Rites of Spring

by Anders de la Motte

  Thea thinks she knows the answer to her next question, but asks it anyway.

  ‘And the money?’

  ‘We agreed that it should go to Leo when he got out of jail. Anonymously, of course.’

  Thea closes her eyes. Her mind is full of slow-moving thoughts.

  ‘What . . .?’ she begins, but can’t get any further. Her mouth refuses to co-operate, her chin keeps dropping. ‘What have you . . .?’

  ‘Sleeping tablets. I ground them up and put them in your tea. I’m very sorry, but we need time to think things through. Work out what to do. Close your eyes and everything will be fine, I promise.’

  The darkness closes in around Thea, sweeping in from the sides and swallowing her vision before finding its way into her head.

  89

  S

  he is dreaming again, a horrible dream about dead women buried deep in the mud. Trapped, unable to get out. Elita, Lola, Eva-Britt. The two Gordon girls.

  Beautiful women dead that by my side. Once lay.

  Will she soon be lying next to them?

  She is woken by loud voices. For a little while she lingers in the no-man’s-land between sleep and wakefulness as her head slowly clears. She is sitting on a wooden chair in what is presumably Kerstin’s pantry. Her arms and legs are secured to the chair with cable ties.

  The voices are coming from the kitchen. There are three of them, and she recognises them all.

  ‘We have no choice, Kerstin,’ Ingrid says. ‘If she starts talking, you and Bertil will be in real trouble. You might even end up in jail. Is that what you want?’

  ‘Of course not, but isn’t it high time the truth came out? Bertil seemed to think so too.’

  ‘Bertil is no longer himself. You if anyone should realise that.’

  ‘Not so loud – what if she wakes up and hears us?’ The third voice belongs to Arne.

  Someone switches on the radio. Music pours into the room, drowning out most of what is said. Thea tries to free herself, but the cable ties are immovable.

  The conversation is becoming more heated, and she picks up the odd fragment through the music.

  ‘We have no choice,’ Ingrid repeats.

  ‘. . . absolutely out of the question,’ Kerstin counters. ‘Bertil wouldn’t have wanted . . .’

  ‘What do you know about what Bertil would have wanted? You were nothing more than a diversion!’

  ‘. . . for heaven’s sake, Ingrid . . . other solutions.’

  ‘There’s only one way . . .’

  This is followed by a crash as a piece of furniture falls over, then a loud thud. Murmuring voices. After a few minutes the music is switched off and the pantry door opens. Arne is standing there with a knife in his hand.

  ‘Time for a little walk,’ he says.

  He cuts the cable ties and leads her into the kitchen, where Ingrid is picking up a chair.

  ‘Where are Kerstin and Bertil?’ Thea asks.

  ‘They’re having a little rest,’ Ingrid answers, a fraction too quickly. Then she nods to Arne, jerks her head in the direction of the door.

  ‘Are you really sure about this?’ he asks her.

  ‘Yes. You know what her type is like. Devious, untrustworthy.’

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ Thea tries to hide her fear, but without success.

  No response. Arne grabs her arm and hustles her out of the door. It’s started raining.

  ‘Head for the jetty,’ he orders her.

  She obeys, for a few metres at least. Then she stops dead.

  ‘Keep going!’

  She remains where she is. Turns to face him.

  ‘No. If you want to kill me, then you’re going to have to do it yourself. I have no intention of helping you.’

  Arne pulls a face. Reaches into his pocket and produces a pistol. Her knees are trembling, she tenses her thighs as much as she can to stop them. She thinks about what Margaux would have done.

  ‘Now move!’

  Thea shakes her head.

  Arne raises the gun. Thea takes a deep breath.

  ‘Did you know that you sent the wrong person to jail? That Leo was innocent?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It wasn’t Leo and Bill you saw – not in the stone circle, anyway. It was Hubert, riding Nelson.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ The hand holding the gun wavers.

  ‘They’ve lied to you all these years, Arne. Bertil and your sister. Protected you because you persuaded the children to make a false statement.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ His voice gives way.

