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

by Camilla Lackberg

  When at last Hierne announced he had no more questions for Märta, Britta stepped forward to lead her away. Märta took Britta’s hand and they headed for the door, but right before they left the little girl turned to give Elin a big smile and wave.

  ‘I hope Mamma will soon come home!’ she said. ‘I miss you!’

  At that moment Elin’s strength gave out. She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands as she wept the tears of the condemned.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ‘How are you doing in your new living quarters?’ asked Bill. To his relief he could now make himself understood in Swedish if he spoke slowly and clearly.

  ‘We’re good,’ said Khalil.

  Bill wondered whether he was telling the truth. Both Adnan and Khalil looked tired, and the rebellious teenage spirit of Adnan seemed to have vanished.

  Tomorrow Karim would be discharged from hospital. He would go home to be with his children, but Amina would not be there.

  ‘Turn up in the wind,’ he said in English, nodding to port.

  Adnan did as he said. They were much better sailors by now. But their joy was gone. It seemed as if the wind had been knocked out of their sails, which Bill realized was an apt description, considering the circumstances.

  He hadn’t talked to Nils, and he knew it was because he dreaded doing so. He had no idea what to say to his son. There was such a distance between them. Even Gun didn’t know how to deal with him. Nils would come sauntering home late at night and go straight up to his room. Then the music would start pounding. The nearest he came to conversing with them was a grunted acknowledgement as he passed by.

  Bill carefully trimmed the sail. He should be offering more instructions, making use of the hour to teach them as much as possible before the Dannholmen race. But their faces looked grey against the white sails, and he suspected his own expression was equally resigned. Enthusiasm had always been his trademark, but now it eluded him, and he didn’t know who he was without it.

  When he gave an order to tack, they obeyed, silently and without protest. Without heart. Like a crew of phantoms.

  For the first time since Bill began this project, he felt doubt. How could they sail without any joy? It took more than wind to sail a boat.

  It was early in the morning when they knocked on the door of Helen and James’s house. Patrik had phoned Paula the moment he got up, asking her to go with him. There was no way of knowing whether the plan he and Erica had devised would work, but if he’d read Helen right, they were in with a chance.

  The door opened and Helen stood there, giving them an enquiring look. She was fully dressed, looking as if she’d been awake for hours.

  ‘We need to ask you a few questions. Would you mind coming with us?’

  Patrik held his breath, hoping James was not at home. He would undoubtedly object and send them on their way. They had no warrant allowing them to bring Helen in for questioning. Nothing that could force her to come with them. They were relying on Helen’s good will.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, casting a glance over her shoulder.

  It looked as if she wanted to do something, but then she changed her mind. She picked up a jacket from a hook in the hall and followed them. She didn’t ask what they wanted, nor did she voice any anger or objections. She merely bowed her head and quietly got into the police car. Patrik tried to chat with her on the way to the station, but she answered only in monosyllables.

  When they entered the station, he got two cups of coffee from the kitchen and led the way to an interview room. Helen remained silent, and he wondered what she was thinking. For his part, he caught himself yawning and had to make a real effort to remain clear-headed. He’d lain awake all night, going over everything, examining all the threads of the case – or rather, cases – and the insights he’d arrived at with Erica’s help. Though he still couldn’t fully grasp how those threads might be woven together, he was convinced that Helen had the answer.

  ‘All right if I record our conversation?’ he asked, pointing at the tape recorder on the table.

  Helen nodded.

  ‘We spoke to your husband yesterday,’ he began. When Helen didn’t react, he went on. ‘We have evidence linking him to the murder of Leif Hermansson. I assume you recognize the name?’

  ‘Yes, he was in charge of the investigation in the Stella case.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Patrik, nodding. ‘We think your husband killed Leif.’

  He waited for her reaction. She didn’t reply, but he noticed that she didn’t seem surprised by the accusation.

  ‘Do you know anything about that?’ he asked, staring at her intently, but she merely shook her head.

