The Girl in the Woods (Patrik Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 10)

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘You’re lucky your mother is gone so much.’

  Nils lit a cigarette. He blew the smoke towards the ceiling in Vendela’s bedroom, then flicked the ash into an empty soft drink can on her night table.

  ‘I know, but yesterday she tried to make me go with her to the garden centre,’ said Vendela, reaching for Nils’s cigarette.

  She took a drag and then handed it back to him. He wiped off Vendela’s lipstick from the filter before taking another drag.

  ‘I have a hard time picturing you planting a bunch of fucking flowers.’

  ‘Could I have one too?’ asked Basse, who was slouched in a red bean chair.

  Nils tossed him the pack of Marlboros, which Basse caught in both hands.

  ‘What if somebody saw me there? I’d be a joke in school.’

  ‘No way. Your tits are too nice for you to be a joke.’

  Nils squeezed Vendela’s boobs, and she slapped him on the shoulder. Not hard though. He knew she actually liked it.

  ‘Did you see how big her tits were? That pig of a girl?’ said Basse, unable to suppress a hint of longing in his voice.

  Nils threw a pillow at him.

  ‘Don’t tell me you were ogling that pig’s tits! My God, didn’t you see how ugly she was?’

  ‘Course I did. But she still has fucking big tits.’

  He used his hands to sketch them in the air, and Vendela sighed.

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  She looked up at the pale patches on the ceiling. A while ago Nils had told her that he thought One Direction was for kids. The next day she’d taken down all the posters.

  ‘Do you think they’re sleeping together?’

  Nils blew a smoke ring at the slanted ceiling. He didn’t need to say who he was talking about.

  ‘I always thought he was gay,’ said Basse, trying without success to blow smoke rings. ‘With all that make-up he wears. It’s hard to believe his father puts up with it.’

  When they were younger, they’d all looked up to James Jensen, a real-life war hero. But now the man was starting to look old and haggard. He was nearly sixty, after all. Maybe it was because James seemed so awesome that they’d started teasing Sam at school. James was everything Sam was not.

  Nils reached for the can and dropped his cigarette inside, creating a sizzling sound. He sighed. The old restlessness was back.

  ‘Something had better happen, and soon.’

  Basse looked at him.

  ‘Or else you’ll make it happen.’

  The Stella Case

  Leif slowly opened the door. He’d encountered Larry and Lenita on numerous occasions over the years. And their sons. But never their daughter. Until now.

  ‘Hello,’ he said simply as he stepped into the room.

  Larry and Lenita turned to face him, but Marie didn’t look in his direction.

  ‘The police are always dragging us over here to the station as soon as anything happens,’ said Larry. ‘By now we’re used to it. We get blamed for everything. But when you force Marie to come over here for some sort of interrogation, you’re bloody well going too far.’

  Scorn spewed through the gaps in his teeth. He’d lost three front teeth in various brawls. Whether it was a local dance, a rock concert, or an ordinary Saturday-night gathering, Larry always turned up, drunk and ready for a fight.

  ‘This is not an interrogation,’ said Leif. ‘We want to have a talk with Marie, that’s all. So far we know only that Marie and Helen were the last ones to see Stella alive, and it’s important for us to map out the time they spent with the girl.’

  ‘“Map out”,’ said Lenita with a snort, shaking her head and making her bleached-blond, permed hair flutter. ‘Frame her for the murder, that’s what you’re after. But remember, Marie is only thirteen.’

  With a look of outrage she lit a cigarette, and Leif couldn’t bring himself to tell her smoking wasn’t allowed anywhere in the station.

  ‘We want to hear how the girls spent their time with Stella. That’s all.’

  He studied Marie, who hadn’t yet said a word as she sat between her parents. What must it be like to grow up in a family like hers? Constant rows and drunkenness, with the police coming over to deal with reports of domestic abuse.

