Rites of Spring

by Anders de la Motte

  ‘By the way, what happened to Jocke?’

  Her father becomes very still, apart from his eyes, which are darting from side to side for the first time during this conversation.

  ‘Jocke’s dead. He died in ’96.’

  ‘How?’

  He shuffles in his seat.

  ‘How did Jocke die?’ She’s determined to push him.

  ‘Car accident. He tried to get away from the cops in a stolen car, high as a kite. They crashed into a truck.’

  It takes a few seconds for her to process what he’s just said. They. Before she realises why Ronny handed her this tiny piece of kryptonite.

  ‘Who else was in the car with Jocke?’

  Leif’s lips are a thin white line.

  ‘His girlfriend, Jossan. She was pregnant. None of them survived.’

  She can see the rest in his eyes. The logical conclusion to this tale.

  It could have been me in that car with Jocke. It probably would have been if I hadn’t left. Me and our child. Leif’s grandchild.

  They sit in silence for a few seconds.

  ‘OK,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ll ask around about Leo Rasmussen. Do you have an ID number or anything else I can use?’

  ‘I’ve got the case file in the car if you want to read it.’

  It’s a throwaway remark. She isn’t expecting him to bite, but he does.

  ‘Good. Ask Sigurdsson in the guards’ office to make a copy. Tell him I said so, if he complains. And leave a phone number where I can reach you.’

  He gets to his feet laboriously, then stands beside her as he did when he came into the room.

  ‘You’re not trying to fool me again, are you, Jenny?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. You’ll just have to trust me, Leif. You don’t have a choice.’

  The corner of his mouth twitches. A tic, perhaps, or the hint of a smile.

  ‘You haven’t changed, Jenny,’ he says as he shuffles towards the door.

  55

  ‘What shall I do now, Margaux? I so wish you were here. To help me, give me advice.’

  I

  t is gone ten o’clock at night when Thea pulls up outside the castle. Two cars are parked by the stone steps – Nettan’s and Sebastian’s. Thea’s head is empty, she feels completely flat and doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

  Emee is restless after the long drive, so she takes her for a walk, following the path to the castle garden as usual. There are lights on in the dining room, and one of the doors leading onto the terrace is wide open. She can hear the sound of angry voices, and can’t help edging closer. She creeps up the steps, trying to keep both herself and Emee in the shadows.

  All three of them are sitting around a table crowded with wine bottles, plates and glasses, but the atmosphere is far from festive. David is red-faced, gesticulating wildly. Sebastian is leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. Nettan’s expression is determined.

  Thea moves a little nearer to the open door.

  ‘You can’t go on like this,’ Nettan says. ‘Sebastian and I are not made of money. We have a budget, and we expect you to stick to it.’

  ‘Fuck the budget! If we want a top-class restaurant, then it’s going to cost. We’re aiming for a Michelin star within three years.’

  ‘That’s what you’re aiming for, David. Sebastian and I were perfectly happy with the original plan, which had a realistic chance of turning a profit. This . . .’ She points to something on the table, presumably a document or drawing. ‘This is a daydream. A fucking utopia that we’re not prepared to pay for.’

  ‘Take it easy, Nettan . . .’ Sebastian ventures.

  ‘I’m trying to do something good for the area. Give back.’ David waves his arms, just as he always does when he’s on the defensive.

  ‘Bullshit! You’re only thinking of yourself.’ Nettan is slurring her words.

  ‘That’s rich, coming from you! You took off for Switzerland with a week’s notice, for fuck’s sake! We hardly had time to say goodbye!’

  ‘We were seventeen. We weren’t even together anymore.’

  ‘Calm down, both of you!’ Sebastian gets to his feet. ‘Can we please stick to the matter in hand? We’re worried about the budget, David. Costs are spiralling, and you’re still making changes without consulting us. You seem to assume that we’ll be happy to pay for them.’

