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

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘What would you like to know?’ asked Marie, downing the rest of her drink.

  She glanced around for the waitress, who came running with two more glasses.

  Erica took a few more sips as she pondered how to begin.

  ‘Well, the first thing I’d like to know is why you changed your mind about talking to me. I’ve been trying to get an interview for quite a long time.’

  ‘I can understand why you’d ask, since I’ve talked openly about my background during my entire career. But as you may have heard, I’m considering writing my own book.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard the rumours.’

  Erica finished her glass of champagne and reached for the second. It was too amazing to be sitting here in the warm sunshine on the dock, drinking champagne with an international film star, for her to listen to common sense.

  ‘I still haven’t decided how to go about it. But now that Helen has already talked to you …’ Marie shrugged.

  ‘Yes, she dropped by yesterday,’ said Erica. ‘Or rather, she ran by.’

  ‘I’ve heard she’s obsessed with running. We haven’t spoken, but I’ve seen her out running in town. I hardly recognized her. Thin as a whippet. I’ve never understood the purpose of all that exercise. All anyone has to do to stay trim is to avoid carbs like the plague.’

  She crossed one long, slender leg over the other. Erica looked at her slim figure with envy, but she shuddered at the thought of a life without carbs.

  ‘Have the two of you had any contact over the years?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Marie curtly. Then her expression softened. ‘We made a few half-hearted attempts to reach out to each other right after it happened. But Helen’s parents quickly put a stop to that. So we gave up. And it was probably easier to try to forget everything and put it all behind us.’

  ‘How did the two of you deal with everything? The police? The newspapers? The public? You were only children. It must have seemed overwhelming.’

  ‘We didn’t understand how serious it all was. Helen and I both thought it would blow over and things would go back to normal.’

  ‘But how could you think that? A little girl was killed, after all.’

  Marie didn’t answer immediately. She sipped her champagne, gazing out at the view.

  ‘You have to remember that we were also children,’ she said. ‘We knew it was us against the world. We were living in a bubble no one else could enter. How did you view the world when you were thirteen? Did you see the nuances? The grey zones? Or was everything black and white?’

  Erica thought back to how she was at that age. Naive, inexperienced, full of clichés and simple truths. It was only when people got older that they began to realize how complicated life was.

  ‘I see what you mean,’ she said. ‘I asked Helen why you confessed and later retracted your confessions, but she avoided giving me an answer.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can give you an answer either,’ said Marie. ‘There are things we don’t want to talk about. Things we won’t talk about.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because certain things should be left in the past.’

  Marie stubbed out her cigarette and lit another one.

  ‘But you’ve been so open about almost everything related to the case. About your family and your foster families. I don’t get the impression you’ve tried to hide any details.’

  ‘It’s not wise to reveal everything,’ said Marie. ‘Maybe I’ll discuss it in my own book. Maybe I won’t. Probably I won’t.’

  ‘Well, at least you’re honest about the fact you’re not telling the whole truth. Helen wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘Helen and I are totally different. We always have been. She has her demons, and I have mine.’

  ‘Have you had any contact with your family? I know both your parents are dead, but what about your brothers?’

  ‘My brothers?’ Marie snorted, tapping the ash from her cigarette. ‘They tried to reconnect with me after my career took off and my name started appearing in the newspapers. But I cut them off very quickly. They’ve both thrown away their lives, and I’ve never felt any need to have them in my life. They tormented me when I was a child, and I can’t imagine they’ve become any nicer as adults.’

  ‘You have a daughter, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, my daughter Jessie is fifteen now. A teenager through and through. Takes more after her father than me, unfortunately.’

  ‘According to the tabloids, he’s never been in the picture. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes. My God, it was only a quickie on his office desk to get a part in a film.’ Marie laughed hoarsely. She gave Erica a wink. ‘And yes, I got the part.’

  ‘Does Jessie know about your background?’

