Winter Grave

by Helene Tursten

  “Hi,” she said quietly, raising her injured hand in greeting. Apart from the bandage and a reddish knot under one eye, she seemed like her normal self. As she came closer Embla could see that she also had a split lip. She was wearing jeans and a loose top in shades of purple and cerise. Strong colors suited her.

  “Hi, Eva—how’s your hand?”

  “Fine. Seven stitches and antibiotics.”

  She looked at her sleeping nephew. As if he sensed her presence, he opened his eye. When he turned his head and saw the two police officers he gave a start, clearly frightened.

  “It’s okay, Kristoffer. It’s only Embla and Hampus from the police—you already know them,” Eva reassured him.

  She went over and stroked his cheek. He nodded and mumbled something inaudible. His eyelid flickered, and Embla hoped he wasn’t going to go back to sleep. She stepped forward and positioned herself next to Eva.

  “Hi, Kristoffer—good to see you’re on the mend, and that you’ve started drinking.”

  She nodded in the direction of the glass. He didn’t respond; she hadn’t expected him to. It was just a matter of keeping him awake.

  “Have you been able to get out of bed yet?” she continued briskly.

  “He was allowed to sit on the edge, and that went well,” Eva said.

  She hadn’t given the boy time to answer, but he probably wouldn’t have anyway.

  “I’m so pleased you’re making progress. Listen, we’d like to ask you a couple more questions, Kristoffer. Is that okay?”

  At first she thought he hadn’t grasped what she’d said, but just as she was about to ask again, he whispered yes.

  Encouraged by his reaction, she decided to get straight to the point.

  “Do you remember anything else from the evening when you were beaten up?”

  “No.”

  The answer was flat and devoid of any emotion. He was staring at the wall opposite the bed.

  “You don’t have the faintest recollection of what the men who attacked you looked like? Or what kind of car they drove?”

  At the mention of a car, his eyelid twitched.

  “An . . . an SUV.”

  Embla’s heart beat a little faster.

  “Any idea what make?” she ventured hopefully.

  “No.”

  “Color?”

  “Dark.”

  He was weary and distant, as if the events had nothing to do with him.

  “And you don’t remember who was in the car?”

  “No.”

  “Do you recall anything that happened?”

  Kristoffer lay motionless, his eye fixed on the wall. After a second, tears began to run down his cheek.

  “The workshop . . . it’s on fire,” he sniveled.

  Eva went over to the sink by the door and dampened some paper towels. Tenderly she wiped his cheek, then patted it dry.

  “Oh dear, your bandage is a little wet, but it doesn’t matter. Are you okay to carry on talking?” she asked softly.

  Shit, we haven’t even gotten to the reason we’re here, Embla thought. Casually she said, “Actually we just need to check on one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Eva frowned, but Kristoffer showed no reaction. He had stopped crying, but was still sniffing quietly.

  “Two days ago the CSIs found Amelie’s battery-powered candle in the trunk of one of the cars parked outside the workshop. It was hidden in a toolbox. The car wasn’t damaged in the fire, and . . .”

  “The Plymouth?” Kristoffer croaked.

  Embla raised an eyebrow at Hampus.

  “Yes, it was a Plymouth,” he confirmed.

  A flash of something that might have been surprise passed across the visible part of Kristoffer’s face. Then he shook his head and clamped his lips together.

  “A battery-powered candle?” Eva was still frowning, and there was a certain sharpness in her voice. Patiently Embla explained that Swedish schoolchildren were no longer allowed to carry real candles in the Lucia procession, or on other occasions when they were moving or standing close together. There had been many serious accidents over the years.

  When Embla turned back to Kristoffer, she could see that he wasn’t remotely interested in what they were talking about. His good eye was half-closed, and he looked as if he was falling asleep. She leaned forward and tried to re-establish contact with him, but it was no good.

  He was back inside his bubble.

  The two boys were waiting for them outside the café in the square. Both were wearing low-slung ripped jeans and black hoodies with a T-shirt underneath. Totally inadequate for such a damp and chilly day; the thermometer in the Volvo showed that the temperature was just above freezing. The boys were hunched against the bitter wind, hands pushed deep into their pockets.

  Anton Borg was almost as tall as his friend Kristoffer, but more powerfully built. His eyes were blue, but Embla couldn’t tell what color his hair was, as his hood was drawn tightly around his face. He was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. Gabriel Garcia was shorter, with lively brown eyes. His hair hung down to his shoulders beneath his baseball cap. The look he gave Embla was both openly appreciative and speculative. His attitude clearly showed that at seventeen he was no longer a little boy, but a young man with a young man’s needs. She recognized that look, but had been unprepared for it. Several people had described Kristoffer as more or less asexual, and somehow she had expected his friends to be the same, with nothing in their heads but cars and engines. This obviously didn’t apply to Gabriel.

  “Hi—shall we go inside and get a snack?” Hampus suggested.

  The boys muttered their agreement. The place was crowded, but they managed to grab a table right at the back. Whoever was responsible for the décor had gone for beige and brown in a big way. It wasn’t exactly cheerful, yet the overall impression was cozy and homey. Both Anton and Gabriel opted for a Coke and a donut, while Embla and Hampus chose a hot drink and a prawn sandwich.

