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

by Camilla Lackberg

  She stepped out of the queue. She suddenly had no appetite. She headed for the water and went out on to the wharf closest to the tourist information office. She sat down cross-legged on the pontoon pier at the end. A light breeze ruffled her hair. She closed her eyes, enjoying the cool air. She heard people talking, seagulls screeching, dishes clattering at Café Bryggan, and a few cars driving past. And she saw Stella. She saw her running towards the woods with a mischievous look on her face as Sanna chased after her. She saw her hand raised in a wave and a smile showing the slightly crooked front tooth. She saw her mother and father, as they were back then, before everything happened, before all the grief and questions made them forget about her. She saw Helen. The thirteen-year-old Helen whom she had secretly admired. And the grown-up Helen with the evasive gaze and the cowed posture. Sanna knew she would soon start asking questions about why she’d done it, but not yet, not until the light breeze caressing her face had disappeared and the sense of relief at hearing the news slipped away.

  Thirty years. Thirty long years. Sanna raised her face to the wind. Now, finally, the tears came.

  Bohuslän 1672

  Three days after the trial ended, Lars Hierne from the witchcraft council came to the gaol. Elin was waiting in the darkness, dejected and alone. They had given her a little to eat, but not much. Rancid porridge that they slopped into a bowl with some water. She was weak and cold, and she had resigned herself to the rats nibbling at her toes in the night. Everything had been taken from her, so she might as well let the rats take the flesh off her bones.

  She squinted at the light when the sheriff opened the cell door. There stood Hierne. He was elegantly dressed as always, and he held a white handkerchief to his nose because of the stench. She no longer noticed it.

  ‘Elin Jonsdotter, you are accused of being a witch, but you now have the chance to confess to your crimes.’

  ‘I am not a witch,’ she said quietly, standing up.

  She tried in vain to brush the dirt from her clothing, but it was everywhere. Hierne looked at her with distaste.

  ‘The test has proven that you are. You floated like a swan. And we have also heard the testimony of witnesses at the trial. A confession is merely for your own sake, so that you might atone for your crimes and be accepted into the Christian community.’

  Elin leaned against the cold stone wall for support.

  It was a dizzying thought. To be allowed into heaven was the goal of this earthly life, to secure a place at God’s side and be allowed to live for all eternity, without the travails associated with the daily toil of an impoverished person.

  But she shook her head. It was a sin to lie. She was no witch.

  ‘I have nothing to confess,’ she said, tossing her head.

  ‘So be it. Then we must continue this conversation,’ he said, motioning to the guards.

  They escorted her further down the corridor and shoved her into another room. Elin gasped for breath when she saw another man come in. A large man with a wild red beard peered at her. The room was filled with strange tools and equipment. Elin gave Hierne a puzzled look.

  He smiled.

  ‘This is Master Anders. We have worked together for many years to bring the work of the devil to light. He has forced witches all over this land to confess. You shall have the same opportunity. And so I ask you once more: Will you take this opportunity I am offering to confess to your crime?’

  ‘I am not a witch,’ whispered Elin as she stared at the objects in the room.

  ‘So be it,’ Hierne snorted. ‘I will leave it to Master Anders to persuade you.’

  And with that he left the room.

  The big man with the wild red beard stared at her without saying a word. His gaze was impassive rather than unfriendly. And that was somehow more frightening than the hatred she was now so used to seeing.

  ‘Please,’ she said, but he did not react.

  He reached for a chain fastened to the ceiling as Elin watched, wide-eyed.

  She screamed and backed away until she felt the cold, damp stone wall at her back.

  ‘No, no, no.’

  Without speaking, he grabbed her wrists. She resisted, planting her feet on the stone floor, but it was hopeless. He bound her hands and feet. He held up a pair of shears in front of Elin, who screamed. She thrashed about on the floor, but he merely grabbed her long hair and began cutting it off. Lock after lock of her beautiful hair fell to the floor as she sobbed.