  ‘Somewhere deep down, I think you suspected. I think you knew something wasn’t right about the investigation. Why else would Lennartson have told you to threaten that journalist? And why would the count, who was so passionate about the Gordon family history, disinherit his son? You had a feeling that a murderer had walked free while an innocent man ended up behind bars. And that Bertil, whom you so admired, was the brains behind it all. But neither you, David nor anyone else wanted to know the whole truth. You were happy for Bertil to keep the secret for you. It gave you the chance to pretend that you’d done the right thing.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Arne’s voice has gone up in pitch, but Thea can see that her words have hit home.

  ‘Drop the gun, Arne.’

  The words come from the edge of the forest. Someone is standing there in the darkness. A short man in a yellow raincoat, holding a double-barrelled shotgun.

  ‘Hubert?’ Arne exclaims.

  ‘Drop the gun, I said!’ The man raises the shotgun and takes a couple of steps forward, into the glow of the outside lights.

  Rain is pouring down onto Thea’s face. She wipes her eyes so that she can see properly; it is indeed Hubert.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Arne snaps.

  ‘Kerstin called and told me what had happened. Please put down the gun, Arne.’

  ‘I was only supposed to frighten her, for fuck’s sake! Make her stop poking around and leave Tornaby for good.’

  Arne lowers his arm, but keeps hold of the weapon.

  ‘Is Thea right, Hubert? Was it you riding the horse?’

  ‘Drop the gun, Arne.’

  ‘Answer me!’ He raises his arm, aiming at Hubert this time. The little man doesn’t move; his shotgun is still trained on Arne.

  ‘Come on, Hubert! Bertil’s kept your secret all these years. I would never reveal something that would harm him.’

  ‘And what secret is that?’

  Arne wipes the rain from his face with his free hand as his brain tries to compute what Thea has told him.

  ‘That it was you and not Leo who murdered Elita Svart.’

  There is silence for a few seconds. Hubert’s expression doesn’t change, and all at once Thea knows why. She curses herself silently for not realising long ago, when she read the autopsy report.

  Elita had died from a single powerful blow to the head. The ground all around her was covered in hoof prints, there was horse hair on her clothes.

  Her hands were effectively bound by the ribbons. Nelson was difficult to handle, according to Hubert.

  ‘It wasn’t him,’ she says loudly.

  ‘What?’ Arne gives a start.

  ‘Hubert didn’t kill Elita Svart. No one did.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘Elita was kicked to death by Nelson. That’s what happened, isn’t it, Hubert?’

  She turns to him.

  ‘It wasn’t Nelson’s fault,’ Hubert mumbles. ‘The children started screaming, the drums, the fire – it was all too much. Nelson panicked and reared up. Elita was standing right in front of him and . . .’

  ‘Shit!’ Arne rubs his forehead. ‘You mean the whole thing was an accident? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘I . . . I didn’t dare.’

  Thea sees Hubert’s shoulders slump. The rain hammers down on his raincoat, trickling down
in sad little rivulets.

  ‘Shit,’ Arne says again. ‘So what do we do now?’

  The question seems to be directed at Thea, but it is Ingrid who answers. She has silently appeared behind Arne.

  ‘We protect the village,’ she says. ‘That’s what Bertil and the count did, and we must do the same thing. For their sake.’

  She places a hand on Arne’s shoulder.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’ he says. ‘Didn’t you trust me?’

  ‘Bertil trusted you more than anyone else,’ Ingrid assures her brother. ‘You’re like a son to him – he was so proud of you when you qualified as a police officer. He didn’t want to see you get into trouble.’

  She pats him gently.

  ‘You did what you thought was right. We all did, especially Bertil. He realised that the truth was too costly, and that someone must be sacrificed for the good of everyone else. Just like now.’

  ‘But we can’t kill someone, can we?’

  ‘We have no choice. If she talks, the whole thing collapses. Bertil could end up in jail and you’d probably lose your job. Think about David, the castle – everything we’ve built up would be taken away from us. That can’t happen.’

