Laura drives out of the car park, then pulls over and calls Håkansson. He answers almost right away and doesn’t sound at all annoyed about being disturbed on a Sunday.
‘You told me that Hedda contacted you fairly recently, saying that she wanted to make a will. When exactly was that?’
She hears him flicking through what is presumably a paper diary. Do people still use those?
‘She came to my office on 12 November.’
‘Did she say why she wanted to make a will?’
‘No, but I knew she’d been ill.’
He doesn’t ask why she’s wondering, which she appreciates.
‘Did Hedda tell you she’d had offers for Gärdsnäset? That she was thinking of selling?’
Håkansson hesitates.
‘As I recall it did come up in the conversation, but Hedda had considered selling a couple of times in the past, so I didn’t take it too seriously – particularly as Gärdsnäset was mentioned in the will.’
‘So on 12 November, she hadn’t settled on a purchaser or made a firm decision to sell?’
‘That was certainly my perception.’
‘But now we’ve had two offers, right? One from the council and one from Vintersjöholm.’
‘Correct. I can send you the paperwork tomorrow if you like.’
‘But we haven’t had an offer from Iben’s father? He asked me about Gärdsnäset at the funeral. He seemed to believe that everything was more or less done and dusted.’
‘Ulf Jensen? No, he hasn’t made an offer. And to be honest, I don’t think that’s on the cards.’
Håkansson clears his throat, as if he’s said something he regrets. ‘I’m afraid I have to go, but I’ll speak to you tomorrow morning when you’re back in Stockholm.’
He ends the call so quickly that Laura doesn’t have the chance to say goodbye.
She continues her journey, returning to the timeline. At some point in early November, Hedda receives two offers that are sufficiently appealing to make her consider selling. But on 12 November, the day she makes a will that includes Gärdsnäset, she also stops swimming – as if she’d made a decision, possibly to hold onto the place. Because as Håkansson has just pointed out, you don’t bequeath an asset you’re intending to sell.
A week later, Hedda is found dead next to her own pontoon.
Laura scrolls down to Peter’s phone number.
‘A quick question,’ she says once the pleasantries are out of the way. ‘Have you been feeding George, or do you know of anyone else who is?’
‘No. To be honest, I didn’t think about the cat until you mentioned her at the funeral. I was relieved to hear she hadn’t starved to death. Why do you ask?’
Laura wonders whether to tell him about the cigarette butts in the forest, the offers, and the fact that Hedda’s will coincides with the last date in the bathing book, but decides against it, mainly because she wants more time to think it all over. Clarify her suspicions in her own mind before she shares them with anyone else.
‘Someone’s fed her. There were empty cat food tins by the front door.’
‘Right. No, I’ve no idea who that could be.’
They both fall silent. Laura knows she ought to hang up, but she doesn’t.
‘Are you OK?’ Peter asks.
‘I don’t actually know,’ she answers truthfully. ‘Maybe I’m just trying to process the fact that Hedda’s dead. That I’m not a child anymore.’
‘I understand,’ he says gently. ‘Even though I didn’t have any contact with her, she’s always kind of been there.’
Another silence. Laura still doesn’t want to end the call. Not yet. She decides to ask the question that’s been on her mind ever since she saw him in the church. Something she’s wondered about for a long time.
‘What happened to Tomas after the fire? After we told the police he’d started it?’
She can almost hear Peter’s discomfort.
‘He was sent to a reform school, as they were called back in the day. Then he was in and out of various institutions.’
‘Did you keep in touch with him?’
‘No.’
The answer is brusque, and comes a little too quickly.
‘I’m guessing that you read the police investigation into the fire.’
He sighs. ‘I did. It didn’t make for pleasant reading. After we made our statements, the police went in really hard on Tomas. Much too hard, I’d say. We’d never get away with that kind of interrogation now, but the fact is that Tomas confessed quite early on. They also found a bottle of paraffin in the bushes with his fingerprints on it, so we have nothing to feel guilty about, neither you nor I.’
She can tell that he’s tried to convince himself of that many times. As has she.
‘Did anyone help Tomas? Defend him?’
For a moment she thinks Peter’s hung up, but then she hears his voice again.
‘No one. Not even his father.’
Laura reaches the turning for Gärdsnäset just under half an hour later. She has no idea what she’s doing here, but she can’t go back to Stockholm. Not yet, not until she finds answers to at least some of the questions swirling around in her mind.
As she approaches Hedda’s house she sees a movement among the trees. A slim figure in dark clothing and a motorcycle helmet is running away.
Laura slams on the brakes, jumps out of the car and gives chase.
‘Stop!’
The figure is trying to put on a backpack, and the distance between them is shrinking. Running after a stranger through the forest isn’t something Laura would normally consider, but anger gives her strength, and her quarry is small and skinny.
The intruder rounds the corner of one of the dilapidated cabins and disappears from view. A second later, Laura hears the roar of an engine. She too races around the corner and sees the figure on a motocross bike, about to ride off. Summoning up a sudden burst of speed, she reaches out for the half-open backpack. The engine races, snow and leaves spurt up around the back wheel as the bike tries to gain purchase on the treacherous ground. Laura touches the backpack, the rider turns and sees how close she is. A moment of confusion, the back wheel skids sideways, the rider struggles to maintain balance, then the wheel hits a fallen branch and the bike crashes to the ground in a cloud of exhaust fumes. The engine coughs and stops. The rider has been thrown off and is lying face down, trying to move even though all the breath has been knocked out of his or her body.
Two tins of cat food have fallen out of the backpack.
Laura drags the intruder upright.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
The rider removes the helmet, with some difficulty. She is a young woman with a defiant expression and cropped, coal-black hair. She has two rings in one eyebrow.
Laura immediately recognises her from the school photograph at the police station.
This is Elsa, Peter’s daughter.
21
Winter 1987
‘There – what do you think?’
Milla screwed the cap on the mascara and stepped aside so that Laura could see herself in the bathroom mirror. Laura couldn’t help inhaling sharply.
She’d tried putting on makeup on the few occasions when she thought her mother wouldn’t catch her, of course, but this was on another level.
The person gazing back at her looked so grown up. So . . . beautiful. She turned her head, admiring her face from different angles.
‘It’ll be even better if you let me fix your hair and clothes.’
Laura still couldn’t stop staring at her reflection.
‘Jack won’t be able to take his eyes off you, I swear. But we need an occasion to show you off. Do they have discos in this dump?’