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

by Camilla Lackberg

  They had decided against a church wedding. It would be a quick civil ceremony, followed by dinner at the inn. Then she and James would spend the night at her parents’ home before going to his house – or rather, their house – in Fjällbacka. The same house where her family had lived before being forced to move.

  No one had asked Helen for her opinion, but how could she object? The noose around her neck was there day and night, reminding her of the thousand reasons why she should close her eyes and obey. But part of her longed to escape. Longed for freedom.

  She cast a surreptitious glance at James as they approached the judge who would marry them. Would he be prepared to grant her a tiny sliver of freedom? She was eighteen now. An adult. No longer a child.

  Helen reached for his hand. Wasn’t that what people did? Hold hands when they got married? But he kept his hands tightly clasped by his sides. The label on her dress scratched as she listened to the judge’s words. He asked them questions that she didn’t know how to answer, but somehow she managed to say yes in all the right places.

  When it was over, she met her mother’s eye. Harriet turned away with a clenched fist pressed to her mouth.

  The dinner was as brief as the ceremony had been. KG and James drank whisky, and Harriet sipped at her wine. Helen had also been given a glass of wine, her first. In that instant she had gone from child to adult. She knew her mother had made up the bed in the guestroom for them. The pull-out bed that became a double bed. Clean blue sheets and a blue blanket. During the whole dinner Helen kept picturing those sheets and the pull-out bed she was going to share with James. No doubt the food was good, but she didn’t eat a thing, merely pushed the food around on her plate.

  When they got home, her parents said good night. KG suddenly seemed embarrassed. He reeked of all the whisky he’d had at dinner. James also smelled rank and smoky, and he stumbled when they went into the guestroom. Helen undressed while James was in the bathroom; she could hear him emptying his bladder. She put on a big T-shirt and crawled under the blanket, close to the wall. Stiff as a board, she waited as James turned off the light, waited for what would happen next. Waited for the touch that would change everything for ever. But nothing happened. And after a few seconds she heard James’s drunken snoring. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of the little girl with the reddish blond hair.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  ‘I told you that you wouldn’t find anything that hadn’t been registered,’ said James, leaning back in the chair in the small interview room.

  Patrik had to fight the urge to wipe the arrogant look off James’s face.

  ‘I have permits for a Colt 1911, a Smith & Wesson, and a hunting rifle – a Sauer 100 Classic model,’ James recited, calmly meeting Patrik’s eye.

  ‘Why are there bullets and casings from other weapons at your target practice site?’ asked Patrik.

  ‘How should I know? It’s no secret that I go out there for target practice. Anyone could have gone there to use the target I set up.’

  ‘Without you noticing?’ asked Patrik, unable to hide his scepticism.

  James merely smiled.

  ‘I’m away for long periods of time. I can’t possibly keep track of what goes on out there. Nobody would dare use the site when I’m home, but most people in town know when I’m gone and how long I’ll be away. It’s probably some kids, sneaking out there to shoot.’

  ‘Kids? With sub-machine guns?’ said Patrik.

  ‘Kids today,’ James sighed. ‘What is the world coming to?’

  ‘You think this is funny?’ asked Patrik, annoyed with himself for letting James get under his skin. Jensen was the epitome of that smug, superior, macho type who thought Darwin’s survival of the fittest was the highest principle a man could aspire to.

  ‘Of course not,’ said James, smiling even more.

  They had searched the whole house, but the only weapons they found were the three guns registered to James. Yet he knew James was lying. There had to be a cache of weapons somewhere close by, so that they’d be easily accessible, but where the police wouldn’t be able to find them. After searching the house, they had gone through a small garden shed. There weren’t many other places on the property to look, but theoretically James could have hidden the guns anywhere. The police couldn’t search the whole woods.

  ‘So did Leif Hermansson contact you on the third of July, the day of his death?’

  ‘As I told you before, I never had any contact with Leif Hermansson. The only thing I know about him is that he was the officer in charge of the investigation when my wife was accused of murder.’

  ‘Accused and found guilty,’ said Patrik, mostly to see what the man’s reaction would be if he ticked him off.

  ‘Based on a confession that she later retracted,’ replied James.

  No emotion. His gaze as steady as ever.

  ‘But why confess if she wasn’t guilty?’ Patrik persisted.

  ‘She was a child,’ James sighed. ‘She was confused and no doubt pressured to say things she didn’t want to say. But what does that have to do with this? Why are you interested in the guns I own? You know what I do for a living. Guns are part of my life. It’s not exactly strange for me to have guns in my possession.’

  ‘You own a Colt M1911,’ said Patrik, ignoring his questions.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ replied James. ‘The jewel of my collection. A legendary gun. And I have the original model, not one of the later copies.’

  ‘And you load it with full-jacketed .45 calibre bullets ACP, right?’

  ‘Do you even know what that means?’ sneered James. Patrik forced himself to count silently to ten.

  ‘Weapons proficiency is part of police training,’ said Patrik deliberately, not acknowledging that he’d been forced to ask Torbjörn a lot of questions on that very topic.

