She had never seen a foot-hold trap in the area before. For a long time it had been illegal to hunt with them.
With trembling fingers she grabbed her two-way radio. “Embla here. Below my tower there’s a fox stuck in a big foot-hold trap. It’s severely injured. I’m going to kill it. Over and out.”
There were a few moments of silence.
“A foot-hold trap? Are you sure?” she heard Sixten say.
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, then. Shoot. But Nisse and I are coming over to you to see what the hell is going on. The rest of you wait till I return. Over and out!”
After fifteen minutes the two men were there. In silence they stood and looked at the dead fox. Seppo was tied to a tree and made it clear that she would also really like to take a closer look.
“My God! Not even my old man used foot-hold traps. They’re terrible!” Sixten exclaimed.
“I agree. This is an old trap. Rather large, but certainly intended for foxes or beavers. But how did the trap end up here?” said Nisse.
They looked at each other in the faint light of dawn. It would be a beautiful morning, but neither of them were able to appreciate it at the moment.
“It wasn’t here yesterday. I would have seen it because it’s lying right on the path,” said Embla.
Nisse’s knee creaked as he crouched and examined the trap and the ground around it. He looked very serious when he stood up again.
“It was well-hidden under moss and leaves.”
“Who does something so fucking dangerous?” Sixten looked around combatively, as if he hoped to catch sight of the guilty party somewhere among the spruce trees.
“Someone who wants to sabotage or injure. And I wonder . . . Embla, you’re the only one who uses this path,” said Nisse.
She swallowed a few times before she could answer. “I’ll take a few pictures with my phone. This is a hunting violation,” she said, trying to sound unperturbed.
“Yes, and it could just as well have been you who stepped right on the trap. Even if your leg hadn’t been severed, you still would have been injured.”
“Do you think I should report it?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Nisse said grimly.
Sixten summoned the hunters to the grilling area. He recounted what had happened and showed them the foot-hold trap. It was a rather clumsy trap made of rusty iron and a sturdy chain. At the end of it was an iron rod that anchors the trap to the ground so the prey can’t run away with the jaws of the trap on its foot. The mechanism was in good shape: it was well-lubricated and closed with a powerful snap when Sixten pressed on the pan with a thick branch. Wood chips flew as it snapped shut.
Most of the hunters had never seen a foot-hold trap, much less owned one. None of them had noticed anything suspicious either the night before or that morning.
“We won’t get anywhere with this right now. Let’s go back to our stations. But keep an eye out for any more traps, everyone. This one is going to be investigated,” Sixten said.
It turned out to be a fine day for hunting, even if they only shot one calf. They gathered at the Hunting Castle where Sixten thanked the two parties for a successful hunt.
Tobias and Einar crammed into Peter’s car so that the ones who were staying another day could borrow their pickup. They needed it to transport the animals that were shot to the shed for butchering. Peter’s new car didn’t have a towing hook, but he promised to remedy that for the following year.
The members of von Beehn’s hunting party were already done packing. Stig Ekström would drive them in the Hummer to Dalsnäs where their cars were. On Thursday he would have the day off and wouldn’t return in the Hummer until Friday morning. The King Cab would stay behind at von Beehn’s cabin in case Anders and Jan-Eric needed a vehicle.
On Wednesday evening only Embla, Nisse, and Sixten were sitting in the main room having dinner together. Sixten brought out a couple of strong beers that he maintained he had reserved for that night. The other two were a bit surprised; he was not one who was in the habit of sharing, especially where alcoholic beverages were concerned. Embla declined the beer but Nisse took one. He had made a sausage casserole from all the different things that were left over. A can of crushed tomatoes, ketchup, onion, and a dollop of cream did the trick. Along with rice it turned out to be surprisingly good. Sixten took generous helpings, both of the sausage casserole and of the beer. When he was on his third can he looked at Embla with half-closed eyes. With his coarse fist he rubbed his face several times so the beard stubble scraped before he dove in.
“You should watch out for that Peter. There’s something shady about him.”
“What do you mean, ‘shady’?” She tried to look innocent but could feel that her cheeks were getting hot.
“Everyone wonders why he came back. But I know. He’s got some mischief in mind.” As if to confirm his own statement he nodded several times. Then, with an audible slurp, he finished the last drops in the can.
“What kind of mischief? Now you have to explain,” said Nisse.
She was grateful that he was asking questions too, it would make the conversation feel more relaxed than an interrogation. Because that was exactly what she felt she wanted to hold with Sixten: an interrogation. He and Peter had circled each other like two barracudas the past few days. It was time to find out the reason.
Instead of answering he stood up and went for two more cans of beer. At first Nisse looked hesitant, but after quickly sneaking a glance in Embla’s direction he knew it was crucial to get Sixten to tell what was behind the animosity between the two men. And for once it seemed as if he really wanted to talk, perhaps even felt a need to.
After several deep gulps Sixten wiped off the foam from the beard stubble with the back of his fist. “Mischief? Yeah, let me tell you! The bastard has cameras set up everywhere. No one can approach Hansgården without being filmed. He says that it’s because of all the computers he has in the house. He’s afraid of thieves. But I think he has something else going on. Child pornography or something!”
