Kitabı oku: «The Girl in the Woods», sayfa 11

‘How did the girl die?’

Mellberg leaned forward.

‘As Patrik Hedström mentioned, we haven’t yet received the technical report, and the post-mortem hasn’t been done. So at this time we can’t address that question.’

‘Is there a risk other children might be murdered?’ Kjell went on. ‘Should parents in the area keep their children inside? As you might expect, rumours have been spreading, and people are scared.’

Mellberg paused before answering. Patrik discreetly shook his head, hoping his boss would get the message. There was no reason to frighten the local population.

‘At the present time there is no reason for concern,’ Mellberg said. ‘We’re putting all our resources into this investigation. We will find out who killed Linnea Berg.’

‘Was she killed in the same way as Stella?’

Kjell wasn’t giving up. The other journalists looked from him to Mellberg. Patrik crossed his fingers that Mellberg would stand firm.

‘As I said, we won’t know until we have the results of the pathology report.’

‘But you’re not denying it?’ the young hack chimed in.

In his mind Patrik again pictured the body of the little girl, lying exposed and alone on the cold autopsy table. He couldn’t help snapping, ‘We’ve already told you that we won’t know anything until we get the pathology report!’

The young reporter retreated, looking offended.

Kjell raised his hand again. This time he looked straight at Patrik.

‘I’ve heard your wife is writing a book about the Stella case. Is that true?’

Patrik had known the question would come, but he still felt unprepared for it. He looked down at his clenched fists.

‘For some reason, my wife refuses to discuss her projects, even with the excellent resources she has at home,’ he said, drawing a ripple of laughter from the reporters. ‘So I’ve only heard a few things about it in passing. I don’t know how far along she is in her research. I’m usually kept out of the creative process, and I don’t get involved until she asks me to read the completed manuscript.’

That wasn’t entirely true, but almost. He knew roughly what stage Erica had reached in the project, but only because of a few casual remarks she’d let slip. She was always reluctant to talk about her books while she was working on them, and he usually got involved only if she needed to ask him about any police-related issues. But she rarely supplied any context when putting her questions, so they were little help in getting a sense of the book itself.

‘Could that have been a contributing factor? For another murder?’

The young woman from the evening paper was looking at him expectantly, and he could see the gleam in her eye. What the hell did she mean? Was she saying his wife might have provoked the death of the little girl?

He was about to open his mouth to deliver a scathing reply when he heard Mellberg’s calm admonition:

‘I consider that question both tasteless and irrelevant. And no, there is nothing to suggest any connection whatsoever between Erica Falck’s book and the murder of Linnea Berg. And if you can’t refrain from such outrageous questions during the next’ – Mellberg glanced at his watch – ‘ten minutes that remain of this press conference, I won’t hesitate to cut it short. Understood?’

Patrik exchanged astonished glances with Annika. And to his great surprise, the journalists behaved themselves for the rest of the press conference.

After Annika had ushered everyone out, overriding their mild protests and attempts to ask a few more questions, Patrik and Mellberg remained behind in the conference room.

‘Thank you,’ said Patrik simply.

‘I’ll be damned if I’ll let them go after Erica,’ muttered Mellberg, and turned away.

He called to Ernst, who had been lying under the table where Annika had set out coffee for the reporters, and then left the room.

Patrik laughed quietly to himself. Amazing. The old guy had a streak of loyalty in him after all!

BOHUSLÄN 1671

Elin had to admit that Britta looked enchanting. Her dark eyes were beautifully offset by the blue fabric of her gown, and her hair had been brushed to a glossy sheen. She wore her hair loose, held back from her face by a lovely silk ribbon. It was not often that they received such a grand visitor. Actually never, if truth be told. Such dignitaries had no reason to visit a simple vicarage in Tanumshede parish, but the king’s edict issued to Harald Stake, governor of Bohuslän, had been quite clear. All the representatives of the church in the county were to be involved in the battle against sorcery and the forces of evil. The government and the church had joined together to fight the devil, and for that reason the vicarage in Tanumshede was to be honoured with a visit. The message was to be spread to all corners of the realm; that was what the king had decreed. And Britta was quick to understand and exploit the opportunity. They would offer the very best in food, lodging, and conversation during Lars Hierne’s visit. He had politely suggested he might stay at the local inn, but Preben had told him that would be out of the question. At the vicarage they would be delighted to receive such an esteemed guest. Even though the inn had a separate section for noble and refined guests, the Tanumshede vicarage would see to it that the governor’s envoy would be offered all the comforts he might desire.

