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

by Camilla Lackberg

‘No, nothing like that. And no reports were ever filed against him. That’s why we never found anything on him.’

  ‘Okay. Good to know. Thanks, Gösta. We’ll have another talk with Peter.’

  Gösta nodded at the techs.

  ‘What’s going on here? Have you found something?’

  ‘A Kex chocolate bar wrapper up in the loft. But more importantly, we’ve found traces of blood. It’s been cleaned up, but it was visible when the techs sprayed Luminol. Right now we’re going to pull up the floorboards because Torbjörn thinks blood may have run underneath.’

  ‘My God,’ said Gösta, staring at the floor. ‘So you think—’

  ‘Yes,’ said Patrik. ‘I think Nea died here.’

  For a moment no one spoke. Then they began pulling up the first board.

  Bohuslän 1672

  A commotion outside the door woke Elin. For the first time in weeks she had slept soundly. It had done her good to take a long walk with Märta yesterday, just as the sun was setting over the meadows. And it had almost chased away her uneasy feeling about what Britta might do. Britta cared about appearances, so she would not want to live with the shame if people knew what had gone on between her husband and her sister. This was what Elin had managed to tell herself right before she fell asleep. The whole thing would blow over. Britta would be fully occupied caring for a baby in the house, and time had a way of making even the most overwhelming matters fade until they eventually vanished completely.

  She was having such a lovely dream about Märta when all the commotion jolted Elin from her slumber. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. She was the first of the maids to awake, so she swung her legs over the side of the bed she shared with Märta.

  ‘I am coming,’ she said, hurrying to the door. ‘What an awful tumult so early in the morning.’

  She opened the heavy wooden door. Outside stood Sheriff Jakobsson, a grim expression on his face.

  ‘I am looking for Elin Jonsdotter.’

  ‘I am Elin,’ she told him.

  Everyone was now awake, and she could tell they were listening tensely.

  ‘You are accused of witchcraft, and you must come with me to the gaol.’

  Elin stared at him. What was he saying? Witchcraft? Had he lost his senses?

  ‘There must be a misunderstanding,’ she said.

  Märta had slipped forward and was now holding on to Elin’s skirts. She pushed the child behind her.

  ‘There is no misunderstanding. We are here to take you into custody, and later you will be charged before the court.’

  ‘But this cannot be right. I am no witch. Speak with my sister. She is the vicar’s wife. She can affirm—’

  ‘It is Britta Willumsen who has accused you of witchcraft,’ the sheriff interrupted her, taking a firm grip on Elin’s arm.

  She fought against him as the sheriff dragged her outside. Märta screamed and held on to her skirts. Elin gasped when Märta fell to the ground behind her. As she watched the others rush forward to help her daughter, the sheriff gripped her arm even harder. Everything was whirling before her eyes. Britta had accused her of being a witch.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jessie’s hand shook slightly as she stood in front of the mirror in Vendela’s room. She didn’t want the mascara to clump.

  Behind her, Vendela was trying on a fourth dress, but she soon took that one off too, exclaiming with frustration, ‘I have nothing to wear! I’m getting fat!’

  Vendela pinched the nonexistent flab at her waist. Jessie turned around to look at her.

  ‘How can you say that? You’ve got a gorgeous figure. I could never compete.’

  It was more a statement than a complaint. Now that Sam loved her, she didn’t find her weight as repulsive as she used to.

  Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. It was as if everything had turned around for her after coming to Fjällbacka. She’d been so scared things would be even worse here, and then she’d met Sam, and now she’d become friends with Vendela, who was … Well, Vendela was so perfect and cool and worldly. She was like a human key to a world Jessie had always longed to be part of. All the harsh words and sly digs, all the scornful remarks, all the pranks and humiliations had now vanished. She was going to draw a line through all of what had been and forget the person she used to be. She was a new Jessie.

  Vendela seemed to have decided on the dress she was now wearing. A tight, knitted red dress that barely covered her knickers.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said, doing a pirouette in front of Jessie.

