Kitabı oxu: «The Girl in the Woods»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

The Stella Case

Chapter Three

Bohuslän 1671

Chapter Four

The Stella Case

Chapter Five

Bohuslän 1671

Chapter Six

The Stella Case

Chapter Seven

Bohuslän 1671

Chapter Eight

Bohuslän 1671

Chapter Nine

The Stella Case

Chapter Ten

Bohuslän 1671

Chapter Eleven

The Stella Case

Chapter Twelve

The Stella Case

Chapter Thirteen

The Stella Case

Chapter Fourteen

Bohuslän 1671–72

Chapter Fifteen

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Sixteen

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Seventeen

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Eighteen

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Nineteen

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Twenty

The Stella Case

Chapter Twenty-One

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Twenty-Three

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Stella Case

Chapter Twenty-Five

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Twenty-Six

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Stella Case

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Thirty

The Stella Case

Chapter Thirty-One

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Thirty-Two

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Stella Case

Chapter Thirty-Five

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Thirty-Six

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Bohuslän 1672

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Bohusläningen

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

More in Camilla Lackberg’s Fjällbacka series

About the Author

Also by Camilla Lackberg

About the Publisher

Chapter One

It was impossible to know what sort of life the girl would have had. Who she would have become. What kind of work she might have done, who she would have loved, mourned, lost and won. Or whether she would have had children and if so who they might have become. It was not even possible to imagine how she might have looked as a grown woman. At the age of four nothing about her was finished. Her eyes had changed from blue to green, her dark hair she’d had at birth was now light, though with a touch of red in the blond, and no doubt the colour would have changed again. That was especially difficult to determine at the moment. She was lying face down at the bottom of the lake. The back of her head was covered with thick, congealed blood. Only the strands floating outward from her skull revealed the subtle hues in her fair hair.

There was nothing particularly gruesome about this scene with the girl. It was no more gruesome than if she had not been lying there in the water. The sounds from the woods were the same as always. The light filtered through the tree branches the same way it always did at this time of day. The water rippled gently around her, the surface disturbed only when a dragonfly occasionally landed, spreading tiny rings in its wake. The transformation had begun, and gradually she would become one with the woods and the water. If no one found her, nature would run its usual course until she became part of it.

So far no one knew she was gone.

Chapter Two

‘Do you think your mother will wear white?’ Erica asked as she turned to look at Patrik lying next to her in bed.

‘Ha, ha. Very funny,’ he said.

Erica laughed and poked him in the side.

‘Why is it so hard for you to accept that your mother’s getting married? Your father remarried a long time ago, and there was nothing strange about that, right?’

‘I know I’m being silly,’ said Patrik, shaking his head as he swung his legs off the bed and started putting on his socks. ‘I like Gunnar, and I think it’s great my mother won’t have to live alone any more, but …’

He stood up and pulled on his jeans.

‘It feels a little odd, to be honest. Mamma has lived alone for as long as I can remember. I suppose you could say there’s some sort of mother-and-son thing going on, for some reason it feels … strange, Mamma getting married again.’

‘You mean it feels strange that she and Gunnar are having sex?’

Patrik raised his hands to cover his ears.

‘Stop!’

Laughing, Erica tossed a pillow at him. He instantly threw it back, and all-out war ensued. Patrik flung himself on top of her, but the wrestling quickly turned to caresses and heavy breathing. She moved her hands to his fly and undid the top button.

‘What are you guys doing?’

Maja’s bright voice made them both stop and turn towards the open doorway. Maja was not the only one standing there. She was flanked by her little twin brothers, who were happily staring at their parents on the bed.

‘We’re just tickling each other,’ said Patrik, out of breath, as he sat up.

‘You need to fix the lock on the door!’ Erica hissed, pulling up the covers to hide her bare breasts.

She sat up and managed to smile at her children.

‘Why don’t you go downstairs and start breakfast. We’ll be there in a minute.’

By now Patrik had put on the rest of his clothes, and he shooed the kids ahead of him.

‘If you can’t fix the lock yourself, you could ask Gunnar. He always seems ready with his tools. Assuming he’s not busy with something else with your mother, that is.’

‘Cut it out,’ laughed Patrik, leaving the room.

With a smile on her face, Erica sank back on the bed. She could allow herself a few more minutes before getting up. Not having a set schedule was one of the benefits of being her own boss, though it might also be regarded as a disadvantage. Making her living as an author required stamina and self-discipline, and sometimes it could be a little lonely. Yet she loved her job. She loved writing and bringing to life the stories and fates she chose to depict. She loved all the poking around and research as she tried to work out what had actually happened and why. She’d been longing to sink her teeth into the case she was working on right now. The case of little Stella, who had been kidnapped and killed by Helen Persson and Marie Wall, had affected her deeply. It was still affecting everybody in Fjällbacka.

