Thea nods. There’s a question she simply has to ask.
‘You were talking about Elita Svart yesterday, weren’t you?’
Sebastian stiffens.
‘So you heard that, even though you weren’t eavesdropping. How much do you know?’
‘That all four of you were there when she died – you, David, Nettan and Jan-Olof.’
‘We were.’
‘You told the police it was Leo who killed her.’
‘We said he was riding the horse,’ Sebastian corrects her. ‘Leo confessed to killing Elita.’
‘There are suggestions that he made his confession under duress.’
Sebastian shakes his head angrily.
‘That’s crap. It was Leo we saw. Elita had arranged for him to come galloping into the stone circle and frighten us away, and he did. We ran for our lives.’
‘Except for David. He went back. He saw Leo bending over Elita.’
‘Yes, but you need to talk to him about that, not me.’
Sebastian takes a deep breath, glances demonstratively at his heavy watch.
‘One last question,’ Thea says. ‘A Polaroid was taken at the sacrificial stone at some point before Walpurgis Night. Elita was dressed as the spring sacrifice, and the four of you were wearing animal masks. Who took the picture?’
He stares at her for a few seconds.
‘I’ve no idea. I think maybe Elita took it using the automatic timer, but it’s all so long ago. I can’t really recall the details, and to be honest, it’s not something any of us wants to rake over.’ He looks at his watch again; he’s had enough of her questions. ‘Anyway, I have to go, but as I said, Nettan and I would really appreciate it if you could help us out with David. Stop him from making a mistake that could cost us all dearly.’
He gives her a meaningful look before getting back in the car. As he drives past, Thea glances at the cramped back seat. On the floor is a pair of wellington boots.
62
She takes Emee for a walk and buys lunch at the local pizzeria. Tries to force it down at her desk.
She thinks about the wellington boots in Sebastian’s car; were they the same as the ones she saw at Svartgården? A pair of boots doesn’t make him a suspect, and what would Sebastian have to hide? He was twelve years old when everything happened.
Thea gets out her finds from Svartgården: the bubbly Polaroid Elita took of herself sitting on the bed, and the beret without its badge.
She looks at the photograph first, the blue case under the bed. Elita had packed her best clothes. She was planning to run away, not to die. But the case is missing.
She fingers the beret. The fabric smells of damp. Leo’s handwriting inside is unexpectedly neat. 223 Rasmussen.
There are several things about the beret that bother her. David and the others claimed that Leo was dressed as the Green Man when he came galloping into the glade, that he had a pair of antlers on his head, not his beret. He could have had it in his pocket, of course, but in that case how did he lose the badge? And what was the beret doing on the kitchen floor?
However, that’s far from the greatest mystery at Svartgården. The remaining three inhabitants clearly left in haste. Judging by the handprint, one of them was injured. Possibly Lasse.
So what happened? Why did they flee without packing any clothes or even grabbing their medication? And where did they go?
Thea adds those questions to the growing list in her head. What should she do next? She googles the book about false confessions.
The author has a homepage with both an email address and a mobile number. He answers almost right away. Kurt Bexell has a soft, melodic voice, and seems pleased that someone is interested in his work. Thea spins him a line, tells him she’s also a writer and is planning to write a true crime book about the case.
‘The spring sacrifice? Oh yes, I remember it well. It was an old friend in the probation service who gave me the heads up and put me in touch with Leo Rasmussen. The whole thing seemed very promising at first.’
‘Did you meet Leo?’
‘No, we spoke on the phone a few times. He was living overseas. I explained the premise of my book and told him about some similar cases. I said I’d read the transcripts of his interviews and thought he’d been affected by memory distrust syndrome. Do you know what that means? I describe it in considerable detail in the book.’
He doesn’t wait for her response; he’s excited to have the opportunity to hold forth on his area of expertise.
‘The suspect is under so much pressure that he no longer trusts his own memories. Eventually reality, fantasy and police claims merge, until he believes in his own guilt, or at least doubts his innocence. Stress, sleep deprivation and isolation combined with lengthy, difficult interviews and leading questions are strong contributory factors, and Leo was subjected to all of those things. He was also mentally fragile after his stepsister’s violent death, and the fact that his family had left him in the lurch.’
‘What did he say about your theory?’
‘Very little; he was pretty vague. He said he didn’t remember much, and that he’d served his time. I tried to get him to open up, but his answers became shorter and shorter, then he ended the call. However, I got the feeling that he’d started to think about what had happened. I put together a short chapter and moved on to other cases, hoping he’d come back to me in the future.’
‘And did he?’
‘Yes, but not exactly in the way I’d hoped.’ There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. ‘Leo called me a month or so after our original conversation. He was crying, and was obviously drunk. He kept saying that he loved his stepsister, and could never have hurt her.’
Thea can almost hear her heart beating.
‘I asked him to call me back when he was sober, but he never did. Instead his phone number stopped working. I finished the book, and after some hesitation I decided to include the case anyway. There weren’t many Swedish examples to choose from.’
‘Do you have an address for him?’
‘I’m afraid not – he never gave it to me. I believe he was living in the USA. That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.’
Thea thinks for a moment.
‘Did you ever hear that Elita Svart was pregnant when she died?’
‘No.’ Bexell sounds a little taken aback. ‘Was she? I have no recollection of that at all.’
‘I’m pretty sure she was, but the information seems to have been removed from the autopsy report.’
‘Interesting. I always had a vague feeling that not everything had come out. I actually drove down to Ljungslöv to speak to the officers who’d conducted the interviews. I really had to lean on the chief of police just to get a copy of the preliminary inquiry. Things got quite nasty towards the end; one of his heavies threatened to beat me up if I didn’t stop poking around in the case.’
Thea presses the phone closer to her ear.
‘What did he look like? Do you remember?’
‘Oh yes – it’s not often you get threatened by a cop in full uniform. He had a moustache; he was a nasty piece of work.’
‘Arne Backe?’ She can hear the agitation in her voice.
‘He never introduced himself – he just made it clear that it would be best if I got in my car and drove away, unless I wanted my balls crushed. I followed his advice,’ Bexell said dryly.
Thea tries to gather her thoughts. She has one more question.
‘Do you believe . . .’ She pauses, decides to carry on. ‘Do you believe Leo was telling the truth, that he really was innocent? After all, there were witnesses and forensic evidence.’