  ‘You mean you can’t afford it?’ David gives a mirthless laugh. ‘How many millions is your company worth? A hundred?’

  ‘That’s irrelevant. We agreed to finance the restaurant for old times’ sake, because we were friends, but we can’t carry on pouring money into something that isn’t going to make a profit. This isn’t a charity project.’

  ‘Charity!’ David hisses. ‘Thirtieth of April 1986 – do you remember that date? What we went through together on that terrible night?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ Nettan leaps up from her chair. ‘You promised you’d never bring that up again! You promised . . .’ Her voice gives way.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’ Now David is on his feet too, suddenly looking regretful. The three friends stand there staring at one another.

  ‘I should never have agreed to any of this,’ Nettan says quietly. ‘Maybe I thought that the castle and the restaurant would somehow put things right, help us.’ She spreads her arms wide. ‘But we’re fucked, aren’t we? Elita’s ghost will always haunt us.’

  She turns on her heel and weaves her way towards the door.

  ‘Wait, Nettan!’ David follows her. Sebastian remains at the table. He picks up his wine glass and unexpectedly glances over at the window.

  Thea steps back, but it’s too late. Sebastian has already seen her. He stiffens, stares at her for a moment, then raises his glass in a toast. He empties it and follows the others out of the dining room.

  Thea leads Emee down the terrace steps. The new moon hangs above the forest, its reflection just visible in the moat. There are no lights on in Hubert’s apartment, but she sees a movement behind the curtains at one of the library windows.

  She stops. The window is ajar, offering an excellent view of the terrace and dining room. Has Hubert seen her eavesdropping? Probably, but for some reason she thinks he was there because he was every bit as interested in the conversation in the dining room as she was.

  56

  ‘Fuck, Margaux. How did I end up in the middle of this mess? That’s a good question, isn’t it? If you like it, I have plenty more.’

  T

  hea wakes just before sunrise again. Emee is snoring on the floor next to her bed.

  Thea has been dreaming, but she can’t quite remember the details. Something about her father, and horrible little Green Man figures.

  She doesn’t switch on the light; she lies in the darkness trying to gather her thoughts. Is she really considering helping her father with his petition? Does she have a choice? And does she seriously think he’ll help her get closer to the truth about Elita Svart’s death?

  This all began with her wanting to find out what David had gone through, hoping she could support him. It’s clear that both he and his friends are haunted by the experience. However, that explanation no longer holds water. She has become obsessed by the spring sacrifice, by what happened on Walpurgis Night 1986.

  Bill’s hoof prints place Leo in the stone circle, as do his cap badge and the testimony of the children, mainly David. Leo confessed to having killed Elita, said she’d asked him to do it. So why isn’t Thea convinced of his guilt?

  Two reasons, apart from what she read in False Confessions.

  First of all, there’s the missing page from the autopsy report. Someone did their utmost to conceal Elita’s pregnancy, but who and why? Who was the father of Elita’s child, and how is the pregnancy linked to her death?

  Secondly, Thea doesn’t believe Lasse Svart’s story. Why should he, after a life lived on the fringes of society, suddenly decide it’s his duty to speak to the p
olice, make sure justice is done? The question seems even more apposite after yesterday’s encounter with her father. Leif would never have gone to the police, she’s sure of it. Lasse must have felt the same at the start – so what made him change his mind?

  The discovery of the cap badge is also kind of strange. Why didn’t it turn up when the crime scene was first searched? According to the interviewer, it was found by a witness.

  She switches on the light, takes out the folder and turns to the section marked Evidence. It takes her a few minutes to locate the right form.

  The witness who found the badge was Erik Nyberg. He says he’d gone to the stone circle to clear up after the police, and that was when one of his dogs came across it.

  She checks the date; Nyberg signed the form the day before Lasse Svart walked into the police station and changed his statement. So on a single day, Leo’s defence suffers two serious setbacks – setbacks which, possibly combined with Eva-Britt’s disappearance, finally make him confess.