And now Marie Wall was back. The celebrated Hollywood actress was in Fjällbacka to star in a film about Ingrid Bergman. The whole town was buzzing with rumours.

Everyone had known at least one of the girls or their families, and everyone had been equally upset on that July afternoon in 1985 when Stella’s body was found in the small lake.

Erica turned on to her side and wondered if the sun had been as hot back then as it was today. She’d have to look that up when it was time for her to walk the few metres across the hall to her home office. But not quite yet. She closed her eyes and dozed off as she listened to Patrik and the kids talking in the kitchen downstairs.

Helen leaned forward as she looked around. She propped her sweaty hands on her knees. A personal record today, even though she had gone out running later than usual.

The sea shimmered clear and blue in front of her, but inside her a storm was raging. Helen straightened up and stretched, wrapping her arms around her torso. She couldn’t stop shaking. ‘Someone just walked across my grave.’ That’s what her mother always used to say. And maybe there was something to it. Not that anyone was walking across her grave. But maybe across somebody’s grave.

Time had lowered a veil; the memories were now so hazy. What she did remember were the voices of all those people who wanted to know exactly what had happened. They’d said the same thing over and over until she no longer knew what was their truth and what was hers.

Back then it had seemed impossible to come back and build a life here. But all the whispering and shouts had diminished over the years, transformed into low murmurs until at last they ceased altogether. She’d felt as if she was once again a natural part of life.

And now the gossip was going to start again. Everything was going to be dredged up. As so often happens in life, several events had coincided. She’d been sleeping badly for weeks, ever since receiving the letter from Erica Falck, telling her she was writing a book and would like to meet with Helen. She’d been forced to renew the prescription for the pills she’d managed to do without for so many years. She needed the pills to deal with the next piece of news: Marie was back.

Thirty years had passed. She and James had been living quietly, without drawing attention, and she knew that was what James preferred. Eventually all the talk will stop, he’d said. And he was right. Their dark moments didn’t last long, provided she made sure everything went as smoothly as possible. And she’d been able to ward off the memories. Until now. Images began flashing through her mind. She could see Marie’s face so clearly. And Stella’s happy smile.

Helen turned her eyes towards the sea again, trying to focus on the waves slowly rolling in. But the images refused to loosen their grip. Marie was back, and with her came disaster.

‘Excuse me, where can I find the loo?’

Sture offered a look of encouragement to Karim and the others who had gathered for Swedish lessons in the refugee centre in Tanumshede.

Everyone repeated the phrase, doing the best they could. ‘Excuse me, where can I find the loo?’

‘How much does this cost?’ Sture went on.

Again they repeated in unison. ‘How much does this cost?’

Karim struggled to connect the sounds Sture was uttering as he stood at the blackboard with the text in his book. Everything was so different. The letters they were supposed to read, the sounds they were supposed to make.

He glanced around the room at the valiant group of six students. Everyone else was either outside in the sun playing ball or inside lying in bed. Some people tried to sleep away the days and the memories, while others sent emails to friends and relatives who were still alive and possible to reach, or they surfed the Internet for news reports. Not that there was much information to be gleaned. The government broadcast nothing but propaganda, and the news organizations around the world had a hard time getting their correspondents into the country. Karim had been a journalist in his former life, and he understood the difficulties of reporting accurate and updated news from a country at war like Syria, which had been ravaged both from within and without.

‘Thank you for inviting us over.’

Karim snorted. Now there was a phrase he’d never use. If there was one thing he’d quickly learned, it was that Swedes were a reserved people. They’d had no contact whatsoever with any Swedes, except for Sture and the others who worked for the refugee centre.

It was as if they’d ended up in a separate little land inside the country, isolated from the rest of the world. Their only companions were each other, along with their memories of Syria. Some of the memories were good, but most of them were bad. Those were the ones many people relived over and over again. For his part, Karim tried to suppress all of it. The war that had become their daily existence. The long journey to the promised land in the north.

He’d made it here, along with his beloved wife Amina and their two precious children Hassan and Samia. That was the only thing that mattered. He’d managed to bring them to safety and give them an opportunity for a future. The bodies floating in the water sometimes forced their way into his dreams, but when he opened his eyes they were gone. He and his family were here in Sweden. Nothing else was important.

‘How do you say when you have sex with someone?’