Britta and Preben were waiting at the door when the carriage arrived. Elin and the other servants kept to the background, their heads bowed and their eyes fixed on their feet. Everyone had been ordered to appear neat and tidy, dressed in clean clothing. And the girls had all combed their hair so carefully that not a strand escaped from beneath their kerchiefs. The air was filled with the fresh scent of soap and the pine boughs the servant boy had used to decorate the rooms that morning.

When the vicar and his wife were seated at the table with their guest, Elin poured wine into the big tankards her father had always used to serve wine when she was growing up. They had been passed on to Britta as a wedding gift. When she married, Elin had received several of the tablecloths her mother had embroidered. Her father had not wanted the finer things from his home to end up in the poor hovel of a fisherman. And Elin had actually agreed with his decision. What would she and Per have done with such frills and finery? Those things were better suited to the vicarage than Elin’s simple home. But she treasured her mother’s tablecloths. She kept them in a small chest along with the herbs she gathered and dried every summer. She always wrapped the herbs in paper so as not to stain the white cloths.

Ever since she was little, Märta had been sternly warned never to open the chest. Elin did not want her child’s sticky fingers touching her mother’s tablecloths, but the admonition was also because some of the herbs could be poisonous if not handled properly. Her maternal grandmother had taught her the uses of the various herbs, along with the words of supplication to be used. There could be no confusion, or disaster might ensue. Elin was ten years old when her grandmother began teaching her, and she had decided to wait until Märta was the same age before she passed on her knowledge.

‘Oh, how terrible it is with all these wives of the devil,’ said Britta, giving Lars Hierne a gentle smile.

Enchanted, he stared at her lovely features glowing in the light of the many tallow candles. Britta had chosen well when she decided to wear the blue brocade dress; the fabric gleamed and sparkled against the backdrop of the dark walls in the vicarage dining room, making Britta’s eyes look as blue as the sea on a sunny day in July.

Elin silently wondered how Preben was reacting to the way their visitor was immodestly staring at his wife, but he appeared completely unaffected. He seemed to pay no attention at all. Instead, Elin felt him looking at her, and she quickly lowered her gaze. She had already noticed that he too looked exceptionally stylish. When he was not wearing his clerical garb, he dressed most often in dirty work clothes. For a man of his position, he had an odd fondness for doing manual labour on the farm and taking care of the livestock. On her very first day at the vicarage, Elin had asked one of the other maids about this and was told it was indeed strange, but the master often worked side by side with his servants. They had simply grown accustomed to this unusual behaviour. Yet the maid had gone on to say that the mistress did not favour her husband’s conduct, which had led to many quarrels at the farm. When the maid suddenly realized who Elin was, her whole face turned red. This sort of response occurred frequently. Elin held a strange position on the farm, since she was both a maid and the sister of the vicar’s wife. She belonged and yet did not belong. When she entered the servants’ quarters the others would often stop talking and refuse to look in her direction. In that sense, she felt even lonelier, but it did not greatly concern her. She had never been friends with many women, most of whom she regarded as spending far too much time gossiping and squabbling.

‘Yes, these are troubling times,’ said Lars Hierne. ‘Yet we are fortunate to have a king who refuses to turn a blind eye, a king who dares to enter the battle against the evil forces we are now fighting. This has been a difficult year for the realm, and the ravages of Satan have been greater than for many generations. The more of these women we can find and bring to trial, the faster we can quell the devil’s power.’

He took a bite of bread and ate it with pleasure. Britta’s gaze was fixed on his lips, and her face shone with both fascination and alarm.

Elin listened closely as she carefully refilled his tankard with wine. The first course had been served, and Boel of Holta need not feel shame for the meal she had prepared. They were all eating with great appetite, and Lars Hierne praised the food many times, which caused Britta to modestly throw out her hands.

‘But how can you be certain these women are part of the devil’s web?’ asked Preben as he leaned back in his chair, holding the tankard in his hand. ‘We have not yet found the need to bring anyone to trial here in our district, but I doubt we will be spared. Though so far we have merely heard rumours and loose talk about how others have set about the task.’