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘We also have reason to believe that your husband has weapons at home for which he has no permit. Are you aware of this?’

  She shook her head but didn’t say a word.

  ‘I need to have a verbal response for the tape,’ he said.

  Helen hesitated but then said, ‘No, I am not aware of that.’

  ‘Do you know what motive your husband would have had for murdering the police officer who investigated the Stella case? A homicide that you and Marie were found guilty of committing?’

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and repeated: ‘No. I have no idea.’

  ‘You don’t know why he did it?’ asked Patrik.

  ‘No. I don’t know whether he killed Leif. So I have no idea what the motive would be,’ she said. For the first time she looked him in the eye.

  ‘But I’m telling you that we have evidence he did it. What’s your reaction to that?’

  ‘You’ll have to show me the evidence,’ said Helen. A sense of calm had settled over her.

  Patrik paused for a moment and then said, ‘Maybe we should talk about the murder of Linnea Berg.’

  Helen looked him in the eye. ‘My husband was out of town when that happened.’

  ‘We know,’ said Patrik calmly. ‘But you were home. What were you doing that morning?’

  ‘I’ve already told you. What I always do, every morning. I went for a run.’

  Her gaze wavered briefly.

  ‘But you didn’t go running that morning, Helen. You killed a little girl. We don’t know why. That’s what we’d like you to tell us.’

  Helen didn’t speak. Her eyes were fixed on the tabletop. Her hands lay on her lap, motionless.

  For a moment Patrik felt sympathy for her, but then he remembered what she’d done, and he went on, his voice steely.

  ‘Helen. The search of your house we carried out yesterday is nothing compared to what we’re going to do to find traces of how you murdered an innocent child. We’re going to look everywhere. We’re going to examine every detail of your life, your family’s life.’

  ‘You have no proof,’ said Helen hoarsely.

  But he saw her hands were trembling.

  ‘Helen,’ he said softly. ‘We have your fingerprints on a chocolate wrapper we found in the barn. We have your fingerprints on the girl’s body. It’s over. If you don’t confess, we’re going to turn your whole world upside down until we find every little secret that you and your family are hiding. Is that what you want?’

  He tilted his head to one side as he looked at her.

  Helen stared at her hands. Then she slowly raised her head.

  ‘I killed her,’ she said. ‘And I killed Stella.’

  Erica looked at everything she had tacked up on the wall. All the photographs, articles and excerpts from the old technical and forensic reports, along with the transcripts of her conversations with Harriet, Viola, Helen, Marie, Sam, and Sanna. She looked at the picture of Stella next to the picture of Nea. The cases were finally closed. Their families had been given closure; sadly it had come too late for Stella’s parents, but at least Sanna now knew what had happened to her little sister. When Patrik rang to say that Helen had confessed to both murders, Erica’s first thought had been for Sanna. The one who had been
left all alone.

  Erica wondered how Nea’s parents had reacted to the news. Whether it was worse knowing a neighbour had killed their daughter, a familiar face, someone they knew. Or whether it would have been worse if the killer had been a stranger. It probably made no difference. Either way, their child was gone. Erica also wondered whether they would continue to live on the farm. She didn’t think she would have been able to do that. The place would be filled with memories of a lively, laughing child they would never see running about the property again. The farm would be a constant reminder.

  She turned on her computer and opened Word. All the months of research, getting to know the people involved, tracking down facts and filling in holes in the story, had led to this moment. Now she could start writing the book. She knew exactly where to begin. With two little girls who had only a few years on this earth. She wanted to make them come alive for the reader, ensure their memory would linger in the mind long after finishing the book. Taking a deep breath, she set her fingers on the keyboard.

