As far as I’m concerned there’s already more than enough strangeness, thought Embla.
Late in the afternoon it started raining again. Then the wind picked up and the weather forecast warned of gusts up to twenty-five meters per second. A real storm was brewing. Good thing we’ll be indoors having a cozy evening, thought Embla.
When she was done with the report she saw that it was time to start getting ready. Several times she caught herself smiling when she thought about the hours that were ahead of her. First a conversation about Camilla and a direct question about whether he knew what happened after her disappearance thirty years ago. After that she envisioned a repeat of Sunday evening’s whirlpool bath.
Dressed in a light-blue silk tunic and narrow jeans, Embla sailed down the stairs half an hour later, surrounded by a light air of roses and jasmine. Göran whistled appreciatively.
“My, my, how gorgeous you look for this interview. Can one hope this is a permanent change of style?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, I’m going to ask Peter a few questions about his sister. And then he invited me to dinner afterward,” she said smiling.
“A date?”
“One can always hope. But I promise to be back before midnight. Then the makeup is going to disappear, I’ll be dressed in my usual rags, and the Veteran will once again be . . . well, the Veteran.”
They both laughed and he wished her good luck with both the questions and the date. As she passed the hat rack she grabbed an umbrella. She didn’t bother with a jacket since she was just going to drive from door to door.
When the sound of the engine faded away and the car started to slow down, Embla screamed out loud.
“No! This can’t be happening!”
The Volvo hiccupped and stopped. She simply had to accept that it had happened again: it was out of gas. But this time it was for real. She had forgotten to fill up after faking it last time. The same applied to the gas can. To top it off, she was almost two kilometers from Hansgården. When she tried to call Peter she only got his voice mail. Typical!
With a sigh, she decided to walk the last stretch. The only thing in the car that resembled a coat was a green fleece sweatshirt that she kept in the cargo space. It was old and the zipper was broken, but it was better than nothing. Besides, she did have an umbrella at least. Determinedly she stepped out into the storm, opened the hatch, pulled on the sweatshirt, and took out the two warning triangles. They were probably quite unnecessary since no one would be out on the road on a night like this, but in any event she placed one in front of the car and one behind it. Then she was ready for her unplanned walk.
The umbrella turned inside out, and the ribs broke after only a few hundred meters. Irritated, she threw the sprawling metal skeleton into the ditch. The only bright spot was that the high-heeled ankle boots, despite their glamorous appearance, were both warm and watertight. Expensive and good-looking but practical, which she was very grateful for right now. But the rest of her outfit was a total catastrophe in the storm. The tight jeans and worn fleece sweatshirt were quickly soaked. The wind bit through the silk tunic, and although she was walking at a fast pace she was starting to get stiff from the cold. The temperature hovered at around zero, but the wind chill made it feel like ten degrees below freezing. All that was missing was for the rain to turn to snow—and that actually might have been an improvement.
As she came up to the illuminated farmyard in front of Hansgården she was a wreck. The whipping rain and the headwind had not been easy to struggle against. She had managed to keep her circulation going, but when she looked down at her numb fingers she saw that two of them were starting to turn white. It was high time to get indoors.
Her hand was shaking as she reached for the clapper, but before she could take hold of it the door opened with a jerk. Of course the camera above the front door had tipped Peter off about her arrival.
“Embla! Did you walk here?” he exclaimed.
“You’re not going to believe me, but the car ran out of gas again.” Her teeth were chattering involuntarily as she answered.
“You’ll have to jump in the whirlpool,” he said firmly.
So it had to be; she did not protest. With one arm around her shoulders he piloted her toward the workout room and the beckoning Jacuzzi. She silently hoped that he would get in the tub, too. As they passed the kitchen there were delicious aromas from a cast-iron pan on the stove. On top of the stove there was also a frying pan with sizzling chanterelles.
“Venison stew,” he said.
“That sounds good!”
Out in the laundry room she took off her soaking-wet clothes and hung them up in the drying cabinet. She set her phone on top of the washing machine. Then she found a thick, white terry-cloth towel and wrapped it around herself.
It was quite lovely to sink down in the warm whirlpool. Peter came in after a while and checked on her.
“I assume we’ll skip the chilled champagne and go straight to tea with a splash of whiskey,” he said, smiling.
“I’m completely on board with that.”
Anything that could raise the temperature in her body was welcome. And she knew if he also joined her, her circulation would definitely pick up again. She leaned her head against the edge, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the massage from the warm jets. She was about to fall asleep when Peter came back with two steaming mugs, one red and one blue.
“Red for the beauty,” he said, handing it to her with a smile. He sipped carefully from the blue one.
She felt a little self-conscious but asked the question anyway. “Aren’t you going to get in, too?”
“Not now. Have to get the stew ready. The mushrooms still have to go in.”
He smiled and set the mug down on a tall stool that was next to the tub, placed himself behind her, and gently kissed her upturned forehead. At the same time he let his hands glide across her shoulders and down toward her breasts. Carefully he caressed them. The desire grew inside her, and she was just thinking about taking hold of his arms and more or less dragging him down into the water when he suddenly stood up.
“The food. I have to check.”
