‘I can’t believe your parents let you have a gun.’
Sam snorted.
‘My father actually encourages it. Shooting is the only thing he thinks I’m good at.’
‘Are you good at it?’
‘Very.’
And it was true. It was as if his body knew exactly what to do in order to fire the bullet at a precise target.
‘I’ll show you first, then I’ll help you do it. Okay?’
She nodded and gave him a smile.
He loved seeing himself through her eyes. He became a better person. He became everything his father never thought he could be.
‘Take up a stance like this. Plant your feet firmly. Are you right-handed?’
‘Yes.’
‘So am I. Hold the gun in your right hand like this … Rack the slide and the bullet goes into the chamber.’
‘Okay.’
‘Now you’re ready to fire. Keep your hand steady. You should be able to see whatever you’re aiming at in the sight. If you can hold the gun steady, you’ll hit the intended target.’
He took up position, squinted, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Jessie jumped and screamed. Sam laughed.
‘Did I scare you?’
She nodded, but she had a big smile on her face. He motioned for her to stand next to him.
‘Now it’s your turn.’
He handed her the gun, then stood behind her and put his arms around her.
‘Hold it like this.’
He wrapped her fingers around the butt and moved her feet into the correct position.
‘Now you’re standing like you should and holding the gun properly. Do you have the target in sight? Are you aiming for the middle of it?’
‘Yup. I am.’
‘Good. I’m going to step away. I want you to squeeze the trigger. Do it gently, don’t pull too hard, no sudden movements. You need to caress it.’
Jessie stood straight, with her feet firmly planted, holding the gun as she should. She was breathing calmly.
Sam’s shoulders hunched as he waited for the gun to fire.
The shot hit the target, and Jessie jumped up and down.
‘Hey, watch out. You can’t jump around with a loaded gun!’ he shouted, but he was relieved to see how happy she was.
Jessie set down the gun and turned to give him a smile. She’d never looked more beautiful.
‘You’re so fierce,’ he said.
He put his arms around her and pulled her close. He held her tight, as if she were the only thing keeping him in this world. And that was probably true.
‘I love you,’ he gasped.
For a moment she didn’t speak. She looked up at him, a look of uncertainty in her eyes. As if she were wondering whether those words were truly meant for her. Then she smiled that wonderful smile of hers.
‘I love you too, Sam.’
‘Hi, Kristina!’ called Erica, a little too enthusiastically.
She was clearly feeling the effects of all the champagne she’d had, and she reminded herself to pull herself together. For safety’s sake she’d chewed menthol gum all the way home, and when she tested her breath by holding her hand in front of her mouth, she hadn’t smelled even a trace of alcohol.
‘So, I see you’ve had a couple of drinks,’ said Kristina when she came into the front hall.
Erica sighed. Her mother-in-law had a nose like a bloodhound. It was a wonder Patrik didn’t make use of her when the police needed help tracking a criminal.
‘Oh, you know. They offered me a glass at the gallery opening,’ she said.
‘One glass?’ Kristina snorted and went back to the kitchen.
A wonderful aroma was coming from the oven.
‘As usual, I could find nothing but that horrible ready-made food in the house, full of toxic ingredients. The children are going to end up growing tails if you insist on feeding them such rubbish. If you’d only do some real cooking once in a while …’
Erica stopped listening. Instead, she went over to the oven and opened the door. Kristina’s lasagne. Four casserole dishes, so there would be enough to freeze for later use.
‘Thank you,’ she said, impulsively giving her mother-in-law a hug.
Kristina looked at her in surprise.