  Leif thought about one Christmas Eve when the girl was only a baby. If he remembered right, it was the older boy who had rung the police. How old was he back then? Nine? When Leif arrived, he found Lenita lying on the kitchen floor, her face covered in blood. Larry had slammed her head against the cooker, which was spattered with blood. The two boys were in the living room, hiding behind the Christmas tree as Larry ran through the house, cursing and shouting. The older boy was holding his baby sister in his arms. Leif would never forget it.

  Lenita had refused to file a report. And through all the years of beatings and bruises, she had steadfastly defended Larry. Occasionally Larry would end up with a couple of bruises himself, and once he even got a nasty bump on the head when Lenita clobbered him with a cast-iron bucket. Leif knew that’s what happened because he was actually present when she did it.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Marie calmly. ‘Ask me whatever you like. I assume you’ve already talked to Helen, right?’

  Leif nodded.

  ‘I saw them arrive here,’ said Marie, clasping her hands in her lap.

  She was very pretty, and no doubt Lenita had also been a real beauty in her day.

  ‘Tell me in your own words everything you did yesterday,’ said Leif, giving Marie a nod. ‘I’m going to tape our conversation and also take notes. I hope that’s all right.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She sat quietly with her hands clasped. She wore jeans and a white camisole, her long blond hair hanging loose and reaching halfway down her back.

  Calmly and methodically she described the day. Without ever veering from the topic, her voice steady and composed, she described hour by hour the time they had spent with Stella. Leif found himself mesmerized as he listened to her account. She had a slightly husky voice that was both captivating and made her seem older than her thirteen years. Growing up in the midst of such a chaotic household may have had its effect.

  ‘Are these times correct?’

  He repeated what Marie had reported, and she nodded.

  ‘So you dropped her off at the farm when you saw the car belonging to Stella’s father parked there? But you didn’t actually see him?’

  Marie had already said as much, but it was a crucial detail, and Leif wanted to make sure he’d heard correctly.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘And then you and Helen went swimming?’

  ‘Yes. Helen wasn’t supposed to go swimming, because of her parents. We’re not allowed to hang out together.’

  Lenita snorted again.

  ‘A right couple of snobs, always got their noses in the air,’ she said. ‘Think they’re so far above everyone else. But as far as I know, they shit just like the rest of us.’

  ‘Are the two of you good friends?’ asked Leif.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Marie, shrugging. ‘We’ve been friends since we were kids. Or at least until we were told not to hang out together.’

  Leif put down his pen.

  ‘How long has that been? Since you weren’t supposed to spend time together?’

  Leif wasn’t sure he would have wanted his own daughter to have anything to do with the Wall family. He was probably a snob too.

  ‘About six months. They found out that I smoke, so they said their little princess couldn’t see me any more. I’m a bad influence.’

  Larry and Lenita shook their heads.

  ‘Is there anything else you’d like to add?’ asked Leif, looking Marie in the eye.

  Her expression was inscrutable, but then she frowned.

  ‘No. I just want to say that I think it’s horrible, what happened to Stella. She was so sweet. I hope the police catch whoever did it.’

  ‘We’re doing our best,’ replied Leif.

>   Marie nodded calmly.

  Chapter Twelve

  It felt good to sit in his office with the door closed for a moment. They’d been out searching all night and then everything had come to a halt when Nea’s body was found. His eyelids were so heavy it was all he could do to keep them open, and if he didn’t get some rest soon, he’d end up falling asleep at his desk. But Patrik couldn’t yet allow himself to lie down on the cot in the station’s break room. First he had to make several phone calls and then Erica would be coming over to tell them what she knew about the Stella case. And he was looking forward to that. Regardless what Mellberg had said at the press conference, Patrik and his colleagues all thought there was some connection between the two cases. The big question was: What was the link? Had a murderer returned? Was it a copycat killing? What was behind the child’s death?

  He picked up the phone and made the first call.

  ‘Hi, Torbjörn,’ he said when the experienced crime technician answered after a few seconds. ‘Do you have any preliminary information for me?’

  ‘You know the procedures as well as I do,’ replied Torbjörn.