  ‘Of course she does. Kids these days have access to the Internet, and I’m sure she has googled everything ever written about me. Apparently her classmates have harassed her because of me.’

  ‘How does she handle that?’

  Marie shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I suppose that’s something kids these days have to put up with. And to a certain extent she has only herself to blame. If she paid more attention to her appearance, she’d probably have an easier time in school.’

  Erica wondered if Marie was really as cold as she sounded when she talked about her daughter. Personally, she didn’t know what she would do if anybody was mean to Maja or the twins.

  ‘So what’s your theory about what happened here the other day? The murder of little Nea. It seems too much of a coincidence that you should come back here and then a child is killed and found in the same place as the girl you were found guilty of murdering.’

  ‘I’m not stupid. It doesn’t look good, I realize that.’

  Marie turned to summon the waitress. Her glass was empty again. She gave Erica an enquiring look, but Erica shook her head. There was still champagne in her second glass.

  ‘The only thing I can say is that I’m innocent,’ said Marie, gazing out at the sea again.

  Erica leaned forward. ‘I recently found an interview in which you said you saw someone in the woods that day.’

  Marie smiled.

  ‘Yes. I told the police about it too.’

  ‘But not at first. You waited until after you retracted your confession, didn’t you?’ said Erica, studying Marie to see her reaction.

  ‘Touché,’ said Marie.

  ‘Do you have a theory about who it was?’

  ‘No,’ said Marie. ‘If I did, I would have told the police.’

  ‘So what are the police saying now? Do you think they believe that you and Helen are involved?’

  ‘I can’t say what they think about Helen. But I’ve told them I have an alibi for when the girl disappeared, so they can’t possibly suspect me. Helen isn’t involved either. She wasn’t back then. Neither was I. And she’s not involved now. The bitter truth is, the police failed to follow up on the lead when I told them about seeing someone in the woods. And now the same person has probably struck again.’

  Erica thought about the gallery opening.

  ‘Did you ever hear again from the police officer who was in charge of the investigation into Stella’s death? Leif Hermansson?’

  ‘Hmm …’ said Marie, with only minimal furrowing of her brow, which made Erica suspect Botox. ‘Now that you mention it, yes, I did. But that was years ago. He tried to contact me through my agent. Left several messages saying he wanted to get in touch with me. And finally I decided to reply. But when I phoned him, I was told he’d committed suicide.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Erica, frantically pondering her next question. If Marie was telling the truth, and he hadn’t been able to contact her, he must have discovered something that threw a new light on the old investigation. But what could it have been?

  ‘Marie?’

  A tall man that Erica surmised must be the director was calling Marie and motioning for her to come.

  ‘Time to work. You’ll have to excuse me.’

&nbs
p; Marie stood up. She downed the last of her champagne and smiled at Erica.

  ‘We can talk more another time. Be a dear and pay the bill.’

  She strode off to join the film crew, with everyone’s eyes fixed on her.

  Erica motioned for the waitress and paid the bill. Clearly, they hadn’t been drinking cheap champagne, so Erica finished off what was left in her glass. It had cost too much to let it go to waste.

  It meant a great deal that Marie had agreed to talk to her. Erica planned to make an appointment for next week so she could conduct a real interview with Marie. She also needed to talk to Helen again. The two of them held the key to her book about the Stella case. Without their input, the book would never be a success.

  But there was one more person who was important to the story. Sanna Lundgren. She had spent her whole life living with the consequences of the murder which had shattered her family. When Erica wrote her books, she wanted to discuss the murder itself as well as the victim and the perpetrator. But just as important was the story of those who had been affected by the crime. The families whose lives were wrecked, people who suffered such distress that they were never able to recover. Sanna would also be able to tell her about Stella. She was only a child when her little sister was murdered, and it was possible her memories had become hazy over the years. But she was still the one who possessed the greatest treasure trove of stories about Stella. And that was always at the very heart of Erica’s books. She wanted to make the victim come to life. She wanted the reader to understand that the victim was a real person with dreams, feelings and thoughts.

