by Isa Hansen
Her need to find the truth had taken over, grown into an obsession that was forcing her forward. It was as if she’d become possessed. And now Alex was taking advantage of her state of mind, pulling her in, stringing her along.
Although there was a tinge of doubt at the back of her mind: a small what if that stayed with her. What if this wasn’t Alex’s doing? Elise didn’t seem to think that Alex could be so evil. But maybe Elise didn’t know Alex as well as she thought. Also, the latest messages seemed more childish than frightening. It was hard to imagine anyone other than Alex being behind them. And anyway, she found it easier to just assume it was Alex because of how angry he made her. Using anger as ammunition, she could continue to push ahead.
The whole case had become complicated and fragmented. Worlds were colliding. There was what happened to Liv then and what was happening to her now. She no longer knew if there was a connection between the two. Someone—presumably Alex—was using Liv’s fate to abuse her. But why, and to what end?
***
The following school week flew by.
Teachers and students were getting into end of year mode; everyone was more relaxed and some classes were letting out early. Celia’s last classes on Thursday were cancelled. With the additional free time on her hands, Celia decided to visit her grandmother. She hadn’t been back to the Willow Warbler since she quit.
She brought along a poinsettia and some silver tinsel for decorating Maj-Britt’s room. Anette had already been over to do some initial decorating—setting up the electric Christmas candles in the window and putting up a small tree, but Celia wanted to add some extra cheer.
Although something happened that day to delay her visit. She was passing through the parking lot just before the Warbler, her eyes idly scanning the cars in the lot, when she noted the license plates on one of the cars. PUL 746.
Celia’s steps slowed while her pulse quickened.
PUL. That was the letter combination on the license plate of the car. The one that had been following her. She approached the vehicle. It looked like it could be the same one: similar color and shape.
A quick scan inside the car didn’t reveal much. A bag from a local grocery store in the back seat. Nothing else in there.
She surveyed the area. It was too cold to stand around outside and wait for the driver. Plus, she needed to ensure she wouldn’t be seen.
To the right of the parking lot was a row of shops: looked like a hardware store and a paint store with a pizza restaurant between them.
The pizzeria would be the perfect place to wait.
She hurried to the restaurant to get out of view.
Inside there were about a dozen tables with only a few of them occupied. There was a small empty table right by the window. Celia made haste to nab the spot by slinging her coat over the chair.
The smell of rich tomato, garlic and dough baking made her stomach growl. She might as well eat while she waited. Before ordering, she called Oskar.
“Hey, you hungry?”
“Always. What do you have in mind?”
“I’m at a pizzeria by my grandmother’s nursing home. I might be here for a while, for a stakeout. Care to join me?”
“I love pizza stakeouts. Send me the addy and I’ll be there.”
“Will do. I’ll order for us.” Celia turned to scan the menu over the pizza bar. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything with pineapple.”
“Got it.”
Celia hung up, sent the address via text to Oskar, then went up to order a Hawaii pizza for him and a veggie artichoke pizza for herself. She kept an eye on the parking lot while she ordered. After having put in the order, she bought a couple of soda waters and took some complimentary cabbage salad over to the table.
The pizzas arrived just as Oskar drifted in.
A jolly, round-bellied man came over with the pies on large plates. Celia took the poinsettia and bag of tinsel off the table to make room.
Oskar took the seat across the table from her. “So what are we on the lookout for?” he asked, once the server had set down their pizzas and returned to the kitchen.
Celia leaned forward, “You know how there’s been a car following me around?”
“It’s here?”
She pointed. “I think it’s parked right over there.”
Oskar raised his brows. “That’s worth waiting for.”
“Oh yeah.”
For a while they were quiet, tearing into their pizzas. They both kept a casual eye on the parking lot some hundred feet away.
At a table behind them a tired-looking mother was trying to get two young children to stop fighting. Celia listened to their squabbles with half an ear.
Oskar ate his pizza with a knife and fork, Swedish style. After a while his cutting became more like stabbing.
“Hey, what’s up?” Celia said.
“I don’t know how long I can do this.” Oskar set his utensils down. “Just sit by and let Alex—” He broke off, aggravated.
“We’re just going to do this a little while longer,” she said.
He gave her a long glance.
“If we let Alex know we’re on to him, we lose our advantage.”
Oskar made a muffled sound, his cheeks puffing out with a sigh.
“I get that you’re frustrated. If someone were doing this to you or Zari or Ebba…” Celia went quiet. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to exhibit the same restraint that Oskar was showing right now.
Aware of the probable limits to that restraint, she said, “Thank you for being patient and letting this play itself out.”
Oskar twitched a little. His face held a noncommittal expression: he wasn’t making any promises.
She wasn’t in the mood to talk about Alex. “So, you going to your mom or dad’s place after this?”
