She has no answers. Not yet. Which leads her to the next question: who is so afraid of Thea’s digging that he or she locked her in the cellar at Svartgården, placed nasty little Green Man figures on her car, and maybe even tried to poison her dog?
Arne is the main suspect, especially after the discovery she made at his house. There is no statute of limitations for murder, which means that if Arne or someone else killed Elita, then he or she is still in danger of being sent to prison for life. A good reason to do whatever it takes to keep the past where it belongs.
The problem is that the conclusions in the case file appear to hold, in spite of all the question marks. Even if Leo’s confession is discounted, a number of key facts remain.
The children all identified Leo as the rider disguised as the Green Man, and David insists that he clearly saw Leo bending over Elita on the sacrificial stone. The cap badge and Bill’s hoof prints also tie Leo to the scene.
But what has happened to the missing items from that night – the tape player, the masks, Elita’s suitcase?
Thea takes one last look in the mirror. There is one important piece of the puzzle somewhere, she’s sure of it. A vital piece that will complete the picture.
Maybe there’s a chance that she’ll find it tonight.
*
The castle looks fantastic. Huge metal baskets of wood are blazing out at the front. A red carpet has been rolled out down the steps, and moving spotlights sweep across the façade. The bonfire is finished, the Green Man attached to his frame.
David is at the door ready to greet the guests. He looks good in his smoking jacket. He seems less tense, more like the David she once fell in love with.
‘Wow!’ Thea says as she joins him. ‘You’ve really outdone yourselves – it’s amazing!’
‘Thanks!’ His smile is warm and genuine.
David’s parents arrive ten minutes early. Bertil also looks stylish in his smoking jacket, and Ingrid is wearing a dress that is a little too garish. Her attitude toward Thea is rather chilly, presumably because of their conversation after the information meeting. Bertil, however, is in an excellent mood.
‘Darling Thea, what a fantastic evening. It’s going to be so much fun!’
Nettan is the next to arrive, closely followed by Sebastian. They engage David in a quiet conversation while Thea is left to entertain Sebastian’s girlfriend Bianca, who has lived in the USA and travelled all over the world.
‘Tornaby is much cuter than the way Sebastian described it.’
‘Is this your first visit?’
‘Yes – weird, right? We’ve been together for almost three years, visited so many places – Singapore, Los Angeles, Moscow – but we’ve never been to his home village. Not until now.’
‘How did you meet?’
‘At something as boring as a technology fair. Not very romantic. How about you and David?’
‘A charity event for Doctors Without Borders. David was doing the catering. After that we saw each other from time to time, when I wasn’t away.’
She breaks off, doesn’t want to talk about Idlib and Margaux, or to say any more about her relationship with David. Instead she asks questions about Sebastian and Bianca’s travels.
She notices Arne, and makes an effort not to stare at him. He slaps David on the back, but sidles past Thea without even saying hello.
Per and Erik Nyberg are the next to show up.
‘This looks wonderful, David,’ Erik says. ‘It reminds me of the way it was back in the count’s day.’
Thea hasn’t spoken to any of them since the little performance in the courtyard the other day, but neither Per nor his father refer to the incident. They greet her warmly and Per kisses her on the cheek.
David introduces a series of people to her – party planners, food and wine writers, a couple of influencers.
Kerstin Miller is accompanied by Jan-Olof.
‘Lovely to see you, Thea. What a pretty dress!’
Jan-Olof is wearing an ill-fitting navy blue dinner jacket. He says hello without making eye contact, then grabs a glass of champagne. He doesn’t look happy, and judging by his bloodshot eyes, he’s had more than a couple of drinks to warm up in advance.
Dr Andersson arrives with a dried-up little man whom she introduces as her husband. Thea makes small talk with them for a few minutes while keeping an eye out for Hubert Gordon. Unfortunately there’s no sign of him and she hopes he’s just late, that he hasn’t decided to follow the festivities in his former home from a distance.
*
The guests are still enjoying pre-dinner drinks out on the steps. The evening is mild, and the fire baskets provide extra warmth.
