But why would Lennartson have done that? On whose instructions?
Lennartson is dead, so there’s really only one person who can help her with that line of inquiry.
The same man who threatened to beat up Kurt Bexell if he didn’t stop asking awkward questions.
Uncle Arne.
Thea pushes the case file into her bag, settles Emee in the car, then drives to Tornaby and on to Ljungslöv. Once again she passes the effigy of the Green Man on the bonfire on the common.
References to the Green Man recur throughout the investigation. The Green Man took her – that’s what Lola said in her interview. The children saw him ride into the glade.
Elita had packed her suitcase. The time for her metamorphosis had arrived. The Green Man was supposed to collect her, and frighten the children away at the same time. The stories fit together up to that point – but what went wrong?
If Leo wasn’t the Green Man, then who was?
She switches on the car radio, finds a station playing Eighties hits. Duran Duran, ‘A View to a Kill’. She thinks of the poster in Elita’s room, imagines her miming to this very song in front of the mirror, and she realises that something else doesn’t make sense. Something to do with music, Svartgården, and the children’s testimony.
She pulls over by a bus stop and takes out her phone. Scrolls through the photographs she took in Elita’s room. Her clothes, the contents of her desk, the biology textbook, the cassettes labelled in someone else’s handwriting. Cassettes, but no tape player. She consults the case file, turning first to the interviews with the children, then to the list of items held as evidence.
The children say that they’d recorded drumming and a rhyme on Elita’s tape machine, and that the same machine was there in the stone circle.
But no tape player was found at the scene of the crime. Nor were the animal masks from the Polaroid. The children said they dropped the masks in the forest as they ran away, but no masks are listed among the evidence from the scene.
Why not? Maybe Arne can help to answer those questions too.
The police station in Ljungslöv is housed in a red-brick building opposite the bus and train station. Reception is open only one day a week, and the door is locked. Thea presses the intercom button.
‘Police,’ says a female voice.
‘Hi, my name is Thea Lind. I’d like to speak to Arne Backe.’
A brief silence, then a buzzing sound as the door is unlocked.
Thea hesitates for a second. Is this a good idea? But Ingrid told her to speak to Arne if she had any more questions, which she does. And surely she’ll be safe inside the police station?
A female officer meets her in the foyer. She can’t be more than twenty-five, yet she already has the slightly weary look of someone who has seen too much of the worst aspects of humanity.
‘Arne’s not on duty today,’ she says rather brusquely.
‘Oh, that’s a shame.’ Thea realises she should have called first to check.
‘Is that your car?’ The officer nods in the direction of the easily recognisable vehicle, with the name of the local car dealer emblazoned on the side.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, so you’re the one who lives at Bokelund castle. You’re married to Arne’s nephew. You’re opening a restaurant – Arne talks about it all the time.’
‘That’s right.’ This information surprises Thea.
‘He only lives around the corner, if it was something important you wanted?’
‘Does he?’
‘Algatan 14. It’s no more than five minutes’ drive. I’ll show you.’
67
Arne’s house is a large white bungalow with a double garage. A robot mower is buzzing around the lawn. The BMW in which he picked up her and Bertil is parked on the drive, next to another that is almost identical.
She still isn’t sure whether this is a good idea. Calling in to see Arne at the station is one thing, but seeking him out at home is another. A lot more risky. On the other hand, she doesn’t think she can get much further without his help. After all, they’re family, and she’s here now.
She gets out of the car and rings the doorbell. A grey tabby cat appears from nowhere and starts rubbing around her legs. It slips inside as soon as Arne opens the door.
He’s in his pyjamas and dressing gown. Square reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
‘Thea, what a nice surprise,’ he says, sounding as if he means it. ‘Come on in – would you like a coffee?’
He steps aside to let her in. She hangs up her jacket; it occurs to her that she knows very little about Arne, except that he’s a police officer, was more or less brought up by Ingrid and Bertil, and used to be married to a woman from Thailand. Apparently, he’s a cat person too, which surprises her.
The house is clean and tidy. The oil paintings on the walls look as if they were bought on holiday overseas – paddy fields, sunsets, bamboo forests. Asian kitsch.
‘Nice artwork,’ she says as he shows her into the kitchen.
‘My wife’s. Ex-wife’s, I mean.’
He nods towards a photograph. He is about ten years younger, standing beside a small woman dressed in white, wearing a little too much make-up. She’s holding a bridal bouquet and smiling stiffly at the camera. Arne looks considerably more cheerful.
‘Sweden was too cold for her. Take a seat,’ he says, pointing to a kitchen chair before going over to a cupboard and getting out coffee cups. She sees him quickly hide a bottle of schnapps.
The kitchen smells of coffee and toast. There are several photographs on the walls, probably taken in Thailand. Arne and the woman again, often with a child – a boy aged about ten.
‘Sammy,’ Arne says when he sees her looking. ‘My stepson. We’re still in touch; I’m going to visit them in a couple of weeks. I try to get over there at least once a year.’
‘Lovely.’
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Please.’
He passes her a cup and brings out half a sponge cake, which she assumed he baked himself.
‘It was your colleague who gave me your address.’
‘Which one? There are four of us at the station.’
‘A young woman.’
‘Jönsson. Of course, it’s Wednesday today.’ He shakes his head. ‘Ljungslöv used to have a real police station, fully staffed, and a patrol car that was out and about twenty-four/seven.’ He takes a sip of coffee as if to wash away the bitterness in his voice. ‘So to what do I owe the honour, Thea?’
‘I have some questions about Elita Svart. I know it’s all a bit sensitive, but Ingrid said you’d be able to help me.’
Arne raises his eyebrows. ‘No problem. What do you want to know?’
‘Were you involved in the investigation?’
He leans back on his chair, takes a moment to compose himself.
‘Yes and no. I was pretty new to the job back then; I’d only qualified a few months earlier. The district CID team took on the case, but because I was from Tornaby, I got to help out – drive them around, explain who was who in the village, keep an eye on cordoned-off areas and so on.’
‘Were you present at the interviews?’
‘No. I didn’t have enough experience, but of course I heard all about it afterwards. Lennartson, the chief of police back then, held daily briefings where everyone was brought up to date. It was a big thing, a local murder. The first and only one in all the years I’ve worked here.’
Arne is being much more helpful than Thea had expected. He’s nowhere near as cautious or reticent as everyone else she’s spoken to. She regrets not turning to him earlier, and tries to curb her enthusiasm.