The Killing Forest

by Sara Blaedel

  “Blood?”

  “It was so gross. I took off after the boy to ask him why he was running away, then I fell and got covered in blood, head-to-toe. Frederik says it’s something to do with the Asatro, the sacrifices to the gods they make out in the forest.”

  She glanced over and saw a smile on Louise’s lips. “Don’t sit there laughing at me. I thought it was an animal they’d shot. It was just so disgusting.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “A few days ago.”

  Camilla remembered her wet jogging clothes, still in the plastic sack. She should probably throw them away.

  They drove past the train station. “Where do you want me to let you off?”

  “In front of the police station is fine. Mik’s coming down to meet me.”

  “I can wait for you. I just need to tell Frederik if you’ll stay and eat.”

  Louise opened the car door. “Thanks, but I have to get back to Copenhagen. I hope I haven’t ruined too much of your day.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” Camilla replied at once.

  “Can you give me a description of the boy?” Louise asked, out on the sidewalk now.

  Camilla thought for a second. “Light hair, maybe on the brownish side. A bit awkward, I think. Thin. But I didn’t see him up close. Straight hair; he needed a haircut. Jeans and a dark T-shirt. I don’t know if it was black or dark blue, but something was printed on the front.”

  “That sounds like him,” Louise said, nodding. She turned when she heard Mik calling out to them from the doorway. “Thank you so much for the lift, Camilla. Talk to you later. I’ll call this weekend.”

  “Driving Miss Daisy. Just let me know when you need a chauffeur.” Camilla waved good-bye.

  She watched her friend cross the street and walk into the police station. Something in Louise’s voice had made her uneasy. A hint of anger. Fear, maybe.

  13

  Do you want me to follow you over to the jail?” Mik asked.

  Louise had been hungry in the car, but now her stomach was doing somersaults at the thought of meeting René Gamst. She hadn’t seen him since his arrest. “No thanks, I’m fine. Just so they know I’m coming.”

  She let him hug her, but she couldn’t tell whether it felt nice or not. She felt safe with Mik. Once he had wanted to take care of her, and even though everything else between them had disappeared, that seemed to still be there.

  “Why won’t you let me grill him about the boy’s relationship to his parents?” he asked, his voice serious. “You’re so hard on yourself when you don’t need to be. You don’t have to be the one who goes in there.”

  “It’s my case,” she said. “I do my own interrogations.”

  She looked away; she hadn’t needed to say it that way. “Thanks, Mik. It’s sweet of you. But I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll be waiting in my office,” he said. He waved his phone in the air. “Just call.”

  “You really don’t need to wait.”

  She knew that he’d begun dating a nurse named Lone. Jonas had told her; Mik and her foster son were still close. Mik had given him the deaf Labrador, much to Louise’s dismay, and he and Jonas talked together at least once a week under the guise of Mik wanting to hear about Dina. But from what Louise could hear, the conversations were just as much about Jonas and how he was doing. And now that Louise accepted the fact that Mik had dropped her because of her indifference, she was enormously grateful for his contact with her boy. Jonas didn’t have anybody besides her and Melvin to talk to about homework, music, and girls.

  She took Mik’s hand and gave it a squeeze before heading for the jail.

  * * *

  Holbæk Jail had twenty-three cells. René Gamst was awaiting his sentence, but no one knew when it would be handed down. Only then would he be transferred to a prison.

  Louise felt self-conscious, as if she were a caricature, when she straightened up before walking in to show her ID. It was seven thirty. A TV blared somewhere, but no one was around. She knew she had to steel herself, otherwise she would be far too vulnerable when René entered the interrogation room.

  “Sign here first,” the guard said when she began walking past the visitation rooms. Beds, chairs, and condoms.

  “Of course,” she said, and turned to sign her name and time of arrival. “Is he in there?” She nodded toward a room at the end of the hall.

  “No, I’ll get him,” the young guard said. “But it’s open; you can go on in.”

  He ducked through a doorway at the back of the office, and Louise walked to the interrogation room and closed the door. A table and two chairs. That was it. White light blazed from the long fluorescent in the ceiling; the window was hidden behind venetian blinds.

  The lighting reminded her of the barn at the gamekeeper’s. She couldn’t stop it—suddenly she was back at the assault. She felt the rough hands on her naked body, the pain from broken ribs. And when she pulled the chair out from the table, she heard the heavy breathing that had wheezed like bellows on her neck. That was when René Gamst had entered the barn. At first he was nothing more than a silhouette approaching, but then she recognized him as he stood a few meters behind them, holding a shotgun.

  Relief streamed through her when she made eye contact with him, but then he glared at her exposed genitals. She saw the bulge in his pants. He could have stopped it right there, but he’d waited, which had made her humiliation complete.

  Louise closed her eyes and composed herself when she heard footsteps in the hallway outside. She blinked rapidly to erase the image of René’s eyes on her naked body. She straightened up in her chair and rested her arms on the table, while finding an expression to mask the chaos inside her.

  * * *

  René Gamst was astonished to see her. Then his face relaxed, and he stared at her without a word.