  Thea realises she hasn’t given much thought to where the Svart family actually went. She picks up her phone and googles first Lasse, then Lola, then Eva-Britt. Nothing, not even in the national address database or on Facebook. Have they left the country? Changed their names? Are they somehow living beneath the authorities’ radar?

  Erik Nyberg said the count had ordered him to board up the windows and destroy the track leading to the farm as soon as it became clear that Lasse and his women were gone. But why? Why was it so urgent?

  There are too many questions. The whole thing is a morass of questionable threads. She feels as if she can’t even trust the police investigation, but she is becoming increasingly certain that the truth hasn’t come out. Someone – more than one person? – has tried to simplify the narrative as much as possible.

  Manipulative, extrovert girl murdered by her stepbrother. Case closed.

  It would be best to forget all about it, of course. She has plenty of other things to think about, much more important than a long-dead teenager, and yet Elita Svart will not leave her in peace. The sense that their stories are intertwined has grown stronger since she was forced to go back home.

  She gets up, opens the window and lights a cigarette. The air is heavy with dampness, carrying the distinct smell of the marsh. She can almost taste it.

  The sun is slowly rising. Over to the north east she can just make out the marsh as a dark mass. She wonders if Svartgården is still there – beyond the fence enclosing the military range, in uncharted territory, untouched since the remains of the Svart family closed the door behind them.

  She fetches her laptop and gets back into bed. Opens up Google Maps and types in ‘Bokelund castle’. The satellite image is crystal clear, showing the H-shaped main building, the coach house, the old stables. The green surface of the moat almost merges with the adjoining forest.

  She zooms out, follows the canal down through the dip, all the way to the hunting lodge. The trees are so dense that she can barely make out the water and the track.

  She changes to hybrid view so that the track is clearer, moves back and forth at random, looking for buildings. No luck. The marsh is too big, the vegetation too thick.

  She tries a different tactic, starting from the hunting lodge and trying to identify the spot where Dr Andersson claimed that the way down to Svartgården lay. After zooming in and out for a while she thinks she’s found a route where the greenery is paler. She follows this route to the east, attempts to work out where it passes the fence surrounding the firing range, but it’s no good – she can’t see the fence, and the route itself becomes more difficult to discern. It changes direction, is interrupted by pools of water and thickets of trees, then disappears completely.

  She zooms in as close as she can. It’s still difficult, but she thinks she can make out a right angle beneath the trees.

  Nature abhors right angles, Margaux used to say. Abhors everything that is precise and identical. Mankind invented right angles to control that which is wild and incalculable.

  Thea gets out of bed.

  ‘Come on, Emee – we’re going on an adventure.’

  *

  She drives across the marsh in the direction of the hunting lodge. She has three hours until the surgery opens; that should be enough.

  What exactly is she planning to do? What is she hoping to find at Svartgården? She doesn’t really know. Maybe she’s looking for a fixed point in the story, something concrete that she can get hold of. Or maybe she just needs to do something, anything, to ease her frustration.

  She finds the place where the old track probably ran, and manages to park the car on solid ground. She pulls on her wellington boots and lets Emee out of the car. Picks up her rucksack, which contains a torch, a bottle of water and a crowbar that she found in the tool shed behind the coach house.

  After checking Google Maps again, she sets off through the marsh. Visibility is limited to ten to fifteen metres thanks to the bracken and undergrowth. The air is cold and damp; it smells of rotting wood and stagnant water.

  To begin with she keeps Emee on the lead, but after a few minutes this turns out to be impractical, and she lets her go. Fortunately, Emee stays close, happily exploring her new surroundings.

  Thea’s conclusion about the old track was well-founded. Along a five-metre strip the trees are younger, not as tall as the rest of the forest. Nor are they covered in lichen and creepers, which explains the colour difference on the satellite image.