Lars Hierne tore his eyes away from Britta and turned to Preben.

‘It is actually a very simple and straightforward process to establish whether someone is a witch – or a sorcerer, for that matter. We must not forget that women are not the only ones who may succumb to Satan’s temptations. Although it is more common for womenfolk, since they are more susceptible to the devil’s enticements.’

He gave Britta a solemn look.

‘To determine whether the accused is indeed a witch, we first subject her to the water test. She is bound, hand and foot, and thrown into deep water.’

‘What happens next?’

Britta leaned forward. She seemed to find the subject fascinating.

‘If she floats, she is a witch. I am proud to say that so far we have not subjected a single innocent woman to an unjust accusation. They have all floated like birds. And with that, they have revealed their true nature. Afterwards they are offered the chance to confess and receive God’s forgiveness.’

‘And have they confessed? The witches you have seized?’

Britta leaned even closer, and the flames from the candles cast dancing shadows over her face.

Lars Hierne nodded.

‘Oh yes, they have all confessed. Some have required … persuasion in order to elicit a confession. Where a woman has been long under Satan’s power or deeply in thrall to the evil one, his hold may be greater. But in the end they all confess. And upon confessing they have been executed according to the decree of both king and God.’

‘You are carrying out a most important task,’ said Preben, nodding pensively. ‘Yet I dread the day when we must carry out such a painful duty here in our parish.’

‘Yes, it is indeed a heavy cross to bear, but we must have the courage to take on whatever obligations Our Lord asks of us.’

‘In truth, in truth,’ said Preben, raising the tankard to his lips.

The next course was now brought to the table, and Elin hurried to pour more red wine. All three had already had a good deal to drink, and a slight haze had appeared in their eyes. Again Elin felt Preben looking at her, and she took great pains not to meet his eye. A shiver raced down her spine, and she nearly dropped the pitcher she was holding. Her grandmother used to call such a feeling a premonition of trouble brewing. But Elin convinced herself it was merely a gust of wind from a gap in the window frame.

Later, when she went to bed, however, the feeling returned. She drew Märta closer on the narrow cot they shared, in an attempt to fend it off, but the feeling stayed with her.

Chapter Eleven

Gösta was glad he wasn’t expected to attend the press conference. It was nothing but show and spectacle, in his opinion. He always had the feeling the journalists were there to find fault and stir up trouble rather than to communicate with the public and contribute to the investigation. But maybe he was a cynic. When you’d been in the job as long as he had, cynicism became a habit that was hard to break.

Even though he was happy not to participate in the press conference, the prospect of interviewing Eva and Peter filled him with dread. According to the doctor, although badly shaken they’d be up to answering his questions. Gösta remembered when he and Maj-Britt lost their little son and how grief had paralysed them for a long time afterwards.

He saw Paula and Martin’s car parked outside a small red-painted house with white trim. He hoped they were having some luck with their door-to-door enquiries. Out in the country, neighbours tended to keep a close eye on any goings on. His own place was in a slightly out of the way location, near the Fjällbacka golf course, and he often found himself sitting in the kitchen, staring out the window at passers-by. Another habit he’d picked up over the years. He had a clear memory of his father sitting at the kitchen table and staring out the window. As a boy he’d thought it silly, but now he understood why his father had done it. There was something soothing about simply looking out the window. Not that he’d ever tried any of that meditation nonsense, but he could imagine there were certain similarities.

He turned on to the track leading up to the farm. Yesterday the yard had been bustling with activity, but now it was empty and desolate. Not a soul in sight. And it was quiet. Very quiet. The blustery wind from earlier in the morning had subsided now that the sun had passed its zenith. The air was shimmering with heat.

A jump rope was lying on the ground near the barn, and Gösta carefully avoided stepping on a hopscotch game scratched into the dirt. It was already partially erased and no doubt wouldn’t last much longer. Nea must have traced the outline with the toe of her little foot, or maybe her parents had helped her draw it.

Gösta paused a moment to look at the house. Nothing about the farm gave any indication of the tragedy that had played out here. The old barn was slightly more crooked and tilting than he remembered from thirty years ago, but the farmhouse was freshly painted and in good repair, and the flowers in the garden were more abundant than ever. Clothes had been hung up to dry at one end of the yard, and he saw a child’s garments that would never be worn again. His throat tightened and he had to cough. Then he walked towards the house. No matter what his own feelings might be, he had a job to do. If someone had to talk to the parents, he was the right person to do it.

