‘It’s worth a try.’
Erica got out her mobile. He watched tensely as the call went through.
‘Put him on speaker,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Why are you calling me?’
Sam’s voice echoed, ghostlike, across the car park.
Erica took a deep breath.
‘I was hoping you would talk to me,’ she said. ‘I know you think nobody listens to you, but I’m listening.’
No response. In the background they could hear sobbing and murmured voices. Someone was screaming.
‘Sam?’
‘What do you want?’ he said. He sounded like an old man.
Patrik motioned for Erica to hand him the phone, and after hesitating a few seconds, she did.
‘Sam? Patrik Hedström here. From the police.’
Silence.
‘We just want to talk to you. Is there anyone inside who needs help? An ambulance is on the way—’
‘It’s too late for an ambulance.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Patrik.
‘It’s too late …’
Sam’s voice faded. They could hear Jessie telling someone to shut up.
Patrik hesitated and looked at Erica. If he said the wrong thing, it might make things worse. But they had to try to keep the conversation going – it was their only hope. They didn’t have enough officers on hand to storm the building until reinforcements arrived, so in the meantime all they could do was talk.
‘We know, Sam,’ said Patrik. ‘We know all about it. We know your mother tried to take the blame for what happened. Why don’t you let the kids inside go? They haven’t done any—’
‘Haven’t done anything? What the hell do you know about what they’ve done or haven’t done?’ Sam’s voice rose to a falsetto. ‘You have no idea. They’re disgusting. They’ve always been disgusting, and they don’t deserve to go on living.’
He tried to stifle a sob, and Patrik saw an opening, a crack. As long as Sam was feeling something, he might be able to reach the boy. People who had shut down were the most dangerous.
‘What about Nea?’ he said. ‘What happened to her? Did she deserve to die too?’
‘No. It was an accident.’ Sam’s voice was almost a whisper. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. I was … I saw … I saw Mamma kissing Marie. They thought they were alone, but I could see them from my hiding place in the barn. I wanted to be alone, but Nea wouldn’t leave me in peace. She kept on chattering and saying we should play, until I lost my temper and pushed her. As soon as I realized she was right near the edge of the hayloft, I reached out to grab her, but she took a step back … and she fell.’
For a moment no one spoke. Patrik looked at Erica.
‘And your mother helped you take care of the situation?’ he said, even though he already knew the answer.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sam sobbed. ‘Tell my mother I’m sorry about everything.’
Then he ended the call.
Patrik frantically tried to call him again, but this time he didn’t pick up. Another gunshot, and they all jumped. Patrik looked at his watch.
‘We can’t wait. We have to go closer. Erica, you stay here with Mellberg. Under no circumstances are you to leave the car. Understood?’
Erica nodded.
‘Paula, Martin, and Gösta, come with me. Mellberg, when reinforcements arrive I need you to brief them. Okay?’
Everyone nodded. Patrik cast a steely glance at the community centre and checked for his gun. He had no idea how to prevent the disaster that was unfolding, but he had to try.
It had unnerved Sam when the cop told him he knew what had happened in the barn. An image flashed into his mind: Nea’s face as she teetered on the edge of the hayloft. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. All he’d wanted was for her to leave him alone. Her expression when she fell was more surprised than scared. He’d lunged forward and tried to grab her, but it was too late. He looked down and there she was, lying on the floor below, a pool of blood forming around her head. She’d taken a few shuddery breaths, then her body seemed to deflate, and her gaze went blank.
If that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t be standing here tonight. This had started out as a fantasy, planning his revenge and writing it all up in his notebook, telling himself he had the power to take control if he wanted to. It was only after what they did to Jessie that he decided to make it real. After what he’d done to Linnea, he had nothing left to lose.
‘The police are outside,’ he told Jessie now. ‘It’s time to put an end to this.’
Jessie nodded.
She went over to stand in front of Basse, her feet set wide apart the way Sam had shown her. Calmly she raised her gun and placed the muzzle against Basse’s forehead. His eyes filled with tears and he tried to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but only sobs came out. Jessie’s arm jerked when she fired the shot. Basse’s head slammed backward and he too landed on the floor.
For a moment Sam and Jessie stared at the trio while screams started up all around them. By now all Sam had to do was raise his gun to make them shut up.
Jessie stuck her hand in her pocket and took out two lighters. She tossed them to the boys who had poured out the petrol.
‘Light it,’ said Sam curtly.
They didn’t move. Just looked at the lighters they were holding.
Calmly Sam fired a shot into the chest of the big boy in the white shirt. He looked down in surprise as a red splotch formed. Then he sank to his knees and fell on to his stomach. The lighter was still in his right hand.
‘You. Go get the lighter.’
Sam pointed to a small boy with glasses, who shook all over as he leaned down to pick it up.
‘Light it,’ said Sam, again raising his gun.
The boys held the lighters to the petrol-soaked cloths covering the windows. Flames quickly raced up the fabric towards the ceiling and out to the sides. There was no longer any point in trying to stop anyone from screaming. The kids rushed in panic for the doors.
