33
Winter 1987
Laura, Milla, Tomas and Peter met at Wohlin’s and secured the same table that Laura and Iben had chosen less than a week ago.
‘We’ve got problems,’ Tomas said.
Laura was surprised that he was taking the lead. He usually stayed in the background, avoided eye contact, but in Milla’s company he was different. More self-confident, less anxious. Tougher.
Peter, on the other hand, kept shuffling uncomfortably and looking over at Laura.
‘What kind of problems?’ Milla snapped. ‘As I said, we need stuff for the party. More booze, a tape player, something to eat. You said you could fix it.’
Tomas nodded. ‘I know a place. The owners come to stay from time to time throughout the year, so there should be food in the fridge and freezer, plus plenty of wine and beer.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘We don’t know where they hide the key.’
‘And?’
Peter cleared his throat.
‘It was different with the other summer cottages. No one noticed we’d been there – who the fuck remembers how many bottles of booze they left behind last summer? But if we break in, smash a window or something in a place the owners come back to at regular intervals’ – he spread his hands wide – ‘they’re bound to call the police. Then there’s this business with the fires . . .’
His eyes flicked sideways to Tomas for a second.
‘What about the fires?’ Milla said.
‘The police might link them with the break-in.’
‘Why would they do that?’
Peter couldn’t come up with a good answer. He gazed pleadingly at Laura, who came to his rescue.
‘Not much happens around here,’ she said quickly. ‘Two incidents at around the same time . . . If the police make the connection they’ll put in more effort, and the risk of being caught increases – isn’t that what you mean?’
Peter nodded, gave her a grateful smile.
‘OK.’ Milla drummed her fingers on the table. ‘In that case we’ll just have to be more careful. Me and Laura will come with you. I’ll keep a lookout for the owners, and Laura can help you search for the key. She’s good at finding things out about people.’
Peter opened his mouth, but before he could protest she heard a voice say, ‘Fine.’
Only when she saw his surprised reaction did she realise the voice was hers.
34
Laura pauses by the car. There is snow in the air, and her head is spinning. The Jensens are on the verge of bankruptcy. That explains Håkansson’s cryptic comment when she asked about the offers, and the ironmonger’s overtly threatening insistence that she ought to sell Gärdsnäset to the council for Ulf’s sake. Hedda had held the family’s fate in her hands, and she could have saved or destroyed them with one single decision.
Did that decision have anything to do with her death? The fact that she’d written about Iben on her board shows that the family had been on her mind – but in what way?
‘Laura!’
She turns and sees Fredrik coming towards her. He offers her a cigarette, but she shakes her head.
‘I don’t smoke.’
He smiles and lights a cigarette.
‘Me neither.’ The smile broadens. ‘Dad once caught Christian and me having a secret fag. He made us do fifty laps of the running track as a punishment.’
‘I know.’
His expression is hard to read.
‘I assume Iben told you. Did she also tell you how he found out?’
Laura shakes her head.
‘Because she made sure he knew. Iben was Daddy’s little girl. Christian and I always came second. Or rather: Iben came first, then nothing, then Källegården, then the sports club and then, a long way down, Christian and me.’
He takes a deep drag and blows out the smoke. Laura can’t stop staring at the bandage on his hand.
‘I went to see Kent Rask yesterday,’ she says.
‘So I heard. How was old Kent? I believe he had a few problems with his barn.’
Fredrik grins again.
‘He told me about Sofia, Iben’s mother.’
The smile disappears. ‘Did he now.’
‘Do you know what became of her?’
A shrug.
‘Dead. At least that’s what people say. She took off when we were little.’
‘Is it true that she tried to burn down Källegården? That she was admitted to a mental hospital?’
Fredrik looks taken aback. He stares at her for a few seconds, then bursts into scornful laughter.
‘It seems as if you’ll believe anything.’ He takes another drag. ‘Sofia wasn’t from around here. She was never happy at Källegården, so when Iben was six she packed her bags and left. There was nothing more to it. The only person I know who’s been locked up in the loony bin is Kent Rask’s pyromaniac son. Talk about crazy . . . Did he tell you what happened to Tomas?’
Laura doesn’t reply, but Fredrik interprets her silence correctly.
‘He carried on setting fire to things. He almost burned down an entire psychiatric wing when he was in St Sigfrid’s in Växjö. Ask your friend Peter if you don’t believe me.’ He shakes his head. ‘But it wasn’t that particular nutjob I wanted to talk about. You’re busy out at Gärdsnäset. Going through Hedda’s stuff.’
‘And?’
‘You’ve even got yourself a little helper – the girl on the motocross bike. She seems to be as weird as her father.’
Laura is trying to work out where he’s going, but without success. He moves a little closer.
‘Do you know if your aunt heard anything from him afterwards? Orphan Boy?’
‘Jack?’
The question surprises her.
‘Who else? Have you heard from him?’
She thinks about the postcards from Germany. About the smoker in the forest.
‘Why do you ask?’
She doesn’t really expect an answer, but Fredrik surprises her again.
‘He stole something from us, back then. After the fire . . .’
‘What?’
‘Almost a hundred thousand in cash. Money Dad couldn’t keep in the bank, for . . . business reasons. Very useful if you wanted to flee the country.’
‘How do you know it was Jack?’
Her question is a little too quick, and she can see she’s angered him.
‘Because Dad had hidden it in a safe place. Not even Christian and I knew where it was. But Iben knew about the money and the hiding place. She must have told Orphan Boy. They were very close, those two. A little too close, wouldn’t you say?’
The grin is back.
Much to her annoyance, Laura feels herself blushing.
‘Hedda always defended that kid, almost as if he were her own flesh and blood.’ Fredrik shakes his head. ‘But Dad was right – he recognised his type right from the start. A fucking gyppo.’
He points to Laura, the cigarette pinched between finger and thumb.
‘The little fucker didn’t just steal our money. He got into Iben’s bedroom too, stole the jewellery her mother had left her. Stole from a dead girl, for fuck’s sake! If I ever get hold of Jack Olsson, he’ll pay dearly for that, I can promise you.’
He drops the cigarette butt in the snow, grinds it beneath his heel. Steps forward until he’s so close that she can smell the whisky on his breath.
‘Now be a good girl and sell Gärdsnäset to the council. It’s no good hanging onto that old dump. It’s nothing but a fire hazard.’
He winks at her, then turns and walks back to the house.
Laura waits until he’s gone, then bends down and picks up the squashed butt.
A Prince Red.
It begins to snow as she crosses the bridge to the lower yard. The wind has increased, and by the time she reaches the main road it is snowing so hard that her windscreen wipers have to work at full speed.