The wood thief must have come from Hedberga, so Annika took the route past the village. She didn’t need to search for very long.
The tracks were crystal clear, footprints glowing blue in the fresh, pure white snow. They were quite big, meandering slightly through the forest, but eventually leading straight to Old Gustav’s woodshed. Annika followed them all the way, and when she was just a dozen or so yards from the shed, something struck her:
The tracks led in only one direction.
The wood thief was still in there. Her mind was whirling; what if it was that great big idiot Petter — he might beat her to death. Or what if it was Anders Bergström, Karin’s idle husband?
She crept the last few yards to the door feeling as if she was no longer touching the ground. She yanked the door open. Someone was standing inside, a tall, dark figure dressed in black. It spun around; Annika pushed the switch and shone the beam straight in the intruder’s face.
“You,” said Annika.
It was Ingela Jönsson, the Sperm Bucket. The woman raised her arm to protect her eyes from the light.
“Turn that off!” she yelled.
Annika stepped inside without moving the circle of light from the woman’s face.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Annika, her voice trembling with rage. “How in God’s name can you steal from an old man who can hardly walk? Do you realize how much work he’s put into this wood?”
She took a step closer to the wood thief. A second later the flashlight flew out of her hand as a sudden blow to her abdomen forced the air from her lungs. She stumbled into a pile of fir wood, fell over, and landed hard on her bottom.
The thief rushed at the door, yanked it open with a crash, and was about to run off into the forest. At that moment, a deafening bang echoed through the glade, reverberating from tree to tree, and the doorpost next to Annika was splintered by a hail of lead shot. Annika screamed; Ingela Jönsson howled and fell backwards into the woodshed.
“That mad old bastard is shooting at us!” she roared.
The next shot hit the door, shattering the timber. Annika screamed again and crawled over to the pile of birch wood on all fours. She shuffled her way in between two stacks, drew her legs up beneath her chin, and made herself as small as possible.
The silence that followed the bangs was just as deafening as the shots themselves. After a minute or so Annika was able to hear her own panic-stricken breathing and Ingela Jönsson’s irregular sobs and groans.
“Did he get you?” Annika asked.
The woman was whimpering in the darkness, right next to her.
“I think so,” said Ingela. “In the face.”
Annika pushed back her hair with trembling hands. Her hat had come off.
“I need to speak to him,” she said.
Cautiously she got to her feet in the darkness and banged her head on a protruding log. The damaged door had swung shut, and it was dark inside the shed. She groped her way over to the door.
“Gustav,” she shouted into the winter morning through the gap. “Gustav, it’s me, Annika. Maria Hellström’s Annika. I’m in here with the wood thief. Can we have a chat?”
She waited in silence for a response. None came.
“Gustav!” she shouted, even louder. “It’s Annika. I’m coming out now.”
Still nothing.
“Get a move on for God’s sake, before I bleed to death,” the wood thief moaned.
Annika took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The shots followed immediately, one after the other, shattered fragments of wood dancing in the air. Annika tumbled backwards and landed on top of the wood thief.
“Watch out, you fat cow!” shouted Ingela Jönsson.
“Shut your mouth, you stupid whore!” Annika yelled back.
Silence slowly descended once again behind the lingering whine of the gunfire. Ingela shoved Annika off her knee.
“Screw you,” said Ingela, on the verge of tears. “How can you call someone a whore? Or Sperm Bucket? I know that’s what people call me. Have you ever thought about how awful it feels?”
Annika was breathing hard, her mouth open.
“You deserve it. You’re nothing but a slut. I haven’t forgotten that you tried to steal my boyfriend.”
Ingela Jönsson crept over to another pile of wood.
“I loved Sven,” she said. “And he loved me. We would have been engaged by now if it hadn’t been for you.”
“That’s crap,” said Annika.
The wood thief started to cry. Annika sat in silence for several minutes, listening to her. It was starting to get really cold now; she was losing the feeling in her fingers.
“I’m bleeding,” sobbed Ingela. “I’ve been hit in the face.”
At that moment Annika felt the cold metal of her flashlight under her hand. She pushed the switch forward; it was still working.
“Let me see,” she said, shining the light on the other woman’s face.
Ingela Jönsson screwed up her eyes against the beam of light. She was actually bleeding from a gash near the top of her left cheek. Annika leaned closer.
“Have I been shot?”
Annika poked at the wound; the other woman jumped.
“No,” she said, “but there’s a big splinter below your eye. Just let me get it out...”
“Ow!”
Annika removed the splinter with a quick tug. She held it up triumphantly in the beam of the flashlight. Ingela pressed her fingers against the spot.
“I’ll get tetanus,” she said.
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“Provided the old bastard doesn’t shoot us both!”
Annika fumbled around in the darkness until she found a long stick, which she used to push open the broken door. Seconds later another shot was fired. The women curled up with their arms over their heads.
“I think we’re going to be here for some time,” said Annika.
The late winter dawn was slowly beginning to find its way in among the piles of wood. Annika and Ingela had settled down with their backs resting against the logs, facing each other. Now and again they poked at the remains of the door, and every time a shot rang out. Some of the planks on the front of the shed were beginning to disintegrate.
“Why?” said Annika.
Ingela didn’t reply.
“How can you steal from an old man?” Annika asked in a slightly louder voice, staring at the woman opposite her.
“I was freezing cold,” said Ingela, turning her head away.
Annika blinked. “Right,” she said. “And the solution was to start stealing wood?”
“You’d never understand,” Ingela said resentfully. “Things have always been so easy for you.”
Annika laughed loud and long; Old Gustav responded with two more shots.
“You can laugh,” said Ingela when the whine had died away. “I mean, you have it all, you got the best job and the best guy and the chance to move to Stockholm.”
Annika swallowed hard.
“You don’t know anything,” she said. “You have no idea what things have been like for me.”
Ingela Jönsson didn’t reply. They sat in silence for a long time. Annika’s feet were numb with cold.
“They’ve cut off my electricity,” Ingela said eventually. “And the phone. I can’t get any social security benefits anymore, I haven’t got any money at all.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve considered getting a job?” Annika said sarcastically.
“Don’t be so bloody clever,” said Ingela. “What kind of jobs do you think there are in Hedberga?”
“Well then you’ll have to move, won’t you?” said Annika.
“And where would I live? My house is here!”
“Sell it, then!”