“Hansgården is rather isolated. No one would see if there was a burglary—” Nisse objected, but Sixten interrupted him.
“He has alarms, too. Not just in the house but in the surrounding buildings and the stable.”
No one else in the area had burglar alarms, not even in their houses. There was no point: before the closest security company would arrive, the house would be emptied. You have to rely on neighborly cooperation, which wasn’t always so simple. Often the distance between farms was so great that they were not within sight of each other.
“How do you know all this?” Nisse asked.
Sixten struck his knuckles against his chest and belched audibly before he replied. “Alarm-Gösta in Bengtsfors who installed everything told me.”
Embla could not keep from smiling. In the countryside there were no secrets. She jumped in again. “But Peter works a lot from home. The computers and all the other equipment must be expensive.”
In response Sixten glared at her but did not reply. It was obvious that he didn’t buy that argument. “Explain that business with the room then!” A crafty smile slipped across his thin lips and he screwed up one eye.
“The room?” Embla and Nisse said in unison.
Sixten grinned contentedly at the effect and lowered his voice. “The carpenters who did the renovation weren’t allowed to go into one of the rooms. Now that’s shady!”
Embla exchanged a quick glance with her uncle but didn’t say anything. After a moment’s silence Nisse asked, “How do you know they weren’t allowed to?”
“Mattsson’s Construction had the contract. Patrik Mattsson said that it was so damn strange. He spent money on everything else in the house. Only the best and most expensive. But one room was always locked. No one could go in there.”
Embla tried to sound disinterested as she asked, “Where in the house is that locked room? The basement, or what?”
Sixten
’s bushy eyebrows were knit together and his forehead had deep folds; he was truly trying to think. “Don’t know. I didn’t ask,” he said at last.
Thursday dawned as clear as the day before. After consultation the five remaining hunters decided to devote the day to deer hunting. But hard rain interrupted the hunt at three o’clock, and they drove the day’s kill down to the shed to prepare the deer carcasses. Afterward they drove back to unhook the cart and park it by the cabins. Anders von Beehn and Jan-Eric Cahneborg took off toward the Hunting Castle, while the three others started getting ready for the trip home.
When everything was packed they got in the car and started driving back down toward the shed. Deep ruts in the forest road from the last few days of driving slowed their progress. After a few heavy autumn rains the road would become almost unpassable. That was the main reason the new shed had been placed down by the gravel road, whereas the old shed had been much closer to the hunting cabins. The transports to the new shed may take longer, but at least they weren’t as difficult to navigate when the rains set in.
Embla thought it was fun to drive the big pickup. Compared to her old Volvo there was a completely different kind of comfort. The truck could make its way anywhere. Neither she nor Nisse talked; they didn’t want to disturb Sixten, who was in the backseat, sound asleep.
He had turned seventy in January. He didn’t have a party because his only living relative was an older sister in a home for the elderly Stockholm. Neither of them had any children, so there was no one to inherit his farm.
Embla pulled into the yard in front of Karin and Björn’s house, and both of them came out on the stoop. Her cousin looked tired and Embla asked how she was feeling.
“Not too bad. Better. But it still feels stiff and tender.”
Karin showed them her hand. The two points were still visible, but the swelling had started to go down. When she heard about the foot-hold trap that had been hidden on the path she turned pale. “Has anyone figured out how the snake got into the outhouse?” she asked after a while.
“No. It’s strange. It’s insulated everywhere.”
Something glistened in Karin’s gaze and she leaned forward to whisper to Embla.
“Someone put it there. It fits in with the foot-hold trap. There’s a lunatic running around up there!”
Embla frowned. “Why would someone—?”
“No idea.”
A foolish joke, perhaps? No, that didn’t make sense. All the men in the hunting party were relatives and friends. The thought that someone in von Beehn’s group would be amused by that kind of practical joke was not likely either. No one would do something that stupid and dangerous.
When everything had been unloaded from the truck, Embla went up to the shower room on the top floor and undressed. She let the clothes fall in a heap on the floor and then stepped into the shower. As she shampooed her hair the smell of sweat, earth, and smoke was released. The smell of hunting. It made her long for the forest. In a day and a half they would be back in the cabin. She was already looking forward to it.
Her clean clothes were on the bed. It was a nice feeling to put them on. She took the pile of dirty laundry down to the laundry room and stuffed everything into the washing machine. It would have to go nonstop all evening.
Out in the kitchen Nisse was preparing dinner. Without turning around he said, “Because this is Thursday you’ll get pea soup and pancakes with my homemade raspberry jam.”
“Good! I can mind the soup.”
On the counter beside the stove she saw two plastic bags of prepared pea soup. She could certainly manage to cut open the plastic, squeeze the soup out into a saucepan, add a little water, and heat it. And as the dot over the i she would add lots of home-grown thyme from a pot on the windowsill.
