‘I . . .’ David’s eyes dart from Thea to Ingrid and back again.
Ingrid reaches out and pats his arm. ‘You don’t need to say anything.’
‘Your mother’s right,’ Thea goes on. ‘You don’t need to say anything. Jan-Olof has already told the truth. He was the one who saw someone bending over Elita, but he wasn’t at all sure that it was Leo, which is why he didn’t want to say anything when the four of you were interviewed by the police. He wasn’t prepared to support the version you’d agreed on in the bar.’
She pauses, takes a deep breath.
‘But since you were used to being the leader, you took over. You knew you were right. Arne had already told you that it was Leo who was riding the horse. Everyone agreed that it was him, so all you did was help out. But what if you were all wrong? What if it wasn’t Leo?’
Arne shakes his head.
‘It was. I saw him with my own eyes. I nearly ran into Bill when I drove away. Plus Leo confessed.’
‘He was twenty years old. He was interviewed over and over again, deprived of sleep or contact with his family. He was more or less brainwashed.’
Arne shakes his head even more emphatically.
‘Leo’s lawyer was present at every interview. There were no irregularities. And his family took off, left him because they knew he was guilty. Because they didn’t want to get dragged into his mess.’
‘How come you’re so invested in this story, Thea?’ Ingrid asks. ‘Explain it to me. Because the only reason I can think of is that you’re in league with Leo. That he’s somehow out for revenge.’
‘Revenge for what?’ Thea snaps back. ‘For the fact that you framed him for a crime he didn’t commit?’
‘Stop it! Stop it, all of you!’ David is on his feet. His face is chalk-white, his eyes black.
‘I don’t want to hear one more word about Elita Svart. Ever. And you,’ he points to Thea, ‘you can go to hell. Take your fucking theories and all the crap you own and get out of here.’
His voice breaks as he turns and runs towards the kitchen door.
‘David!’ his mother calls after him. ‘David!’
There is total silence in the room for a few seconds, then Bertil says: ‘Poor boy. That poor, poor child.’
84
‘Is it over now? you’re wondering. Is this how the story ends? Will we never find out what really happened to Elita Svart?
‘Maybe not. Maybe this is a tale without a happy ending. Rather like yours and mine, Margaux.’
The room in the guesthouse in Ljungslöv has heavy curtains and a thick fitted carpet. Thea isn’t planning to stay here long-term, but it will take a few days to sort out a car and fetch the rest of her stuff from the coach house. The situation isn’t made any easier by the fact that David refuses to answer when she calls him.
She understands why he’s angry, understands that it’s easier to take out his anger on her than admit that he was partly responsible for sending an innocent person to prison. Because she’s now convinced that Leo is innocent, and that someone else was responsible for Elita’s death. Unfortunately she can’t prove it.
Leo is linked to the scene of the crime, and everything else is mere speculation. The photograph, the suitcase and the masks in the chapel suggest that Hubert was also at the stone circle. The poetry book shows that he and Elita knew each other. But none of it constitutes proof. Thea still doesn’t know exactly what happened on Walpurgis Night, or what made Elita’s family disappear. Or who gave Leo money when he got out of jail, and why.
Questions that may never be answered.
Dr Andersson called round to collect the keys to the Toyota and the surgery. They exchanged no more than a few words until she was leaving, when she looked Thea in the eye and said:
‘You saved Jan-Olof’s life. Thank you.’
Thea suspects those are the last friendly words she will hear in Tornaby. No doubt the Facebook group is already full of all kinds of rumour and gossip.
Her secret is out, the past has caught up with her at last, just as her father said it would.
Her phone rings. The man from the car rental company is waiting in reception. She signs the contract and is given the key. She spots a familiar face in the bar.
Philippe.
She goes over to him.
‘Docteur Lind. Nice to see you again. How is the poor man?’
‘I spoke to the hospital a little while ago; he’s going to be fine, but it was a close thing. Thank you for your help.’
She says the last sentence in Swedish as a little test. Something Ingrid said stuck in her mind, a hint that Philippe is somehow involved in the whole story. He’s from Canada, after all, and must be about the same age as Leo.
‘You’re welcome,’ he says in heavily accented Swedish before reverting to French. ‘Apologies – my Swedish isn’t very good. Can I buy you a drink?’
He orders wine for her and beer for himself.
‘What were you doing there anyway? At the castle?’ she asks when they’ve raised their glasses to each other and taken the first sip.
Philippe shrugs. ‘I missed the burning of the Green Man on the common; I got there just as it was all over. I’d intended to take some photographs and send them to my father. He’s a history professor; he loves talking about the pagan Northerners.’ He gives a wry smile. ‘One of the villagers told me there was a bonfire at the castle too, so I drove over. Then things became a little more dramatic than I’d bargained for.’
Thea nods. ‘Did you get any pictures?’
‘Yes, enough to make my father happy. We don’t speak very often. You could say I’m something of a disappointment, having chosen to work with my hands rather than my brain as he so eloquently puts it, especially after a couple of whiskies.’ He shrugs. ‘No matter how old you are, you remain a child in your parents’ eyes.’
Thea thinks of her own father.
‘True. Listen, I need to ask you something.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Do you know someone called Leo Rasmussen? He’s a Swede, about the same age as you, and he lives in Canada.’
‘No. The only Swedes I know are the ones I’ve met through work.’
She studies his expression closely. If he’s lying, he’s doing it very well.
They chat for quarter of an hour or so before she makes her excuses and returns to her room. She managed to get the name of his father out of him, and googles it as soon as she gets through the door. Bruno Benoit is indeed a history professor. He lives in Quebec and has two children, a son and a daughter, which confirms what Philippe told her.
She takes Elita’s case file out of her bag and drops it in the waste-paper bin. She feels a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. It’s time to give up, accept that certain jigsaw puzzles just can’t be completed.
Her phone rings; a withheld number.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s your father.’
Thea sighs. She is on the point of asking what he wants, but can’t face another argument about the importance of polite small talk.
‘Hi, Leif, how are you?’
‘Not bad, thank you for asking.’
He sounds calmer than before. Less angry.
‘I haven’t written that letter yet,’ she says. ‘There’s been a lot going on here. The fact is . . .’ She suddenly realises something. ‘The fact is that David’s family know who I am. They’ve thrown me out.’
There is a brief silence on the other end of the line.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Jenny. I hope you know it was nothing to do with me.’
Presumably the subdued tone of his voice is because he’s just lost the hold he had over her.