The Captain finished with a sigh.
“I don’t really know any more… there isn’t any more either… no… there’s no more.”
The Captain stood up and paced nervously back and forth.
Holst bowed to him.
“Thank you, Captain, for what you’ve told me. Unfortunately, it would seem that what is of most interest to me is what you have held back.”
The Captain nodded.
“I told you that, Lieutenant Holst. I told you there were things I had to withhold which no human power could force me to speak of. You may well argue that you could learn something about this by other means. I think it unlikely. Besides me, there is only one other person who knows all about this matter and he will know how to keep quiet, but if he wants to talk, he has the right. I do not.”
“You can’t even tell me his name?”
The Captain shook his head.
“Nor the name of Annie’s first lover?”
The captain hesitated for a moment.
“Well, yes, I suppose I can – his name was Cedersköld and he died 16 years ago.”
Holst was silent for a moment.
“Would it be of any use to ask Lieutenant Sjöström about the matter?” he asked gently.
“Which one? Hugold – yes, if you can find him – he would probably be able to provide further information. But God knows if he’s still alive, or if he’s at liberty, for his ways led him close to the walls of prisons. It was such a shame because he was a handsome soldier once upon a time.”
“I was thinking of the equerry,” interjected Holst.
“I doubt it,” replied the Captain. “He probably doesn’t know as much as I’ve already told you and it will only bring him embarrassment to talk about the matter.”
Holst sat for some minutes in silence, then got up and walked over in front of the Captain, who was leaning against the writing desk.
“Captain, what you have told me is something, albeit only a little,” he said firmly. “I’ve given you my word that I won’t impinge on you by demanding more information. I can tell you that my first trip will be to Bäckaryd to find out what Annie’s mother may know about what you feel unable to tell me, and about the last information she had from her daughter. I certainly don’t expect much from this journey, but I don’t want to refrain from it either. The only thing I want to add to my thanks is that the day will probably come when we will meet again and talk more openly about Annie Cederlund and the men whose fates have been linked to her. My word binds me and I won’t seek additional information from you. I just ask you if you will tell me the name of the officer whose picture is hanging under the painting – the third one – the young one sitting in front of the table in the photo bearing the wreath of everlasting flowers.”
The Captain cast a sharp look at Holst.
“Him?”
He fell silent, as if undecided. Holst put his hand on his shoulder.
“Cedersköld?”
The Captain didn’t answer, but Holst turned to leave.
“Why are you asking about that?” snapped the Captain suddenly. “It’s a picture of me and a couple of friends.”
Holst interrupted him with a mild smile.
“Captain Kurk – we two still don’t know each other properly but with time we may remedy that. Thank you once again for everything you’ve told me. I will be leaving early tomorrow morning and will not inconvenience you any more. You are right. I will try to find out the information which your duty as a friend and brother officer prevents you from giving me from someone who is a much closer acquaintance, the person who is most familiar with it and to whom I will convey your brotherly greetings.”
Captain Kurk looked at Holst in astonishment. He stood with Holst’s hand in his own without really being able to clear his thoughts.
“I don’t understand…”
Holst smiled once more.
“It doesn’t matter, Captain. He will understand.”
“He? Who?”
“Arvid Ankerkrone,” said Holst softly while freeing his hand.
Holst left with a mute nod. The Captain was left standing rooted to the spot; he made a movement as if to follow his guest, but stopped suddenly.
“God’s will be done,” he muttered.
He heard the servant talking in the corridor, followed by steps on the stairs. Sinking into his armchair, he spent a few minutes looking at Annie’s portrait which he had put down on the table. His eyes slid over to the picture on the wall and his lips moved gently.
“May God be with you too, Arvid.”
The morning light had risen before Captain Kurk went to bed. Around the same time, the train steamed off towards Hässleholm taking Holst onward to Vislanda and the clearings by the River Laga in the forested, hilly Småland.
V
The journey between Kristianstad and Hässleholm was uneventful for Holst. He was fast asleep. It was no wonder, as his body, after a night so rich in experiences, demanded its right and the landscape in the middle of Scania isn’t attractive enough to hold a tired man awake.
Holst slept soundly; in Hässleholm he ate a reasonable railway lunch followed by an hour of good rest, and when the train came steaming in from the south to take him across the border to Småland, his thoughts were as clear as his eyes.
Scania ends at Hässleholm and Småland opens up for the observer. The Scanian countryside, especially the region around Kristianstad, is gently rolling and mostly reminds one of Denmark, now and then a little wilder, with large coniferous forests and fields with boulders like Bornholm, but not particularly alien.
In Småland a completely different countryside presents itself. The railway line from Hässleholm runs through large tracts of coniferous forest, dense with low spruce and pine, and large birch forests; the ground is hard and stony, the boulders becoming larger, lying scattered on the hillsides as if giants had been playing ball with them; water meadows lie side by side and, down the slopes, streams trickle into lakes, which spread over the land and extend between Småland and Blekinge, forming a row that completely riddles the landscape with flickering surfaces.
