked up.
‘I think I know what’s been bothering me.’
Bohuslän 1672
Elin’s despair grew worse with every passing day. Preben devoted all his free time to Britta and paid no mind to her whatsoever. It was as if nothing had ever taken place between the two of them. He was not unfriendly, but he had simply forgotten what had once been. Britta and her child now captured all his attention. Even Märta held no interest for him now. The girl dashed around in bewilderment, with Sigrid at her heels. Elin’s heart ached to see her daughter’s confusion and dismay at Preben’s sudden indifference, and Elin had no idea how to explain to the child this adult madness.
How could she explain something to her daughter when even she did not understand?
Yet one thing was clear. She could no longer contemplate telling Preben about the child she was carrying. Nor could she keep it. She would have to get rid of the child. If she did not, then she and Märta would be left homeless. They would end up starving or begging. Or they would suffer some other terrible fate, which struck women who had nowhere to go. She could not allow that to happen to her and Märta.
She possessed no knowledge about how to rid her body of the child, but she knew someone who did. She knew who others went to in this situation – those women who had no husband to fend for mother and child. She knew who could help her. Helga Klippare.
A week later the opportunity presented itself when Britta asked her to go to Fjällbacka on an errand. As she rode in the wagon, Elin felt her heart sinking more and more. She thought she could feel the child moving inside her, even though she knew it was much too early. Lill-Jan, who was driving the wagon, soon gave up trying to talk to her. She was not in the mood for any sort of conversation and merely sat in silence as the wheels steadily lumbered over the road. When they reached Fjällbacka, Elin climbed down from the wagon and went on her way without saying a word. Lill-Jan had errands to run for the master, so they would not set off for home until evening. Plenty of time to do what she needed to do.
Eyes were watching her as she made her way along the street. Helga lived in a house at the very end. Elin hesitated before knocking, but finally she rapped her knuckles against the worn wood of the door.
Elin had been given home-brewed alcohol for the pain, but in truth she had nothing against feeling bodily pain. The worse it felt in her body, the more dulled the pain would be in her heart. She felt her body contracting. Rhythmically. Methodically. The way it had when Märta was born. But this time without the joy and anticipation she had felt when she knew what would come from all the hard labour. This time she felt only sorrow awaiting her at the end of the searing pain and blood.
Helga offered no sympathy. Nor did she judge. Silently and methodically she did what had to be done. Her only display of concern was when she occasionally wiped the sweat from Elin’s brow.
‘It will soon be over,’ Helga said tersely after peering between Elin’s legs as she lay on the floor on a filthy rag rug.
Elin looked out through the small opening next to the door. By now it was later afternoon. In a couple of hours she would have to get back in the wagon with Lill-Jan and head home to the vicarage. The road was bumpy, and she knew that every jolt would hurt. But she would have to put on a good face. No one must find out what had happened.
‘Bear down now,’ said Helga. ‘With the next contraction, you must bear down, and it will come out.’
Elin closed her eyes and grabbed the edges of the rag rug. She waited until the contractions increased, and when the pain was at its worst, she pushed with all her might.
Something slid out of her. Something small. A lump. There was no cry. No sign that it was alive.
Helga worked briskly. Elin heard the sound of something landing in the bucket next to her.
‘It was just as well,’ said Helga dryly, getting up with an effort as she wiped her bloodstained hands on a towel. ‘It was not as it should be. It would not have gone well.’
She picked up the bucket and set it next to the door. Elin felt a sob form in her chest, but she forced it back, fiercely holding it in until it became a tiny ball inside her heart. So she was not to be allowed even the image of a lovely little son or daughter with Preben’s blue eyes. The child was not as it should have been. They would never have been a family, except in her own naive dreams.
At that moment the door was yanked open, and Ebba of Mörhult stepped inside her sister’s house. She stopped abruptly when she saw Elin lying on the floor. Open-mouthed, she took in the entire scene. Elin with her bloodied legs spread apart, the contents in the bucket next to the door, and Helga wiping Elin’s blood off her hands.
‘So,’ said Ebba, her eyes flashing. ‘She has come here for your help. Yet to my knowledge Elin has not married again. Has she been lying with one of the farmhands? Or has she started whoring at the local inn?’
‘Hush,’ Helga admonished her sister, who merely pursed her lips.
Elin could not bring herself to reply. All strength had seeped out of her, and Ebba’s views were nothing she need care about any longer. She would get in the wagon with Lill-Jan, go back to the vicarage, and forget this had happened.