“Probably to my dad,” he said. “I don’t feel like going all the way to Gnosta today.”
“How come you don’t live with your dad full-time? I mean, it would be so much closer to school.”
“Because he doesn’t need me. My mother does.”
“Oh,” Celia said. “Is your mom … is she ill?”
“Sort of, she’s not well at least.”
“In what way?”
“Mentally, emotionally.”
“Oh,” she said again. She had never met Oskar’s mother and knew very little about her; he rarely spoke of her. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but she also wanted to know more about him. How things had been for him, growing up.
“So, did you always live with your mom then?”
“After my parents’ separation, yeah. I moved with my mother to Gnosta, but my father was always close by. He rented out the house in Björkby and moved into an apartment down the street from us. He was worried that my mother couldn’t take care of me.”
“Could she?” Celia wondered.
Oskar looked wistful. “She believed that she could.”
“But now your dad is back in his house?”
“He moved back two years ago. I was old enough by then—I told him I’d be fine. He agreed as long as I promised to come see him every week. There was one time I didn’t because I was busy or whatever, and ah, he wasn’t happy about that.” A little smile from Oskar. “He still expects me to come by every week, even though I’m legally an adult now.”
Celia nodded and said, although it didn’t seem adequate, “I’m sorry about your mom. That she doesn’t feel well.”
Oskar fidgeted with his glass, twirling it around in the light—it reflected against the table in a little crystal halo. “She never recovered.”
He didn’t elaborate upon that and Celia felt she shouldn’t push it.
A shadow had crossed his eyes. Even though Oskar was lighthearted and easygoing, he was also serious beyond his years. It was as if he’d been forced to grow up sooner than he should have. Celia was just now beginning to understand that side of him. She was also beginning to realize how deeply she care
d about him. All of the heart fluttering, all the giddy little feelings of excitement, all the romantic notions of wanting to hug him and keep hugging him, all of that aside, she just cared for him so much. As a person, as a friend.
He set his glass down and poked around with the last pieces of his pizza.
Celia went quiet, too. She had all but forgotten to keep an eye on the car. She raised her eyes to the window and picked up her glass of soda water to take a sip. She stopped with the glass mid-air. Someone with a familiar trot was heading across the parking lot. She leaned toward the window and focused her gaze. “Holy…”
Oskar watched. “You know her?”
That steel face, those dark locks, robust shoulders, the chin angled in an upward position—she was going straight toward the PUL car.
“That’s Yvonne,” Celia exclaimed. “That’s Sten’s wife. Yvonne Lagerkvist.”
“Oh, shite,” Oskar said.
Celia drew in her breath and kept her eyes fixed on the subject. She watched Yvonne unbeep the car and climb in.
Oh, shite indeed.
***
After arranging the tinsel in Maj-Britt’s room, Celia glanced over at her grandmother. She was propped up in her cushioned chair, stoically gazing out the window.
Celia stepped to the door and softly closed it. She walked over to Maj-Britt and squatted down, her elbows against the recliner’s arm. “Farmor,” she said, leaning in. “You warned me about the doctor. Why? What did he do?”
Maj-Britt slowly turned her head to Celia. Her eyes held a murky stare.
“Sten,” Celia tried, “Sten Lagerkvist. Why do I need to be careful of him?”
Maj-Britt shook her head vacantly.
Celia put her head down against her arms.
Her grandmother was not with her today. It was no use.
She lifted her head back up and gave Maj-Britt a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll visit you again soon.”
On her way home she sent a text to Ebba.
Sten’s wife has been following me. She’s the owner of the car I keep seeing. That brings us straight back to Sten and Liv!
Within a minute there was a text back: OMG! I’m with my mom right now. I’ll call you soon.
Back home, Celia was deep in thought, brooding over Yvonne and Sten. She tugged off her outer wear and remained in the kitchen, sifting through what she’d just learned.
Yvonne had been following her.
Was Yvonne protecting her husband?
Considering what Celia found out through Liv’s medical records, it was very possible that there was a connection between Sten and Liv. And now it definitely looked like Yvonne was protecting something. Chances were, whatever it was linked to Sten.
She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice that someone was in the room, coming up behind her.
Not until she saw the shadow slip across the wall. She let out a yelp and jumped.
“Kära nån.” Oh dear. Erik faltered behind her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, you’re fine,” Celia mumbled, “I’m just...”
When she didn’t finish her sentence, Erik said, “Sorry, I was just going to ask, did you make a decision yet?”
“A decision?” Celia’s mind had gone to mush, she could barely keep things straight anymore.
“About Christmas.”
Oh. That.
Erik and Anette were going to Stockholm to spend the holidays with her family. Celia had been invited to join them if she wanted to.
“Thanks for the invitation, but I think I’ll probably stay here.”