Adnan laughed at his own words. He and Khalil were the youngest of the men here. They sat next to each other and egged each other on.

‘Show some respect,’ Karim said in Arabic, glaring at them.

He shrugged an apology as he looked at Sture, who gave a slight nod.

Khalil and Adnan had come here on their own, without family, without friends. They’d managed to escape Aleppo before it got too dangerous to flee. They’d had to decide between leaving and staying. Both could be deadly.

Karim couldn’t muster any anger toward them, despite their blatant lack of respect. They were children, frightened and alone in a strange country. Their cockiness was all they had. Everything here was unfamiliar to them. Karim had spent some time talking to them after the lessons. Their families had collected all the money they could find to make it possible for the two young men to leave Syria. A lot was riding on the boys’ shoulders. Not only had they been thrown into a foreign world, they were also obligated to create a life for themselves here so they could rescue their families from the war. Karim understood them, but it still was not acceptable for them to show such lack of respect for their new homeland. No matter how scared the Swedes were of the refugees, they had welcomed them and provided them with shelter and food. Sture came here in his spare time, struggling to teach them how to ask for the price of things and how to find a loo. Karim might not understand the Swedes, but he was eternally grateful for what they’d done for his family. Not everyone shared his attitude, and those who displayed no respect for their new country ruined things for them all, making the Swedes regard them with suspicion.

‘How nice the weather is today,’ said Sture, carefully enunciating the words as he stood at the blackboard.

‘How nice the weather is today,’ Karim repeated, smiling to himself.

After two months in Sweden, he understood why the Swedes were so grateful every time the sun came out. ‘What bloody awful weather,’ was one of the first phrases he’d learned to say in Swedish. Though he still hadn’t fully mastered the pronunciation.

‘How often do you think people have sex at their age?’ Erica asked, taking a sip of her sparkling wine.

Anna’s laugh made the other customers in Café Bryggan turn to stare at them.

‘Are you serious, Sis? Is that what you go around thinking about? How many times Patrik’s mother is getting laid?’

‘Yes, but I’m thinking about it in a broader context,’ said Erica, eating another spoonful of her cioppino. ‘How many years are left for a good sex life? Do people lose interest somewhere along the way? Do they replace their sexual desires with an irresistible urge to do crossword puzzles or Sudoku and eat sweets, or does it remain constant?’

‘Hmm … I don’t know.’

Anna shook her head and leaned back in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Erica felt a lump form in her throat. It wasn’t long ago that they’d both been involved in the horrible car accident that had caused Anna to lose the baby she was expecting. She would always have the scars on her face, but soon she would give birth to the child she and Dan had created from their love. Sometimes life could be truly surprising.

‘For instance, do you think—’

‘If you’re about to say “Mamma and Pappa”, I’m going to get up and leave right now,’ said Anna, holding up her hand. ‘That’s not something I even want to think about.’

Erica grinned.

‘Okay, I won’t use our parents as an example, but how often do you think Kristina and Bob the Builder have sex?’

‘Erica!’ Anna covered her face with her hands and again shook her head. ‘You need to stop calling poor Gunnar “Bob the Builder” just because he happens to be such a nice handy guy.’

‘Okay, let’s talk about the wedding instead. Have you been summoned to give your opinion about the dress? I can’t be the only one who has to pretend to be enthusiastic and approving when she shows me one hideous matronly gown after another.’

‘Yup, she asked me too,’ said Anna, struggling to lean forward to eat her open-face shrimp sandwich.

‘Why don’t you balance the plate on your belly?’ Erica suggested with a smile that was rewarded with a glare from Anna.

No matter how much Dan and Anna had longed for this baby, it wasn’t much fun being pregnant in the intense summer heat, and Anna’s belly was huge.

‘Couldn’t you try steering her in the right direction?’ Erica went on. ‘Kristina has such a great figure. She has a smaller waist and nicer boobs than me, but she doesn’t dare show them off. Think how beautiful she’d look in a lacy, low-cut sheath dress!’

‘Keep me out of it if you’re going to try to give Kristina some sort of makeover,’ said Anna. ‘I’m planning to tell her she looks fantastic no matter what she shows me.’

‘You’re such a chicken!’

‘You can take care of your own mother-in-law, and I’ll take care of mine.’

Anna took a bite of her shrimp sandwich, savouring the taste.

‘Right – like Esther’s difficult to get on with,’ said Erica, picturing Dan’s sweet mother, who would never express the slightest criticism or offer any conflicting opinions.

This was something Erica knew from personal experience, because a long time ago she and Dan had been an item.