Sam and Jessie now stood back to back, just as they’d practised. They raised their guns. He felt the warmth of Jessie’s back against his own, then the rhythmic jolts in their bodies as they fired more shots. No one would be allowed to escape, no one deserved to escape. It was all or nothing. He’d known that from the beginning. That applied to him too. And to Jessie. For a brief moment he regretted dragging her into this. Then he pictured Nea falling.
The police had told them to go home. Khalil was more than ready to do just that, but Adnan grabbed hold of his shirt.
‘We can’t leave. We have to help!’
‘But what can we do?’ said Khalil. ‘The police are here. How can we help?’
‘I don’t know, but those are kids inside there. Kids my age.’
‘We’re not supposed to be here,’ said Khalil.
The police officers were stealthily approaching the building, heading for the corner where they could look inside.
‘Go then, do whatever you want,’ said Adnan, turning away.
Khalil realized he was heading for the rear of the building.
‘Shit!’ he said and followed.
The small glass panels in the doors had been covered with cloth on the inside, but there was a gap and they could see the perpetrators. A boy and a girl. They looked so young. Two kids were lying on the floor. The girl went over to another boy. Khalil felt Adnan clutching at his arm. Without a trace of emotion, the girl shot the boy. His head jerked backward and then he collapsed on to the floor, next to the two other bodies.
‘Why don’t the police do something?’ whispered Adnan, his voice thick with tears. ‘Why don’t they do something!’
He yanked on the chain fastened to the door handle.
‘There aren’t enough of them. They’re waiting for reinforcements,’ said Khalil, swallowing hard. ‘Those two kids have probably secured the room. If the police go in, more kids might get shot.’
‘But how can we just stand here and—’
Adnan gripped his arm even
harder.
Another boy was shot. Then the gunman turned on a little kid wearing glasses.
‘What are they doing now?’
‘I think I know,’ said Khalil.
He turned around and threw up. The vomit covered his shoes. He raised his hand to wipe off his mouth. Inside the building flames shot up. The kids were screaming, their terror and panic increasing by the second. They rushed towards the doors. Shot after shot was fired. Adnan and Khalil watched in horror as bodies fell to the floor.
Khalil looked around. He caught sight of a loose brick a short distance away. He picked it up and lifted it over his head. Again and again he slammed it against the door handle, and finally the chain broke so he could yank open the doors.
Fire billowed out towards them, along with terrified screams. The smoke was thick and black, stinging their eyes, but they could see people running.
‘Over here! Over here!’ they shouted, and then helped one person after another out the door.
Their eyes were practically sealed from the smoke, stinging and running with tears, but they kept on guiding the terrified kids to freedom. Khalil heard Adnan shouting close by. He saw him help a panic-stricken girl.
Then the fire reached Adnan. Khalil turned around when he heard him scream.
Bohuslän 1672
A big crowd had gathered at the gallows hill. The executioner was waiting next to the block as Elin was lifted out of the wagon. The spectators gasped when they caught sight of her. She wore a new white shift, but her head was bald and covered with burns. Her hands were twisted and limp, hanging at her sides, and she could barely stay on her feet as the two guards practically dragged her forward.
At the block, she fell to her knees. Anxiously she looked at all those who were staring at her. There was only one thing she’d been able to think about after she had confessed and then was sentenced to death: Would Märta be present? Would the child be forced to watch her own mother die?
Much to her relief, she did not see Märta anywhere. Britta was there with Preben. Ebba of Mörhult stood a short distance from them, along with many other people with whom she and Per had lived side by side, as well as workers from the vicarage.
Lars Hierne was not present. He had moved on to other places, other witches, fighting against other abominations of Satan. For him, Elin Jonsdotter was merely an entry in the books. Yet another bride of the devil whom the witchcraft council had caught and executed.
Britta was now large with child. She looked so pleased, pressing her hands to her stomach. Her face radiated righteousness. Preben had his arm around her. His eyes were fixed on the ground, as he held his hat in his other hand. They were very close, only a few metres away. Ebba of Mörhult was chatting with the women around her. Elin heard her repeating select parts of her testimony. She wondered how many times Ebba had told her lies. She had always had a loose tongue. She had always been an inveterate gossiper and liar.
Hatred smouldered inside Elin. She had spent so many hours in the dark cell, going over everything again and again. Every word. Every lie. She had recalled Märta’s laugh when she innocently said what she had been told to say. And Britta’s satisfied look when she took Märta by the hand and led her out of the courtroom. How would Märta be able to live with that when she grew older and realized what she had done?
Rage surged inside Elin, becoming a storm. Just like the storm that had taken Per and turned her and Märta into blameless and obliging victims.
She hated them. Hated them with an intensity that made her shake all over. With a great effort, she rose to her feet. The guards took a step forward, but the executioner raised his hand to stop them. Her eyes blazing with fury, Elin stood there unsteadily in her white shift and fixed her gaze on Britta, Preben, and Ebba. They had all fallen silent as they looked at her uneasily. She was a witch, after all. Who knew what she might do, now that she was at death’s door?