Erik nodded. “At your age that’s probably what I would have done, too. Nicer to stay around with friends. Oh, by the way, this was on the steps by the front door when I got home.” He picked up a box from the kitchen table and held it out to Celia
She took the package.
It was an ordinary brown medium-sized box. Her name and address was typed on a sticker label on top, but there was no postage and no return address.
“Well,” Erik said, “maybe later on during your vacation, you and I could do something together. Maybe go to a movie.”
“That sounds nice,” Celia said, her mind elsewhere. She was distracted by the package. The fact that it had been hand-delivered and had no return address made her uneasy.
She took the box to her room and sat down on the bed with it. She cut into it with a pair of scissors.
Inside there was something soft wrapped in tissue paper. She unwrapped the tissue and glimpsed striped material.
Even before unfolding the material, she instinctively knew what it was.
A white dress with dark stripes.
Her heart rattled in her chest and her mouth went bone dry.
She lifted up the dress.
A note tumbled to the floor.
She stared at the paper for a second before bending down. She picked it up, straightening out the fold. The note was handwritten in a careful old-fashioned style of writing.
Dearest Liv,
Would you wear this for me again? For old times’ sake?
The dress did look so lovely on you.
Pretty please?
Sincerely,
Your killer
CHAPTER 37
The fabric was faded, the stripes a murky brown.
Celia dropped the dress on her lap and clutched her hands together; they’d gone white and cold.
She stumbled up from the bed with a sudden urge to lock the door. She fumbled through her desk drawers. Searching for the key, not finding it, cursing. Finally she found the key, stashed at the back of the last drawer.
After locking herself in she slumped against the floor, the striped material kneaded into a ball on her lap. There she sat, her hands tight around it, forcing herself to calm down.
It didn’t have to be the same dress, she reasoned. While it looked like the one Liv was wearing in the photo, this could just as well be the doing of a copycat.
This could still be Alex.
He’d seen the article with the picture of Liv, found a similar dress and was now imitating her killer.
She scanned the fabric again.
The dress was undeniably aged. She lifted it to her face.
There was a fresh smell to it, like it had been newly washed. But there was another scent not fully masked by the laundry detergent. A weird smell. Chlorine?
She rose from her slumped position.
Paced the room.
If the dress was real, then it was from someone batshit crazy.
A true stalker after all.
If so, who’d had it in their possession for the past 30 years?
Her thoughts shot to Yvonne.
Yvonne had been following her. But even if her husband had been involved with Liv and he’d had her dress, why would Yvonne send it to Celia? Yvonne would be inclined to protect her husband, not send evidence.
Further, Celia couldn’t imagine Yvonne being behind Nattvakten. Yvonne sending juvenile messages via email and text? There was no way.
Faces of everyone Celia was suspicious of flashed through her mind.
There was one face that stuck.
Hans.
It only occurred to her now. The signature. Nattvakten: night guard. She recalled Hans pleading with her, telling her to drop the investigation. In some twisted way, in his own mind, was he also guarding her? Although the more she thought about that, the less sense it made. If he did see himself as her protector, then what was he protecting her from? His own stalkish behavior?
Either way, if she were in fact dealing with someone obsessed, then she could no longer discount Hans. Celia glanced at the handwritten note.
She tried to think back to Hans’s handwriting, but she struggled to picture what it looked like.
She dug into her school bag, ripping out papers that she’d handed in. Maybe she’d find something there. Written comments on her work. She shuffled through the papers. Without any luck.
Most of H
ans’s comments were uploaded digitally, and the ones that weren’t were typed up and fastened to the correlating papers with paper clips.
Tomorrow was the last day of school before the holiday break. The school day would be a short one. That would leave her with a slim window of time—hopefully enough to score a sample of his writing.
***
The school’s winter ceremony gave her the chance to go hunting.
At nine in the morning, students and teachers were to gather in the auditorium for a send off, then afterward they would all meet with their classes before breaking off for the year.
Celia followed along with her classmates to the auditorium and entered with everyone else but then drifted out again before the ceremony began. She headed up to Hans’s office on the second floor.
The office was a large workspace that several teachers shared.
The teacher’s office usually wasn’t locked during the school day—Celia walked in with an excuse ready if any teachers should be present. But no one was there. She headed straight to Hans’s desk. There was nothing on the desk itself other than a computer chord and a pen caddy. She pulled at his desk drawers, the top one being the only one unlocked. She quickly filed through the drawer finding pencils, paperclips, a pad of sticky notes, and a few takeaway menus. But there was nothing of interest; nothing that would give away his handwriting.
She was about to leave when she saw a sticky note that had fallen to the floor. A bright orange note under his desk. There were a few words jotted on it. She scooped it up just as the door opened.
A middle-aged teacher wearing a frilly scarf and cat-eye shaped glasses entered. She gave Celia a questioning look through her cat eyes.
