As she gets to her feet she notices the picture at the front of a dusty stack propped against the wall behind the TV. She recognises it.
That particular picture of the lake early on a summer morning used to hang in the main cabin. Veils of mist hover above the surface of the water, and beyond them the silhouette of the ridge is just visible. As a child, its contours made Laura think of a sleeping giant, but as an adult she realises there’s something else about the work that appeals to her – an air of melancholy, reinforced by the solitary lamp on Miller’s boathouse, shining at the exact point where land meets water.
She moves closer. It’s the best thing Hedda has ever done. The lake at dawn, the mist, the sparkling water, the outline of the ridge and that lonely, yearning light on the other side.
She is reaching out for the painting when she notices something. It’s in a stack of five, but the other four are covered in a thick layer of dust. This one, however, is hardly dusty at all, which means it’s recently been cleaned. Or moved.
Laura picks it up. Her fingers touch something on the reverse. She turns it over, lays it on top of the pile. A piece of white canvas has been stapled to the back.
The first thing that draws her attention is the black swan’s feather right at the top. It must be her feather, which means Hedda found the cigar box containing her childish treasures.
Roughly in the middle of the canvas two documents have been attached. Two offers for Gärdsnäset, one from Kjell Green and the council, the other from Vintersjöholm Development, signed by Heinz Norell, Project Leader. A whole host of other papers have been stuck around the offers. Cuttings of old newspaper articles with familiar headlines: TRAGEDY AT VINTERSJÖN, ARSON COST YOUNG WOMAN HER LIFE, ARSONIST SENT TO YOUTH OFFENDERS’ INSTITUTION. Right at the bottom is a page torn out of a notebook, with three lines in Hedda’s handwriting.
Laura is holding her breath.
Make will , followed by a neat tick.
Call Laura , followed by a question mark.
Finally, five words in capitals:
ASK TOMAS ABOUT IBEN’S SECRET!
25
Winter 1987
The following morning a grey, foul-smelling fog hung over the lake, just as it had done on her first morning here. Smoke, Laura was sure of it.
It was after ten when she knocked on Jack’s door. He opened it right away, looking considerably more relaxed than the previous evening.
‘Morning, Princess – tea?’
‘Please.’
Laura took the opportunity to glance around while he clattered about in the kitchenette. Everything looked the same as it always did. The bed was neatly made, the floor clean. Jack liked to keep the place neat and tidy. She was pleased to see that the car magazine she’d given him at the airport was on his bedside table.
‘That business in Alkärret yesterday was terrible,’ she said.
He didn’t answer, pretended to be preoccupied with the tea. She waited until he sat down opposite her. She had two questions for him. She opted to go for the easiest one first.
‘So what’s actually going on here? The fires, the dead sheep?’
Jack took a sip of his tea.
‘It started in the autumn,’ he said quietly. ‘A couple of small fires that nobody really took much notice of. Litter bins, that kind of thing. But then the fires became bigger and more frequent. Hunting towers, outhouses, empty cottages. People are nervous. And Jensen’s sheep . . . Three in a month.’
Laura thought back to what she’d heard of the conversation in the yard the previous day.
‘Ulf Jensen suspects someone, doesn’t he?’
It took a few seconds before she managed to interpret Jack’s expression. She gasped.
‘You? He thinks you killed his sheep?’
Jack stared into his cup.
‘But why? Why would he think that?’
Milla’s words came into her mind – that killing the sheep was about hatred. Or love.
‘Iben,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Ulf doesn’t like us hanging out together,’ Jack said. ‘He’s had a go at Hedda about it several times, and the other day her brothers made it very clear to me.’
He pulled up his T-shirt to reveal a huge bruise. Laura’s stomach contracted into a hard knot.
‘So Ulf thinks you’re killing his sheep to show you’re not scared of him?’ she managed to say.
‘Something like that.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I guess he blames me for the other fires too. He’s crazy . . .’
He placed a hand on her arm, exactly as Iben had done the other day.
‘We didn’t mean to hurt you. It just happened. After you left in the summer . . .’
He fell silent. The knot in Laura’s stomach tightened. She wiped away a tear, then another.
‘Are you in love with her?’
Jack looked tortured. He slowly removed his hand.
‘You don’t understand . . .’
‘So explain it to me! Explain what’s changed from last summer!’
Jack shook his head.
‘I can’t. I’m sorry, but I just can’t, Princess.’
‘Don’t call me that – I’m not a child!’
The apartment felt cramped, the air suffocating. Laura leaped up and headed for the door, fighting back the tears.
She ran down the stairs and into Hedda’s house. Threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillows. Sobbed and sobbed, her whole body shaking.
After a while Hedda came in, sat down on the bed and gently stroked her hair.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she whispered. ‘Sometimes living really hurts.’
26
We can’t choose our parents, Princess. Just as we can’t choose our children.
Ensligheten, the place where Tomas grew up, is actually on the GPS map. Laura thinks she’s only been there once, with Hedda and Jack. She can’t remember why – did she wait in the car?
The morning sky is grey and overcast, the yard one great big frozen pool of mud. A battered Opel is parked to the side. There is no snow on the roof, which means the car is used regularly, and that someone is probably at home. Two scruffy dogs come racing out of the barn, barking loudly and running around her car a couple of times before disappearing back where they came from.
The rotting roller-door has long since parted company with its mechanism, and is propped up against one wall of the barn. Inside are a couple of old cars that are apparently being used as dog kennels.
Laura parks as close to the house as possible, facing in the right direction so that she can get away quickly if necessary. The wind brings down a swirl of wet, loose snow from the roof of the barn. It stings her face, and she pulls on her hat and buttons her jacket right up to her chin.
The house was once green, but a combination of sun and dirt have turned the wood yellowish-grey. A huge tarpaulin has been fixed over the ridge, and next to the chimney she can see a rusty television aerial at such a drunken angle that it looks as if it might come crashing down at any moment. The concrete steps have been cleared of snow – just about. On the porch a case of beer is just visible beneath a lopsided plastic table.
The whole place gives Laura the creeps. She pauses at the front door, gathers her thoughts. She could have called Peter last night on her way back to the hotel. Told him about Hedda’s board, but after giving the matter some thought, she’d decided not to.
Peter lied to her about Tomas. What is he trying to hide, and is there a connection with Hedda’s interest in Tomas?
The only way to find out is to try to contact Tomas.
She knocks on the door. It takes several attempts before she sees a movement through the frosted glass.