  “Late lunch,” Embla explained when their order arrived. The boys nodded; they seemed perfectly happy with their donuts.

  After some small talk about what it was like living in Strömstad as a teenager—they both agreed that summer was fantastic and winter was the pits—and their motor vehicle engineering courses, the conversation turned to Kristoffer and everything that had happened to him.

  “Do you know what Kristoffer was doing on the afternoon when Amelie Holm went missing?” Embla asked.

  The boys exchanged a glance, and Anton answered.

  “He dropped her outside her house and drove home. He was like totally stressed about the Pontiac Firebird—the owner was picking it up the following day.”

  He sounded absolutely certain, and Gabriel nodded in agreement. Embla couldn’t see any indication that they were lying.

  “Did either of you have any contact with Kristoffer that day?”

  “I called him at like two-thirty and asked if he was coming into town, but he said he’d already been in, and was heading home to finish the Pontiac,” Anton said.

  Now it was Embla and Hampus’s turn to exchange a glance. This was new information.

  “Did you arrange to meet up later?”

  “Yes, over at his place.”

  “What time?”

  “Between four and five.”

  “And when did you get there?”

  “Around four-thirty.”

  Anton looked inquiringly at Gabriel, who nodded.

  “And how long did you stay?”

  Gabriel leaned forward and gave Embla a dazzling smile.

  “We left at eleven. There was no point in staying—no girls!”

  This was followed by a wink. Embla was a little taken aback. He’s flirting with me. She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or annoyed. She decide
d to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

  “Was Kristoffer’s dad home when you arrived?”

  “We didn’t go into the house. We were in the workshop the whole time,” Anton informed her.

  “You didn’t go in for something to eat?”

  “No, we’d brought pizza.”

  “Did you see Olof during the evening?”

  “He came in and said he’d been testing the Plymouth Fury. The brakes were like completely shot, and the engine was misfiring. Then he said he was going to some Christmas party.”

  Hadn’t Olof said he’d gone straight out to join Kristoffer in the workshop when he got home? And that he’d stayed there and helped him with the Pontiac until it was time to leave for the party?

  “When did Olof come into the workshop?”

  The boys looked uncertain.

  “A while before six. Definitely not after six,” Anton said eventually.

  Hampus was playing with his coffee spoon; it clinked against the cup as if he was about to give a speech. He came straight out and asked the boys, “Do you think Kristoffer had anything to do with Amelie’s disappearance?”

  “No way!”

  They both spoke simultaneously, both equally convinced that the idea of their friend harming Amelie was ridiculous.

  “He’s not interested in little girls. And he’s kind of . . . weak!” Anton said firmly.

  “He won’t fight back, never has. I don’t think he even knows how,” Gabriel said, catching Embla’s eye and taking the opportunity to wink at her again.

  “All that crap on Facebook and Twitter is fucking garbage!” Anton exclaimed.

  Hampus nodded to show that he understood and agreed. “And he’s never hurt anyone younger than him? Or a girl?”

  The response came in unison: “Never!”

  Embla considered what the boys had said. They had no doubt that their friend was innocent. Something occurred to her.

  “Do you think he might know something he hasn’t told us?”

  Anton met her gaze. “Kristoffer doesn’t know how to lie.”

  “Never has,” Gabriel concurred.

  Anton leaned forward and almost whispered, “But he does know how to keep quiet if he doesn’t want to tell you something.”

  That was exactly the feeling Embla had had. They needed to go back and have another conversation with Kristoffer the next morning.

  She was standing by the bed. Sheer blue fabric was draped around her slender body. Her blonde hair wafted gently around her pale face as if there were a breeze; it was hard to make out her features. She held out her transparent hand and said:

  “Don’t look for me. Find the girl.”

  Slowly she turned toward the window and faded away. Embla tried to shout out, to tell her to stay, but she couldn’t make a sound. Her heart was pounding as if it were trying to break out of her chest. Don’t disappear again, Lollo! Stay!

  When she woke, she sat up in bed. Her mouth was bone dry and there was a rough coating on her tongue. She knew she’d screamed out loud; it happened sometimes, but it had been a while. Lollo, Lollo! It felt like she’d really been there!

  Embla switched on the bedside lamp and glanced around the room. She realized she was looking for damp footprints on the floor. Hampus was in the room next door. He must have heard her yelling, but both he and Göran had gotten used to it. At first Göran had anxiously asked why she had such terrible dreams, but she had brushed off his concern, said she’d had nightmares ever since she was a child and there was nothing to be done about it. The truth was that they’d started haunting her after Lollo had disappeared. That was fourteen and a half years ago, when Embla had just turned fourteen.

  At the end of August her best friend, Louise—Lollo—went missing. Embla felt she was to blame for the fact that those responsible had never been brought to justice and forced to reveal what they had done with her. She had carried the guilt ever since.