‘Is this it?’ asked Ebba, kicking at the bucket.
She peered down and then wrinkled her nose.
‘It looks like one of nature’s abominations.’
‘Keep quiet, or I may find myself giving you a box on the ear,’ snapped Helga. Then she grabbed her sister’s arm and ushered her out the door. When Ebba was gone, she turned back to Elin.
‘Pay no mind to her. She has always been a wicked one, ever since we were small. Sit up carefully now and wash yourself.’
Elin did as she said. She sat up, leaning heavily on one arm. Her womb ached, and there was blood between her thighs.
‘You are fortunate. You will not have to be stitched. And you have not lost a lot of blood, but you must rest for a few days.’
‘There is no question of that,’ said Elin, taking the wet rag Helga handed to her.
It stung when she washed herself. Helga placed a bowl of water next to her so she could wring out the rag.
‘I …’ Helga hesitated. ‘I heard your sister is with child.’
At first Elin did not reply. Then she nodded.
‘Yes, she is. This winter a child’s cries will be heard at the vicarage.’
‘I suppose some doctor from Uddevalla will tend to the vicar’s wife when it is her time, but if needed, you may send word to me.’
‘I will tell them,’ said Elin.
She could not bear to think of Britta’s child. She could not even bear to think of her own, lying in that bucket.
With great effort she stood up and pulled down her skirts. It was time to head for home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Don’t slam the door!’
James stared at Sam, who was standing in the front hall.
‘I didn’t slam the door, damn it,’ said Sam, taking off his shoes.
The familiar anger surged inside James. Always this sense of disappointment. The black nail polish and black eye make-up were his son’s way of spitting in his face. He knew that. He clenched his fist and pounded it against the flowered wallpaper. Sam flinched, and James felt the tension in his body ebb away.
He’d been forced to find an outlet for all the anger he’d felt towards Sam when the boy was younger, whenever they were out in the woods. On those few occasions when Helen had been away. Accidents happened so frequently. But then Helen had discovered them. Sam was crouching on the floor as James raised his fist. Sam’s lip was split and bleeding, and James realized how it must have looked. But Helen had over-reacted. Her voice trembled with fury when she told him what would happen if he ever touched Sam again.
And James had controlled himself ever since. That was three years ago.
Sam stomped up the stairs, and James wondered what was making the boy so furious. Then he shrugged. Teenage problems.
He longed to be able to leave again. Two weeks to go. He was counting the minutes. He didn’t understand his colleagues who longed for home, who wanted to go back to all the daily dreariness and to their family. But the military insisted that everyone should take ‘leave’ once in a while. It was probably some psychological bullshit. He didn’t believe in that stuff.
He went into his home office and walked over to the gun cabinet behind his desk. He entered the combination and heard the lock click open. These were the guns he owned legally, but in the wardrobe upstairs he’d hidden row upon row of guns that he’d collected over a period of nearly thirty years – everything from simple pistols to automatic weapons. It wasn’t hard to get hold of guns if you knew where to go.
Here in this cabinet he kept his Colt M1911. It was a real gun. There was nothing elegant or lightweight about it. A .45 calibre.
He put the gun back. Maybe he should take Sam out for some target practice this afternoon. It was ironic that shooting was the only thing Sam was any good at, aside from computers, but it was something he’d never have use for. Skill as a sharpshooter wouldn’t give extra points for someone working as a desk-jockey. And that was the future James envisioned for Sam. A desk-jockey at some sort of IT company. Dreary, meaningless, superfluous.
James carefully closed the cabinet. The door clicked shut, automatically locking. He glanced up. Sam’s room was directly above. He didn’t hear anything, but that just meant Sam was sitting at his computer with his headset on, with that wretched music blaring in his ears. James sighed. The sooner he could report for duty again, the better. He couldn’t stand this much longer.
Erica asked to have the painting sent to her home after the gallery opening was over, and then she said goodbye to Viola. When she stepped outside her mobile pinged, and she quickly read the text message. Wonderful. The plans she’d made were now booked and confirmed, so all that remained was to ‘kidnap’ Kristina. Erica rang Anna’s number, hoping she would have an idea how to do that. The only thing she could think up at the moment involved a slightly sadistic humour, which wasn’t something her mother-in-law would appreciate.
She listened to the phone ringing as she surveyed the town square, noting that they seemed to be filming there. She craned her neck and thought she caught a glimpse of Marie Wall beyond the cameras, but it wasn’t easy to see anything because of the big crowd of curious onlookers.