  ‘You look awesome,’ Jessie said, and she meant it.

  Vendela looked like a doll. Jessie saw her own reflection behind Vendela, and her new-found self-confidence abruptly disappeared. The blouse she wore looked like a sack, and her hair was stringy and oily, even though she’d washed it in the morning.

  Vendela must have noticed her dejected expression. She placed her hands on Jessie’s shoulders and pushed her down on to the chair in front of the mirror.

  ‘You know what? I could fix you up so you look really cute. Shall I have a try?’

  Jessie nodded. Vendela got out some bottles and jars, as well as three different curling irons and a straightening iron. Twenty minutes later Jessie had a whole new hairstyle. She looked at herself in the mirror and could hardly believe her eyes.

  She was a new Jessie, and she was going to a party. Life couldn’t get any better.

  Martin sat down next to Paula at the kitchen table in the station.

  ‘When are we going to hear about the tape?’ he asked.

  ‘The tape?’ said Paula. A second later she realized he was talking about the recording of the anonymous phone call.

  Good lord, she thought, my brain can’t function in this heat. And she’d hardly slept a wink all night. Lisa had been fussy and woke up so often that it almost didn’t seem worth it for Paula to go back to bed in between times. In the end she’d given up and settled down to do some work. But now she was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

  ‘We should hear something this week,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think we should have very high expectations.’

  ‘So are the children settling in okay?’ asked Martin, pouring her a big cup of coffee.

  It would be her eighth cup of the day – not that she was keeping count.

  ‘Yes, they’re doing fine. They arrived this morning. Patrik picked them up at the hospital and drove them over to our place.’

  ‘Did he find out anything more about Amina? Or Karim?’

  ‘Amina’s condition is unchanged,’ said Paula. ‘But Karim will be discharged soon.’

  ‘Is he going to be staying with you too?’

  ‘No, no, we don’t have room,’ said Paula. ‘The plan is for the municipality to arrange some sort of emergency housing for those who were affected by the fire. They reckon they’ll have a place for Karim by the time he’s discharged. Some of the refugees have already moved out of the community centre and into new accommodation. But I must say I’ve been happily surprised. People have opened their homes, offering their guestrooms and summer cottages. One couple even moved in with an aunt so they could lend their flat to a refugee family.’

  Martin shook his head.

  ‘One extreme to another. People are strange. Some want only to destroy, while others are ready to do whatever they can to help strangers. Just look at Bill and Gun. They’ve been over at the community centre every day from early morning until late at night.’

  ‘I know. It gives me hope for humanity.’

  Paula got up to fetch some milk from the fridge. She added a little to her coffee. She couldn’t drink it without milk.

  ‘I’m going home now,’ said Mellberg, sticking his head in the door. ‘Rita can’t handle all those kids on her own. I’ll stop by the bakery on the way and buy some cinnamon buns.’

  For a moment he looked confused.

  ‘They do eat cinnamon buns, don’t they?’

  Paula r
olled her eyes at Martin as she sat down at the table again.

  ‘Yes, they eat cinnamon buns, Bertil. They’re from Syria, not outer space.’

  ‘There’s no need to be rude just because I asked a simple question,’ said Mellberg, offended.

  Ernst tugged at his lead, eager to get going.

  Paula nodded and then gave Mellberg a smile.

  ‘I think the cinnamon buns will be a great success,’ she told him. ‘But don’t forget to buy some Wienerbröd for Leo.’

  Mellberg snorted.

  ‘Do you think I’d forget that Grandpa’s little darling prefers Wienerbröd?’

  He left the room, taking Ernst with him.

  ‘What did I ever do to deserve him?’ said Paula as he disappeared down the corridor.

  Martin shook his head.

  ‘I’ll never understand that man.’

  Paula’s expression turned serious. ‘Have you checked on the racist factions?’

  ‘I phoned some of my informants from the past, and they all denied knowing anything about the fire.’