David gives a short, well-rehearsed speech, thanking the Bokelund Foundation and the residents of Tornaby for their help, and highlighting Sebastian and Nettan’s contributions.
‘Without you this project would never have come to fruition. And of course a big thank you to my wife Thea for putting up with me, especially over the past few weeks.’
All eyes turn to Thea. She raises her glass and summons up a smile.
David ends his speech by inviting everyone into the entrance hall. The doors to the dining room are thrown open and a big band begins to play. There are candles everywhere, the crystal chandeliers sparkle, their light reflected in the gold-panelled walls, and high up on the ceiling the creatures of the forest continue their revelry.
Thea glances up at the west wing, but the windows are in darkness. Hubert has obviously decided not to come.
They sit down; Per Nyberg is beside her.
‘Don’t say anything,’ he whispers, ‘but I swapped the place cards so I could sit next to you.’
He winks at her, and she’s not sure if he’s joking.
‘How’s the life of a musician these days?’ she asks.
He smiles, shrugs.
‘Well, it might not be the rock star career I dreamed of, but it’ll do.’
Jan-Olof is also on their table, still knocking back everything in sight.
‘Bloody hell!’ Per suddenly exclaims.
Hubert Gordon is standing in the doorway. He looks a little lost, but Ingrid is there in a second to welcome him.
Per lets out a low whistle. ‘The hermit has emerged from his cave. I wonder who managed to lure him here?’
‘That would be me.’
‘Well done – I’m impressed.’
Per raises his glass to her and they share a toast. When Thea lowers her glass, she sees that Hubert is watching them. He nods in greeting. He’s been seated at the same table as David and his parents. Nettan is next to David, Thea notes.
‘What’s it like being newly married to David?’
‘Good. Have you been married?’
Per laughs. ‘No – I guess I’ve never met the right person. Tragic, wouldn’t you say? A grown man still living at home with Daddy.’ His tone is jocular, but Thea senses something else; a hint of sadness that surprises her.
*
The atmosphere in the dining room becomes more lively as the wine flows. Halfway through the main course, someone taps on a glass. It’s Bertil. He gets to his feet, unfolds a sheet of paper and begins to read his speech.
‘Dear David, what a fine job you and your friends have done here at Bokelund. To see you, Jeanette and Sebastian together again warms my heart. It seems like yesterday that you used to spend time at our home. I still don’t know what you got up to, and I don’t want to know either!’
He pauses, laps up the expected laughter.
‘Another person we must thank is Rudolf Gordon. If the count hadn’t set up the Bokelund Foundation, Tornaby wouldn’t have been the village it is today. It’s thanks to Rudolf’s generosity and foresight that we’re sitting here now.’
A brief burst of applause. Thea glances over at Hubert. His expression is completely neutral, showing no emotion at the mention of the generosity that robbed him of his inheritance.
Bertil goes on to talk about Davi
d’s life, how he was interested in cooking from an early age. He gives a chronological summary of David’s career, leaving out the ignominious departure from Stockholm, of course.
Bertil is having one of his most lucid days for a long time. It’s clear that he’s an experienced speaker; he’s good at making contact with his audience, and stops in exactly the right places to elicit laughter and applause. Ingrid looks pleased. She nods in agreement after virtually every sentence, especially when David is the subject. The warmth in her eyes as she gazes up at Bertil is something Thea hasn’t seen before.
Bertil glances down at her with equal affection, and for a moment it is possible to glimpse the two young people in the wedding photograph, so much in love. Thea realises that she finds it quite moving, and that she’s not the only one.
After speaking for exactly the right number of minutes, Bertil raises his glass and is about to finish off with a toast that will raise the roof.
‘You forgot something, Bertil,’ Jan-Olof says, lumbering to his feet. He’s obviously drunk. His table companion tugs at his sleeve, but he irritably shakes off her hand.
‘You forgot to tell everyone what happened. With Elita and Leo.’