‘No, you’re right. I’m lucky to have her,’ said Anna, then swore when she dropped her sandwich on her dress.

‘Hey, don’t worry about it. Nobody’ll even notice – they’ll be too busy looking at your enormous bazookas,’ said Erica, pointing at Anna’s breasts, which currently required a bra with size G cups.

‘Shut up.’

Anna did her best to wipe the mayonnaise off her dress. Erica leaned forward, took her little sister’s face in her hands, and kissed her on the cheek.

‘What’s that for?’ asked Anna in surprise.

‘Love you, that’s all,’ said Erica lightly, raising her glass. ‘To us, Anna. To you and me and our crazy family. To everything we’ve been through, to everything we’ve survived, and to not having any more secrets between us.’

Anna blinked a few times before raising her glass of cola to drink a toast with Erica.

‘To us.’

For a moment Erica thought she glimpsed a dark glint in Anna’s eyes, but the next second it was gone. She must have imagined it.

Sanna leaned over the Philadelphus coronarius and breathed in the scent. This time it didn’t soothe her as it usually did. Customers were walking around, picking up pots and placing potting soil in their trolleys, but she hardly noticed. The only thing she could see was Marie Wall’s phoney smile.

Sanna couldn’t for the life of her fathom what Marie thought she was doing, coming back after all these years. As if it weren’t bad enough having to run into Helen in town and being forced to nod a greeting.

She had accepted that Helen lived close by, that any moment she might catch sight of her. She could see the guilt in Helen’s eyes and how it was eating her up more and more as the years passed. But Marie had never shown any remorse, and her smiling face could be seen in every celebrity magazine.

And now she was back. Phoney, beautiful, laughing Marie. They’d been in the same class at school, and Sanna had always looked with envy at Marie’s thick lashes and her long blond hair curling down her back, but she’d also seen the darkness inside her.

Thank goodness Sanna’s parents wouldn’t have to see Marie’s smile here in town. Sanna was thirteen when her mother died from liver cancer, and she was fifteen when her father passed away. The doctors hadn’t been able to give a precise cause of death, but Sanna knew what it was. He had died from grief.

Sanna shook her head, feeling a headache coming on.

They had forced her to move in with her mother’s sister, Aunt Linn, but she’d never felt at home there. Linn and Paul’s own children were several years younger than Sanna, and they didn’t have a clue what to do with an orphaned teenager. They hadn’t been mean or treated her badly, they’d done the best they could, but they’d remained strangers to her.

Sanna had chosen to attend a community college specializing in horticulture far away, and she found a job soon after graduating. She’d supported herself ever since. She ran this small garden centre on the outskirts of Fjällbacka. She didn’t earn a lot, but it was enough to make a living for herself and her daughter. And that was all she needed.

Her parents had been transformed into the living dead when Stella was found murdered, and she understood why. Certain people were born with a brighter light than others, and Stella had been one of them. Always happy, always cheerful, always offering kisses and hugs to everyone. If Sanna could have died instead of Stella on that hot summer morning, she would have gladly taken her place.

But Stella was the one who was found in the lake. After that, nothing was left.

‘Excuse me, but are there any roses that are easier to take care of than others?’

Sanna gave a start and looked up at the woman who had come over without her noticing.

The woman smiled, and the furrows on Sanna’s face relaxed.

‘I love roses, but I’m afraid I don’t have green fingers.’

‘Is there a specific colour you’d like?’ asked Sanna.

She was an expert at helping people find the plants best suited to them. Certain people did better with flowers that needed a lot of care and attention. They were able to make orchids thrive and blossom, and they’d have many happy years together. Other people could barely even take care of themselves, so they needed plants that were tolerant and strong. Not necessarily cacti – those she saved for the worst cases – but she might suggest, for instance, a Peace Lily or a philodendron. And she took pride in always pairing the right plant with the right person.

‘Pink,’ said the woman dreamily. ‘I love pink.’

‘In that case, I have the perfect rose for you. It’s called a burnet rose. The most important thing to remember is to give it some extra attention when you plant it. Dig a deep hole and soak the soil with water. Add a little fertilizer – I’ll give you the right kind – before you put in the rosebush. Fill in the hole and water it again. Watering is very important in the beginning when the roots are taking hold. Once it’s established, it’s more a matter of regular maintenance so the rosebush doesn’t dry out. And cut it back every year in early spring, when buds are starting to appear on the birch trees.’

The woman cast an adoring glance at the rosebush Sanna placed in her trolley. She understood completely. There was something special about roses. She often compared people to flowers. If Stella had been a flower, she would definitely have been a rose. Rosa Gallica. Lovely, magnificent, with layer upon layer of petals.