  ‘Yes, I know you have to meticulously go through all the evidence, but we’re talking about a dead little girl in this case, and every minute counts. So was there anything that caught your attention? Anything on the body? Or anything found in the area?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Patrik, but there’s nothing I can tell you yet. We collected a lot of things, and we still have to go through it all.’

  ‘Okay, I understand. It was worth a try, though. Please tell the guys to put a rush on it, and let me know as soon as you have anything concrete. We need all the help we can get.’

  Patrik glanced at the clear blue sky outside. A large bird was gliding on the updraught until it abruptly dived and disappeared from sight.

  ‘Could you pull the files on the Stella case?’ he said. ‘We need them for comparison.’

  ‘I’ve already done that. I’ll send them over via the secure email system.’

  Patrik smiled.

  ‘You’re a gem, Torbjörn.’

  He ended the call and took a few deep breaths before making the next one. Fatigue was making him shake.

  ‘Hi, Pedersen. Hedström here. How’s it going with the post-mortem?’

  ‘What can I say?’ replied the head of forensics in Gothenburg. ‘It never gets any easier.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Kids are always the worst. That must be especially so for you.’

  Tord Pedersen murmured agreement. Patrik didn’t envy him his job.

  ‘When do you think you’ll have something for us?’

  ‘Maybe next week.’

  ‘Seriously? Damn. Next week? Can’t you get to it any faster?’

  The pathologist sighed.

  ‘You know what it’s like in the summer—’

  ‘I know. Because of the heat. I know the death statistics always rise. But we’re talking about a four-year-old. Surely, you must be able to …’

  He could hear the plea in his voice. He had complete respect for rules and regulations, yet he kept seeing Nea’s face in his mind, and he was prepared to plead and beg if there was any way to speed up the investigation.

  ‘At least give me something we can work from. How about a preliminary cause of death? You must have taken a brief look at her by now …’

  ‘It’s far too early to say for certain, but she did have a wound on the back of her head. I can tell you that much.’

  Patrik made a note of this as he clamped the phone between his ear and shoulder. He hadn’t noticed the wound when they lifted the girl up.

  ‘Okay, but you don’t know what might have caused it?’

  ‘No, unfortunately I don’t.’

  ‘I understand. But please speed up the post-mortem as much as you can, and ring me as soon as you have anything. Okay? Thanks, Pedersen.’

  Patrik put down the phone, frustrated. He wanted the results, he wanted them now. But resources were limited, and there were a lot of bodies. That’s how it had been during most of his years on the police force. At least he’d found out one thing, even if it was only preliminary information. Though still he wasn’t much the wiser. He rubbed his eyes. There was no hope of getting any sleep anytime soon.

  Paula couldn’t help shuddering as they drove past the farm where Nea lived. Her own son, Leo, was three years old, and the thought of anything happening to him made her feel sick.

  ‘There’s a police car over there,’ said Martin, pointing. ‘Gösta must be talking to the parents.’

  ‘I don’t envy him that job,’ she said quietly.

  Martin didn’t say a word.

  They looked at the white house they were heading towards. It was within walking distance of Nea’s farm and could probably be seen from the barn, though not from the farmhouse.

  ‘Shall we try this place?’ asked Martin, and Paula nodded.

  ‘Yes, this is the closest neighbour, so it seems only logical,’ she said, realizing her words sounded sterner than she’d intended.

  But Martin didn’t seem to take offence. He turned on to the driveway and parked. There was no sign of anyone inside the house.

  They knocked on the front door, but no one came. Paula tried again, knocking harder. She called ‘Hello’ but received no answer. She looked for a doorbell but didn’t find one.

  ‘Maybe nobody’s home.’

  ‘Let’s check out back,’ said Martin. ‘I think I can hear music coming from there.’

  They walked around the side of the house. Paula couldn’t help admiring all the flowers in the small garden that merged almost seamlessly with the woods. Now she heard the music too. In the backyard they found a woman briskly doing sit-ups on the deck with the music playing loudly.