  Stella and Linnea were alike in many ways. Their lives were filled with imagination and adventures. Their world was a farm next to a wooded area. Stella loved the woods. She went there as often as she could to play with her friend the green man. Whether he was real or imaginary, we may never know. All the questions have not been answered, and we can only surmise. Linnea’s favourite place was the barn. In that dim and quiet space she played as often as she could. Her best friend was not an imaginary friend but the family’s cat. For Stella and Linnea there were no boundaries. Their imagination could take them wherever they wanted to go. They were safe. They were happy. Until one day when they encountered someone who wanted to do them harm. This is the story about Stella and Linnea. This is the story about two little girls who learned much too soon that the world is not always a good place.

  Erica lifted her hands off the keyboard. She would be fine-tuning the words and sentences many times over the next few months. But she knew this was where she wanted to begin; this was how she wanted to set up the story. Her books never confined themselves to black and white. She had occasionally been criticized for being too understanding towards those who had committed crimes, especially when the crimes in question were brutal and repulsive. But Erica refused to believe that anyone was born evil. Everyone was somehow shaped by their fate. Some became victims. Some became perpetrators. As yet, she hadn’t heard the details of Helen’s account of what happened, or what her motive was for taking the lives of these two little girls. In many ways it was incomprehensible that the soft-spoken woman who had sat in her kitchen only yesterday was the murderer of two children. Yet so much had now fallen into place. Erica now understood that the nervous energy emanating from Helen had been guilt. That was why Helen panicked when she’d questioned her about James’s role in Stella’s murder; she didn’t want him to be blamed for something she had done.

  A murder affected so many people. The effects spread like rings on the water, but those at the epicentre were hit the hardest. And their sorrow would be passed down through the generations. Erica wondered what would happen to Helen’s son. Sam had seemed so vulnerable when she met him. Try as he might to appear hard, with his raven-black hair, his black clothing, black nail polish, and kohl-rimmed eyes, she’d seen how sensitive he was. When they talked, she’d felt his desperate need for someone in whom he could confide. Now he’d be left all alone, with only his father. Another child’s life destroyed.

  And one question kept going through Erica’s mind: Why?

  Gösta had gone to see the Berg family to give them the news. He didn’t want to tell them on the phone. That felt too cold, too impersonal. Nea’s parents needed to hear it from him, face to face.

  ‘Helen?’ said Eva in disbelief. She grabbed Peter’s hand. ‘But why?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ said Gösta.

  Peter’s parents sat in silence. Their suntans had faded, and they had aged since the first time Gösta had seen them.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Peter, shaking his head. ‘Helen? We’ve hardly had any contact with her family. We’ve exchanged a few words with her once in a while. That’s all.’

  He looked at Gösta as if he might conjure an explanation from him, but Gösta had no answer. He was asking himself the same questions.

  ‘She has also confessed that she was the one who killed Stella. We’re questioning her now, and we’ll be searching her house again for more evidence. But we already have sufficient proof, and Helen’s confession is the last piece in the puzzle, so to speak.’

  ‘How did Nea die? What did she do?’

  Eva’s words were barely audible and not really directed at anyone.

  ‘We don’t know at this point, but we will keep you informed.’

  ‘What about James?’ asked Peter, puzzled. ‘We heard you’d taken James in for questioning. So we thought …’

  ‘That’s a different matter,’ said Gösta.

  He couldn’t tell Nea’s family anything more. The police couldn’t link James to Leif’s murder until they had the lab results and actual proof. But he knew that Fjällbacka – in fact, the entire municipality – was buzzing with rumours. The search of Helen and James’s home had not gone unnoticed. And everyone also seemed to know that James had been taken to the station.

  ‘That poor boy,’ said Eva softly. ‘Helen and James’s son. He looks so lost. And now this …’

  ‘You shouldn’t worry about him,’ said Peter in a low voice. ‘At least he’s alive. But Nea’s not.’

  For a moment no one spoke as they sat at the kitchen table. The only sound was the clock ticking on the wall. Then Gösta cleared his throat.

  ‘I wanted to tell you in person. There’s going to be a lot of talk in town. But don’t pay any attention to wild speculation. I promise to keep you updated.’