The woman cleared her throat.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.

Sanna shook her head, realizing that once again she’d got lost in memories.

‘Yes, I’m fine, just a little tired. This heat …’

The woman nodded at her vague reply.

Actually everything was not all right. Evil had returned. Sanna could sense it as clearly as she smelled the fragrance from the roses.

Being on holiday with children couldn’t really be classified as relaxing, thought Patrik. It was an odd combination of all that was wonderful and yet completely exhausting. Especially when he had sole responsibility for all three kids while Erica went to lunch with Anna. Against his better judgement, he’d taken them to the beach to keep them from climbing the walls at home. It was usually easier to prevent them from fighting if they were fully occupied, but he’d forgotten how the beach could make things more difficult. For a start, there was always the risk of drowning. Their house was in Sälvik, right across from the bathing area, and many times he’d woken in a cold sweat after dreaming that one of the kids had slipped out and wandered down to the sea. Then there was the sand. Noel and Anton insisted not only on throwing sand at other children, which earned Patrik angry looks from other parents, but they also, for some inexplicable reason, enjoyed stuffing sand in their mouths. The sand was one thing, but Patrik shuddered to think of all the other nasty things going into their little mouths along with it. He’d already taken a cigarette butt out of Anton’s sandy fist, and it was only a matter of time before a piece of glass followed. Or a pinch of discarded snuff.

Thank God for Maja. Sometimes Patrik felt guilty his little girl took on so much responsibility for her younger brothers, but Erica always claimed Maja enjoyed doing it. Just as Erica had enjoyed taking care of her own little sister.

Right now Maja was watching the twins so they didn’t go too far out in the water. If they did, she hauled them back towards shore with a firm hand, checking to see what they’d put in their mouths, and brushing off the other children when her little brothers threw sand at them. Sometimes Patrik wished she wasn’t always so dutiful; he worried she’d have plenty of ulcers ahead of her if she continued to be such a conscientious child.

Ever since the heart trouble he’d experienced a few years back, he knew how important it was to take care of himself, allowing time to rest and unwind. But it was questionable whether being on holiday with the kids fit the bill. Much as he loved his children, on days like these he longed for the peace and quiet of the Tanumshede police station.

Marie Wall leaned back in her deckchair and reached for her drink. A Bellini. Champagne and peach juice. Well, not like at Harry’s in Venice, unfortunately. No fresh peaches here. She had to make do with the cheap champagne the skinflints at the film company had put in her fridge, mixed with ProViva peach juice. She had demanded that the ingredients for Bellinis should be here when she arrived and it seemed this was the best they could come up with.

It was such a strange feeling to be back. Not back in the house, of course. It had been demolished long ago. She couldn’t help wondering whether the people who owned the new house built on that plot were haunted by evil spirits after everything that had gone on there. Probably not. No doubt the evil had gone to the grave with her parents.

Marie took another sip of her Bellini. She looked around and wondered where the owners of this house had gone. A week in August with fantastic summer weather should have been the time when they got the most enjoyment out of a house that must have cost them millions, both to buy and to renovate, even if they didn’t spend much time in Sweden. Presumably they were at their chateau-like property in Provence, which Marie had found when she googled their name. Rich people seldom settled for anything less than the best. Including summer houses.

Yet she was grateful to them for renting out their house. This was where she retreated each day the moment filming was finished. She knew it couldn’t last. Some day she was bound to run into Helen, and she’d no doubt be struck by how much they had once meant to each other, and how much had changed since. But she wasn’t yet ready for that.

‘Mamma!’

Marie closed her eyes. Ever since Jessie was born, she’d tried in vain to get her to use her first name instead of that dreadful label. But the child had insisted on calling her ‘Mamma’, as if by doing so she might change Marie into one of those dowdy earth-mother types.

‘Mamma?’

The voice was right behind her, and Marie realized she couldn’t hide.

‘Yes?’ she said, reaching for her glass.

The bubbles prickled her throat. Her body grew softer and more pliant with every sip.

‘Sam and I were thinking of going out in his boat for a while. Is that okay?’

‘Sure,’ said Marie, taking another sip.

She peered at her daughter from under the brim of her sun hat. ‘What do you want?’

‘Mamma, I’m fifteen,’ said Jessie with a sigh.

Good God, Jessie was so pudgy it was hard to believe she was her daughter. Thank goodness she’d at least managed to meet a boy since they’d arrived in Fjällbacka.

Marie sank back and closed her eyes, but only for a second.