  She needed to contact Sanna as soon as possible.

  When Erica passed the crowd watching the filming she felt someone touch her arm. It was a woman wearing a belt filled with make-up paraphernalia, who kept a watchful eye on Marie as she leaned close to Erica.

  ‘I heard Marie say that she had an alibi for the time when the little girl disappeared,’ she whispered. ‘She said she was sleeping with Jörgen in his hotel room …’

  ‘Oh?’ said Erica, anxious to hear more.

  ‘It’s not true,’ whispered the woman, who Erica assumed must be the film company’s make-up artist.

  ‘How do you know that?’ she asked.

  ‘Because I was with Jörgen that night.’

  Erica looked at the woman. Then she turned to look at Marie, who was in the midst of playing a scene. She was certainly a superb actress.

  Karim was groggy from all the medicines they’d pumped into him. Painkillers. Sedatives. Even the humming of the oxygen made him drowsy. He could hardly stay awake. Whenever Karim realized where he was, tears would fill his eyes. He asked the nurses about Amina, pleaded to be taken to her, but they merely murmured that he needed to stay where he was. The children had come to his room to see him. He recalled their warm cheeks whenever he found himself weeping into his pillow. A doctor told him they would be discharged tomorrow, but could he trust anyone? The police? The others living at the refugee centre? He no longer knew who was friend or foe.

  He’d had such high hopes when he came to this new country. He would work and contribute. He would watch his children grow up to be strong and confident and intelligent Swedes. The sort of people who made a difference.

  Now all that was gone. Amina was lying in this hospital in a foreign country, surrounded by a team of strangers fighting to save her life. Maybe she would die here, in a country thousands of kilometres from home. And he was the one who had brought her here.

  She had been so strong during the long journey. She was the one who had encouraged him and the children on the voyage across the stormy sea, as they passed through customs and crossed borders, as they listened to the clacking of train rails and the lethargic sound of tyres on tarmac as the bus raced through the night. He and Amina had whispered to the children when they couldn’t fall asleep, reassuring them that everything would be fine. He had failed them. He had failed Amina.

  Uneasy dreams tormented Karim. Dreams about the people he had betrayed mixed with dreams about Amina’s hair on fire, the devastated look on her face as she asked him why he had brought this misfortune upon them, why he had dragged her and the children to this god-forsaken land where no one would look them in the eye, no one wanted to welcome them and reach out a hand, and someone wanted to see them burn.

  Karim let the drugs carry him back to sleep. He had finally come to the end of the road.

  ‘There,’ said Gösta, pointing to the turn-off.

  They were halfway to Hamburgsund, and the road became narrow and winding as they turned off the paved road.

  ‘Does he live in the middle of the forest?’ asked Patrik, swerving to miss a cat that ran right in front of the car.

  ‘When I rang, he said he’s temporarily living with his grandfather. But I know Sixten slightly. He’s getting frail, and I’d already heard in town that his grandson had moved in to help him. I just didn’t realize it was Johannes Klingsby.’

  ‘That’s pretty common,’ said Patrik, increasing speed on the gravel road. ‘A grandchild stepping in to help the old folks, I mean.’

  ‘It’s this way,’ said Gösta, clutching the grab-handle above the door. ‘Slow down, would you! Being driven around by you has probably cut several years off my life.’

  Patrik smiled as he pulled into a small, well-kept farmyard with various vehicles parked in front of the farmhouse.

  ‘Looks like someone is fond of anything with a motor,’ he said, looking at the row of boats, cars, jet-skis, and bulldozers.

  ‘Stop drooling and come on,’ said Gösta, slapping him on the shoulder.

  Patrik tore himself away from all the vehicles and went up the stone steps to knock on the door. Johannes opened it immediately.

  ‘Come in, come in. I’m making coffee,’ he said, stepping aside to allow them in.