Several hands reach out to pull Jan-Olof down onto his chair, but he bats them away.
‘Tell everyone what happened, Bertil. Tell them, for fuck’s sake!’
Arne is suddenly at Jan-Olof’s side. He grabs his arm like the police officer he is and hustles him out of the dining room.
Bertil remains standing, glass in hand. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘There . . . isn’t much more to say, really.’
He looks around at the guests as if he’s searching for someone. Ingrid takes his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Skål!’ someone calls out to help him.
‘Skål!’ everyone joins in.
Bertil gratefully raises his glass, empties it and sits down. There is no warmth in his eyes now.
75
D
avid sends the waiting staff around to top up the glasses and the atmosphere soon recovers.
After a while Arne returns without Jan-Olof. Thea watches him closely. He stops by his sister’s chair and they have a quiet conversation before he goes back to his own seat.
‘What do you think happened to Jan-Olof?’ Thea asks her companion.
Per shrugs. ‘Presumably Arne straightened him out and put him in a taxi. He should never have been invited. Everyone knows Jan-Olof has problems with the booze.’
‘So why was he invited?’
‘Because Kerstin Miller will have put pressure on David. She’s always looked out for Jan-Olof. His mother is a difficult woman, and David won’t say no if Miss Miller asks him to do something.’
Thea is reminded of the invitation to coffee at Kerstin’s, how David, Nettan and Sebastian seemed bothered by Jan-Olof’s company. As if they hadn’t expected him to be there.
*
Thea nips to the Ladies before pudding is served. She bumps into Arne in the hallway. He stops, pulls a face, but it’s too late to pretend they haven’t seen each other.
Thea stares at him, her mouth is suddenly as dry as dust. Is he the one who’s threatened her, locked her in the cellar at Svartgården? Poisoned her dog? Is he the one who killed Elita Svart?
‘What did you do with Jan-Olof?’ she asks, mainly to hide what she’s thinking.
‘He’s passed out in the bridal suite. The idiot was already pissed when he arrived, and it’s not the first time.’
Arne takes a box of cigarillos out of his inside pocket.
‘I’m going outside for a cheeky smoke,’ he says. ‘Coming?’
The suggestion is so unexpected that Thea doesn’t know how to say no.
*
They find a corner at the bottom of the steps. Thea’s eyes are drawn to the effigy of the Green Man on top of the bonfire – the empty face, the straggling arms.
Arne offers her a cigarillo. She takes one, waits while he lights it and his own. He takes a deep drag, leans against the stone balustrade and blows smoke up into the evening sky.
‘After your visit I contacted a former colleague who now works for the state security police,’ he says. ‘I asked him to run some checks on you. Find out who you were before you got your protected ID.’
Thea goes cold all over. ‘Oh yes,’ she says hesitantly.
‘Jenny Boman,’ Arne goes on. ‘Daughter of Leif Boman. Something of a drugs baron in his heyday, apparently.’
He doesn’t sound particularly bothered.
‘Who have you told?’
‘No one – at least not yet.’ He turns to face her. ‘I thought if you were smart enough to get out of there, go to the trouble of changing your name and acquiring a protected ID, then you probably don’t want anything to do with your father. Which means I don’t need to worry about you either.’
He takes another deep drag.
‘That’s why I haven’t mentioned this to my sister. Ingrid isn’t nearly as understanding as I am. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and so on . . .’ He draws a circle in the air with his cigarillo. ‘So now I know your secret, and I’m sure you suspect mine.’
Thea tries to work out what Arne is actually saying.
‘Elita Svart?’ She leaves the name hanging in the air like a question.
‘Yes, I knew Elita. I was even a little bit in love with her. Or rather . . .’ He frowns. ‘Not in love, more . . .’
‘Bewitched,’ Thea suggests.
Arne nods slowly. ‘I knew her father. I used to do the odd job for him, before Bertil got me into the police. Thank God. If you got dragged down into Lasse’s crap it was hard to fight your way back up. I’m thinking you know what I mean?’