‘Definitely more than one glass …’ She took off her apron, hung it up, and went out to the hall. ‘The children can eat when the lasagne is ready. They’ve been playing nicely, except for a little incident with a toy lorry, but we worked it out just fine, Maja and I. She’s such a sweet girl, so like Patrik when he was her age. He never made a fuss. He could sit on the floor for hours and play all by himself … But I’ve got to rush home now. There are so many things to do before the wedding, and Gunnar isn’t being much help. He wants to help, but he doesn’t really know how, so it’s better if I do it all myself. And they phoned from Stora Hotel, insisting that I go over there tomorrow to select the china I want them to use for the wedding dinner. And here was I thinking they only had one kind of china! Nothing about this wedding is proving to be easy, and I have to manage everything myself. I’m supposed to meet someone there at noon, but I hope it won’t take long. I asked them to text me photos of the china, but they said it was essential that I see the dishes in person. I’m going to have a heart attack before this is over.’
Kristina sighed. She was standing with her back to Erica as she put on her shoes, so she didn’t see Erica smiling. Anna had certainly come up with a good ploy to get Kristina to the hotel.
She waved to her mother-in-law and then went to find the children in the living room. The room looked unusually tidy, and Erica felt a mixture of gratitude and shame. It was a little embarrassing that Patrik’s mother felt the need to do some cleaning whenever she came over to their house, but there were certain things Erica prioritized above having a perfectly neat home. Of course she was happy to see everything so orderly, but in her mind that took third place compared to getting her work done or being a mother. And she also needed time to be a wife and maybe even to be Erica. And to manage all that, she sometimes had to prioritize watching an episode of Dr Phil instead of tidying up. But the fact that she occasionally simply let things go might be what prevented her from slamming into the proverbial wall.
The timer rang, and she went back to the kitchen to take the four pans of lasagne out of the oven. Her stomach growled loudly. She called the children, got them settled at the kitchen table, and served them and herself a big helping of the wonderfully aromatic food. She enjoyed chatting with the kids. As always, they had lots of questions and she’d learned that ‘because’ was no longer a sufficient reply.
After dinner the children were eager to go back to playing, so she cleaned up the dishes and put on some coffee. Five minutes later she could finally sit down to look at the diary Viola had given her. She began leafing through it. The diary was filled with scribblings and notes. She had a hard time deciphering the old-fashioned writing style, and she also discovered that Viola was right when she said her father had mostly used abbreviations. But he seemed to have recorded everything that happened each day, from meetings to weather reports. It felt strange to sit there holding the written account of a stranger’s life in her hands. Weekdays and weekends, day after day, with details both major and minor recorded in blue ink. Until she finally came to a blank page. She looked at the date of the last entry. It was the day he died.
Pensively she ran her hand over the page. She wondered what had made him decide that this particular day would be the last day of his life. There were no clues in the notes for that day. Nothing but a simple recording of sunshine, a light breeze, a walk to Sälvik, grocery shopping. The only thing that stuck out was the number 11. What could that refer to?
Erica frowned. She went back a few pages to see if she could find the same number somewhere else. No, that was the only time it appeared. But she did find a note for the previous week that caught her attention. She saw the number 55, followed by the note ‘2 p.m.’. Was 55 a co
de for someone he was supposed to meet at two? If so, who could it be? And had they met?
Erica put down the diary. Outside the light was changing from yellow to orange, and the sun was sinking below the horizon. It would soon be evening, but only the gods knew when Patrik would come home. She had a vague feeling there was something she should have remembered to tell him, but it had slipped her mind. She shrugged. It probably wasn’t important.
Patrik looked around the conference room as he stood at the whiteboard with a marker in his hand.
‘We’ve had some very long and intense days,’ he said. ‘But considering the latest developments, I want us to go over everything together and then divide up the tasks for tomorrow.’
‘Do you think it’s time to call in reinforcements?’ said Paula. ‘From Uddevalla or Gothenburg?’
Patrik shook his head. ‘I’ve already checked with them. Resources are limited because of cutbacks. So I’m afraid we’ll have to handle matters ourselves.’
‘Okay,’ said Paula, looking resigned.
Patrik could understand her dismay. Her children were even younger than his, and giving up so much family time was a strain.