  ‘Sure. And in the big cities I dare say they put that training to use. But out here in the sticks, the old schoolbook learning gets rusty real fast,’ said James.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ said Patrik, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘Do you load your weapon with full-jacketed .45 calibre bullets ACP?’

  ‘Yes, I do. It’s a first-class ABC.’

  ‘How long have you owned the gun?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve had it a very long time. It was my first. My father gave it to me when I was seven.’

  ‘So you’re a good shot?’ asked Patrik.

  James sat up straight.

  ‘One of the best.’

  ‘Do you keep an eye on your guns? Could anyone have borrowed the Colt without you knowing? For instance, when you’re away from home?’

  ‘I always keep my guns under lock and key. Why this interest in my Colt? And in Leif? If I recall correctly, he killed himself a long time ago. Something about his wife dying of cancer …’

  ‘So you haven’t heard?’ Patrik asked.

  He felt a flutter of satisfaction when he caught a glimpse of uncertainty in James’s eyes.

  ‘Heard what?’ asked James. His tone of voice was so neutral, Patrik wasn’t sure he’d seen correctly.

  ‘We’ve dug him up.’

  He purposely let the sentence hang in the air. For a long moment James didn’t say a word.

  Then he said: ‘Dug him up?’ as if he didn’t understand what Patrik meant.

  Patrik saw through the attempt to buy time in which to formulate an answer.

  ‘Yes. New information came to light, so we opened the grave. It turns out Leif’s death was not a suicide. He couldn’t possibly have shot himself with the gun he was holding when his body was found.’

  James was silent. The arrogance was still there, but Patrik thought he sensed an opening, a trace of vulnerability, and he decided to exploit it.

  ‘We’ve also received information that you were in the woods on the day the little girl named Stella was murdered.’ He paused and then made a statement that was such an exaggeration it could be classified as a lie: ‘There’s a witness.’


  James showed no reaction, but a tiny blood vessel began throbbing at his temple as he weighed up his next move.

  Finally he got to his feet.

  ‘I assume you don’t have enough to arrest me,’ he said. ‘So this conversation is over.’

  Patrik smiled. He’d succeeded in wiping that smug grin off Jensen’s face. Now they just needed to find proof.

  ‘Come in,’ said Erica, expectantly.

  She’d been more than surprised when Helen phoned to ask if she could come over.

  ‘Did you bring Sam with you?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I dropped him off at a friend’s house,’ Helen said, looking down.

  Erica stepped aside to let her come in.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re here, at any rate,’ she said, biting her tongue to keep from asking any questions.

  Patrik had called to tell Erica they suspected James of being the green man. He’d probably been running around in the woods, dressed in camouflage gear, and that’s where Stella had bumped into him when she went for a walk. According to Patrik, the police thought he might have been the person Marie heard in the woods on the day Stella died.

  ‘Do you have any coffee?’ asked Helen, and Erica nodded.

  In the living room, Noel and Anton were quarrelling again, and they weren’t paying any attention to Maja’s scolding. Erica went over and in her most authoritative voice told them to stop. When that didn’t work, she resorted to measures familiar to desperate parents in need of peace and quiet: she got ice lollies from the freezer and handed one to each of the kids. All three children sat down to eat their ice cream while Erica went back to the kitchen with a churning feeling in her stomach that she was a bad parent.

  ‘I remember times like that,’ said Helen with a smile.

  She accepted a cup of coffee and the two of them sat down at the kitchen table. For a few minutes neither woman spoke. Then Erica got up to fetch some chocolate bars, which she set on the table.

  Helen shook her head.

  ‘No, thanks. Not for me. I’m allergic to chocolate,’ she said, taking a sip of coffee.

  Erica took a big bite, promising herself to give up sugar next Monday. This week was already a lost cause, so it was no use beginning today.

  ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about Stella,’ said Helen.

  Erica raised her eyebrows in surprise. Not a word about why Helen had suddenly turned up here. Not a word about what had happened. Because something must have happened. She could feel it in her whole body. Helen radiated a nervous energy that was impossible to ignore, but Erica didn’t dare ask the cause for fear of scaring her off. She needed to hear Helen’s story. So she didn’t say a word, just sipped her coffee and waited for Helen to go on.

  ‘I didn’t have any siblings,’ said Helen at last. ‘I don’t know why, and I would never have asked my parents. We didn’t talk about things like that. So I liked being with Stella. We lived right next door, and she was always so happy to see me whenever I came over. I enjoyed playing with her. She had so much energy! She was always bouncing around. I can see her now, that reddish blond hair, those freckles. She hated her hair colour until I told her I thought it was more beautiful than any other colour. Then she changed her mind.

  ‘Stella was always asking questions. About everything. Why was it so hot, why was there wind, why were some flowers white and others blue, why was the grass green and the sky blue and not the other way around? Thousands and thousands of questions. And she wouldn’t give up until she heard an answer that was acceptable. You couldn’t get away with saying “because” or offering some stupid reason. She would keep on asking until the answer sounded right to her.’

  Helen was talking so fast that she ran out of breath and had to pause.