Before she had time to react he was on his way out of the room. Men! She felt disappointed and snubbed. Don’t be silly; he’ll be back soon, she admonished herself.
The tea was strong and had a sharp taste of whiskey. Because she wasn’t in the habit of drinking liquor, she only dutifully took a sip of the hot drink. That would have to do. And she had to admit to herself that she already felt much better. Carefully, she set her mug beside his on the stool. With a satisfied sigh she leaned her head against the edge and closed her eyes.
“Are you asleep?”
The sound of his voice startled her.
“No. Just enjoying it.”
He peeked down in her mug. “Oh, my, the naughty girl hasn’t taken her medicine,” he said, shaking his index finger jokingly.
“No. Alcohol’s not really my thing. I drink from time to time, but there are other things that get me going,” she said, winking a little teasingly.
Smiling he leaned down and gave her a long, deep kiss.
She was completely restored after the involuntary walk in the storm. Her circulation was racing as fast as after a thorough workout, which on second thought the last half hour could be compared to. Peter proved himself to be incredibly inventive and he had great endurance. Gentle as a contented cat, she stretched in the wide bed and listened for whether he was on his way upstairs again. He had gone down to make sure the food hadn’t burned.
Though she was embarrassed, she knew she had to call Nisse to ask him to come to the rescue with the gas can again. She needed her cell phone, but it was still down in the laundry room, and there was no phone in the bedroom either.
She knew her clothes would not be dry for a while and wondered if Peter had something she could borrow in the meantime. If nothing else he must have a bathrobe somewhere.
Energetically she swu
ng her legs over the edge of the bed and went over to the nearest sliding door on the closet wall. Behind it suits, pants, and shirts were arranged neatly on hangers. There was nothing that really suited her. She closed the door and pulled open the next section. To her surprise there were no shelves and rods behind it. All she saw was a little wallpapered door flush with the wall. In the keyhole was an old-fashioned key—probably the only lock in the whole house that wasn’t digital.
It was as if her hand was guided by a will of its own as it reached out and turned the key. The door glided soundlessly open. Without taking time to think, she stepped in.
The little room was a rather large side closet with a sloped ceiling. The space was faintly illuminated by what she at first perceived to be an aquarium but then realized was a large terrarium. Inside the glass a large, light-brown boa was moving slowly along a dry branch. Across the sand at the bottom of the terrarium a little black snake wriggled and slipped under a flat stone. Snakes . . . There were shelves on the walls that held a number of old things: a red enamel coffee can, a household scale, glass jars, egg cups, piles of fabric, porcelain . . . Everyday objects for the most part. Was he collecting things for a flea market? But the snakes . . .
When she twisted her head she saw the Lady in White. She was standing with her back turned toward the door facing the wall, as if she’d been put in the corner. The waist-length hair was loose and fell in a cascade down her back, and she was dressed in a white slip. A Lucia gown . . .
Her shoulders hurt. Hurt like hell! The back of her head, too . . . Naked. She was naked. Cold. Nauseated. Must not vomit. There was something over her mouth. Stiff. Hard to breathe. She heard a distant moan, and it took a while before she realized that the sound came from her. Her shoulders . . . pain!
“Okay, you’re starting to come to.”
It was Peter’s voice, but somehow not. His voice was warm and friendly. This one sounded sharp and cold. With an effort she cracked open her eyelids. A shadowy figure, a bright room . . . everything started whirling and she was forced to close her eyes again. She tried to get her bearings. Slowly it occurred to her that her wrists and ankles were bound. Somehow she was hanging from the ceiling. There was tape over her mouth. To gain time she let her head fall forward as if she had fainted again.
“Ugh! Fucking cop!”
That voice again, which in her dazed condition she recognized as Peter’s. But what was going on? Something serious had happened. What? They’d had sex. She had gone up to his row of closets and slid a door to the side . . . behind it was another little door. Yes. She’d opened it and gone into a little room . . . snakes . . . lots of old things on shelves. The Lady in White. A secret room. A room that no one could enter. She’d gone into Peter’s secret room. This was her punishment. He had beaten her and tied her up. Hung her from the ceiling. Her body ached. Crazy. He was crazy. What did he intend to do with her? Kill her? Was it really possible that he could? Why hadn’t he killed her yet? Must gain time.
She was hanging heavily from her arms. With difficulty, she extended her ankles and felt her toes graze cold floorboards. As imperceptibly as possible she braced the tips of her toes against the floor. That relieved her shoulders, but she was careful not to make her hanging position look different than before. If there was anything she’d learned as a boxer, it was to sense and command the balance of her body. Now it was resting completely on her toes. That might work for a short time, but soon she would no longer have the energy.
Without moving her head she squinted. White floorboards. So she was in his office. The ceiling beams. She sensed that her wrists were bound with a sturdy yet rather soft rope—the same as around her ankles. Between her hands she could feel cold metal. A heavy-duty hook. He had hung her from a hook from one of the beams. Like the dead animals in the butchering shed. But there was a crucial difference. She was still alive, and she did not intend to give up without a fight. Now she had to figure out what he was after.