The kitchen had been renovated in the late 1970s. It was all in pine, with rustic cupboard doors and drawers. They had replaced the stove, dishwasher, and refrigerator a year or so ago. Embla had tried to convince him to put in a completely new kitchen, but Nisse didn’t want to. He was comfortable in his pine kitchen. The only thing he agreed to do something about was the floor, which he had sanded and stained.
They made conversation about everything imaginable while they cooked. At last they inevitably came to what they were both wondering about. It was Nisse who brought it up.
“What do you think Peter Hansson is up to?”
“He works in IT. The insurance company probably requires alarms . . .”
“Don’t play dumb! The secret room,” he said with a snort.
He knew her much too well. That damn room had been swirling around in her head ever since Sixten had told about it. Why does someone have a locked room that no one can go into? Obviously because you don’t want anyone to see what you have going on. It could be as simple as he handled confidential and sensitive information on behalf of his clients and needed to protect it. But in purely practical terms, wouldn’t that room too have been in need of renovation before it was put into use? Why couldn’t the tradesmen go into it? Perhaps he had constructed a gigantic train set over the whole floor where he ran Märklin trains and didn’t want that to be gossiped about in the village, but he didn’t really seem to be the type. But what type was he?
“Do you think I should take a closer look at Peter and that room?”
Nisse did not reply immediately. He was completely focused on turning a golden brown pancake. Embla watched as he tossed it with an elegant flip of the wrist up in the air and caught it in the frying pan again. When the pancake had landed safely and started sizzling in the butter he turned around and looked at her thoughtfully. “You haven’t taken a shine to him, have you?”
She felt a slight double-stroke in the heart region . . . had she? Peter was good-looking and attractive, while at the same time a bit inaccessible and contradictory. “I admit that I may feel a bit interested. He’s good-looking and . . . but there’s something else. He’s . . . interesting.”
“Hmm. Interesting. Do you mean the cop in you is curious, perhaps?” Nisse turned around again and raised the finished pancake with the spatula, placing it on top of the stack. With his finger he carefully scraped the batter together in the bowl to make one last pancake.
“Well, yes, people with secrets are always interesting, don’t you think?” she said.
She could not stop brooding about what Peter was doing in the secret room. If there even was such a room, maybe it was just loose talk. She was so submerged in her thoughts that she forgot to stir the soup. At the last moment Nisse noticed it and pulled the saucepan off the burner.
“Oh! Is it still edible?”
“Of course. We don’t need to eat what’s on the bottom.”
After dinner they sat bloated and content in front of the TV. It was seven-thirty, time for the news. Normally Embla tried to keep up with current events, but her thoughts were much too distracted by a locked secret room. Finally she turned toward Nisse.
“Will you help out if I check out Peter and his mysterious room later tonight?”
“Try to stop me,” he said with a smile.
Hansgården was almost five kilometers from Nisse’s farm and Embla’s plan was based on the fact that it was that far away. To help her she had Nisse, Seppo, and her old Volvo. No preparations were needed other than removing the gas can that was always kept filled in the luggage compartment of the Veteran.
As the time approached eight they were ready to get going. She sprayed on a little perfume and brushed some layers of mascara on her eyelashes. For protection from the cold she put on a knit cardigan over a black T-shirt with a deep neckline that she had changed into.
By the time she walked to the car, it was pitch-black outside and rain was hanging in the air. She tossed her thick jacket, mittens, and cap into the backseat. Under the passenger seat she hid a pair of binoculars. There they would be easily accessible but not visible if someone were to look into the car. She put her cell phone in the pocket of her jacket. Carefully she went
through the plan with Nisse. He was attentive and understood exactly.
If she hadn’t seen the expression in Peter’s eyes when he aimed the rifle at Tobias she probably wouldn’t have agreed to the plan. The experience had been upsetting and she never wanted to be part of anything like it again. And if she was now more than just interested in him, it was important to find out what he was hiding. Computers that spit out the most disgusting kinds of pornography, orchid cultivation, marijuana plants, model train tracks . . . ? She had to find out.
Half a kilometer from Hansgården, Embla slowed down and parked the car far out on the edge of the road. When she peered through the binoculars she saw that there were lights on behind the lowered blinds in one of the windows on the top floor. Otherwise the house was dark. The area around the three buildings on the farm was brightly lit up by several floodlights. It would be impossible to sneak up toward any of the buildings under the cover of darkness.
After taking a deep breath she got out of the car and took out two warning triangles from the luggage compartment. One she placed a little ways in front of the car, the other a little behind.
With purposeful steps she walked toward Hansgården. She didn’t detect any movement behind the blinds on the top floor. Right before she stepped into the light that fell across the yard, she took out her phone and called Nisse. As agreed he did not answer. With an oath she put the phone away again. It was important to look believable in case Peter was watching her from behind one of the dark windows. As she came closer her pulse increased. She was nervous. It didn’t get better when she suddenly felt something moving by her lower leg. With a suppressed cry she started. Relieved, she saw that it was a red-striped cat that had brushed against her. It slipped past her and disappeared behind the corner of the house.
Hunting Game Page 6