  Master Anders then stood up and took a bottle from the table. When he removed the cork, she smelled alcohol. No doubt he needed to fortify himself in order to perform his duties. She hoped he would give her a swig to ease and deaden what was to come, but she doubted he would. To her surprise, instead of raising the bottle to his lips, he poured the liquid over her head.

  Elin blinked hard as the alcohol ran into her eyes. She could no longer see anything and had to rely on what she could hear. A rasping sound. She thought it might be a flint. Then she smelled fire. Horror surged inside her, and she writhed even harder.

  Then came the searing pain. Master Anders held the flame to her head, and the alcohol burned her scalp, even as it burned off the rest of her hair and her eyebrows.

  The pain was so great that she felt as if she’d left her body and was looking at herself from above. When the flame went out, the smell of burnt hair stayed in her nostrils, and nausea welled up and spilled out of her mouth.

  The vomit soiled her clothing. Master Anders grunted, but he said not a word.

  She was hauled up on to her feet. Master Anders wrapped something around her hands and she was hoisted into the air. The pain from the fire was still making her gasp for breath, but now the chain tightened around her wrists and cut off the blood flow, making her scream.

  At first Elin was unaware what he was smearing on her armpits. But then she smelled sulphur and again she heard the flint. She flailed frantically as she hung from the chain.

  Elin howled when he touched the fire to the sulphur. When it burned out, she fell silent and hung with her chin resting on her chest. The pain was so great that all she could do was whimper.

  She did not know how long she hung there. It could have been minutes or hours. Master Anders had calmly sat down at the table to eat his dinner. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth. Elin’s eyes stung so much that she could see only shadowy shapes. The door opened and she turned her head in that direction, seeing only a dark figure. But she recognized the voice.

  ‘Is she prepared to confess to her crime?’ said Hierne, speaking slowly and clearly.

  Elin waged an inner battle. She wanted to put an end to the pain. She certainly did. She wanted it to stop at all costs, but how could she confess to something she had not done? Was it not a sin to lie? What mercy would God have for her if she lied?

  Elin shook her ravaged head and tried to formulate words with lips that would not obey her.

  ‘I … am … not … a … witch.’

  For a moment no one spoke. Then Hierne said in a measured voice.

  ‘So be it. Master Anders will continue his work.’

  The door closed, and she was once again alone with Master Anders.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ‘How did it go?’

  Mellberg stuck his head out his office door as Patrik walked past. Patrik looked at him in surprise. It was rare for the door to Mellberg’s office to be open. But there was something about this case, or cases, that had seized hold of everyone.

  Patrik stopped and leaned against the doorjamb.

  ‘We found remnants from Nea’s clothing in the fireplace in the living room. Helen had managed to burn most of the fabric, but as luck would have it, Nea’s clothes had some plastic bits that didn’t burn. We also found cleaning implements with traces of blood, and several Kex chocolate bars in a kitchen cupboard. Lots of households would have that kind of chocolate on hand, so it can’t be considered evidence. But the plastic bits and the blood on the cleaning implements will g
o a long way towards backing up her confession.’

  ‘Has she said why she did it?’ asked Mellberg.

  ‘No. But I’m going to have another talk with her right now. I wanted to wait until we had the results from the house search. And I wanted her to sit and stew for a couple of hours. I thought she might be more willing to talk.’

  ‘Okay. But she did manage to keep her mouth shut for thirty years,’ said Mellberg sceptically.

  ‘True. But it was her decision to confess now. I think she wants to talk.’

  Patrik looked around.

  ‘Where’s Ernst?’

  Mellberg grunted.

  ‘Oh, Rita is so soft-hearted, it’s ridiculous.’

  He fell silent.

  Patrik waited, but then said, ‘And Ernst is …?’

  Mellberg scratched his head in embarrassment.