‘Why are you still here?’ she asked. ‘You’re blocking the sun, and I’m trying to get a tan. I need to go back to filming after lunch, and they want me to have a natural tan. Ingrid Bergman looked as brown as a gingerbread biscuit when she spent her summers on the island of Dannholmen.’

‘I just …’ Jessie began, but then she turned on her heel and left.

Marie heard the front door slam. She smiled to herself. Alone at last.

Bill Andersson opened the lid of the basket and took out one of the sandwiches Gun had made. He glanced up before swiftly shutting the lid. The seagulls were quick, and if he didn’t watch out they would steal his lunch. Here on the pier, he was particularly vulnerable.

Gun poked him in the side.

‘I think it’s a good idea, after all,’ she said. ‘Crazy, but good.’

Bill closed his eyes for a moment as he took a bite of his sandwich.

‘Do you mean that, or are you only saying it to make your husband happy?’

‘Since when do I say things to make you happy?’ Gun replied, and Bill had to admit she was right.

During the forty years they’d been together, he could recall only a few times when she had not been brutally honest.

‘Well, I’ve been thinking about this ever since we saw that documentary, Nice People, about the Somali bandy team that lives and trains here in Sweden. In my opinion, something similar ought to work here too. I talked with Rolf at the refugee centre, and they’re not having much fun up there. People are such cowards, they don’t dare approach the refugees.’

‘I get treated like an outsider in Fjällbacka because I’m from Strömstad,’ said Gun, reaching for another fresh roll, bought at Zetterlinds, and slathering it with butter. ‘If locals treat people from the next county as foreigners, it’s no surprise they’re not exactly welcoming the Syrians with open arms.’

‘It’s about time everybody changed their attitude,’ said Bill, throwing out his hand. ‘These people have come with their children, fleeing from war and misery, and they’ve had a terrible journey getting here. So the locals need to start talking to them. If Swedes can teach people from Somalia to ice-skate and play bandy, surely we should be able to teach Syrians to sail. Isn’t Syria on the coast? Maybe they already know how to sail.’

Gun shook her head. ‘I have no idea, sweetheart. You’ll have to google it.’

Bill reached for his iPad, which he’d put down after completing their morning Sudoku puzzle.

‘I’m right, Syria does have a coastline, but it’s hard to know how many of these people lived near the sea. I’ve always said, anybody can learn to sail. This will be a good chance to prove I’m right.’

‘But wouldn’t it be enough for them to sail for fun? Why do they need to compete?’

‘According to the documentary, those Somalis were motivated by accepting a real challenge. It became a kind of statement for them.’

Bill smiled. It felt good to express himself in a way that sounded both knowledgeable and reasonable.

‘Okay, but why does it have to be a – what was it you said? A “statement”?’

‘Because it won’t have any impact otherwise. The more people who get inspired, like I was, the more it will have a ripple effect, until it becomes easier for refugees to be accepted by society.’

In his mind, Bill pictured himself instigating a national movement. This was the way all big changes started. Something that began with the Somalis entering the world bandy championships and continued with the Syrians competing in sailing contests could lead to anything at all!

Gun placed her hand on his and smiled at him.

‘I’ll go and talk to Rolf today and set up a meeting at the centre,’ said Bill, reaching for another roll.

After a moment’s hesitation he picked up a second roll and tossed it to the seagulls. After all, they too were entitled to food.

Eva Berg pulled up the stalks and placed them in the basket next to her. As usual, her heart skipped a beat when she looked out across the fields. All this was theirs. The history of the place had never troubled them. Neither she nor Peter was especially superstitious. Yet when they bought this farm ten years ago there had been a lot of talk about all the misfortunes that had struck the Strand family, the former owners. But from what Eva understood, a single tragic event had caused all the other troubles. The death of little Stella had brought about the sad chain of events that had befallen the Strand family, and that had nothing to do with this farm.

Eva leaned forward to look for more weeds, ignoring the ache in her knees. For her and for Peter, their new home was paradise. They were from the city, if Uddevalla could be called a city, but they’d always dreamed of living in the country. The farm outside Fjällbacka had seemed perfect in every respect. The fact that the asking price was so low because of what had happened here simply meant it was within their budget. Eva hoped they had been able to fill the place with enough love and positive energy.

Best of all was the way Nea was thriving here. They’d named her Linnea, but ever since she was tiny, she’d called herself Nea, so it was only natural for Eva and Peter to call her that too. She was now four years old and so stubborn and headstrong that Eva was already dreading her teenage years. But it seemed she and Peter were not going to have more children, so they’d at least be able to focus all their attention on Nea when the time came. At the moment, those days seemed very far away. Nea ran around the farm like a little ball of energy, with her fluff of blond hair, which she’d inherited from Eva, framing her bright face. Eva was always worried that the child would get sunburned, but she merely seemed to get more freckles.