  Nea’s parents did not reply, so he decided to broach a different subject.

  ‘I also wanted to tell you that they’re finished with … the post-mortem. You can have her back so you can make arrangements for …’

  He couldn’t finish his sentence.

  Peter looked at him.

  ‘The funeral,’ he said.

  Gösta nodded.

  ‘Yes. For Nea’s funeral.’

  After that there was no more to say.

  As Gösta drove away, he glanced back at the farm in the rear-view mirror. For a moment he thought he saw two little girls waving to him. He blinked, and they were gone.

  ‘Fucking hyenas!’ snarled James.

  He flung the phone away and paced the floor in the kitchen. Sam watched him listlessly. Part of him enjoyed seeing his father thrown off balance. This man who always had to have complete control over everything, who thought he owned the world.

  ‘Do they really think I’m going to sit back and give fucking interviews?’ he said. ‘“We’d like to hear your comments …” Shitheads!’

  Sam leaned against the fridge.

  ‘I only hope she has enough sense to keep her mouth shut,’ said James, coming to a standstill.

  He suddenly realized Sam was listening. He shook his head.

  ‘When I think of everything I’ve done for you two. Everything I’ve sacrificed for your sake. And with no fucking gratitude.’ James went back to packing. ‘Thirty years of keeping everything in line. And now this.’

  Sam heard the words and registered their meaning, but it was as if he found himself outside his body. Nothing could shake him any more. Everything was going to be set right. There would be no more secrets. He was the one who would clear them all up. Until now, he’d been inside a bubble, along with Jessie. Nothing outside had been able to affect them. Not the search of the house, which he had thought at first was because they had found out about his plans. Nor the fact that his mother was in custody at the police station. Nothing.

  They were making their preparations now. Jessie had understood when she read his notebook. She understood what he wanted to do and why it had to
be done.

  He looked at James, who was now standing at the kitchen window, shaking with frustration.

  ‘I know you despise me,’ Sam said calmly.

  James spun around and stared at him.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re a small man,’ said Sam quietly, noticing how James clenched his fists.

  The big blood vessel on the right side of his neck began throbbing, and Sam enjoyed seeing the reaction he had caused. He looked James right in the eye. For the first time in his life, Sam didn’t avoid his gaze.

  Sam had spent his whole life afraid, uneasy, fighting to remain indifferent and yet allowing himself to be hurt. Anger had been his worst enemy, but now it was his friend. He’d seized hold of the anger, and it had given him power. Only when a person was no longer afraid of losing something did he have real power. That was what James had never understood.

  Sam saw James hesitate. A momentary wavering as he looked away, just for a second. And then the hatred. James surged forward, his hand raised, but as he did so there was a knock at the door. James gave a start. With one last look at Sam, he went to open the door. A man’s voice was heard.

  ‘Hello, James. We have a warrant to search your house again.’

  Sam leaned his head against the fridge. Then he left the house by the back door leading to the deck. Jessie was waiting for him.

  The whole community was buzzing. The news had spread like wildfire, the way it always does in a small town. Suddenly everybody knew.

  Sanna was standing near the Centrum Kiosk when she heard. She hadn’t felt like making her own lunch, so she decided on a quick sausage. As she waited in the queue, people had started talking. About Stella. About Helen. About Linnea. At first it wasn’t clear to her what they were saying, so she’d asked the guy standing behind her. She recognized him as someone who lived in Fjällbacka. He’d told her that Helen had been arrested for the murder of Linnea. And she had confessed to killing both Nea and Stella.

  Sanna stood there without saying another word. She realized that everyone knew who she was, and they were all staring at her, waiting to see her reaction. But she had nothing to give them. The news merely confirmed what she’d always known, that at least one of those girls had been responsible. It was so strange. She’d always pictured Marie and Helen as a pair. But at last she had a face. Now she knew who was responsible. The trace of doubt that had been nagging at her for thirty years was gone. She knew the truth. It was a feeling like no other.