  Patrik was reminded of the previous occasion when they’d met, and he was grateful that this time it was under more pleasant circumstances, even though the business at hand was equally serious.

  ‘Grandpa, they’re here!’ called Johannes, and Patrik heard someone mumble a reply from upstairs. ‘Wait a minute and I’ll come help you down. You know what we talked about. You’re not supposed to take the stairs without help!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the voice from above, but Johannes quickly disappeared up the stairs.

  He soon reappeared, firmly gripping the arm of a stooped man wearing a worn cardigan.

  ‘It’s hell getting old,’ said the man, shaking hands with Patrik and Gösta.

  He peered at Gösta. ‘I know you.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ said Gösta with a smile. ‘I see you’ve got yourself a good helper.’

  ‘I don’t know what I would have done without Johannes. I wasn’t keen at first – I don’t think someone his age should be keeping an old man company – but he insisted. He’s a good boy, my Johannes, though he hasn’t always seen the best in people.’

  He patted his grandson’s cheek. Johannes shrugged, looking embarrassed. Then he led the way to the kitchen.

  They sat down in a bright little country kitchen, like so many Patrik had visited over the years. It was clean and tidy, but had never been updated. There was linoleum on the floor, the cupboards were original from the 1950s, and the tiles were bright yellow. Hanging on the wall was a big gilded clock steadily ticking, and the table was covered with an oilcloth decorated with red raspberries.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not making coffee the old-fashioned way on the cooker,’ said Johannes with a smile as he went over to the worktop. ‘Soon as I arrived, I threw out the old pot and brought in a real coffee maker. You have to admit you think the coffee is better now, right, Grandpa?’

  Sixten grunted agreement. ‘I suppose we have to give in to certain modern conveniences.’

  ‘Here you are,’ said Johannes, pouring coffee for their guests. ‘And help yourself to sugar if you like.’

  Then he sat down and his expression turned serious.
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  ‘So you’re interested in what I videotaped. Is that right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Patrik. ‘Gösta said he saw you filming at the farm before you set off with the search party. We’d like to see what you got.’

  ‘I didn’t know we weren’t supposed to take pictures. I wasn’t being a ghoul, I wanted to record how many volunteers had turned up to help out.’

  Johannes looked a little nervous.

  ‘But I stopped filming as soon as Gösta told me not to, and I didn’t post anything on Facebook or anywhere else. I swear I didn’t.’

  Gösta held up his hands to reassure him. ‘It’s not a problem, Johannes. In fact, you might be able to help us with the investigation. We’d like to have a look at the video. Is it on your mobile?’

  ‘Yes. I also saved it on a memory stick. You can take my phone, if you need to, but I’d rather you didn’t because I need it for my job and so …’ He blushed but went on: ‘So my girlfriend can reach me.’

  ‘He’s met such a nice girl,’ said Sixten, winking at Johannes. ‘They met in Thailand, and she’s a real beauty with dark hair and dark eyes. I told you that you’d meet somebody sooner or later, Johannes. Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ said Johannes, looking even more embarrassed. ‘Well, as I said, you can take my phone, but the whole video is on the stick, so maybe that will do?’

  ‘That will do,’ Patrik assured him.

  ‘But is it possible for us to have a look at it right now?’ asked Gösta, pointing to the mobile lying on the table.

  Johannes nodded, picked up the phone, and began scrolling through the videos.

  ‘Here. Here it is.’

  He slid the phone across to Gösta and Patrik with the display turned in the right direction. They leaned forward to focus on the video. It felt weird to look at the images now that they knew what the outcome of the search would be. When Johannes made the video, everyone had been filled with hope. That was evident in the eager expressions on people’s faces, the way they talked and gesticulated, forming groups and heading purposefully into the woods. Patrik caught a glimpse of himself, noticing how determined he looked. He also saw Gösta, who was talking to Eva, with his arm around her shoulders.