Sandberg picks up on her thoughts.
‘What was the relationship between father and son like?’
‘Tomas hated his father,’ Peter says quietly.
‘In that case he definitely has a motive for trying to burn down the old man’s barn,’ Sandberg states. ‘What about the Jensens? Does Tomas have any reason to hold a grudge against them?’
He pulls out a chair and sits down between Laura and Peter.
‘If that is the case, then there’s another question we have to ask ourselves: why now? Why is Rask running around starting fires in this area again after almost exactly thirty years? What’s the trigger?’
Laura doesn’t know if she’s expected to answer. Sandberg is talking to her and Peter as if they’re all on the same side. Presumably it’s some kind of trick, a way of lulling one of them into a false sense of security. But which one?
Sandberg turns to her.
‘You were in the vicinity of both fires, and if you’re telling the truth, then it seems as if the perpetrator – or someone else – has made an attempt to frame you.’
He leans across the table.
‘Maybe . . .’ he says slowly, ‘all this is about you, somehow?’
Laura agrees to provide fingerprints and a DNA sample for comparison with the petrol can and the bag of insulating material. Håkansson tells her that she is under no obligation to do so, but she has nothing to hide. She’s also convinced that a refusal would make her look even more suspicious in Sandberg’s eyes.
She’d hoped that Peter would drive her back to Gärdsnäset, giving her the opportunity to ask him about Tomas, perhaps hint that she knows they’ve been in touch. However, as soon as the interview is over he disappears into the depths of the police station, and she has to ask Håkansson for a lift.
Back at Hedda’s house she opens the front door and pauses for a moment. The smell is less overpowering now – or maybe she’s just getting used to it. She turns and looks over at the boathouse, then the forest where she thought she saw someone last night. Sandberg might be unpleasant, but he made an important point: the fires do seem to be connected to her.
Or is there another explanation? Could they be linked to Gärdsnäset, to Hedda?
She goes inside, takes off her coat, says hello to George and feeds her. Turns over the painting to reveal Hedda’s improvised noticeboard.
She still has no idea of what Hedda was actually doing, why she’d put up the newspaper cuttings about the fire, why she’d frozen the sale, why the black feather was there, what she’d meant about Tomas and Iben’s secret.
But she can’t shake off the feeling that the answers lie somewhere in this house.
She thinks back to the words Kent Rask whispered in her ear: Hedda never threw anything away, so those letters must be at Gärdsnäset somewhere . . .
Laura goes into Hedda’s studio and takes down the remaining shoeboxes. They all contain photographs – no more letters or postcards from either Tomas or Jack.
She returns to the living room and the noticeboard.
Kent Rask said that Tomas and Hedda wrote to each other, but so far she’s found only the letter written in 1994, in which Tomas seemed to indicate that he hadn’t acted alone.
Didn’t he write back to Hedda the rest of the time, or are there more letters in a different place? That’s possible, of course.
The note about Tomas and Iben is right at the bottom, which means that it was the last thing Hedda added, probably in early November. If she’d written to Tomas and asked him about the secret at the same time, then his reply wouldn’t be in an old shoebox. But if she had heard from him, then why wasn’t the task crossed off the list and the letter pinned up on the noticeboard?
She is struck by a thought.
It was the postman who found Hedda in the water. He’d driven out here to deliver her mail, got worried when the door was unlocked and the house was empty. But what had he done with the mail?
Laura goes to the front door. There’s more room now, since she and Elsa have cleared away the worst of the mess. Beneath the hallstand there is a half-full rubbish bag. She tips out the contents. Newspapers from five years ago, junk mail, campaign material from the 2014 election. Among it all there is a white envelope, the address written in a rounded, almost childish hand. It’s Tomas’s writing.
She slits open the envelope, her pulse racing.
Dear Hedda,
Thank you for your letters. I haven’t written back for a long time. I’m very sorry.
You asked me about Iben’s secret. I swore I’d never reveal it, but what does that matter now? And I know that you’d never tell anyone.
Iben hated her father.
Hated Ulf Jensen more than anyone or anything.
But most of all she was afraid of him.
39
Winter 1987
The phone rang out so slowly that Laura felt as if she could hear her own heartbeat echoing down the line.
‘Källegården, Christian speaking.’
‘Hi, it’s Laura – is Iben there?’
She was aware of the nervousness in her voice. Christian either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.
‘Ibeeen! Phone!’
A thud as the receiver hit the table. Then footsteps walking away, followed by others approaching.
Laura pressed Hedda’s office phone closer to her ear. Milla gave her an encouraging nod.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, it’s Laura.’
‘Hi!’
Iben sounded wary, but pleased. At least Laura thought so. Oddly enough, it made her feel a little tearful.
‘I . . . I’ve missed you.’
There was a brief silence.
‘Have you?’ Iben said in a small voice.
Laura swallowed, tried to force out the sentence she’d practised, but to no avail. Milla elbowed her in the side.
‘I’m sorry we fell out.’
‘Me too.’
A soft warmth spread through Laura’s chest, a warmth that made her want to forget the whole thing. The party, Tomas and Peter, Milla’s plan. She just wanted life to go back to the way it used to be.
‘Jack’s sorry too. We really didn’t mean to hurt you, Laura.’
The warmth was gone just as quickly as it had come.
We really didn’t mean to hurt you.
We REALLY didn’t mean . . .
She realised that Milla was watching her. Made a huge effort to pull herself together.
‘We were thinking of having a Lucia party,’ she said, involuntarily grimacing as she spoke. ‘Tomas, Peter, Milla and me. It would be great if you could come. Both of you . . .’
She had to pause, take a deep breath before she could finish.
‘You can tell your dad that you and I are going to the cinema if you want.’
‘Sounds fantastic. Where are you having the party?’
‘At the dance hall.’
40
Laura is still clutching Tomas’s letter in her hand. The words reverberated inside her head, over and over again. Iben hated her father. Hated her father. Hated her father. More than anyone or anything.
The dusty air in the living room runs out, and she gropes her way to the front door. Just as she is about to open it, she registers the crows’ warning cries; the birds are going crazy. She holds back, peers outside. A huge, shiny SUV with a company logo is slowly driving through the holiday village.
She returns to the living room, pins the letter to the noticeboard, then turns the board over.
The black feather falls off and drifts across the room. She props the board against the wall, checks that it looks like a painting and nothing more, then scoops up the feather on her way back to the door.