He pauses, laps up the expected laughter.
‘Another person we must thank is Rudolf Gordon. If the count hadn’t set up the Bokelund Foundation, Tornaby wouldn’t have been the village it is today. It’s thanks to Rudolf’s generosity and foresight that we’re sitting here now.’
A brief burst of applause. Thea glances over at Hubert. His expression is completely neutral, showing no emotion at the mention of the generosity that robbed him of his inheritance.
Bertil goes on to talk about David’s life, how he was interested in cooking from an early age. He gives a chronological summary of David’s career, leaving out the ignominious departure from Stockholm, of course.
Bertil is having one of his most lucid days for a long time. It’s clear that he’s an experienced speaker; he’s good at making contact with his audience, and stops in exactly the right places to elicit laughter and applause. Ingrid looks pleased. She nods in agreement after virtually every sentence, especially when David is the subject. The warmth in her eyes as she gazes up at Bertil is something Thea hasn’t seen before.
Bertil glances down at her with equal affection, and for a moment it is possible to glimpse the two young people in the wedding photograph, so much in love. Thea realises that she finds it quite moving, and that she’s not the only one.
After speaking for exactly the right number of minutes, Bertil raises his glass and is about to finish off with a toast that will raise the roof.
‘You forgot something, Bertil,’ Jan-Olof says, lumbering to his feet. He’s obviously drunk. His table companion tugs at his sleeve, but he irritably shakes off her hand.
‘You forgot to tell everyone what happened. With Elita and Leo.’
Several hands reach out to pull Jan-Olof down onto his chair, but he bats them away.
‘Tell everyone what happened, Bertil. Tell them, for fuck’s sake!’
Arne is suddenly at Jan-Olof’s side. He grabs his arm like the police officer he is and hustles him out of the dining room.
Bertil remains standing, glass in hand. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘There . . . isn’t much more to say, really.’
He looks around at the guests as if he’s searching for someone. Ingrid takes his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Skål!’ someone calls out to help him.
‘Skål!’ everyone joins in.
Bertil gratefully raises his glass, empties it and sits down. There is no warmth in his eyes now.
75
David sends the waiting staff around to top up the glasses and the atmosphere soon recovers.
After a while Arne returns without Jan-Olof. Thea watches him closely. He stops by his sister’s chair and they have a quiet conversation before he goes back to his own seat.
‘What do you think happened to Jan-Olof?’ Thea asks her companion.
Per shrugs. ‘Presumably Arne straightened him out and put him in a taxi. He should never have been invited. Everyone knows Jan-Olof has problems with the booze.’
‘So why was he invited?’
‘Because Kerstin Miller will have put pressure on David. She’s always looked out for Jan-Olof. His mother is a difficult woman, and David won’t say no if Miss Miller asks him to do something.’
Thea is reminded of the invitation to coffee at Kerstin’s, how David, Nettan and Sebastian seemed bothered by Jan-Olof’s company. As if they hadn’t expected him to be there.
Thea nips to the Ladies before pudding is served. She bumps into Arne in the hallway. He stops, pulls a face, but it’s too late to pretend they haven’t seen each other.
Thea stares at him, her mouth is suddenly as dry as dust. Is he the one who’s threatened her, locked her in the cellar at Svartgården? Poisoned her dog? Is he the one who killed Elita Svart?
‘What did you do with Jan-Olof?’ she asks, mainly to hide what she’s thinking.
‘He’s passed out in the bridal suite. The idiot was already pissed when he arrived, and it’s not the first time.’
Arne takes a box of cigarillos out of his inside pocket.
‘I’m going outside for a cheeky smoke,’ he says. ‘Coming?’
The suggestion is so unexpected that Thea doesn’t know how to say no.
They find a corner at the bottom of the steps. Thea’s eyes are drawn to the effigy of the Green Man on top of the bonfire – the empty face, the straggling arms.
Arne offers her a cigarillo. She takes one, waits while he lights it and his own. He takes a deep drag, leans against the stone balustrade and blows smoke up into the evening sky.
‘After your visit I contacted a former colleague who now works for the state security police,’ he says. ‘I asked him to run some checks on you. Find out who you were before you got your protected ID.’
Thea goes cold all over. ‘Oh yes,’ she says hesitantly.
‘Jenny Boman,’ Arne goes on. ‘Daughter of Leif Boman. Something of a drugs baron in his heyday, apparently.’
He doesn’t sound particularly bothered.
‘Who have you told?’
‘No one – at least not yet.’ He turns to face her. ‘I thought if you were smart enough to get out of there, go to the trouble of changing your name and acquiring a protected ID, then you probably don’t want anything to do with your father. Which means I don’t need to worry about you either.’
He takes another deep drag.
‘That’s why I haven’t mentioned this to my sister. Ingrid isn’t nearly as understanding as I am. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and so on . . .’ He draws a circle in the air with his cigarillo. ‘So now I know your secret, and I’m sure you suspect mine.’
Thea tries to work out what Arne is actually saying.
‘Elita Svart?’ She leaves the name hanging in the air like a question.
‘Yes, I knew Elita. I was even a little bit in love with her. Or rather . . .’ He frowns. ‘Not in love, more . . .’
‘Bewitched,’ Thea suggests.
Arne nods slowly. ‘I knew her father. I used to do the odd job for him, before Bertil got me into the police. Thank God. If you got dragged down into Lasse’s crap it was hard to fight your way back up. I’m thinking you know what I mean?’
It’s Thea’s turn to nod. ‘Walpurgis Night 1986. You got a photograph with an invitation written on it. Did you go?’
Arne picks a flake of tobacco off his tongue as he considers whether to answer.
‘I was such an idiot. I went there in a patrol car, in uniform, even though I wasn’t on duty. I wanted to impress her.’ He snorts. ‘I was young and stupid, that’s all there is to it.’
Thea forces herself to hold back; she mustn’t bombard him with questions. She is taken aback by his honesty, to say the least.
‘So what happened?’ she asks tentatively.
‘It’s all in the case file. Leo came riding into the glade dressed as the Green Man, the kids ran for their lives, and then . . .’
He breaks off, remains silent for a few seconds.
‘Then Leo killed her.’
‘Did you see him do it?’
‘No. I’d climbed a tree to get a better view, but when Leo rode past I fell and knocked myself out. When I came round she was already lying dead on the sacrificial stone.’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this when I’ve kept quiet for over thirty years.’
He chews his lower lip as if to stop any more words from escaping. His expression is anguished, and suddenly Thea understands why.
‘You think you could have saved her,’ she says quietly. ‘If you hadn’t lost consciousness, you could have saved her. Is that what you think?’
He looks away. She gives him time to compose himself.