  ‘I liked her family. It wasn’t like mine. The Strands hugged each other and laughed together. They used to hug me too when I came over, and Stella’s mother would joke with me and stroke my hair. Stella’s father used to say that I needed to stop growing so tall or I’d end up with my head in the clouds. Sometimes Sanna would play with us. But she was more serious, more like a mini-mother to Stella, and she usually followed her mother around, wanting to help with the laundry or cooking supper. She wanted to be a grown-up, while Stella’s world was filled with games from morning to night. And I was so proud that I was allowed to babysit for her occasionally. I think her parents noticed, because sometimes it didn’t seem like they actually needed a babysitter, but they saw how happy it made me.’

  Helen stopped and looked at Erica.

  ‘Would it be too rude to ask for more coffee?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Erica got up to refill Helen’s cup. It seemed as if a dam had burst, and now everything was simply pouring out of her.

  ‘When I made friends with Marie, it took a while before my parents reacted,’ said Helen. ‘They were so immersed in their own affairs – all their parties, clubs, and arrangements. They didn’t have much time to wonder who I was spending my time with. When they realized Marie and I had become friends, they were wary, and as time went on and we grew closer, they got more and more disapproving. Marie was not welcome in our home, and we couldn’t go to her house. Her house was … Well, it wasn’t a pleasant place. But we still tried to see each other as often as we could. When my parents found out, they banned me from seeing her. We were thirteen and had no say in the matter. Marie didn’t care what her parents thought, and they couldn’t care less where she was or who she saw. But I didn’t dare defy my parents. I wasn’t strong like Marie. I was used to obeying my parents – I didn’t know how to act any other way. So I tried to stop seeing Marie. I really tried.’

  ‘But didn’t the two of you have permission to babysit Stella together on that day?’ asked Erica.

  ‘Yes. Stella’s father ran into my father and asked him. He had no idea we weren’t supposed to see each other. For once, Pappa was caught off guard, so he said yes.’

  She swallowed.

  ‘We had so much fun that day. Stella loved our outing to Fjällbacka. She skipped and ran the whole way home. That was why we took the path through the woods. Stella loved the woods, and since she didn’t want to sit in the pushchair, we thought we might as well go home that way.’

  Helen’s voice quavered as she looked at Erica.

  ‘Stella was happy when we dropped her off at the farm. I remember that. She was so happy. We’d bought ice cream, and she’d held our hands, and she’d skipped all the way home. She was bubbling over with energy. We’d answered all her questions, and she hugged us like a little monkey. I remember how her hair tickled my nose. She thought it was so funny when I sneezed.’

  ‘What about the man in the woods?’ The words were out before Erica could stop herself. ‘Stella’s imaginary friend, the one she called the green man? Could it have been a real person, not just imaginary? Was it James? Was your husband the man in the woods? Was it James that Marie was talking about?’

  Erica saw the panic in Helen’s eyes, and she realized she’d made a big mistake. Helen’s breathing was suddenly abrupt and shallow, and her expression was that of a hunted animal just before the shot was fired. She jumped up and dashed out of the house.

  Erica remained sitting at the kitchen table, cursing herself. Helen had been so close to telling her something that could unlock the secrets of the past. But Erica’s eagerness had ruined everything. Wearily she picked up the coffee cups and set them on the worktop. Outside she heard Helen’s car pull away.

  ‘These days they use 3D technology to analyse bullets,’ said Gösta when Paula came into the station kitchen.

  ‘How do you know that?’ she asked, sitting down.

  She placed Dagmar’s notebook on the table.

  Sometimes she wondered if they actually spent more time in the small, yellow-painted kitchen than in their own offices. Tossing around ideas with colleagues was one way to gain a new perspective on things. Besides, it was more pleasant to sit and work in the kitchen than in their cramped offices
. Plus it was closer to the coffee pot.

  ‘I read about it in Kriminalteknik,’ he told her. ‘That journal is a mine of information. Every issue is packed with the latest advances in forensics.’

  ‘But even with this 3D technology, can they match a bullet with a specific gun? Or even two bullets from the same gun?’

  ‘Well, according to the article, no two groove patterns are identical. All sorts of factors come into play: the age of the gun, the condition it’s in—’

  ‘So you’re saying it is possible to get a match?’

  ‘I think so,’ replied Gösta. ‘Especially with this new 3D technique.’

  ‘Torbjörn said it looked as if someone had used a file on the Colt.’ Paula shifted position to avoid the blazing sun coming in the window.

  ‘Someone!’ said Gösta with a snort. ‘I’m sure James did that right after we asked him whether he’d been in contact with Leif. He’s a shrewd guy – I’ll give him that much.’

  ‘He’s going to have a hard time coming up with an explanation if the bullet that killed Leif matches the bullets we found in the woods near his property,’ she said, sipping at her coffee.

  She made a face. Gösta must have been the one who brewed the coffee. He always made it too weak.

  ‘Yes, but I’m worried we might not get another chance to question him. He’s due to go abroad again soon, and it’s going to take a while to get the analysis back from the lab. We can’t arrest him before we have the results.’

  ‘But his family is here.’

  ‘Do you get the impression he’s particularly family-oriented?’

  ‘No,’ sighed Paula. She hadn’t considered the possibility that James might skip the country.

  ‘Can we link him to the Stella case?’