Not taking her eyes off those who had condemned her to death, those three people who stood there so self-righteously, Elin said in a strong and calm voice:
‘You may have persuaded everyone to believe you have done God’s will. But I know better. Britta, you are a false and loathsome person. You have been ever since you emerged from the womb of your equally false mother. Preben, you are a whoremonger and a liar, a weak and cowardly man. You know that you lay with me, not just once but many times, behind the back of your wife and behind the back of God. And Ebba of Mörhult: you are an evil, envious, gossiping crone who could never bear to see that your neighbour had even a breadcrumb more than you had. May you all burn in hell. And may your offspring suffer ignominy, death, and fire, for generation after generation. You may destroy my body today with steel and flames, but my words will live on long after my body has turned to ashes. This do I, Elin Jonsdotter, promise you on this day of Our Lord, the Almighty. And with that, I am now ready to meet my God.’
She turned towards the executioner and nodded. Then she fell to her knees and placed her head on the block, fixing her gaze on the ground. To the side of her, they lit the pyre on which her soon-to-be decapitated body would be placed.
When the axe fell, Elin Jonsdotter was saying her last prayer to the God she had invoked. And with all her soul she felt that He had now heard her.
They would suffer their punishment.
Her head was cleaved from her body and rolled to the ground. When it stopped, her eyes were staring up at the sky. At first there was silence, along with a few shocked gasps. Then jubilant cheers arose. The witch was dead.
Chapter Forty
Patrik had been preparing himself all morning for this conversation with Helen. She had played so many roles in the story. As the mother of a dead teenage boy, she should have been left in peace to grieve. But as the mother of a murderer, she had to help the police with their investigation. Patrik realized he needed to choose the right approach. As a father, he wanted to leave her in peace. But as a police officer, he needed to get the answers which the families of the victims deserved. And there were so many victims. The headlines in all the papers were huge and pitch-black, screaming the news about the tragedy in Tanumshede.
When the first reports emerged about the mass shooting in Tanumshede, the political party Sveriges Vänner had been quick to claim on social media sites that the shooting was an act of terror by one or more foreign residents. ‘What did we tell you?’ The claim spread like the wind through websites and forums sympathetic to their cause. But it soon became clear that two Swedish teenagers had caused the unimaginable devastation, and the news flashed all around the world. When the media then reported that the heroes who had managed to save the lives of so many kids were Syrian refugees, Sveriges Vänner and their cohorts fell silent. Instead, a wave of respect and gratitude surged from the Swedish public. And sympathy for the people of Tanumshede streamed in from all directions. Sweden was a nation in shock. Tanumshede was a community in mourning.
But right now, all that Patrik could see was a grieving woman. Both her husband and her son were dead. How should he talk to a person who had suffered so much? He had no idea.
When the police went to Helen and James’s house, they found James shot to death in front of a gun cabinet hidden behind a false wall in a wardrobe. The theory was that Sam had forced his father to open the cabinet where he stored the guns, and then he had shot him in the head.
When the police told Helen what Sam had done, and that he was dead, she had wept hysterically. When they told her James was dead, she said nothing.
They had left Helen in peace for half an hour, but now they could wait no longer.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ said Patrik. ‘And I apologize, but we need to do this.’
Helen nodded. Her eyes were empty, her face pale. A doctor had been summoned to see to her, but she had refused medical help.
‘I understand,’ she said.
Her thin hands were trembling, but she did not cry. The doctor had said she was most likely still in shock, but he conside
red her to be lucid enough to answer questions. She had declined their offer to have a lawyer present.
‘As I told you before, I killed Stella,’ Helen said, looking Patrik in the eye.
Patrik took a deep breath. Then he got out several sheets of paper that he’d brought along and placed them on the table in front of her so she could read the text.
‘No, you didn’t,’ he said.
Helen’s eyes widened. Uncomprehending, she looked from him to the papers on the table.
‘These are copies of a document we found in James’s safe. He left documents about various matters, in case he should be killed on one of his missions abroad.’
Patrik went on:
‘Most of these documents pertain to practical matters – the house, bank accounts, and his wishes regarding his funeral. But we also found this …’ He pointed to the document on top of the pile. ‘It’s what you might call his last confession.’
‘Confession?’ said Helen.
She stared at James’s handwriting on the pages, then pushed them aside.
‘Tell me what it says.’
‘You didn’t kill Stella,’ said Patrik sombrely. ‘You thought you did, but she was still alive when you ran off. James … James had a relationship with your father, and he realized how disastrous it would be if Stella survived and told what had happened. So he killed her. And he let both you and your father believe that you did it. He hid the girl’s body in order to help you. In that way he came across as your rescuer, and your father was in his debt. That was why your father allowed you to marry James.
‘The military had started wondering about James; rumours were spreading. He needed a family to hide behind. So he convinced KG that it would be best for all parties if he married you. You were a front. Protection for a man who led a double life that could cost him his career.’
Helen stared at Patrik. Her hands were shaking harder, and her breathing was shallow, but still she said nothing. Then she reached for the papers. Slowly she crumpled James’s account into a tight ball.
‘He let me believe …’ Her voice broke and she clutched the ball of paper in her hands. ‘He let me believe that I …’
The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10) Page 65