‘Knock, knock. May I come in?’

The kitchen door was ajar, so he pushed it open. An older and significantly tanner version of Peter got up from the table and came to shake his hand.

‘I’m Bengt,’ he said solemnly.

A thin woman who was equally tanned also stood up. She had sun-bleached hair worn in a pageboy style. She introduced herself as Ulla.

‘The doctor told us you’d be coming over,’ said Bengt.

His wife sat down again. The table was covered with crumpled pieces of paper.

‘Yes, I asked him to tell you, so my visit wouldn’t be unexpected,’ replied Gösta.

‘Have a seat. I’ll get Eva and Peter,’ said Bengt quietly as he headed for the stairs. ‘They’ve been resting.’

Ulla looked at Gösta with tears in her eyes as he sat down across from her.

‘Who could do such a thing? She was so little …’

She reached for a roll of kitchen towels on the table and tore off a piece to wipe her eyes.

‘We will do our best to find out who did it,’ said Gösta, clasping his hands on the table.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bengt coming down the stairs, with Eva and Peter behind him. They were moving slowly, and Gösta felt the lump in his throat grow.

‘Would you like some coffee?’ asked Eva mechanically.

Ulla jumped up.

‘Sit down, honey. I’ll get it.’

‘But I can …’ said Eva, turning towards the counter.

Ulla gently pushed her daughter-in-law over to the table.

‘No, you sit down. I’ll make the coffee,’ she said and began looking through the cupboards.

‘The filter is in the right-hand cupboard above the sink,’ said Eva, about to get up again.

Gösta placed his hand on her trembling arm.

‘Your mother-in-law will manage,’ he said.

‘So you wanted to talk to us?’ said Peter, taking Ulla’s place at the table.

He looked at all the crumpled balls of paper, as if he couldn’t understand what they were doing there.

‘Has something happened?’ asked Eva. ‘Do you know anything? Where is she?’

Her voice was toneless, but her lips quivered.

‘We don’t have any new information yet, but believe me everyone is working very hard, and we’re doing everything we can. Nea is in Gothenburg now. You’ll be able to see her later, if you like, but not just yet.’

‘What will they … what will they do with her?’ asked Eva, giving Gösta a look that cut right through him.

He tried not to grimace. He knew all too well what would be done to her little body, but that wasn’t something a mother needed to hear.

‘Eva, don’t ask him that,’ said Peter, and Gösta noticed that he too was shaking.

He wasn’t sure whether it was from shock or because the shock was leaving Peter’s body. Everyone reacted differently, and over the years he’d seen as many reactions as victims of crimes.

‘I’m afraid I need to ask you a few questions,’ said Gösta, nodding his thanks as Ulla set a cup of coffee in front of him.

She seemed calmer now that she had a task to do. Both she and Bengt looked more composed as they sat down at the table.

‘Anything that will help. We’ll answer any questions you have. But we don’t know anything. We can’t understand how this could have happened. Who could have …’

Peter’s voice broke, and a sob escaped his lips.

‘We’ll take this one step at a time,’ Gösta said calmly. ‘I know you’ve already answered a number of questions, but we’ll go through everything again. It’s important for us to be as thorough as possible.’

Gösta placed his mobile on the table and, after receiving a nod from Peter, he switched on the recording function.

‘When was the last time you saw her?’ he asked. ‘Try to be as precise as possible.’

‘It was Sunday night,’ said Eva. ‘Day before yesterday. I read her a story after she put on her nightgown and brushed her teeth at eight o’clock. And I read for maybe half an hour. It was her favourite book, the one about the little mole who gets poop on his head.’

Eva wiped her nose. Gösta reached for the roll of kitchen towels and tore off a piece for her. She blew her nose.

‘So it was sometime between eight thirty and eight forty-five?’ he asked, and Eva looked at her husband, who nodded.

‘Yes. That’s about right.’

‘What about later? Did you hear her or look in on her? She didn’t wake up sometime during the night?’