  The woman gave a start when she caught sight of them.

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ said Paula. ‘We knocked on the front door.’

  The woman nodded.

  ‘It’s okay. I was a little startled, that’s all. I was so into my …’

  She turned off the music and stood up. She wiped her sweaty palms on a towel and then shook hands, first with Paula and then with Martin.

  ‘I’m Helen. Helen Jensen.’

  Paula frowned. The name sounded familiar. Then the penny dropped. Bloody hell. That Helen. She’d had no clue she lived so close to the Berg family.

  ‘So what are the police doing here?’ asked Helen.

  Paula glanced at Martin. She saw from his expression that he’d realized who they were talking to.

  ‘Haven’t you heard the news?’ asked Paula in surprise.

  Was Helen pretending not to know? Could she really have missed seeing the commotion in the woods all night? That was all anyone could talk about.

  ‘Heard what?’ asked Helen, looking from Martin to Paula. Suddenly she froze. ‘Has something happened to Sam?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Paula, holding up her hand.

  She assumed Sam must be either a son or her husband.

  ‘It’s the little girl who lives on the next farm. Linnea. She disappeared yesterday afternoon, or rather, that’s when her parents realized she was missing. And I’m afraid that she was found dead this morning.’

  The towel slipped out of Helen’s hand and landed on the deck. She didn’t bother to pick it up.

  ‘Nea? Nea’s dead? How? Where?’

  She raised a hand to her throat, and Paula could see a vein throbbing under her skin. She swore silently. The plan was for them to talk to Helen after Erica had come to the station to brief all of them on the Stella case. But it couldn’t be helped. They were here now and couldn’t simply leave and come back later. They’d have to make the best of the situation.

  She glanced at Martin, who nodded.

  ‘Could we sit down over there?’ he asked, pointing to the vinyl patio furniture a few metres away.

  ‘Of course. Sure. Sorry,’ said Helen.

  She headed for the open terrace door, which led to the
living room.

  ‘Excuse me. I just want to put on a shirt,’ she said. She was wearing only a sports bra and leggings.

  ‘Okay,’ said Paula.

  She and Martin sat down on the patio chairs. They exchanged glances. She could tell Martin was also unhappy about the way the situation was developing.

  ‘This is the kind of garden I’d like to have,’ said Martin, looking around. ‘Lots of roses and rhododendrons and hollyhocks. There’s some peonies over there too.’

  He pointed at one side of the garden. Paula hadn’t a clue which flowers he meant. Gardens were not her thing. She was happy living in a flat and had no wish to own either a house or a lawn.

  ‘Yes, they’re doing so well,’ said Helen, who had returned, now wearing a lightweight jogging suit. ‘I replanted them last year. They used to be over there.’

  She pointed to a shadier part of the garden.

  ‘But I thought they’d probably do better in the spot where they are now. And I was right.’

  ‘You do your own gardening?’ asked Martin. ‘If not, I happen to know that Sanna, who owns the garden centre, is very good at—’

  He stopped abruptly, realizing what the connection was between Helen and Sanna. But she merely shrugged.

  ‘Oh, I do all the gardening myself.’

  She sat down at the patio table across from them. She seemed to have taken a quick shower, because her hair was damp at the back of her neck.

  ‘So, tell me what happened to Nea,’ said Helen, her voice quavering slightly.

  Paula studied her. Her distress seemed genuine.

  ‘Her parents reported her missing yesterday. Do you mean that you and your family didn’t hear the search parties who were out all last night? There was a lot of commotion right around the corner from you.’

  It was strange that Helen hadn’t heard all those people searching the woods only a few hundred metres from her home.

  Helen shook her head.

  ‘No, we went to bed early. I took a sleeping pill and could have slept through a world war. And James … well, he was sleeping in the basement. He thinks it’s cooler down there, and you can’t hear anything from outside.’

  ‘You mentioned someone named Sam,’ said Martin.