In the beginning, the brown marshes appear and beyond them Lake Ballingslöv, followed by marshes and heaths alternating with large forests, where lakes are spread out near Älmhult and Liatorp; finally, after travelling over rocky, wooded hills, one reaches Vislanda, the junction town where railway lines run to the west and east coasts of the country. Holst was completely intoxicated by the strange, singular countryside. His gaze swept over hills and marshes, ponds and lakes, was captured here and there by red-painted wooden houses and farms, scattered beside streams or lakes, or up against a protective cliff. Here and there beside the clearings and the larger lakes, tall chimneys rose into the sky; it was as if civilisation was stretching its arms out towards the forest idyll, but gradually as the journey continued northwards, the forest idyll became the strongest impression and the wind bore the fresh forest scent towards the carriage windows. Holst was alone in the compartment, which suited him.
Little by little, he released his thoughts from the strong impression made by the strange countryside, returning coolly and matter-of-factly to the case and the purpose of his journey. He had learnt quite a bit, with the help of the lucky star that seemed to be watching over his quest.
He now knew that the murdered woman was an Annie Cederlund, whose reputation was not exactly unblemished and whose fate seemed to him as full of adventure as any heroine from a novel. He also knew about the most important events of her life and the visit to the little village by the River Laga ought to give him more information about what might still be hidden from him.
But more important than anything else, it seemed to him, was that strange meeting that had happened so suddenly and before he had any inkling of all that was about to be revealed, and had brought him together with a man who must be able to provide the most important contribution to lifting the veil that, despite everything he had learnt, still shrouded
Annie’s strange destiny.
Captain Ankerkrone, whom he counted as his friend and whose nobility had made the strongest impression on him, must in some way have come into contact with the woman whose body he had seen dragged from the lonely forest lake in a foreign country. Given his knowledge of Ankerkrone, Holst was most inclined to conclude that he hadn’t recognised the young woman when her body was dragged up from where it had been hidden. It was not a matter of course that the deceased’s petrified features would awaken the memory of a beautiful, smiling woman.
It was though a possibility, in which case it might seem strange that the Captain had never with a single word revealed his acquaintance with the murdered woman, so much more so since he had had a wealth of opportunity to do so during his frequent private talks with Holst. Holst had to admit to himself that the great interest Ankerkrone had shown in this case might have its basis in the fact that he knew more about the victim than he wished to tell, and gradually, the more Holst thought about the case, and about the Captain’s attitude and observations, Sjöström’s gossip and Captain Kurk’s serious account, the more it became clear to him that Captain Ankerkrone had to be the man who, if his efforts in Småland came to nothing, could solve the mystery for him.
Whether he would be willing was another matter. It was clear he had no part in the murder. Captain Ankerkrone, despite having had to withstand gossip of the most malignant nature in his home region, was surely raised above such a suspicion. It was beyond any possibility that he, whatever his domestic circumstances might have been, could be suspected of having deprived a loose woman of her life. Holst pushed the thought away like a hideous bug. But the fact that there could be a hidden connection between Captain Kurk’s and Sjöström’s narratives was another matter entirely, one on which Ankerkrone, if he so desired, could shed light.
Cedersköld, Annie’s first lover, was probably Ankerkrone’s friend and Ankerkrone had been the third person in the alliance of friends, which at some point had been annulled by a sad event. Sjöström was probably quite right too when he linked Mrs Ankerkrone’s death to the departures of both Cedersköld and her husband; even a duel in Italy wasn’t out of the question. In a way, Annie Cederlund’s name brought up the bitterest memories for Captain Ankerkrone and, even though he may have recognised her, it would hardly have tallied with his reserved nature to give a complete stranger information about events that would only evoke the most onerous days and events in his life. No, he would never do such a thing.
Through these thoughts, and while the Småland forests slipped past his eyes, Holst arrived at an increased understanding of Ankerkrone’s behaviour. He felt confident that, when he returned equipped with all the information he could gather here, the Captain would meet him as an honest, sincere friend and help him through the last difficulties. And while he was thinking about this, Ankerkrone’s own words came to mind and it became clear to him that the Captain must have known far more than Holst had realised, but at the same time, he had been completely within his rights to wait and see if Holst could acquire, through his own efforts, the knowledge that he couldn’t have given him without disclosing what hardly anyone could get him to disclose without a deep and compelling reason.
What remained was to follow Annie’s journey from the day she left Kristianstad with Hugold Sjöström. It was natural to assume that her relatives must have known something about her and it was possible that they would be willing to help someone who had come to see them with a message and a purpose like the one which had led Holst to Bäckaryd.
The only thing that seemed inexplicable to Holst was Captain Kurk’s position on the question of Annie’s final year. It was possible he had held back out of consideration for Hugo Sjöström, yet he had expressed himself with great openness about the irresponsible officer whose career Annie had cut short and it was hardly conceivable that Sjöström would have committed the murder. Judging by Captain Kurk’s statements, he would be more inclined to be interested in preserving what was, for him, his lover’s rather precious life. It was more probable that the young man Kurk had seen in the couple’s company in Paris could be linked to Annie’s final drama.