‘No, she always slept like a rock,’ said Peter, vigorously shaking his head. ‘She always slept with the door closed, and we didn’t look in on her once we’d said good night. There were never any problems with Nea in terms of sleeping, even when she was a baby. She loves her bed … loved her bed.’

His lower lip quivered and he blinked several times.

‘I was up by six in the morning,’ said Peter. ‘I tiptoed around so I wouldn’t wake Eva or Nea. I made myself sandwiches to take with me, and I’d already made coffee the night before, so all I had to do was heat it up. And then … then I left.’

‘You didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary? Was the front door closed and locked?’

Peter paused before saying, ‘Yes, it was closed.’ His voice broke again, and he began sobbing. Bengt reached out to stroke his back. ‘I would have noticed if it hadn’t been. If it was open, I definitely would have noticed.’

‘What about the door to Nea’s room?’

‘Same thing. It was closed. I would have remembered.’

Gösta leaned towards Peter.

‘So everything was normal? Nothing seemed the least bit different? You didn’t see anything odd outside the house? Any people? Any cars passing by?’

‘No. Nothing. When I got outside, it felt like I was the only one awake in the world. All I heard were the birds chirping, and all I saw was the cat, who came over to rub on my leg.’

‘And then you left? Do you know about what time it was?’

‘I had set the alarm for six, and I spent maybe twenty minutes in the kitchen. So it must have been about six twenty or six thirty.’

‘And you didn’t return home until the afternoon, right? Did you meet anyone? See anyone? Talk to anyone?’

‘No. I was out in the woods all day. Several acres of woodland were included when we purchased the farm, and it needs looking after and …’

His voice trailed off leaving the sentence unfinished.

‘So no one can confirm where you were during the day?’

‘No, but … What do you mean?’

‘Are you accusing Peter of something?’ asked Bengt. His face flushed. ‘Now wait just a minute—’

Gösta held up his hand. He’d been expecting this. Everyone reacted the same way, and he fully understood why.

‘We have to ask. We have to rule out Peter and Eva from our investigation. I don’t think they’re involved, but it’s my job to rule them out, according to police procedure.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Eva faintly. ‘I understand. Gösta is only doing his job, Bengt. The faster and better he does it …’

‘Okay,’ said Bengt, but he was still sitting ramrod straight in his chair, ready to defend his son.

‘No, I didn’t meet anyone all day,’ said Peter. ‘I was deep in the woods, and there’s no mobile reception, so I couldn’t get or make any calls. I was all alone. Then I drove home. I was back by quarter to three. And I know the exact time because I checked my watch as I drove into the yard.’

‘Okay,’ said Gösta. ‘What about you, Eva? What was your morning and the rest of the day like? Can you give me a run-down?’

‘I slept until nine thirty. I know the precise time because the first thing I always do when I wake up is look at the clock, if I didn’t set the alarm, that is. And I remember being surprised …’

She shook her head.

‘Surprised about what?’ asked Gösta.

‘Surprised it was so late. I hardly ever sleep past seven. I usually wake up automatically. But I guess I was so tired …’

She rubbed her eyes.

‘I got up and looked in on Nea and saw she was gone. But that didn’t worry me. I wasn’t worried at all.’

She gripped the edge of the table.

‘Why weren’t you worried?’ asked Gösta.

‘She often went along with Peter,’ said Ulla.

Eva nodded.

‘Yes, she loved going out in the woods with him, and she usually got up early too. So I assumed she’d gone with him.’

‘What did you do after that? During the rest of the day?’

‘I spent a long time over breakfast reading the newspaper, and then I got dressed. Around eleven I decided to drive to Hamburgsund to do some shopping. I rarely have time for myself.’

‘Did you meet anyone there?’

Gösta took a sip of coffee, but it had gone cold, so he set the cup down.

‘I’ll get you some more,’ said Ulla, standing up. ‘It must be cold by now.’

He didn’t object, just gave her a grateful smile.

‘I walked around looking in the shops,’ said Eva. ‘There were a lot of people, but I didn’t see anyone I knew.’

‘Okay,’ said Gösta. ‘Did anyone drop by the farm either before or after your shopping trip to Hamburgsund?’

‘No, no one dropped by. I saw a few cars on the road. And several joggers. And right before I left I saw Dagmar out walking, like she always does in the morning.’

‘Dagmar?’ asked Gösta.