  ‘Oh, you know, they like him so much, those kids. And they’ve had such a tough time. So I thought Ernst could stay at home with them.’

  Patrik stifled a laugh. Bertil Mellberg. Deep in his heart he was actually a big softie.

  ‘Great,’ he said, receiving only a snort in reply. ‘I’m going to talk to Helen now. Don’t tell the media about what I just told you, okay?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ Mellberg pressed a hand to his chest, looking insulted. ‘I’m Fort Knox when it comes to information!’

  ‘Hmm …’ said Patrik, and he couldn’t help smiling as he turned away.

  He motioned for Paula to come with him as he passed her office, and they both went into the interview room. Annika had brought Helen and made sure there were sandwiches and coffee. No one considered Helen to be violent or a flight risk, so she was being treated more like a guest than a criminal. Patrik had always believed in the philosophy that you could catch more flies with honey than with fly swatters.

  ‘Hi, Helen. How are you doing? Would you like an attorney to be present?’ he asked, switching on the tape recorder.

  Paula sat down next to him.

  ‘No, no, that’s not necessary,’ said Helen.

  She looked pale but composed. She didn’t seem to be nervous or upset. Her dark hair with its few streaks of grey had been pulled back into a simple ponytail, and she had clasped her hands on the table in front of her.

  Patrik regarded her calmly for a few minutes. Then he said:

  ‘We’ve found items at your home that corroborate what you’ve told us. Remnants from Nea’s clothing that you tried to burn, and blood on a mop and a rag.’

  Helen stiffened. She studied Patrik for a long moment, before seeming to relax.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said. ‘I burned the girl’s clothes in the fireplace, and I scrubbed the floor in the barn. I suppose I should have burned the mop and rag too.’

  ‘What we don’t understand is why you did it. Why did you kill Stella and Nea?’ Paula said gently.

  There was no trace of anger in the room. Maybe it was the heat making them sluggish, maybe it was the sense that Helen had resigned herself to the situation. Paula was about to repeat the question, uncertain whether she had heard, when Helen started talking.

  ‘Marie and I were so happy that we had the chance to be together. The weather was lovely, as it had been all summer. Although when you’re young, all summers are sunny. At least, that’s how it seems later on. We decided to take Stella into town to buy ice cream. She was really happy about that, but Stella was always happy. Even though we were much older, we liked playing with her once in a while. And she loved to sneak up on us. She thought it was great fun to jump out and scare us. And we let her do that. We liked her. Marie and I both did. We liked Stella so much …’

  Helen fell silent and picked at a ragged cuticle. She had been staring at her hands the entire time she was talking; anything to avoid meeting their gaze. Patrik waited.

  ‘We took the pushchair along, and we practically had to force her to sit in it when we walked to Fjällbacka. We got her the biggest ice-cream cone we could buy. She chattered nonstop. And I remember the ice cream ran down her hand, so we had to get some paper napkins to wipe it off. Stella was … she was very intense. As if she was always bubbling over.’

  Again she picked at her cuticle. It had started to bleed, but Helen continued to pick at it.

  ‘She talked the whole way home too. She ran on ahead, and both Marie and I liked seeing the sun on her reddish blond hair. It was so shiny it gleamed. I’ve seen her hair so many times in my dreams …’

  A tiny trickle of blood was now running down her finger. Patrik picked up a tissue and handed it to her.

  ‘When we reached the farm, we saw the car belonging to Stella’s father,’ said Helen, wrapping the tissue around her finger. ‘We told her she should go home, because her father was there. We … we wanted to get rid of her so we could have some time to ourselves. We saw her head towards the house, and we assumed she went inside. Marie and I left and went to the lake to swim. And talk. We’d missed that. Being able to talk to each other.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’ asked Paula. ‘Do you remember?’

  Helen frowned.

