Hunting Game

by Helene Tursten

  “A fresh group of guys from the national guard is coming who will continue to search during the night. If they don’t find von Beehn, we’ll have to call in a helicopter with heat camera and divers who can search in the lake. We’ll gather here at seven o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said.

  After that he thanked everyone for their commitment and then turned toward Embla.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Of course.”

  They went into the Hunting Castle and sat down by the open fireplace. The fire had gone out, but the stones were still lukewarm. It was the warmest place they could find. Ten degrees above freezing inside was better than the damp, freezing-point air outside, but neither of them shed any layers of clothing. It was crucial to retain the warmth you managed to generate. Embla felt both hungry and cold.

  “You know everyone involved and you’ve been here for the entire hunt and seen everything that’s happened the past few days. It would be helpful if you wrote a report about what’s been going on,” Roger Willén said, getting right to the point.

  At first she was completely speechless. Perhaps her low blood sugar was affecting her; she felt anger welling up inside her.

  “Listen, I’m on vacation. It’s your job to write a report. No way am I going to do it!” She met his glance and noticed he was perplexed. “I’m a detective inspector. Not your secretary!” she added while she still had her dander up.

  Willén swallowed several times. “I thought that perhaps you would be a little collegial,” he said stiffly.

  “Collegial! I’ve been collegial since six o’clock this morning! I was the one who organized the search and found Jan-Eric. I was the one who paddled out and retrieved him. I called you and—”

  “Thanks. Forget I asked.”

  They glared at each other but both were too tired to keep up a longer staring contest.

  The superintendent took a deep breath. “If we just have you record everything would that work?”

  She quickly made an assessment. She was aware that she let her temper take over. Obviously it was best to have good relationships with her colleagues. It didn’t hurt to show a little willingness to cooperate.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “Record yourself telling me the story—anything you think is important. And anything else, too, for that matter. Just so we can get a picture of the course of events.”

  Yes, she could actually take that on. But there was a hitch.

  “I don’t have a tape recorder.”

  “We do. A little mini-recorder.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll record it this evening. I also have some photos I took on my phone before we moved the body. They’re not great quality, but I’ll send them to you.”

  “Thanks. That will be a great help.”

  It sounded as if he meant that.

  The search team reconvened at the Hunting Castle as agreed at seven o’clock the next morning. Before they went out in the woods, Embla handed the recording to Superintendent Willén. She had recorded it after Nisse and Björn had gone to bed. If you listened carefully you could hear Nisse’s snoring in the background. In any case she thought she did.

  The search continued like the day before, with the hacking sound from a helicopter in the air above. The divers had also arrived in their specially equipped van. The lake was not large; their commander thought they would be done during the day. A new group of soldiers would arrive late in the morning and hopefully a number of volunteers would come from Missing People as well.

  When the search was called off late that evening, they still had not found the slightest trace of Anders von Beehn.

  The hunting party gathered again by the cabins where they all agreed to go home for the night. Everyone felt a strong need to shower and get some sleep in their regular beds.

  Embla parked her old car in front of Hansgården. The entire farmyard was bathed in light. The thought popped up again: Who is he afraid of? But maybe it was like he said and the material he worked with would be very attractive to competing companies and criminals who dealt in industrial espionage. It was strange though. Didn’t the thefts of IT secrets usually happen, for obvious reasons, on the Internet?

  She firmly dismissed all thoughts of crime in cyberspace and decided to try to relax and have a pleasant evening. Now that she knew more about Peter’s background she could better understand why he was guarded with other people. Hopefully he would change his attitude when they got to know each other a little better.

  As she ran her hand over her newly washed hair, she felt it was still damp. She wore it loose, so it would soon be dry. Once again she had put on her good sweater, leaving her left shoulder bare. With the sweater, she wore a pair of tight jeans. She had done laundry the day before and with a few sprays of perfume in strategic places she smelled good. Most of all it was nice to exchange the rubber hunting boots for a pair of light ankle boots.

  The front door opened before she could knock. Peter welcomed her with a radiant smile and a warm hug. He took the opportunity to give her a light kiss on the cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. It didn’t feel overly intimate, but a thrill passed through her body. She wanted more of that. He courteously took her jacket and hung it up in the closet. Then he put his arm around her waist and guided her into the living room, where the lighting was subdued. There were candles all over in low glass holders. The candles in the chandelier over the coffee table were also lit, and the glow from the flames reflected off the shiny marble surface. A silver wine cooler and two tall glasses glistened on the little table between the chairs in front of the wood stove. Behind the glass doors of the stove the flames crackled.

  She gasped for breath. “You’ve really gone all out!” she said as she exhaled.

  A smile gleamed in his eyes. “You have to if you’re trying to repair a bad impression.”

  He invited her to sit down and took the bottle out of the cooler, wrapped a cloth napkin around it, and opened the cork with a pop. A glance at the label showed that it was genuine champagne.

  “Fair warning: I’m going to pass out after one glass,” she said.

  That was no exaggeration, she felt drained in both body and soul after two long days of fruitless searching. There had also been the lack of sleep.

