The big church exuded peace in the winter darkness. Annika closed her eyes and listened to the familiar tones of the traditional entry hymn, “Var hälsad sköna morgonstund,” raucously delivered by the Sörmland farmers. The classic readings of Christmas floated past her, Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed....
She nodded off and woke with a start as the bells rang out once more; the service was over. She was carried along with everyone else to the doorway in some confusion, and got in the car with her grandmother to head back towards Lyckebo along Stöttestensvägen. It had stopped snowing, but the landscape was enveloped in a thick layer of white cotton wool.
They were passing Granhed, with Hedberga up on their left, when Annika suddenly gave a start.
“Did you see that?” she said.
“What?” asked her grandmother, who had dozed off in the warmth of the car.
“Someone was standing on the edge of the forest.”
“That doesn’t seem very likely,” said her grandmother. “I expect it was a deer.”
“Wearing a hood?” Annika said sceptically.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey, but when Annika had helped the old woman into the cottage, she said:
“I’m just going out for a while.”
“At this time of day?”
“I want to check on Gustav,” said Annika, taking a big flashlight out of her bag. On the steps outside, she pushed the switch forward—yes, it was working.
The moon was still shining over the forest like a round spotlight; she didn’t need any other source of light out here. She moved quickly between the trees, thinking about the autumn when she had picked chanterelles as big as toilet seats here. The ground was completely covered in snow now; she stumbled over hidden branches here and there.
The wood thief must have come from Hedberga, so Annika took the route past the village. She didn’t need to search for very long.
The tracks were crystal clear, footprints glowing blue in the fresh, pure white snow. They were quite big, meandering slightly through the forest, but eventually leading straight to Old Gustav’s woodshed. Annika followed them all the way, and when she was just a dozen or so yards from the shed, something struck her:
The tracks led in only one direction.
The wood thief was still in there. Her mind was whirling; what if it was that great big idiot Petter—he might beat her to death. Or what if it was Anders Bergström, Karin’s idle husband?
She crept the last few yards to the door feeling as if she was no longer touching the ground. She yanked the door open. Someone was standing inside, a tall, dark figure dressed in black. It spun around; Annika pushed the switch and shone the beam straight in the intruder’s face.
“You,” said Annika.
It was Ingela Jönsson, the Sperm Bucket. The woman raised her arm to protect her eyes from the light.
“Turn that off!” she yelled.
Annika stepped inside without moving the circle of light from the woman’s face.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Annika, her voice trembling with rage. “How in God’s name can you steal from an old man who can hardly walk? Do you realize how much work he’s put into this wood?”
She took a step closer to the wood thief. A second later the flashlight flew out of her hand as a sudden blow to her abdomen forced the air from her lungs. She stumbled into a pile of fir wood, fell over, and landed hard on her bottom.
The thief rushed at the door, yanked it open with a crash, and was about to run off into the forest. At that moment, a deafening bang echoed through the glade, reverberating from tree to tree, and the doorpost next to Annika was splintered by a hail of lead shot. Annika screamed; Ingela Jönsson howled and fell backwards into the woodshed.
“That mad old bastard is shooting at us!” she roared.
The next shot hit the door, shattering the timber. Annika screamed again and crawled over to the pile of birch wood on all fours. She shuffled her way in between two stacks, drew her legs up beneath her chin, and made herself as small as possible.
The silence that followed the bangs was just as deafening as the shots themselves. After a minute or so Annika was able to hear her own panic-stricken breathing and Ingela Jönsson’s irregular sobs and groans.
“Did he get you?” Annika asked.
The woman was whimpering in the darkness, right next to her.
“I think so,” said Ingela. “In the face.”
Annika pushed back her hair with trembling hands. Her hat had come off.
“I need to speak to him,” she said.
Cautiously she got to her feet in the darkness and banged her head on a protruding log. The damaged door had swung shut, and it was dark inside the shed. She groped her way over to the door.
“Gustav,” she shouted into the winter morning through the gap. “Gustav, it’s me, Annika. Maria Hellström’s Annika. I’m in here with the wood thief. Can we have a chat?”
She waited in silence for a response. None came.
“Gustav!” she shouted, even louder. “It’s Annika. I’m coming out now.”
Still nothing.
“Get a move on for God’s sake, before I bleed to death,” the wood thief moaned.
Annika took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The shots followed immediately, one after the other, shattered fragments of wood dancing in the air. Annika tumbled backwards and landed on top of the wood thief.
“Watch out, you fat cow!” shouted Ingela Jönsson.
“Shut your mouth, you stupid whore!” Annika yelled back.
Silence slowly descended once again behind the lingering whine of the gunfire. Ingela shoved Annika off her knee.
“Screw you,” said Ingela, on the verge of tears. “How can you call someone a whore? Or Sperm Bucket? I know that’s what people call me. Have you ever thought about how awful it feels?”
Annika was breathing hard, her mouth open.