  ‘Not surprising,’ said Paula. ‘We can’t exactly expect somebody to raise his hand and say: “We’re the ones who did it.”’

  ‘No, but they’re not the smartest people in the world, so sooner or later somebody’s bound to talk. And maybe someone will feel an incentive to gossip … It’s possible, anyway. I’ll keep rattling their cages, and we’ll see what happens.’

  Paula took a sip of her coffee. Fatigue was making her body feel heavy and clumsy.

  ‘Do you think the search at the Berg family farm will produce any results?’

  ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘We found nothing inside the house. I don’t think the family had anything to do with it. So probably not.’

  ‘We’re going to run out of leads pretty soon,’ said Paula. ‘We have no witnesses, no physical evidence, and we haven’t found any connection to the Stella case, in spite of the similarities. I’m actually beginning to think there is no connection. The Stella case is so well known in the area – everybody knows all the details, including where she was found. There are no secrets about it. Anybody could copy the murder. The only question is, why would they?’

  ‘What about the fact that Leif ended up doubting the girls were guilty? What made him suddenly change his mind? And why did he then kill himself?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Paula wearily, rubbing her eyes. ‘It feels as though we’re treading water. And on top of everything else we have the arson investigation. Do you think we’ll ever get to the bottom of all this?’

  ‘Of course we will,’ said Martin, getting up.

  Paula merely nodded. She wanted to believe him, but fatigue was making her feel hopeless. She wondered if her colleagues felt the same way.

  ‘I’ve got to go now. There’s something I have to do,’ said Martin, shifting from one foot to the other.

  At first Paula didn’t know what he meant. Then she gave him a big smile.

  ‘Oh, right. Today’s the big day. Dinner with the woman from the community centre.’

  Martin looked embarrassed.

  ‘Er, well … It’s just dinner. Then we’ll have to see what happens.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Paula with a knowing look. Martin’s response was to give her the finger.

  She laughed and called after him as he headed for the front door: ‘Good luck! Remember – it’s like riding a bike!’

  His only answer was to slam the door behind him. She glanced at her watch. Another hour of work, she decided, and then she’d call it a day.

  Basse lived in an older house with bay windows and lots of nooks and crannies. Jessie thought she would enjoy being in a house that was so different from anywhere else she’d ever lived. But when a complete stranger opened the door and she caught a glimpse of the crowd inside, she was suddenly nervous.

  Almost everyone at the party was drunk but also self-assured in a way that Jessie was not. She was never welcome at these kinds of parties. She wanted to back away and run home, but Vendela took her hand and pulled her over to a table at the far end of the living room. It was crammed with bottles of beer, wine, and a variety of spirits.

  ‘Does all that belong to Basse’s parents?’ asked Jessie.

  ‘No, that would never work,’ said Vendela, tossing her long, blond hair. ‘Everybody usually brings whatever they can to the party.’

  ‘I could have brought some champagne,’ murmured Jessie, feeling stupid.

  Vendela laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re new. A guest of honour. What would you like?’

  Jessie surveyed the bottles on the table.

  ‘I’ve only ever had champagne,’ she said.

  ‘Then it’s time you had a proper cocktail. I’ll mix it for you.’

  Vendela reached for a big plastic cup. She poured from various bottles and then added a little Sprite.

  ‘Here!’ she said, handing the full cup to Jessie. ‘This should be super!’

  Vendela took another plastic cup and filled it to the brim with white wine from a box.

  ‘Skål!’ she said, tapping Jessie’s cup with her own.

  Jessie took a sip and forced herself not to grimace. It tasted strong, but she’d never had a cocktail before, so maybe that’s how it was supposed to taste. And Vendela seemed to know what she was doing.

  Vendela nodded towards the other end of the room.

  ‘Nils and Basse are over there.’

  Jessie took another sip of her drink. It tasted better than the first sip. There were so many people, and none of them was giving her a scornful or contemptuous look. Instead, they seemed curious. But curious in a good way. At least, that’s how it felt.