  Arne looks unsure, but he is still holding the pistol.

  ‘You have to be strong now, Arne,’ Ingrid continues. ‘Do what Bertil would have done.’

  ‘Enough.’ Hubert raises the shotgun a fraction. ‘I can’t lie anymore.’

  Ingrid tilts her head on one side.

  ‘What do you think your father would have said about all this, Hubert? Wouldn’t he have told you to protect the honour of the Gordon family, as he did? Do what’s best for the village?’

  She takes a couple of steps towards Hubert, whose shoulders slump even more.

  Ingrid keeps walking, holds out her hand.

  ‘Ingrid,’ Arne says warningly.

  Thea holds her breath.

  ‘Give me the shotgun,’ Ingrid says firmly.

  Hubert’s head droops.

  ‘Well done, Hubert. Your father would have been proud of you. You’re a true Gordon.’

  Those words have an instant effect on Hubert. Without warning he sweeps the shotgun in a wide arc and fires.

  The report is so loud and so deafening that Thea closes her eyes and covers her head with her arms. When she opens her eyes Ingrid is lying on the ground, and for a second she thinks Hubert has shot her. But Ingrid scrambles to her feet. Her face is ashen, but she appears to be unhurt. Hubert is looking in surprise at his stomach, where a small black-rimmed hole has appeared in his raincoat. Dark red blood is seeping out. Thea turns around. Arne is staring at Hubert, then suddenly he realises what he’s done.

  ‘No!’ he gasps, and lowers the pistol.

  Hubert drops the shotgun, his knees give way and he sinks to the ground. Thea rushes over to him. He is still conscious, and manages a strained smile.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been completely honest with you, Thea.’

  ‘Hush – not now.’

  She unbuttons his raincoat. The wound is approximately ten centimetres diagonally above the navel. The right side to avoid the liver, but bullets often change direction inside the body. She rolls him over onto his side, finds the exit wound. There is blood here too, but not much. A good sign.

  ‘No, no, no!’

  Arne is walking around in circles. Ingrid still looks shocked.

  Thea finds a handkerchief in Hubert’s inside pocket, presses it against the entry wound.

  Ingrid staggers over to Arne.

  ‘We need to finish this, right now,’ Thea hears her say.

  Arne appears to have lost the plot completely, but he’s still clutching the gun.

  ‘Can you stand up?’ Thea asks Hubert.

  ‘I think so.’

  She helps him up, drapes his arm over her shoulders and hobbles towards the edge of the forest as fast as she can.

  Ingrid and Arne seem to be involved in a heated exchange of opinions, but Thea has no intention of sticking around to see who wins.

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  hea tries to half-run through the forest, but it’s impossible. Hubert is too heavy, and as soon as she’s among the trees she loses the little path.

  She will never be able to find her way back to the logging track where she left the car. They’ll have to try and follow the canal as far as the moat, then cross the bridge to the castle. Lock themselves in the west wing and call the police.

  She’s far from sure that Hubert will be able to make it, but she can’t see any other way. Hubert seems to understand, and keeps going as best he can. He doesn’t complain, even though he must be in considerable pain.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he murmurs. ‘All the trouble I’ve caused . . .’

  She doesn’t answer; she’s fully occupied with trying to press on in the pouring rain. She looks back; the beams of two torches have appeared in the darkness behind them.

  ‘We have to keep going,’ she whispers, dragging Hubert to the left to get closer to the canal.

  She smells the water before she sees it. It’s impossible not to think about what’s buried down there in the mud. A pick-up and a car with the remains of Lasse, Eva-Britt and Lola.

  Hubert coughs, gasps for air. ‘Sorry, sorry.’

  The torches are getting closer.

  ‘We can’t stop now, Hubert.’

  His legs can’t carry him any longer. He is becoming heavier and heavier, and in the end she has to lay him down on the ground in a glade by the water’s edge.