  The memories of the night Lollo had gone missing were hazy for Embla. She had been drunk—really drunk—for the first time in her life. At the club, she and Lollo had gotten separated, and Embla had looked around in despair and caught a glimpse of Lollo’s blue dress before it disappeared through a door marked staff only. Somehow she had managed to fight her way across the room, and that was where her recurring nightmare began.

  Cautiously she pushed open the door and peeped inside. A bare bulb glowed faintly at the end of a dark corridor. She slipped through the door and tried to close it as quietly as possible. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears and it was difficult to work out what was going on around her. She knew she had to get to the light; that was where Lollo was. And the others, too, presumably. Although she didn’t want to think about them right now; it was Lollo who mattered. She had to get her out of this place. The corridor went on and on. The floor was no longer solid; her feet sank deeper and deeper with each step. Keep going, keep going! You need to hurry! The light came closer and she thought she could hear voices through the thudding in her ears. There were three big shadows up ahead, bending over a tiny, hunched figure. She knew it was Lollo. She tried to yell; her lips moved, but no sound emerged. One of the shadows suddenly straightened up and she realized she’d been discovered. At first she went rigid with fear, then she turned to run. But she had paused for a fraction of a second, and that was enough. She felt as if her feet were stuck to the floor. The threatening shadow was approaching at speed. He reached her and grabbed her by the throat.

  “If you say one word to anyone, you’re dead! We know who you are and where you live!” he hissed.

  Shaking with terror, she managed to say: “Lollo, Lol . . .”

  “Forget about her!”

  He threw her down. The walls around her collapsed and she sank down into ice-cold slime; her nostrils and mouth became blocked in seconds. Breathe . . . she couldn’t breathe!

  Always the same nightmare. Always exactly the same inexorable conclusion. Because that was what the confused images in Embla’s memory looked like.

  Somehow she had managed to get out of the club and catch the tram back to Högsbo and Axel Dahlström Square, where Lollo’s mother’s apartment was. Fortunately Lollo had given her a spare key.

  “In case we don’t come home together,” she’d giggled.

  Almost as if she knew what was going to happen, Embla had thought many times over the years.

  From then on, Embla had done everything wrong. She hadn’t dared tell the truth, not to her parents, Lollo’s mother, or the police. Instead she’d lied and said they’d had an argument on the way into town, and Lollo had gone off on her own to meet some guy. Embla had sulked and headed back to the apartment to wait for her.

  There were witnesses who’d seen Lollo and another girl on the tram, but no one could remember what Lollo’s companion looked like. Embla’s striking hair had been hidden under her mom’s turquoise silk scarf. She’d been wearing a white top, black tights, and white sneakers. Next to Lollo, who was an ethereal vision in blue, she had faded into the background.

  Two witnesses claimed to have seen Lollo walk straight past the line at the nightclub, with another girl trailing along behind her. However, they weren’t sure if the two girls had even known each other because neither of them had seen the girls together inside the club.

  At that point Embla had been hugely relieved that no one could describe her or prove she’d lied. However, as an adult she knew that was why the search for Lollo had gotten nowhere. If she had been forced to tell the police what had gone on that night, they could have conducted a much more productive investigation and brought the Stavic brothers in for questioning.

  Due partly to Embla’s cowardice, Lollo had never been found. The feelings of angst and shame were still just as strong, which was why she couldn’t shake off the nightmare. During the fourteen and a half years that had passed, it had never chan
ged. Until last night, when Lollo had been standing by her bed. She had told Embla not to look for her, but to find the girl. She must have been referring to Amelie.

  What did the dream mean? Did it mean anything? And what about the terrifying question that always came into her mind after the nightmare: Was Lollo dead? Probably, in which case, it must be her spirit that had visited Embla last night. What a stupid idea! Embla didn’t believe in ghosts, but that thin, cold, transparent figure had felt very real. It was as if a chill still lingered in the room. Impossible. But she’d heard her speak; it had sounded exactly like Lollo’s voice.

  What had happened on that August night? What had the Stavic brothers done with Lollo? Would it be possible to reopen the case? Embla was old enough and experienced enough to start investigating Lollo’s disappearance now. She had to know, if only to put a stop to those nightmares.

  Hampus gave her a searching look at the breakfast table, but Embla simply made a comment about the weather.

  Their boss wandered into the kitchen, his whole face contorted in a yawn. “Coffee—terrific!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together with delight. He had found a large floral-patterned breakfast cup in one of the cupboards. Judging by the size, it was meant for porridge, but he filled it to the rim with coffee and four lumps of sugar.

  Embla poured natural yogurt into a bowl, then added a few spoonfuls of the muesli she’d brought with her. Göran peered at her breakfast.

  “I don’t understand why you insist on eating rabbit food and slop. There’s everything you could possibly need for a good, nutritious breakfast on this table!” He waved his arm expansively. He liked to joke about Embla’s eating habits, but she ignored him and simply smiled.

  “So are you going to accept the Norwegian’s challenge?” Hampus asked.

  It wasn’t really something she wanted to discuss at the breakfast table, but as he’d asked a direct question, she didn’t have much choice.

  “Not the way things are looking at the moment. The doctors have advised me against competing. I suffered a serious concussion.”