  Vendela again took her hand and led her past all the people who were talking, dancing, and laughing.

  The boys were slouched on a big sofa, each holding a beer. They nodded at Jessie, and Vendela sat down on Nils’s lap.

  ‘Shit, you guys are so late,’ said Nils, pulling Vendela close. ‘How long does it take to put on make-up and get dressed?’

  Vendela giggled when Nils brushed her hair aside and kissed her on the back of the neck.

  Jessie sat down on a big white armchair next to the sofa, trying not to stare too much at Nils and Vendela as they kissed.

  She leaned towards Basse.

  ‘So, where are your parents?’

  The music was now pounding full blast.

  ‘They’re out sailing,’ said Basse, with a shrug. ‘That’s what they always do in the summer. But the last two summers I haven’t gone with them.’

  Vendela stopped kissing Nils and gave Jessie a smile.

  ‘They think he has a summer job,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’

  It’s true that Jessie’s mother wouldn’t even notice if she was gone for three weeks, but this was different. Imagine thinking up that sort of lie.

  ‘They said I had to work if I was going to stay home,’ said Basse, taking a swig of beer. He spilled a little on his shirt but didn’t seem to notice. ‘I told them I got a job at TanumStrand. They don’t know anyone there, so they can’t check up on me.’

  ‘But won’t they wonder what happened to your pay?’

  ‘They have a huge wine cellar with lots of expensive wine that they don’t keep track of, so while they’re away, I sell a few bottles.’

  Jessie gave him a surprised look. She hadn’t thought Basse was that smart.

  ‘Nils usually helps me,’ he added.

  Jessie nodded. That explained things. She took another sip of her drink. It burned her throat but did nothing to calm the happy butterflies in her stomach. Was this what it was like to belong? To be part of a group?

  ‘Too bad Sam didn’t want to come,’ said Nils, leaning back against the sofa.

  Jessie felt a sudden pang. Why did Sam have to be so stubborn? They clearly thought they had behaved badly.

  ‘He couldn’t make it tonight. But we’re both coming to the party at the community centre next Saturda
y.’

  ‘Oh, cool!’ said Nils, raising his beer bottle in a toast.

  Jessie took her mobile out of her purse and sent a quick text to Sam:

  Everything’s fine, everyone is cool, and I’m having a great time.

  He instantly texted back a thumbs up emoji with a smiley. She smiled and put her mobile back in her purse. She could hardly believe how wonderful it all was. This was the first time in her life that she felt … normal.

  ‘Do you like your drink?’ asked Nils, pointing his beer bottle at her cup.

  ‘Sure. It’s great!’ she said, taking a few more sips.

  Nils shoved Vendela off his lap and swatted her on the rear.

  ‘Go make another drink for Jessie. She’s almost done with that one.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Vendela, tugging down her short dress. ‘I’m almost done with my wine, so I’ll get both of us more drinks.’

  ‘Bring me a beer too,’ said Basse, setting his empty bottle on the table.

  ‘I’ll try to carry it all.’

  Vendela made her way through the crowd to the drinks table at the other end of the room. Jessie didn’t know what to say. Sweat had started running down her back, and she probably had big patches under her arms. She wanted to run away, but she kept her eyes fixed on the rug.

  ‘So what’s it like having a film star for a mother?’ asked Basse.

  Jessie inwardly cringed, but she was grateful someone else had started up a conversation. Even though it was not her favourite topic.

  ‘I don’t know. My mother is just my mother. I don’t really think of her as a film star.’

  ‘But you must have met tons of cool people.’

  ‘Sure. But they’re just ordinary colleagues for my mother.’

  Should she tell them what it was really like? That she’d hardly ever been part of Marie’s life. That she’d been left at home with an endless stream of nannies when she was little while Marie was shooting films or attending various functions. As soon as she was old enough, Jessie had been sent to boarding schools all around the world, wherever Marie happened to be filming. When she was at school in England, Marie had been gone for six months, making a film in South Africa.