  ‘Leave me here,’ he whispers. ‘Run – I’ll delay them.’

  Thea takes a couple of steps. Sees the blood on his raincoat. The handkerchief in his outstretched hand is more red than white. She goes back, sits down beside him. Helps him to press the handkerchief to the wound.

  ‘Run, Thea.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘You’re my patient. I can’t leave you.’

  The torch beams have almost reached them. Thea thinks about curling up, but realises there’s no point. There are reflective tags on Hubert’s yellow raincoat that shine when the light hits them.

  ‘Here!’ Ingrid shouts. ‘They’re here!’

  Ingrid and Arne enter the glade. Arne is still holding the gun. He clenches his jaw, a determined look in his eye.

  Thea holds her breath. Margaux’s face suddenly comes into her mind. Her smile, her voice.

  Don’t be afraid, ma chère.

  At the same moment Thea hears a faint sound approaching through the night. At first she thinks she’s imagining things, but then Arne lifts his head.

  The sound comes closer, a rhythmic thumping. Hooves thundering on soft ground. A dazzling bright light blazes through the trees.

  Arne shades his eyes with his hand, then staggers backwards.

  The hoof beats and the light come closer and closer, illuminating Arne’s face. Every scrap of colour has been replaced with ash-grey. His eyes are wide open, his mouth is gaping.

  ‘Arne!’ Ingrid yells, but he doesn’t seem to hear her. He stands there as if he has been turned to stone, as if his worst nightmare has come true.

  A big horse enters the glade; the blinding light is shining from the head of its rider.

  ‘NOOO!’ Arne screams. He drops the gun and turns around. The horse cannons into him and he falls into the thick, muddy water.

  Horse and rider continue towards Ingrid, who begins to run. After only a couple of metres the horse knocks her down like a rag doll.

  The rider reins in the animal, then circles around Ingrid to see if she’s likely to get up. Ingrid lies there motionless. The horse comes to a halt and the rider switches off the powerful head torch.

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t be able to get out of my own cellar?’ Kerstin Miller says, without taking her eyes off Ingrid.

  She turns to Thea.

  ‘I really am so sorry about all this.’ She jumps down, loops the reins over a branch. ‘I’ve calle
d emergency services. The police and an ambulance should be here in a few minutes. Let’s see if we can get Hubert back to the house.’

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  he night is filled with blue lights, and Hubert is lying on a trolley. Thea and the paramedics have managed to stop the bleeding.

  Arne was covered in mud when the police led him past, hands cuffed behind his back. He wept like a child as they put him in the patrol car. Ingrid was quieter.

  It is Kerstin who talks to the police, explains what’s happened. Thea has given only a brief summary, on the basis that she has to attend to her patient. She is standing beside Hubert holding his hand.

  ‘You have to go now,’ she says. ‘You need to get to the hospital.’

  ‘Not yet.’ He gives her that smile she likes so much. ‘I should have owned up long ago. Taken responsibility.’

  She squeezes his hand.

  ‘Don’t think about that now. What’s done is done.’

  ‘I really wanted to confess, but I couldn’t. We were young. We didn’t have the courage.’

  He returns the squeeze.

  Another car arrives and Per Nyberg jumps out, looking worried. He goes over and speaks to one of the police officers, who points to Thea and Hubert.

  Per hurries to join them.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’ll survive,’ Thea reassures him. ‘Hubert saved my life,’ she adds, and sees the little man’s face light up.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Per replies. ‘Hubert is one of the most unselfish people I know.’

  He reaches out and takes Hubert’s other hand in a touchingly tender gesture.

  One of the paramedics catches Thea’s eye.

  ‘Time we made a move.’

  The men load the trolley onto the ambulance. Per holds onto Hubert’s hand for a second before letting go. Thea remains standing beside him. She is exhausted, both physically and mentally.

  She looks at Hubert. Sees how his eyes are fixed on Per. He raises a hand in farewell.

  The strongest love is unrequited love.

  And now, at long last, she finally understands how everything hangs together. The picture is complete.