  ‘I don’t recall, but I suppose we talked about our parents, the way teenagers usually do. Complaining about how they didn’t understand anything. How they were so unfair. We were feeling very sorry for ourselves at the time, Marie and I. We felt like victims and heroes in some great drama.’

  ‘What happened next?’ asked Patrik. ‘What went wrong?’

  At first Helen didn’t answer. She began picking at the tissue wrapped around her finger, tearing it into tiny pieces. She took a deep breath, then sighed, before continuing her story in a low voice. They could hardly hear what she said, so Patrik pushed the tape recorder closer. Both he and Paula leaned forward to hear better.

  ‘We dried ourselves off and got dressed. Marie headed off in one direction, and I was about to go home too. I remember worrying about how I would explain to my parents that my hair was wet. I decided I’d tell them we’d been playing in the sprinkler with Stella. And then Stella turned up. She had sneaked after us instead of going home. And she was cross because we’d gone swimming without her. Really cross. She stomped her foot and shouted. She had asked us if we planned to go swimming when we walked home, and we’d told her no. And she said …’

  Helen swallowed. She seemed reluctant to continue. Patrik leaned even closer, as if to coax her to go on.

  ‘She said she’d tell our parents that we’d been swimming. Stella wasn’t stupid, and she had ears like antennas. She’d picked up on the fact that our parents wouldn’t allow us to be together any more, and in her childish way she wanted to get back at us. And I … I can’t explain how or why it happened. But I missed Marie so much, and I knew that if Stella said we’d gone off together, we’d never be able to see each other again.’

  She fell silent and bit her lower lip. Then she raised her eyes and stared at them.

  ‘Do you remember what it was like to be thirteen and a friend was your whole world, and you thought that’s how it would always be? You thought the world would fall apart without that person? That’s how I felt about Marie. And Stella was standing there, shouting and shouting, and I knew she could wreck everything. And when she turned around to run home, I was so … I was so angry and panic-stricken, and all I wanted was for her to shut up! So I bent down and picked up a rock and threw it at her. I was only trying to make her stop yelling so I could persuade her not to say anything, or maybe bribe her so she wouldn’t talk. But the rock hit her on the back of the head, and she stopped shouting and just toppled over. And I got scared and ran. I ran all the way home and rushed into my room and locked the door. And then the police came …’

  The tissue was now shredded into tiny pieces. Helen was breathing hard, so Patrik waited for her to compose herself for a minute before he asked:

  ‘Why did both of you confess? And why did you later retract your confessions? Why did Marie confess when she wasn’t involved?’

  H
elen shook her head.

  ‘We were children. We were stupid. The only thing we could think about was being together. Marie hated her family. She wanted nothing more than to get away from them. But I don’t know why she confessed. We never had a chance to talk about it. Maybe she thought if we both confessed, we’d be sent to the same place. We thought we’d end up in prison, even though we were kids. And Marie would rather have been in prison with me than at home.’

  She looked from Paula to Patrik.

  ‘So now maybe you’ll understand how awful her situation was. When we found out that we wouldn’t be sent away together, we tried to take back what we’d said. But it was too late. I realized I shouldn’t have retracted my confession. I should have explained what I’d done. But I was scared. All the grown-ups around me were so angry. Everybody was shouting. I felt threatened. Everybody was upset and disapproving, and it was all so emotional that I didn’t know what to do. So I lied and said I hadn’t done it, I hadn’t killed Stella. But it didn’t matter … I could just as well have confessed. At the court hearing they decided we were guilty, and I’ve been viewed with suspicion ever since. Most people think I was the one who killed Stella. I know I should have told the truth so that Marie wouldn’t be suspected, but we weren’t given a sentence, and I actually think she was better off with a foster family than in her own home. Then, as the years went by, she seemed to make use of having this shadow hanging over her past. So I let it drop.’

  Patrik nodded. His neck felt tight.

  ‘Okay. Now I understand things better,’ he said. ‘But we also need to talk about Nea. Would you like to take a short break first?’