‘Hello?’ said Anna, giving Erica a start.
‘Oh, hi. It’s me. So, everything’s all set for tomorrow. We have to be at the hotel at noon. But the question is, how to get Kristina there without arousing her suspicions. Have you got any ideas? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t approve of my plan to rent a couple of guys dressed as terrorists to rush in and fetch her.’
Anna laughed. In the background, sirens were wailing.
‘What’s going on, is that the police?’ asked Erica.
Anna didn’t reply.
‘Hello? Are you still there?’
Erica glanced at the display, but there was no indication the call had been ended.
‘Yes, I’m still here. No, it was an ambulance going past.’
‘An ambulance? I hope everything’s okay with your neighbours.’
‘They’re fine. I’m not home at the moment.’
‘Oh? Where are you?’
‘In Uddevalla.’
‘What are you doing there?’
Why hadn’t she mentioned this when they were helping Kristina try on wedding gowns?
‘It’s for a doctor’s appointment.’
‘But why?’ asked Erica, frowning. ‘Your doctor isn’t in Uddevalla.’
‘It’s a special test that they can only do at the Uddevalla hospital.’
‘Anna, I get the feeling you’re not telling me something. Is something wrong with the baby? Or with you? Are you ill?’
Worry clutched at her heart. After the car accident, Erica no longer took anything for granted.
‘No, no, Erica. Everything’s okay. They want to be a little extra cautious, considering …’
Anna didn’t finish her sentence.
‘Okay, but promise you’ll tell me if there’s anything wrong.’
‘I promise,’ said Anna and then swiftly changed the subject. ‘I’ll think of something by tomorrow. Noon at Stora Hotel, right?’
‘Yes. I have the rest of the day and evening all planned. You can stay as long as you feel like it. Hugs.’
Erica ended the call, but the worrying feeling wouldn’t go away. Anna wasn’t telling her something, she was sure of it.
She walked over to the square to watch the filming. Yes, that was Marie Wall over there. They were just finishing up a scene, and Erica was impressed by Marie’s sheer radiance. She didn’t need to look through a camera lens to know the actress would be lighting up the screen. She was one of those people who looked as if she walked about in her own spotlight.
When they finished filming, Erica turned to head for home. Then she heard someone call her name and turned, trying to pinpoint who it was. Marie waved when she saw Erica looking in her direction. Erica went over to join her.
‘You’re Erica Falck, aren’t you?’ said Marie. Her voice sounded as husky as it did in her films.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Erica, feeling uncharacteristically shy.
She’d never met a film star before, and she found herself star-struck to be standing in front of someone who’d hung out with George Clooney.
‘Well, you know who I am,’ said Marie, with a casual laugh, taking a pack of cigarettes from her purs
e. ‘Would you like one?’
‘No, thanks. I don’t smoke.’
Marie lit her cigarette.
‘I understand that you’d like to talk to me. I’ve seen your letters … I have a break right now, while they take stock photos, so if you’d like we could sit down and have a drink and talk.’
Marie pointed her cigarette at the tables outside Café Bryggan.
‘Absolutely,’ said Erica, a little too eagerly.
She had no idea what stock photos were, but she didn’t dare ask.
They sat down at a table near the edge of the dock, and the waitress came running. She was so excited about waiting on Marie that she looked as if she might have a heart attack at any moment.
‘Two glasses of champagne,’ said Marie, waving away the girl, who smiled broadly and then hurried inside the restaurant. ‘I know I didn’t ask what you’d like to have, but only boring people refuse champagne, and my impression is that you are not a boring person.’
Marie blew a cloud of smoke towards Erica as she steadily studied her.
‘Er, well …’
Erica couldn’t think of a suitable reply. Good lord, she was behaving like a twelve-year-old. Hollywood stars were just people like everybody else. She tried to use a trick her father had taught her whenever she was nervous about giving a speech at school. In her mind she pictured Marie sitting on the toilet with her knickers around her ankles. Unfortunately, this didn’t work as well as Erica had hoped. Somehow Marie managed to look as elegant as ever, even in that situation.
The waitress came back and set two glasses of champagne on the table.
‘We might as well order two more while you’re here, honey,’ said Marie. ‘These will be gone in a second.’ And she dismissed the waitress again.
She picked up her glass and raised it towards Erica.
‘Skål,’ she said, gulping down half the champagne at once.
‘Skål,’ said Erica, though she made do with a sip.
If she kept on drinking bubbly in the middle of the day like this, she’d end up tipsy.
The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 39