“You deserve it. You’re nothing but a slut. I haven’t forgotten that you tried to steal my boyfriend.”
Ingela Jönsson crept over to another pile of wood.
“I loved Sven,” she said. “And he loved me. We would have been engaged by now if it hadn’t been for you.”
“That’s crap,” said Annika.
The wood thief started to cry. Annika sat in silence for several minutes, listening to her. It was starting to get really cold now; she was losing the feeling in her fingers.
“I’m bleeding,” sobbed Ingela. “I’ve been hit in the face.”
At that moment Annika felt the cold metal of her flashlight under her hand. She pushed the switch forward; it was still working.
“Let me see,” she said, shining the light on the other woman’s face.
Ingela Jönsson screwed up her eyes against the beam of light. She was actually bleeding from a gash near the top of her left cheek. Annika leaned closer.
“Have I been shot?”
Annika poked at the wound; the other woman jumped.
“No,” she said, “but there’s a big splinter below your eye. Just let me get it out ...”
“Ow!”
Annika removed the splinter with a quick tug. She held it up triumphantly in the beam of the flashlight. Ingela pressed her fingers against the spot.
“I’ll get tetanus,” she said.
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“Provided the old bastard doesn’t shoot us both!”
Annika fumbled around in the darkness until she found a long stick, which she used to push open the broken door. Seconds later another shot was fired. The women curled up with their arms over their heads.
“I think we’re going to be here for some time,” said Annika.
The late winter dawn was slowly beginning to find its way in among the piles of wood. Annika and Ingela had settled down with their backs resting against th
e logs, facing each other. Now and again they poked at the remains of the door, and every time a shot rang out. Some of the planks on the front of the shed were beginning to disintegrate.
“Why?” said Annika.
Ingela didn’t reply.
“How can you steal from an old man?” Annika asked in a slightly louder voice, staring at the woman opposite her.
“I was freezing cold,” said Ingela, turning her head away.
Annika blinked. “Right,” she said. “And the solution was to start stealing wood?”
“You’d never understand,” Ingela said resentfully. “Things have always been so easy for you.”
Annika laughed loud and long; Old Gustav responded with two more shots.
“You can laugh,” said Ingela when the whine had died away. “I mean, you have it all, you got the best job and the best guy and the chance to move to Stockholm.”
Annika swallowed hard.
“You don’t know anything,” she said. “You have no idea what things have been like for me.”
Ingela Jönsson didn’t reply. They sat in silence for a long time. Annika’s feet were numb with cold.
“They’ve cut off my electricity,” Ingela said eventually. “And the phone. I can’t get any social security benefits anymore, I haven’t got any money at all.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve considered getting a job?” Annika said sarcastically.
“Don’t be so bloody clever,” said Ingela. “What kind of jobs do you think there are in Hedberga?”
“Well then you’ll have to move, won’t you?” said Annika.
“And where would I live? My house is here!”
“Sell it, then!”
“I’d get next to nothing for that old wooden shack.”
Annika groaned.
“Well, sit there and moan then,” she said. “I think you just want to fail.”
Ingela poked at the door; two shots rang out.
“Old bastard!” she yelled.
Gustav reloaded and fired off two more shots.
“Have you never had a job?” Annika wondered.
Ingela sighed, her fingers playing distractedly with the sawdust on the floor.
“Oh yes,” she said, “with the home-care service in Hälleforsnäs. Although that was before the cuts. I was laid off in the rationalization program three years ago.”
“So why don’t you study for some kind of qualification?”
“I’d need a car for that, and I can’t afford one.”
“Speaking of cars,” said Annika, “do you hear what I hear?”
The sound of a Volvo engine was audible through the trees, rising and falling.
“Do you think it might be on its way here?” Ingela wondered.
Annika listened for a few seconds longer.
“Yep,” she said. “It’s almost here.”
The women crept over to the front of the shed, each peering through a gap in the planks. The blue-and-white estate car slowly materialized behind the screen of branches.
“It’s a police car!” Annika gasped.
“Yes!” whispered Ingela.
The car stopped by the path leading to the house. A man and a woman in uniform got out.
“Hansson and Pettersson from Katrineholm,” Annika said quietly. “I once went out on patrol with them when I was working on a news story.”
She watched the two officers walk slowly towards the house, and heard the woman say “Merry Christmas” and “What’s going on here, then?” in a loud voice.
Then she heard Gustav mumbling something in reply.
Quickly she shuffled over to the ruined door and peeped out. She saw the male officer walk up to the old man and take the gun away from him. She pushed the door open and stepped out into the daylight. Ingela Jönsson shot out behind her, shouting and screaming.
“He’s crazy, the old bastard’s crazy, he tried to kill us!”
The police officers looked over towards the woodshed in surprise. Old Gustav tried to wrench back the shotgun, yelling at the top of his voice.
“Damned wood thieves, damned rabble! You need your backsides peppered with lead, you damned ...”