In this case, it couldn’t be out of consideration for Ankerkrone that Kurk was holding back because there was no doubt at all that Ankerkrone had had no relationship with Annie either before Paris or after, but at this point the case was still extremely enigmatic, and it was unlikely that the solution to the riddle could be found from anyone else other than Sjöström. The aim of the trip to Småland was thus more to find the path that led to him and to get more clarity about the relationship that had existed between Annie and him.
There were some incidental obscure matters remaining, leaving Holst feeling like a rambler walking past the rocks by the sea and at every rock he reaches, he sees a new one in front of him that he has to go round, only to find himself face to face with a third that blocks his passage and view.
But that didn’t prevent him from eating a good, tasty dinner in Vislanda.
VI
A branch line cuts westward through the country from Vislanda to Halmstad. It passes through an authentic Småland forest landscape with weeping birches and small friendly water meadows between slopes covered with heather, past Lake Bolmen, over the Skedala Heath military exercise grounds, to the mouth of the River Nissa. But even before Bolmen, by the little friendly one-horse town of Ljungby by the Laga, Holst left the train to take a small steamer along the river to Bäckaryd and the little cottage where Annie Bengtson’s cradle had once stood.
It was not at all a simple journey, for even though the old corporal’s widow was still alive, there was no certainty that she would be very communicative to a stranger who spoke a different language and came in through her door to talk to her about things that might recall the heaviest memories, as well as bringing her news which would have the effect of a heavy, perhaps conclusive, blow. Holst decided to proceed with the greatest caution.
He learnt from the boatmen that the magistrate in Bäckaryd lived close to the river on a large estate and that he was an influential, stately man regarded as the richest farmer for miles around. Holst set off to his estate and met him in a large, well-built wooden house, the entire appointments of which clearly revealed that one of the important people of the district lived here. The house lay in a splendid little grove with beautiful, well-kept lawns and borders with stocks and wallflowers, and the magistrate himself stood in the entrance to a small vine-covered veranda, as strong, broad and clean-shaven as the chairman of a Zealand parish council and dressed according to the fashions of a market town.
He was startled at the appearance of this stranger and Holst considered it best to come straight to the point. He was soon seated in the magistrate’s living room, where neat curtains gave shade at the windows and numerous woodcuts of Sweden’s kings decorated the walls, grouped around a large picture of Karl XV of Sweden and Frederik VII of Denmark united in brotherly friendship.
The magistrate was slightly reserved, clearly manifesting the solemn civil servant, the importance of whose duties often resulted in visits of a similar official nature. He regretted that, as a Good Templar, he wasn’t able to offer any other refreshment than a soft drink and formally presented his small, plump, friendly-looking wife with her starched bonnet ribbons, behind whom some young girls with golden locks peered out inquisitively. Holst bowed and moistened his tongue – he was thirsty and it was very hot outside.
He deliberately spoke a bit slowly so as to be better understood, but the magistrate explained that he was very familiar with the Danish language as he had for a number of years been having Danish hunting guests, reeling off some names which resonated with Holst. Among these there happened to be one of his brother officers and by this neutral path the conversation quickly flowed more easily.
“So the gentleman is employed by the police,” said the magistrate after some small talk. “And what would you like from me?”
“It’s a serious matter
,” Holst said with a glance at the door, “a case which shouldn’t be discussed openly.”
The magistrate stood up and closed the door on the small, curious heads. The children flew into the yard like chicks flapping their wings and chirping eagerly.
“I’m at your service,” he continued, looking extremely official.
“I’m sure you know a girl with the name Annie Bengtson or Cederlund, born here in the parish,” began Holst.
The magistrate nodded seriously.
“Yes, indeed, I know her. She’s brought sorrow enough to several people here in the parish, including my own family.”
“Yes, so I’ve been told,” said Holst.
The magistrate looked up in surprise.
“Does the gentleman know the story of my poor brother Erik?”
“I do indeed,” said Holst.
“In that case, the gentleman surely knows even more, I suspect. Well now, has Annie really ended up in the hands of the Danish police? Yes, one might expect something to go wrong, the way she lived. She has been wicked ever since childhood and has caused her parents great sorrow – the father, Corporal Bengt…”
“Yes, I know his sad story too – it was the mother…” interrupted Holst.
“She still lives here, just a few steps from my house. She’s a very beautiful old woman but alone and despondent. She hasn’t heard anything from her daughter for over three months, yet she loves her very much, despite everything, and the rest of us don’t have the heart to speak ill of her. Because, you see, Annie is one of our parish’s blackest sheep, whom we discuss now and then, of course, but now, as I said, it’s been over three months since we last heard from her. I usually read her letters for old Mrs Bengtson – one doesn’t have the heart to refuse and her sight is weak. But Annie’s relationship with her mother is probably the only good thing about her. She sends money sometimes, quite a lot too, and the old lady accepts it. What can I say? Money is money, isn’t it, and the old lady has to survive – she isn’t able to work. It’s been a bit of a squeeze for her recently, but the rest of us help out as much as we can. One has to support each other here in life. It’s incumbent on us… yes, indeed.”
The Forest Lake Mystery Page 7