She whimpered faintly and tried to raise her head. Behind half-closed eyelids she saw him standing in front of the big computer screen on the wall. Because he had his back to her she opened her eyes completely. The whole screen was covered by a map. Google maps? Small points of light were moving extremely slowly across the map. Some were completely motionless. Only one of them was moving quickly. She was prepared when he turned around. A muffled whimper from her tape-covered mouth and a laborious attempt to open her eyes. It was important to make him believe that she was more out of it than she really was.
“As a professional snooper you’re going to appreciate this. I’m keeping close track of all of you.”
Triumphantly he made a gesture toward the screen. She continued to hang her head but moaned weakly. Through her eyelashes she saw him pointing toward the dots of light.
“Here’s your colleague the superintendent. As usual he’s sitting quietly in the house. The only time the fatso moves is when he’s going to the refrigerator or the bathroom. There’s your uncle. Evidently he’s moved out while you all occupy his house. He’s staying with a woman named Ingela Gustavsson. They’ve been seeing each other since last spring. But you know that because you were at her house the other evening. Karin and Björn are at home. The dot that’s moving rather fast is that idiot Tobias who’s out driving, and here is his dad, Einar. Even Sixten has a cell phone. Although he mostly leaves it in the house and forgets to charge it. Yes, you’re probably wondering how I know all that? When I took over the farm I got the list of contact information for everyone in the hunting party, with cell phone numbers and email addresses. Thank you, thank you! It was just a matter of sending a Trojan to each and every one of you, then I was in your computers. Since then I’ve also been following your cell phones. I can read text messages and listen to calls.”
The words just flowed out of him. That look, the polished sapphire blue. Now she realized what it was she had glimpsed when he stood with his rifle aimed at a point between Tobias’s eyebrows. Pure madness.
And suddenly she understood why she always had the feeling that he could read her thoughts, how he already knew her before she had even gotten to know him. How long had he been reading her texts and emails? Could he see her browsing history? Did he understand that she was looking for Lollo?
His mouth formed a malicious grin.
“I’m sure you’re wondering where your cell phone is. Why isn’t it visible on the map? It no longer exists because I’ve neutralized it. You have ceased to exist.”
With a peculiar chuckle he turned back to the computer screen and ran his fingers almost tenderly across the digital map.
“They don’t know that I see and hear everything. Total control! Like I had over Forsnaess.”
A sadistic glee shone in his eyes as he turned toward her again.
“His Porsche was brand new and obviously equipped with an automatic alarm. If anything happened to the car it would call for help automatically. People don’t think about the fact that it’s nothing but a little computer mounted in the car. It’s just a matter of hacking into it. I had all the time in the world last year when you all were out in the woods hunting moose. When he came back and got in the car I was in control. I could follow exactly where he was on the screen. And he drove fast. When he came up to that sharp downhill curve I took over and put the brakes out of commission. He didn’t have a chance.”
Her toes were starting to ache; she knew she had to act soon. She raised her head and looked him right in the eyes. Their gazes met. Her stomach churned and she was afraid that she would throw up behind the tape. Quickly she turned her eyes away. As intended, he interpreted that to mean that she was afraid and was giving up.
“Now you’re going to tell me what you and your colleagues have been up to over there in your uncle’s house. Have you found any technical leads? Or anything else?”
His voice sounded treacherously smooth. She realized why she was still alive. Naturally he was afraid of having left some trace behind in or around t
he Hunting Castle. Sure, just come and remove the tape from my mouth. You’ll find out a thing or two.
With the cold gaze fixed on her, he started to approach. When he was two steps from her she sharply contracted her stomach muscles, raised her knees up to her stomach and kicked toward his face with all her strength. It was his nose she was aiming at and one heel hit perfectly from below. With a crunching sound the cartilage loosened, and his head flew backward from the force of the kick. He fell back and struck his head against the edge of one of the desks. She heard a low gurgling groan as he slid down on the floor, then he was quiet. Blood streamed from his nostrils.
One of his legs was right under Embla’s feet. She managed to balance on his shin while she reached up and shook her wrists loose from the hook. The rope around her wrists and ankles appeared to be a thin curtain cord; the tassels were still attached. Presumably he had it stored in his secret room. Now she saw that he had hung a tackle over the beam and hoisted her up with it. No doubt he kept that on a shelf, too.
Her feet felt numb, her toes were asleep, and her shoulders ached like hell, but she knew it was essential to get out of the house quickly before he came to. She hopped out into the hall and then carefully slid down the stairs on her butt. There was a great risk of falling if she tried to hop down. Once she had cleared the stairs, she managed to stand and made her way into the kitchen. Here there ought to be knives, but where? She started pulling out the drawers with her bound hands until she finally found the knife drawer by the stove. After several failed attempts she managed to get hold of a knife and started hacking at the rope around her ankles. Her hands were shaking and she cut herself several times, but finally she got through. Quickly she pulled the tape away from her mouth with her bound hands. It was painful and she whimpered loudly. She put the knife between her teeth and started filing on the cord that bound her hands. That did not take long, the fibers were soft. When her hands were free she threw everything to the floor except the knife, which she took with her as she stumbled off toward the laundry room.
Hunting Game Page 17