  She hunts for some kind of path, but to no avail. Instead she has to cut across the terrain, picking her way over moss, leaves and dead wood. Here and there the huge roots of fallen trees are sticking up, and she has to circumvent rotting logs and pools of water. A couple of times her foot sinks deep into the mud, and on one occasion she almost loses a boot.

  Emee is still with her, and after ten minutes they reach the fence. It’s not particularly off-putting; it’s rusty, and the barbed wire at the top is sagging. A yellow notice informs her that this is a military firing range, and that unauthorised access constitutes danger to life. After a short distance Thea finds a spot where an animal has been digging, enabling both her and Emee to crawl under the fence.

  The terrain slopes downwards, and the pools of water increase; in some places they are so big that she has to take a detour. Mouldering branches, partly hidden beneath the moss, make the ground treacherous. She slips on one of them and her knee sinks into the porous surface. The cold surprises her, makes her realise that she mustn’t fall in under any circumstances.

  Emee has begun to roam further afield; sometimes she vanishes for a minute or so before reappearing. The vegetation thickens, the tall trees are joined by bushes that make it even harder to see what is ahead. Her phone is also finding it more difficult to establish her position. She keeps pausing to adjust the direction, but the arrow jumps around the screen and she’s afraid that she might have lost her bearings. Every time she updates the map the arrow moves. First of all it’s very close to the place she’s trying to reach, then suddenly it’s some distance away. She searches for an opening among the trees, but the leaf canopy blocks out the light, leaving nothing but a spooky gloom.

  Thea decides to keep going for another five minutes, then she will give up. A natural track seems to lead in the right direction, until a huge muddy pool, several metres across, forces her to stop. Insects are dancing across the surface of the water, and she can’t help thinking about what Elita wrote in her letter: she saw herself as a nymph, waiting to metamorphose into a dragonfly. Waiting to float away from this damp, stinking place. Just as Thea did from her childhood home.

  Suddenly it strikes her. Was that the kind of metamorphosis Elita was talking about? Killing Elita Svart, just as Thea killed Jenny Boman? Creating a new identity, getting away from the people who had already written her off? That could explain why Elita sometimes wrote about herself in the third person, particularly towards the end.

  Who killed Elita Svart? Not: Who
killed me?

  The thought excites her. She needs to re-read the letter to see if her theory holds. If so, what does it mean? That there was no death pact, that Elita never asked Leo to kill her, and therefore Leo really was innocent?

  She pulls herself together, works her way around the pool. Battles through a hazel thicket and comes to a group of gnarled old trees that seem to be crouching beneath the leaf canopy high above. These trees don’t look as if they belong in the forest; could this have been an orchard? Her suspicions are confirmed by several square blocks of stone and a pile of planks, which look like the remains of a shed. She pushes at the planks with her foot and sees some plastic containers, grey with age, and a stainless-steel pipe attached to a gauge and a plastic tube.

  Thea has seen something like this before, in her father’s garage back home. She’s pretty sure it’s part of a home distillery.

  As she sets off again, a noise makes her jump – a sharp crack, like a branch breaking somewhere behind her. She looks around, trying to work out where it came from, but there is nothing. It was probably Emee – she’s been gone for quite a while now.

  She calls to the dog, blows the whistle, but there is no sign of her. What could it have been? A deer? A wild boar?

  She’s read somewhere that wild boar can be a danger to people. At the same time she realises that the birds have stopped singing. All she can hear is a crow, cawing somewhere in the distance, followed by a faint rustling in the undergrowth.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She takes out the crowbar, but it’s only half a metre long. It seems a little inadequate as a defence against a charging wild boar. She stands motionless, staring at the spot where she thinks the rustling came from.

  Nothing happens. The birds burst into song once more.

  Thea lets out a long breath, feeling silly. She pushes on. The ground on the other side of the pool is less boggy, and here and there she can make out hard-packed gravel and shards of tarmac. The remains of a road. She follows them all the way to an uneven row of fence posts. At the end of the row she sees large, dark silhouettes.