The police officers grabbed hold of the old man and pushed him into the backseat of the police car. Gustav protested loudly every step of the way, accompanied by the Sperm Bucket’s hysterical outpourings about what a bloodthirsty, murderous bastard he was. Annika felt the air go out of her; she suddenly felt faint with exhaustion and coldness.
“I’m going inside,” she said.
The kitchen was freezing cold; no doubt the walls were poorly insulated. Annika pushed a bundle of kindling into the stove, added some birch bark underneath, and lit it; it caught immediately. Quickly she pulled a chair over and sat down right next to the fire. Gradually her joints began to thaw out, and she added more wood.
Hansson, the policewoman, came into the kitchen.
“Hi there, Bengtzon,” she said, pulling up a chair. “What the hell’s been going on here?”
Annika sighed.
“Ingela Jönsson has been stealing wood from Gustav for a while; he lost it and started shooting at the woodshed.”
“We got a call from down in Hedberga saying that there was a hell of a lot of shooting going on up here in the forest,” said Hansson. She leaned forward and looked intently at Annika.
“Do you think he was intending to hit whoever was in the shed?”
Annika met her gaze.
“Definitely not,” she said. “If he’d wanted to hurt us, all he needed to do was open the door and shoot us dead. He just wanted to mark his territory.”
Hansson sighed, leaned back, and put her gloves down on the kitchen table.
“What a goddamn mess,” she said. “Ingela Jönsson is out there yelling about attempted murder and terrorism.”
“She’ll soon calm down,” said Annika, putting more wood on the fire.
The policewoman looked around the kitchen.
“Does the old man live here?” she said sceptically.
“Yep,” said Annika. “He sleeps on the sofa bed and gets a roaring fire going in the stove.”
“What a dump,” said Hansson in disgust. “Mouse droppings on the floor. And he didn’t smell too sweet, either.”
“Gustav’s good at keeping himself clean,” Annika protested. “He has a bath once a week in a big tub, right here in front of the stove. It’s just that things have been a bit difficult since the wood thief started turning up, that’s all.”
Hansson got to her feet.
“I’ll give social services a call,” she said.
Ingela and Blackie came in as the policewoman went out. The cat jumped up onto Annika’s knee, turned round and round several times, then settled down with the tip of her tail tucked under her chin. The women sat in silence side by side, slowly getting warm and allowing their adrenaline levels to fall.
“He’s not right in the head, is he?” said Ingela.
Annika didn’t reply, she just kept on stroking the cat, who had fallen asleep on her knee.
“Anyway, they’re bound to lock him up for this,” the wood thief went on smugly. “I suppose the question is whether he’ll ever come out. I should think the old bastard will peg it any day now.”
“One thing you need to know,” said Annika. “Gustav is the closest thing to a grandfather I’ve ever had. I love him.”
Only when she had said it did she realize it was true.
Ingela gritted her teeth but didn’t answer; she sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I’ve met someone,” she said eventually.
Annika raised her eyebrows.
“And?”
Ingela lowered her head.
“He actually likes me. He doesn’t know anything about ... about that name you call me. He comes from Eskilstuna, he’s got an apartment there. He loves Hedberga, and he thinks my house is just charming. Particularly the open fire ...”
The wood crackled—birch wood.
/> “Is it because of him?” Annika asked.
Ingela didn’t reply.
“Is that why you’ve been stealing wood?”
The woman closed her eyes.
“Maybe,” she said. “We like to make love in front of the fire. At the beginning I used to buy wood, but who can afford forty-five kronor a sack? Then they cut off the electricity, and I no longer had any choice.”
Annika could feel the rage mounting inside her once more.
“It didn’t occur to you that it might be a good idea to spread things out a bit more evenly, to steal from different places?”
The other woman shrugged her shoulders.
“I didn’t think it would matter to the old man. I mean, he’s got so much wood, and his eyesight isn’t so good. I didn’t think he’d notice anything. And wood’s heavy, you know! I couldn’t carry it very far, so I had to take it from someone who was close by.”
Annika didn’t reply; she was thinking with considerable distaste of the Sperm Bucket making love in front of her open fire, with Gustav’s wood providing the burning backdrop.
Suddenly heavy footsteps came marching up the steps.
“Hello there!” said a spirited voice from the doorway.
“Marja!” said Ingela, getting to her feet.
A sturdy woman in a hat and padded coat virtually filled the doorway leading into the kitchen; the policewoman was just visible behind her.
“Ingela!” said the sturdy woman. “It’s been a long time! How are you?”
The women greeted each other with obvious pleasure.
“Marja used to run the home-care service in Hälleforsnäs,” Ingela explained when Annika had shaken hands with the woman.
“I know, we’ve met,” said Annika.
Marja, who was now working for social services, looked around the kitchen.
“So,” she said, “this is how he’s living, is it? I see ...”
“His name is Gustav,” said Annika.
“I know, I know,” said Marja, walking over and opening the larder door. “I didn’t know there were people up here who still lived like this.”
Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine 01/01/11 Page 13