‘She lives in the red house nearby. She takes a walk every morning.’

Gösta nodded and accepted the refilled coffee cup Ulla handed him.

‘Thanks,’ he said taking a sip of the steaming hot coffee. ‘Okay. Was there anything in particular that caught your attention? Anything out of the ordinary?’

Eva frowned as she paused to think.

‘Take your time. Even the smallest detail might be important.’

She shook her head.

‘No. Everything was the same as usual.’

‘What about phone calls? Did you talk to anyone on the phone during the day?’

‘No, not that I can remember. Wait, I rang you, Ulla, when I got home.’

‘That’s right, you did.’

Ulla looked surprised that it was only yesterday her life had been perfectly normal. Without the least premonition everything was about to fall apart.

‘What time was that?’

‘Do you remember?’ Eva looked at Ulla. She wasn’t shaking any more. Gösta knew this relative calm was only temporary. There would be brief spells when her brain would push aside what had happened. But the next second it would all come back to her. He’d seen this happen so many times during his time as a police officer. The same grief. Different faces. Different reactions, and yet they were so similar. It never ended. There were always more victims.

‘I think it was around one o’clock. Bengt, you heard when Eva rang. Wasn’t it around one? We’d been down to La Mata for a swim and had not long come home for lunch.’

She turned to Gösta.

‘We always have a very light lunch in Torrevieja. Some mozzarella and tomatoes, which are so much better in Spain, and—’

She raised her hand to her mouth, realizing that for a few seconds she had forgotten what had happened and was talking as if everything was normal.

‘We got back to the flat shortly before one,’ she went on quietly. ‘Eva rang not long after. And we talked for maybe ten minutes.’

Eva nodded. Tears had appeared in her eyes again, and Gösta handed her another piece of household paper.

‘Did you talk to anyone else yesterday?’

He knew it must sound crazy that he kept asking them about phone calls and who they’d met. But as he’d already explained, he needed to rule them out from the investigation and see whether they could establish any sort of alibi. He didn’t for a moment think that Eva and Peter were involved. But he wasn’t the first police officer in history to have a hard time believing parents would harm their own child. And unfortunately, in some cases they had. Accidents happened. And horrifyingly enough, sometimes it wasn’t an accident.

‘No, just Ulla. Then Peter came home, and I realized Nea was missing, and then … then …’

She was crushing the piece of paper so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white.

‘Is there anyone who might want to harm your daughter?’ asked Gösta. ‘Have you thought of any possible motive? Someone you used to know in the past? Do you or your family have any enemies?’

Both shook their heads.

‘We’re completely ordinary people,’ said Peter. ‘We’ve never been mixed up in anything criminal, nothing like that.’

‘No ex-spouses wanting revenge?’

‘No,’ said Eva. ‘We met when we were fifteen. There’s never been anyone else.’

Gösta took a deep breath before asking the next question. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

‘I know this is a terribly insulting thing to ask, especially given the situation, but are either of you having an extramarital affair? Or have you ever had an affair? I’m not trying to embarrass you. I just need to find out, because it might provide a motive. Maybe somebody thought Nea was in the way.’

‘No,’ said Peter, staring at Gösta. ‘My God. No. We spend all our time together, and we’d never … No.’

Eva shook her head vigorously.

‘No, no, no. Why are you wasting your time on things like this? Why are you here with us? Why aren’t you out looking for the murderer? Is there anyone around here who—’

Her face paled when she realized what she was about to ask, and what those words implied.

‘Was she … Had she been … Oh, dear God …’

Her sobs echoed off the kitchen walls, and Gösta had to fight to stay seated and not run out of the room. It was unbearable to see the look on the faces of Nea’s parents when they realized there was one question they didn’t want answered.

And Gösta had nothing to tell them, no solace to offer, because he didn’t know.

‘Sorry, but it’s sheer chaos out there.’

Jörgen turned to look at the young assistant who’d spoken. A blood vessel was throbbing at his temple when he replied, ‘What the hell do you want? We’re working here!’

He shoved aside a cameraman who had come too close and was about to back into a table in the living room set they’d created. A vase teetered for a moment and nearly toppled over.

Marie almost felt sorry for the assistant, who was blinking nervously. They were about to film the fourth take, and Jörgen’s mood had been rapidly worsening.