Eva sat up and used her wrist to wipe the sweat from her forehead, not wanting to smudge her face with the dirty gardening gloves she wore. She loved weeding the vegetable garden. It was such a refreshing contrast to the work of her office job. She took a childish pleasure in seeing the seeds she’d sown become plants that grew and flourished until they could be harvested. Their garden was intended only for their own use, since the farm couldn’t provide them with an income, but they were able to meet much of their household needs with a vegetable garden, a herb garden, and a field of potatoes. Yet occasionally she felt guilty about how well they were doing. Her life had turned out better than she’d ever imagined. She needed nothing more than Peter, Nea, and their home on this farm.

Eva began pulling up carrots. Off in the distance she saw Peter approaching on the tractor. His regular job was working for the Tetra Pak company, but he spent as much of his free time as possible on the tractor. This morning he’d gone out early, long before Eva was awake, taking along a sack lunch and a Thermos of coffee. A small wooded area belonged to the farm, and he’d decided to clear out the underbrush, so she knew he’d bring back firewood for the winter. He’d no doubt be sweaty and filthy, with aching muscles and a big smile.

She put the carrots in her basket and pushed it aside. The carrots were for the supper she’d cook this evening. Then she took off her gardening gloves and dropped them next to the basket before she headed towards Peter. She squinted her eyes, trying to catch sight of Nea on the tractor. She’d probably fallen asleep, as she always did. It had been an early start for the child, but she loved going to the woods with Peter. She loved her mother, but she adored her father.

Peter drove the tractor into the farmyard.

‘Hi, honey,’ said Eva after he switched off the engine.

Her heart beat faster when she saw his smile. Even after all these years he could still make her weak at the knees.

‘Hi, sweetheart! Have the two of you had a good day?’

‘Er, um …’

What did he mean by ‘the two of you’?

‘What about the two of you?’ she said.

‘What?’ said Peter, giving her a sweaty kiss on the cheek.

He looked around.

‘Where’s Nea? Is she taking an afternoon nap?’

There was a great rushing in Eva’s ears, and as if from far away she heard herself say:

‘I thought she was with you.’

They stared at each other as their world split apart.

THE STELLA CASE

Linda glanced at Sanna as she sat beside her, bouncing in the passenger seat of the car.

‘What do you think Stella will say when she sees all the clothes you’ve bought?’

‘I think she’ll be happy,’ said Sanna with a smile, and for a moment she looked like her cheerful little sister. Then she frowned in that typical way of hers. ‘But maybe she’ll be jealous too.’

Linda smiled as she drove into the farmyard. Sanna had always been such a considerate big sister.

‘We’ll have to explain to her that she’ll get lots of nice clothes when she starts school too.’

She’d hardly stopped the car before Sanna jumped out and opened the back door to take out all the shopping bags.

The front door of the house opened, and Anders came out on to the porch.

‘Sorry we’re a little late,’ said Linda. ‘We had to stop for a bite to eat.’

Anders gave her an odd look.

‘I know it’s dinnertime soon, but Sanna had her heart set on going to a café,’ Linda went on, smiling at her daughter, who gave her father a quick hug before running inside the house.

Anders shook his head.

‘It’s not that. I just … Stella hasn’t come home.’

‘She hasn’t?’

The look on Anders’s face made her stomach knot.

‘No, and I rang both Marie and Helen. They weren’t home either.’

Linda let out a sigh and shut the car door.

‘Oh, I’m sure they must’ve forgotten about the time. You’ll see. You know how Stella is. She probably wanted to walk through the woods and show them everything.’

She kissed Anders on the lips.

‘I expect you’re right,’ he said, but he didn’t look convinced.

The phone was ringing, so Anders hurried into the kitchen to take the call.

Linda frowned as she leaned down to take off her shoes. It wasn’t like Anders to get so upset. But he’d had a full hour to wonder what might have happened to the girls.

When she straightened up, she found Anders standing in front of her. The expression on his face brought back the knot in her stomach full force.

‘That was KG on the phone. Helen is back home now, and they’re about to eat dinner. KG rang Marie’s house, and according to him, both girls claim they dropped Stella off around five.’

‘So what are you saying?’

Anders pulled on his trainers.

‘I’ve searched everywhere on the farm, but maybe she went back to the woods and got lost.’

Linda nodded.

‘We need to go out and look for her.’

She went over to the bottom of the stairs and called to their elder daughter.