‘Did you find out anything at the community centre?’ he asked. He wondered why Paula grinned at Martin when he asked that question.
‘No, nothing,’ said Martin, without meeting Paula’s eye. ‘No one saw anything. They were all asleep and were suddenly awakened by the screaming and commotion.’
‘Okay, thanks for trying. Gösta, can you tell us what you found out today?’
‘Of course,’ he said, with a certain pride.
And rightfully so, Patrik thought to himself. Gösta had done some excellent police work.
‘I had a feeling there was something wrong about that anonym-ous tip about the knickers that were so conveniently found in Karim’s home.’
Gösta avoided looking at Mellberg, who in turn kept his eyes angrily fixed on a knot in the tabletop.
‘And I knew I’d seen something pertinent … but I’m not twenty any more, and …’
He smiled wryly.
Patrik could see how tense everyone looked. They had realized something was afoot when he and Gösta returned to the station, but Patrik had wanted to wait until they were all gathered before briefing them.
‘The thing is, according to her mother, Nea was wearing a pair of knickers with an illustration from the Disney film Frozen. She’d bought a pack of five, and each one was a different colour. The knickers found in Karim’s home were blue, and there was something about them that I couldn’t get out of my head. And then it came to me, but I wasn’t sure how to prove I was right. You see, I wasn’t one hundred per cent—’
‘Good lord, get to the point,’ muttered Mellberg, earning himself icy glares from his colleagues.
‘I remembered that Johannes Klingberg, who was part of the group that found Nea, had used his mobile to video what was going on before he joined the search party. So Patrik and I went to see him, and we got a copy of the video. Patrik, would you like to show everyone?’
Patrik tapped on the computer keyboard he’d set up on the table. Then he turned the monitor at an angle so everyone could see.
‘What are we looking for?’ asked Martin, leaning forward.
‘Have a look and see if you can tell what it is. If you don’t see it, we’ll run the video again and point it out,’ said Patrik.
Everyone stared intently at the screen. The camera panned over the farm, back and forth, filming the house, the gravel yard, the barn, and all the people who had gathered.
‘There,’ said Gösta. ‘On the clothes line. Do you see?’
They leaned even closer.
‘Blue knickers!’ exclaimed Paula. ‘They’re hanging on the line!’
‘Exactly!’
Gösta clasped his hands behind his head.
‘Nea couldn’t possibly have had those knickers on when she disappeared, because they were hanging on the clothes line while we were searching for her.’
‘In other words, someone stole them and planted them in Karim’s house. And then they made an anonymous phone call, which Mellberg answered.’
‘Yes,’ said Patrik grimly. ‘Someone tried to place the blame on Karim, and my guess is that Karim wasn’t necessarily the specific target. I think whoever made the call just wanted to direct suspicion at someone at the refugee centre.’
Paula sighed. ‘There’s been a lot of talk in town about how one of the refugees must be the killer.’
‘And then somebody had the brilliant idea of taking matters into their own hands,’ said Patrik. ‘I think we can assume the motive was racist. The question is, was the same individual – or group – responsible for setting the fire.’
‘There have been arson attacks on refugee centres all over Sweden,’ said Gösta gloomily. ‘Some people think they’re above the law.’
‘Considering how many voted for Sveriges Vänner in the last election, I’m not surprised,’ said Patrik, shaking his head.
Sweden wasn’t alone in witnessing a surge in popularity for right-wing parties opposed to immigration. The same thing was happening all over Europe. People were even turning against second-generation immigrants, like Paula. But Patrik had never thought the tide of hatred would reach Fjällbacka.
‘I suggest that we separate this arson investigation from the investigation into Nea’s murder. I no longer think the two cases are related, and I don’t want to confuse things by mixing apples with oranges. We’ve already lost valuable time.’
‘It wasn’t that easy to work out,’ muttered Mellberg, but then he realized it was best to keep a low profile and fell silent.