  Louise wanted so much to stare back, but she couldn’t. She concentrated on her folded hands resting on the table as fear slammed into her gut. The fear of not being able to go through with this; that she would have to leave without talking to him.

  Gamst sat down on the other side of the table and crossed his arms on his chest. Neither of them spoke. She looked up at him, noticed his confident, superior attitude. Thoughts about the janitor from Såby and Gudrun at the convenience store ran through her head. She gave a start when he broke the silence.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice was hoarse.

  Something in his eyes made it clear that he remembered what he’d seen in the barn that night.

  “For what?” she asked, without thinking.

  “Aren’t you here to thank me for shooting that bastard?” He looked down at her breasts. “They said my lawyer didn’t need to be here because this wasn’t going to be about my case.”

  “Excuse me, but do you really expect me to thank you?”

  He grinned, obviously enjoying this. He tilted his head. “Sure, don’t you think you should?”

  “You are one of the biggest fucking assholes I’ve ever met. You made sure you got a good look at everything before you shot. And you didn’t shoot to save me.”

  Rage boiled up inside her; suddenly she felt in control. “You shot him because he’d raped your wife. It was revenge.”

  He stopped smiling, though he didn’t look particularly ruffled. He shrugged and asked her for a cigarette.

  Louise shook her head. Had she been interrogating anyone else, she might have had cigarettes and coffee on hand to help get things going. But Gamst wasn’t just another prisoner, and she had no interest in getting friendly with him. She simply wanted a few answers.

  “What did all of you do to him?” She stared into his brown eyes.

  “To who? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “What did you do to Klaus? Back then out at our house?”

  Gamst’s smile returned. First as an arrogant shadow in his expression, then to his lips. “Aren’t you on the police force? Aren’t you the ones who are supposed to figu
re these things out?”

  Her rage felt like armor; there was no way he could humiliate her now. She would make him talk. “What happened out there?”

  “What happened? What happened! Who said anything happened?”

  “You did. You’re the one who said that Klaus didn’t put the noose around his neck.”

  “He was a pussy! He was scared of his own shadow.”

  She startled him by slapping her palms on the table, leaping to her feet, and leaning over the table. “Goddamn you. Tell me what happened!”

  “Why should I?” He seemed like he was trying to appear unaffected by her outburst.

  “All right then. If you’re not going to say anything, I’ll pay a visit to your wife and pump her for every last secret in your miserable, shitty little lives.”

  His shoulders tensed up at the mention of Bitten. Now she had his attention. He leaned back in his chair but didn’t answer her.

  Louise paused a moment before changing directions. “How’s the butcher’s relationship with his son? How are they getting along?”

  “Why the hell are you asking me that?” Finally, he looked a bit flustered.

  “Because I want to know. Are they having marital problems?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said.

  Was he telling the truth? His eyes darted off to the side before he answered. She knew that the rule about linking truth with looking one way and lies with the other was shaky, but he did glance away.

  “So. There aren’t any problems. Except that the mother is dying, of course,” she added sarcastically.

  “Why are you asking me about this?” He couldn’t hide his curiosity, even though he tried to sound indifferent, which she also noticed. He clearly didn’t know the boy had disappeared.

  “You don’t know anything about any other problems?”

  Quickly he shook his head. He looked confident again.

  “Fine. I’ll ask Bitten about that, too. I’m sure she’ll tell me if the father and son aren’t getting along. I might need to use some pressure, but then I can mention her affair with Thomsen. She doesn’t like talking about that.”

  She walked over and rang for the guard.

  “You better fucking leave my wife alone,” she heard from behind.

  Louise sensed he was standing up now. She calmly turned around and leaned back against the door.

  “And if I don’t?” She enjoyed watching Gamst fumble around for words.

  “Just leave her alone!”

  “Then start talking! Tell me what happened back then.”

  He didn’t answer.

  The door opened behind her. “Tell me what happened,” she said, calm now.

  When he still didn’t answer her, she turned and walked out.

  * * *

  After the guard closed the door, Louise slammed her fist into the wall. An overwhelming fatigue hit her as she walked away; for a moment she thought she was going to fall. The guard noted the time of the interview’s conclusion and she signed out, angry as well as exhausted.

  Yet she felt that even though he hadn’t talked, she’d won the first round. It hadn’t been pretty, but she’d emerged victorious.

  14

  Camilla stuffed everything down into a large IKEA sack. The blanket, the water bottle, a Ronson storm lighter she’d swiped from Frederik. The bag with sweet chocolate biscuits, rye bread, liver pâté, a half liter of cola, a large chocolate bar, and a Danish salami. She had also been in Markus’s room and robbed his stash of candy, plus a warm sweater she’d found in the bottom of his closet.

  A little bit of this and that, maybe not the most vital necessities for survival out in nature, Camilla thought as she entered the forest with the sack over her shoulder. It might not be the wisest thing to do, helping a runaway boy stay away from home. On the other hand, she couldn’t stand the thought that sorrow had driven him from his family. He may be sick at heart, but she was determined he wouldn’t starve. She couldn’t get the image out of her head of the sopping-wet boy sitting on the ground, wolfing down cold leftovers.