It’s Thea’s turn to nod. ‘Walpurgis Night 1986. You got a photograph with an invitation written on it. Did you go?’
Arne picks a flake of tobacco off his tongue as he considers whether to answer.
‘I was such an idiot. I went there in a patrol car, in uniform, even though I wasn’t on duty. I wanted to impress her.’ He snorts. ‘I was young and stupid, that’s all there is to it.’
Thea forces herself to hold back; she mustn’t bombard him with questions. She is taken aback by his honesty, to say the least.
‘So what happened?’ she asks tentatively.
‘It’s all in the case file. Leo came riding into the glade dressed as the Green Man, the kids ran for their lives, and then . . .’
He breaks off, remains silent for a few seconds.
‘Then Leo killed her.’
‘Did you see him do it?’
‘No. I’d climbed a tree to get a better view, but when Leo rode past I fell and knocked myself out. When I came round she was already lying dead on the sacrificial stone.’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this when I’ve kept quiet for over thirty years.’
He chews his lower lip as if to stop any more words from escaping. His expression is anguished, and suddenly Thea understands why.
‘You think you could have saved her,’ she says quietly. ‘If you hadn’t lost consciousness, you could have saved her. Is that what you think?’
He looks away. She gives him time to compose himself.
‘Did you go over to her?’
‘Yes. She’d borrowed my ghetto blaster; it had my name on it. I had to go and get it; I was terrified of being dragged into the whole thing.’
Thea hears the sound of another piece of the puzzle falling into place.
‘Her face was covered with a handkerchief,’ Arne continues. ‘I’ve always regretted lifting it up.’ His expression is even more tortured now. ‘What Leo did to her . . . Smashed her beautiful face to a pulp. Six years was way too lenient for that bastard.’
He falls silent, turns away again.
‘What happened next?’ Thea prompts him.
Arne looks at her. Takes a deep breath.
76
Walpurgis Night 19
86
A
rne tried to drive as steadily as he could. As if it was the most normal thing in the world to arrive at Ingrid and Bertil’s house in a filthy patrol car in the middle of the night.
He knew where the spare key to the double garage was. He killed the headlights before he drove in. Their car was already there, the engine still ticking faintly, which meant they’d just got home.
He closed the doors from the inside, then went into the garden via the back way.
Just as he’d expected, the kids were in the bar. The lights were on and he could hear agitated voices, see several people moving around.
As he began to cut across the lawn, he heard a noise. He turned around, saw a dark figure and jumped, but it was only the Leanders’ timid boy, presumably heading for the bar too.
When the boy saw him, he stopped dead. Arne could understand why; he must look like shit, with his uniform covered in dirt and mud.
‘It’s OK, Leander – it’s me, Arne Backe. We’re going to the same place. Why aren’t you there already?’
The boy, whose name Arne couldn’t remember, looked confused. Arne wasn’t surprised; he wasn’t the brightest kid in the village.
‘Why are you late? The others are already here.’
‘I . . . I got lost,’ the boy stammered. ‘I was a bit behind the rest of them.’
Jan-Olof, that was his name.
Arne gestured towards the bar. ‘In you go. Let’s get this mess sorted out.’
He followed Jan-Olof indoors. The resolve that had come over him after seeing that fucking horse was still there, and it grew stronger when he saw the pale faces of the three children. Bertil and Ingrid were standing opposite them, still in their fancy clothes from the party. Worried, anxious.
‘What the hell happened to you?’ Bertil said.
Arne waved a dismissive hand. ‘Later. Elita Svart is dead.’
The three faces, four including Jan-Olof’s, became even whiter. The children looked like little ghosts.
‘Dead?’ Ingrid snapped, her tone making it clear that she didn’t believe him.
‘She’s lying in the middle of the stone circle with her skull smashed in. The kids were there, playing some kind of game – a spring sacrifice ritual. Then a horse came galloping into the glade, its rider dressed as the Green Man. The kids ran away and the rider killed Elita.’
Rites of Spring Page 31