‘Paula, I’d like you to take charge of the arson investigation, with help from Martin. Keep talking to the refugees, not only about when and how the fire was set, but also when the knickers might have been planted in Karim’s home. Did any of them see someone at the refugee centre who didn’t belong, and so on.’
‘It’s hard to know what time period we should be asking about,’ said Paula.
Patrik paused to think about this.
‘There must be a connection with the timing of the anonymous phone call. That came in around lunchtime on Thursday,’ he said. ‘Start there and work your way back in time. Gösta has checked with Nea’s family, and they have no idea when the knickers disappeared from the clothes line. So the only thing we know for sure is that they were there when the search party started. They could have been stolen from the farm at any time afterwards.’
Paula turned to Gösta.
‘Did you ask the family whether they’d noticed anyone who shouldn’t have been there?’
‘Yes, but they didn’t see anyone. It’s not hard to sneak on to the property from the woods and discreetly swipe something from the clothes line. It’s behind the house, near a wall with no windows.’
‘Okay,’ said Paula, jotting down a note. ‘I’d like us to check with our sources within the anti-immigrant organizations in the area. Maybe it wouldn’t be wise for me to do that, given my own “ethnic background”. Martin, could you do it?’
‘Definitely,’ he said.
Patrik hoped that Martin wouldn’t feel he’d been passed over because Paula had been put in charge instead of him. But he thought Martin was smart enough to know his time would come soon.
‘Good. Sounds like you’re on top of the situation, with regard to the investigation of the fire and the attempt to blame Karim. Stay in contact with the hospital as well, and keep me updated about what happens. How are the children doing, Paula? Have you been given permission to take them home?’
‘Yes, and everything’s set on the home front.’
Mellberg had been unusually quiet, but now his face lit up.
‘It’ll be fun for Leo to have some playmates.’
‘Good,’ said Patrik curtly.
He forced himself not to think too much about Karim and his family. Right now there was nothing he could do, other than a
ttempt to catch the person who had harmed them.
‘So now we need to talk about the homicide case. As you know, I’m not happy that we had to break off the search of the Berg family’s farm. I’ve spoken to Torbjörn, and his team will be available tomorrow afternoon so we can complete the search. We cordoned off the area, and we can only hope that nothing was compromised in any way. We’ll have to assume that’s the case.’
‘Yes, not much we can do about it,’ said Gösta.
Patrik knew he found it unpleasant to have to invade the Berg family home for a second time.
‘How’s it going, comparing the current homicide case to the old investigation?’ asked Patrik. Annika looked up from her notes.
‘I still haven’t managed to locate the old interview files in the archives, but I’ve gone through the forensic and technical reports again, plus all the material we received from Erica. There’s not much new for us to go on. You’ve all read the post-mortem report, you’ve seen the material from the crime scene, and you’ve heard what Erica had to say about Marie and Helen.’
‘Yes, and our conversations with Helen and Marie didn’t produce anything either. They claim they didn’t kill Stella, which means someone else did. And in theory that could be the same person we’re looking for now. Marie has an alibi. Helen doesn’t, but there’s nothing pointing at her.’
Martin reached for a Ballerina biscuit. The chocolate filling had melted in the heat, and he had to lick it off his fingers.
‘We’ll start with the search at the Berg farm tomorrow. Then we’ll go from there,’ said Patrik.
There were far too many blind alleys and too few leads for his liking. If they didn’t find more to go on, the investigation could easily grind to a standstill.
‘What about the chocolate found in Nea’s stomach? Could that give us some kind of lead?’ asked Paula.
Patrik shook his head. ‘Apparently it was from an ordinary chocolate bar, sold in every shop. We’d never be able to trace it. But since there was no chocolate found in the Berg home, Nea must have got it somewhere else that morning. Or someone gave it to her.’
‘What do you think about the fact that, at the end of his life, Leif had begun to doubt the girls were guilty?’ asked Gösta.
The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 42