  Farther down the broad forest path, she peered around. She had no idea where to look for him, so she decided to start from where she’d seen him. By the big oak.

  The evening sun sat just above the treetops; the heat of the day had disappeared. She stopped to check where to leave the path. There hadn’t been another path; she’d simply run after him. Suddenly she was unsure. The shadows made it difficult to recognize anything.

  Camilla lifted the IKEA sack and continued on. She thought about Louise, then realized that she’d forgotten to bring her phone along. She would have to wait to call and ask how it had gone.

  The path veered off to the left. She stopped again; she was sure that she’d gone too far. Irritated at herself, she retraced her steps and left the path. Immediately the big sack caught on a limb. She jerked to free it, and the limb whipped back against her shoulder. “Damn it!” she yelled. She pushed through the trees, one arm in front of her now, and yelped in fright when she almost stumbled over someone sitting on the ground. She dropped the sack and leaned against a tree trunk for a moment.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You startled me!”

  The dark-haired woman below her wore a long, brown linen dress. A blue embroidered shawl hung around her shoulders and down her back, held together by a bronze clasp.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the woman said, her voice calm. “I should have warned you, but at first I thought you were an animal, and I didn’t want to frighten it away.”

  “What are you doing?” Camilla asked. A small parcel wrapped in aluminum foil and a long stick lay in front of the woman, a rolled-out sleeping bag behind. She’d brought along a thermos in a woven basket.

  “I’m preparing my night sitting,” the woman said.

  Camilla guessed she was in her mid-fifties. Her hair was short and her eyes sparkled. She invited Camilla to sit down with her.

  “What on earth is a night sitting?” Then she understood. “Are you one of the Asatro?”

  The woman nodded and reached for her thermos. “And you are the new lady at the manor, I’m guessing.”

  Camilla sat down in front of her. “‘Manor’ is probably an exaggeration, but yes. We’ve taken over Ingersminde from my husband’s parents.”

  For a moment the woman stared blankly out into the trees. “I’ve been coming out here for eighteen years now.” She looked around as if they were sitting in her living room. “I live over in the lockhouse. It’s the little yellow house on the way to Roskilde. Just ask if you want to know where to pick wild strawberries or find chanterelles.”

  The woman smiled. “I’ve been a member of the local Asatro for many years now. We meet out here twice a month. The evil has returned.”

  Camilla sat quietly. She wondered if the woman might be a little bit crazy. It wasn’t so much what she said as her hoarse, foggy voice, which sent chills down Camilla’s spine. They weren’t very far from St. Hans Psychiatric Hospital. She could have escaped.

  Then the woman seemed to return to the present. “I’m sorry. I just thought I heard something.” She offered Camilla a cup of warm mead.

  “So what does your group do out here in the forest?” Camilla asked. She held on to the clay mug, which had a small foot.

  “We pay tribute to the forces of nature,” the woman said. She smiled again and raised her mug to the sky. “And we make sacrifices to the gods.”

  She slurped a bit as she drank. Then she carefully laid the mug down in a small depression in the ground.

  “What happens?” Camilla asked.

  “You have to sacrifice something to the gods if you want their help. Or if you have need of strength. It can be anything. Do you never pray to God?”

  Camilla shrugged. Did she? “I do,” she said, and nodded. “When there’s something I really want, or if there’s something I’m very upset about.” It was true—she did in fact send up a prayer once in a while.

  “Then you unde
rstand,” the woman said. “The only difference is that we bring along a little gift that we set out here with our prayers.”

  “What sort of gift?” Camilla was thinking about the pool of blood.

  “A silver coin, for example.” She reached into her pocket and brought a few coins out. “Or home-brewed mead.”

  “What about blood?”

  The woman nodded seriously. “It can be blood, too,” she admitted. “The most powerful sacrifice you can make is your own blood.”

  Camilla felt the silence of the forest creeping in on them. Several moments later she asked, “You said the evil had returned. What do you mean?”

  The woman looked out through the trees again. Her shoulders sank. “In the old days, the priests used to drive a wagon around with a naked woman, to guarantee the fertility in the area.”

  She pulled her shawl tighter and spoke in a near-whisper. “Now they bring women out here to celebrate their own fertility.”

  “Who does? Surely not the priests!”

  The woman shook her head. “The others.”

  Camilla raised an eyebrow.

  “Once, we were one large group of Asatro that met out here in the forest. But after we became an official religion, we began disagreeing about what we stood for, how we should practice our beliefs.”

  Camilla nodded, urging her to go on.

  “One small group in our community was expelled; their beliefs had become unhealthy.” She sounded ashamed that anyone who believed in the Nordic gods could behave in such a manner. “They worshiped Loke and glorified evil. They violated what we consider holy by taking it to extremes, using our beliefs as an excuse for their primitive and bestial behaviors.”

  She shivered as if she were suddenly freezing.

  “What sort of behaviors?” Camilla asked.

  “They make every effort to replicate the old stories in Nordic mythology. They take the rituals very literally.”