  “The same goes for me, so since I think it’s safe to assume this bottle will be enough, I’ve gone for a better brand,” he said with a wink. He filled the glasses and handed her one.

  As she took it he caught her gaze. Her heart skipped a beat, and she sincerely hoped that it didn’t show that she was blushing. To hide her nerves she said, “I can feel it in my feet. I’ve been moving all the time for two days. Normally we just sit at our stations for the most part.”

  “You feel stiff, too.”

  That was a statement. His smile became more devious and there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

  “Stiff, yes. And yet I’m in pretty good shape,” she said.

  “Good shape . . . listen, let’s make a toast. Then I’ll show you something. Cheers!”

  With a broad smile he raised the misted glass and again looked her deep in the eyes. Her heart fluttered again and she felt the warmth spreading in her body. A handsome man, intelligent and exciting with his little secrets. And who didn’t have secrets? She liked all of it. But she didn’t want to appear too eager.

  When they had taken the first sip he stood up and extended his hand to her.

  “Come on. Bring the glass with you. Now you’ll get to see something I haven’t shown you before,” he said.

  Without hesitating she took his outstretched hand and followed him over to the kitchen. They crossed the kitchen floor, up to a closed door. The one she didn’t have time to look behind the last time she had done a house inspection. He let go of her hand and opened the door. With a proud gesture he pointed into the room and exclaimed, “Ta-da! My gym!”

  She stepped in and looked around the space. Along one wall were four different pieces of e
xercise equipment, one of which was a decent-sized treadmill. She was very familiar with the brand. These were professional machines. In one corner he had installed a sauna with glass walls, and under the oblong window with frosted pane she saw a big Jacuzzi. Two soft, white terry-cloth bath towels were hanging on the wall. The floor was of the same beautiful granite as the rest of the house.

  “Very nice!” she exclaimed.

  “Thanks. I’m quite happy with it. This is the old laundry room that I’ve expanded. It’s still behind the door over there.” He pointed toward a door on the opposite wall.

  “Cheers to your fine gym,” she said, raising her glass.

  When they had toasted he looked her steadily in the eyes. “The Jacuzzi stays at thirty-eight degrees. Care for a dip in the whirlpool? A little massage is always nice.”

  That thrilling wave passed through her again, but she didn’t know how she should answer. She should probably play it cool.

  “Absolutely!” she heard herself say.

  Then they undressed each other. She set her glass on the edge of the whirlpool, but happened to bump it, and it fell in the water. But neither of them paid much attention to that. They were fully occupied with other things.

  He invited her to sleep over but she declined. Talk was surely already going around the area. The Veteran was well-known here in the sticks, and the car had been parked on the illuminated farmyard at Hansgården for several hours already. Even though the farm was out of the way, someone had most likely seen it. But as she drove away, Embla had to admit to herself that she felt better than she had in a very long time.

  Everything felt right with Peter. Although he had been a bit . . . short with her after her snooping, he was a totally different man now. He had warmed up to her and she to him. For once, she thought to herself with a smile, she hadn’t fallen for a jerk.

  Embla awoke to sounds from down in the kitchen. As she fumbled for her phone she saw that it was already a quarter past seven. She stretched before she got up and went into the small guest bathroom. A glance in the mirror revealed a serious case of bedhead; the danger of having sex with damp hair. It was hopeless to try to brush the reluctant strands back into place. The only immediate option was to tie it all up in a bun and affix it to the top of her head with hairpins and rubber bands. After that her hairstyle was more presentable.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” she asked as she stepped into the kitchen.

  Nisse was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. He looked up at her over the edge of his reading glasses. “I thought you needed to sleep in. This is supposed to resemble a vacation anyway,” he answered with a wry smile.

  “Well, that’s fallen apart completely! But I have lots of comp time to use, so I’ll come back here as soon as I can. Although it won’t be for at least a month. Elliot and I are also planning to come up for a few days during fall break. Even though we can’t hunt then.”

  “I hope it’s possible to arrange that comp time. There are a few moose left in the quota. If they haven’t all run away from our area. There’s a heck of a lot of disturbances in the forest right now.”

  “If we can just find Anders von Beehn it will be calm again.”

  Nisse gave her a thoughtful look. “Do you think so?”

  She chose not to answer. Instead she poured yogurt and muesli into a bowl and sat down at the table. Sure, she still had stiffness in her feet and calves, but otherwise she was feeling great. The evening with Peter had been a real miracle cure. She noticed that she was smiling and quickly erased her satisfied expression.

  “He must still be in the area. Dead or alive,” she said quickly.

  “And if he isn’t?”

  “Where would he go on foot? To the west there are only forests and the mountains of Norway, and to the north is the forest and lakes southwest of Årjäng. Looking east it’s also completely desolate, and if he heads south he’ll be here. If he goes to the southeast he may end up in Bengtsfors. It’s at least fifty kilometers in any direction before you reach a populated area. And if he stumbled across some smaller place on the way we would have known about it by now.”

