‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘You mean, am I still going to write your petition?’
‘No, that’s not what I meant. I’m wondering what you’re going to do now, with your life.’
The answer surprises her. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. David isn’t speaking to me, so I assume we’ll be getting a divorce. It’s probably for the best.’
‘Why? Don’t you love him?’
The question is even more unexpected. ‘No. No, I don’t. Not in that way, anyhow.’
‘So why did you marry him?’
‘Because I owed it to him. He helped me after I lost someone I cared about very much.’
‘I understand – but you can’t build a relationship on obligation.’
‘No.’ She can’t think of anything else to say. It feels weird, taking marital advice from her father. The person who frightened her more than anyone else. The person she’s spent almost thirty years avoiding.
‘I hope things work out for you, Jenny. There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, but we can leave it until another time.’
She shakes her head, even though he can’t see her. ‘No, now is fine. What is it?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
She’s not sure how to handle this pleasant version of her father, but it fascinates her.
‘I looked through that case file. What a terrible story. A sixteen-year-old girl with her whole life ahead of her shouldn’t have to die like that. I can understand why it interests you – the similarities between you and her, me and her father . . .’
He falls silent for a moment. Thea hears the sound of a lighter, the hiss of burning paper and tobacco.
‘The father, Lasse Svart, shopped his own stepson to the police. Did that seem strange to you?’
‘It did.’
‘In my experience, there are only two reasons why you’d do that to your own family. Neither is acceptable, but there you go.’ He takes another drag. ‘Either it’s because you yourself are at risk of going down, or it’s because you have something to gain. It’s always about something big – a big risk or a big gain.’
‘And which do you think it was in Lasse Svart’s case?’
‘I’m not sure, but the little I’ve read about Lasse suggests that it’s the latter. Money. Or something else that was valuable to him.’
Thea thinks. ‘He was about to lose his home. His forge and his means of making a living.’
She hears him blow out smoke.
‘I’d say that’s a pretty good motive.’ He coughs, an unpleasant hacking cough that makes her hold the phone away from her ear. ‘One more thing. Do you have the case file to hand?’
‘I do.’ She fishes it out of the bin.
‘Look at the pictures on page fifty-six and fifty-seven. The hoof prints.’
She finds the right pages and sees the casts of the hoof prints in the mud at the stone circle, then a cast of Bill’s hooves. The impressions are a ninety-five per cent match, according to a note added by the forensic technician.
‘Yes?’
‘Now turn to page twenty-six.’
She does as he says. Pictures from Svartgården: Elita’s room, Leo’s little cabin, Bill in his stall.
‘Look at the horse,’ her father says. ‘Look at Bill. Do you see?’
Thea peers at the image. Bill appears to be sleeping. He’s raised one hind leg as some horses do when they sleep. The lower part of the leg is white, just as Arne described it.
‘Do you see?’ her father asks again.
‘See what?’
‘The hoof. It’s unshod.’
‘And?’ She still doesn’t understand what he means.
‘That photograph was taken the day after the murder. Bill is unshod – perfectly normal for a young horse in the process of being broken in. But the prints in the mud were made by a shod horse.’
Thea is stunned.
‘So three days later, when the forensic technicians turn up at Svartgården to take casts of Bill’s hooves, he’s suddenly shod and the impressions match. And at about the same time—’
‘Lasse Svart changes his statement and puts Leo in the frame,’ Thea says. ‘And the previous day Leo’s cap badge was found by the stone circle.’
‘Exactly. Do you understand what I’m getting at?’
Thea nods to herself. Gathers up the pieces of the puzzle. Leo’s beret on the kitchen floor at Svartgården. The overturned chair. The empty dressing packet, the bloody handprint.
‘Lasse was paid to frame Leo.’
‘That’s my conclusion too. If you can work out who paid him, then I think you’re on the trail of a killer. But be careful, Jenny. Be very careful.’
85
‘I think I know how it all fits together now, Margaux. What the spring sacrifice was really about. But in order to be completely sure I have to go there again. To the place where it all happened. And I have to talk to the person who has kept everyone’s secrets all these years.’
Bertil opens the door after the second ring. The car isn’t there, so presumably Ingrid is at the castle, helping David to salvage whatever he can after the disastrous end to the dinner.
‘Thea – come in.’ He looks bright today, which makes things easier.
‘Thanks, but I was hoping you’d come out for a drive with me. I want to ask you a few questions. About Elita Svart.’
He nods slowly. ‘I thought you might.’ He remains standing in the doorway for a little while. ‘Wait a minute – I just need to fetch a couple of things.’
The glade is completely still. Not a breath of wind, and the only sound is birdsong in the tall trees.
It is almost nine o’clock, and dusk is beginning to fall. Bertil and Thea stand in silence side by side. He collected two torches and a walking stick from the garage, then showed her the route that would enable them to get as close to the stone circle as possible. He is very different this evening. His posture is more erect, the look in his eyes more present. Yet at the same time there is tension in his expression, as if what he is doing requires a huge effort.
Thea switches on the torch he gave her. Directs the beam at the area in front of the sacrificial stone.
‘Elita and the children were standing roughly there,’ she says. ‘They’d built a fire on the ground. David and his friends probably came along the same path as the one we’ve just used. Arne’s ghetto blaster was on one of the stones, playing the recording of the drums.’
Bertil says nothing. He merely leans heavily on his stick while listening to her account.
Thea does her best to conjure images out of the darkness.
‘The children are wearing their animal masks, Elita is dressed as the spring sacrifice. Silk ribbons are tied around her wrists, and each child is holding the end of one ribbon. They are drunk on the atmosphere and the music. Elita begins to dance, the children follow her lead.’
Thea closes her eyes; she can almost hear the drums. She turns towards the canal, shines her torch in among the trees.
‘Arne is over there somewhere. He’s been wandering around in the dark for a while and has lost his bearings. He has a pair of binoculars with him, and he is watching Elita.’
Bertil nods, but still he doesn’t speak.
Thea enters the circle, imagining that she is holding the end of a long silk ribbon, murmuring to herself as she feels Elita’s movements through the fabric.
‘The dance grows wilder, the drums beat faster and faster. Then suddenly they hear the sound of approaching hooves.’
Thea’s heart is also beating faster. She can hear the hooves, feel the fear the children must have felt. By this stage they are almost in a trance. They are tired, frightened, intoxicated. The masks cover their faces.