  “Not if he’s staying away voluntarily,” said Nisse.

  “You think he could be behind Cahneborg’s death?”

  “It’s not out of the question, is it?”

  “But it looks like an accidental fall. Even if Anders did push Jan-Eric, he doesn’t need to hide. There are no suspicions of homicide.”

  “Not yet.”

  Her brain was working at high speed while she filled a tea ball with herbal tea, set it in the cup, and poured in hot water.

  “But why would he do something like that? They’ve been friends for a really long time,” she said at last.

  “Well, he did say to Stig not to come back on Friday. They were supposed to take a rest day and that has never happened before. But maybe they had something important to discuss and then they had a falling out. So when Cahneborg went out to the precipice later, von Beehn pushed him down.”

  There could be something to that scenario, thought Embla. But there was an obvious objection: if Anders von Beehn had pushed Jan-Eric Cahneborg down the drop, he wouldn’t have needed to flee. Running only made him appear guilty. He could have calmly gone back into the cabin again. There he could have kept reading his book, turned off the lamp and gone to bed. The next day naturally he would have called the police and reported his friend missing. When later on Friday morning he and Stig Ekström went to search, they would have found Cahneborg below the drop. A tragic accident.

  But it hadn’t turned out that way.

  “We can’t rule out that there was a third person up there on Thursday evening,” she said at last.

  “If that’s so . . . then this is worse than we thought.”

  Embla did not contradict him. She felt an ice-cold shiver run down her spine and thought about what her grandmother Aina used to say when she shivered for no reason: “Someone is walking over my grave.”

  A short time later Stig Ekström came to pick them up. Sitting beside him in the front seat was Sixten Svensson. Now it was high time to cut up the animals that were hanging in the shed. Embla usually went along to assist and carry. It was a heavy job and all strong arms were needed. Because Sixten and Nisse were starting to get up in years, and Stig wasn’t a youngster either, she was considering taking a course in butchering that winter. Nisse had already taught her a fair amount, but she wanted to be able to cut the animals up the right way. Sometimes she thought there was a little too much ground meat and pieces for stew.

  As hunting leader, Sixten was responsible for dividing up the meat within the hunting party. Every year he made meticulous lists, which he called “the meat lists.” If there was the slightest complaint from anyone concerning the distribution he could simply stick the lists under the nose of the dissatisfied party. Then whoever complained would usually give in.

  The rain had stopped and the thermometer stood at one degree below freezing, which was excellent weather for handling raw meat.

  They were only a few kilometers from the butchering shed when Embla’s phone rang. On the display she saw that it was her colleague Hampus Stahre at VGM.

  “What trouble have you been causing now out there in the wilderness?” he said in a high-pitched voice.

  “Pushed a man over a precipice and hid a second so no one would ever find him,” she answered quickly.

  “What?”

  “Just kidding. What do you want?”

  Hampus regained his composure. “There’s one heck of an uproar down here. Those two are real hotshots so we’ve been besieged by the media.”

  She was about to respond when she completely lost the thread. There were several cars parked outside the shed, including a big van with the Swedish Television West News logo.

  “It seems like they’ve found their way here, too,” she said gloomily.

  As they came closer she could see Superintendent Roger Willén standing in the m
iddle of a group of journalists who aimed their microphones at him. A cameraman was perched on top of the van, filming energetically.

  “The medical examiners have found something that strengthens the suspicion of homicide, although I don’t know what it is. Our colleagues in Fyrbodal have asked for backup from VGM. And you’re already on the scene of course.”

  She heard what Hampus said, but it took a second before she reacted. “Listen, I’m on vacation! We’re hunting,” she exclaimed.

  “You can forget about that. You’re on duty instead of hunting poor, innocent moose. From what I understand the missing guy is the prime suspect.”

  “Or else he’s also a victim,” she objected quickly.

  “Possibly. But we’ll have to figure that out when we come up to you in a few hours. We have to finish a case before we leave.”

  “Okay. And here I’d hoped to avoid seeing your face for a while,” she said with a theatrical sigh.

  “You wish!”

  Stig Ekström parked right outside the door to the shed. None of the journalists bothered to look at them, completely occupied as they were with the superintendent. The three men managed to sneak up to the door, unlock it, and slip in without anyone from the media reacting. Embla sauntered over to the group and took a place at the back to try to hear what Roger Willén was saying.

  “. . . any suspicions about Jan-Eric Cahneborg’s death?”

  “No. There is nothing that indicates that it was anything other than an accident,” Willén responded.

  He looked tired, with noticeable bags and dark circles under his eyes; evidently he had not slept many hours since Saturday morning. It was probably wise of him to request reinforcement from VGM, Embla thought.

  Another journalist asked, “Do you have any theories about where Anders von Beehn might be found?”

  “Not at this time.”

  “Are you continuing the search?”

  “Yes, with undiminished force. We’ve gotten reinforcements for the search group. And as you can hear, we have a helicopter overhead, and it’s equipped with a heat camera.” He pointed up, and although they could hear the helicopter, it was hidden behind clouds.