‘Sanna? Pappa and I are going out to look for Stella. She’s probably over in the woods. You know how much she loves being there. We’ll be back soon!’

Then she looked at her husband. She didn’t want him to let on to Sanna how uneasy they both felt.

Half an hour later they could no longer hide their concern from each other. Anders was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white. After searching the woods next to their property, they’d driven back and forth along the road, slowly passing all the places where they knew Stella usually went. But they hadn’t seen any trace of her.

Linda put her hand on Anders’s knee.

‘We should head home now.’

Anders nodded and looked at her. The worry in his eyes was a frightening reflection of her own.

They needed to ring the police.

Chapter Three

Gösta Flygare riffled through the stack of papers in front of him. It was a Monday in August, so the stack wasn’t very big. He had no complaints about working in the summertime. Aside from playing a few rounds of golf, he had nothing better to do. Occasionally Ebba came to visit him, but with a new baby to care for, she couldn’t get away very often. He understood that. What mattered to him was knowing he had a standing invitation to visit Ebba in Gothenburg, and the invitation was genuinely meant. Even a small dose of what had now become his family was better than nothing. And it was best if Patrik, who had young children, was able to take time off in the middle of the summer. He and Mellberg could sit here like a pair of old horses and handle whatever business came in. Martin dropped by once in a while to check on the ‘old guys’, as he jokingly said, but Gösta thought the real reason was that he needed company. Martin hadn’t met anyone new since Pia died, which was a shame. He was a fine young man. And his daughter needed a maternal influence. Annika, the police station’s secretary, sometimes took the child home with her, giving the excuse that Tuva could play with her own daughter, Leia. But it wasn’t enough. The child needed a mother. But Martin wasn’t ready for a new relationship, and that was that. Love could not be forced, and for Gösta there had only ever been one woman. Yet he thought Martin was a little too young to feel the same way.

He realized it wasn’t easy to find a new love. It was impossible to control such feelings, and the choices were limited since they lived in such a small town. Besides, Martin had been somewhat of a Don Juan before he met Pia, so there was always the risk it would be a second-time around with certain women. And in Gösta’s opinion, trying a second time rarely worked out if the first time hadn’t been successful. But what did he know? The love of his life had been his wife Maj-Britt, with whom he’d shared all his adult years. There had never been anyone else, either before or after.

The shrill ringing of the phone roused Gösta from his brooding.

‘Tanumshede police station.’

He listened intently to the voice on the line.

‘We’re on our way. What’s the address?’

Gösta wrote it down, hung up the phone, and then rushed into the next room without bothering to knock.

Mellberg gave a start, waking from a sound sleep.

‘What the hell?’ he said, staring at Gösta, frantically pushing his comb-over back into place.

‘A missing child,’ said Gösta. ‘Four years old. She’s been gone since this morning.’

‘This morning? And the parents are only calling us now?’ said Mellberg, jumping up from his chair.

Gösta glanced at his watch. It was a little after three p.m.

They didn’t get a lot of cases involving missing children. In the summer, the police mostly dealt with drunks, burglaries and break-ins, assault and battery incidents, and sometimes rape.

‘Each one thought she was with the other parent. I told them we’d leave immediately.’

Mellberg stuck his feet in his shoes, which he’d discarded on the floor next to his desk. His dog Ernst, who was also awake now, wearily lowered his head having concluded that the commotion had nothing to do with the possibility of going out for a walk or getting something to eat.

‘Where is it we’re going?’ asked Mellberg, hurrying after Gösta, who was headed for the garage.

‘The Berg farm,’ said Gösta. ‘Where the Strand family used to live.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Mellberg.

He’d only heard about the old case, which had happened long before he came to Fjällbacka. But Gösta had been here back then, and for him the situation seemed all too familiar.

‘Hello?’

Patrik had brushed off his hand before he took the call, but the phone still got sand on it. With his free hand he motioned for the kids to come over and then he got out a packet of Marie biscuits and a container of apple slices. Noel and Anton lunged for the biscuits, each trying to grab the packet away from his brother, until it fell on the sand sending biscuits spilling out. Other parents were staring at them, and Patrik could literally feel them snorting. He could understand their reaction. He thought that he and Erica were both relatively competent parents, yet sometimes the twins behaved as if they’d been brought up by wolves.

‘Just a second, Erica,’ he said. With a sigh he picked up a couple of biscuits and blew off the sand.

Noel and Anton had already eaten so much sand, a little more wasn’t going to hurt them.

Maja picked up the container of apple slices and set it on her lap as she sat down to survey the bathing area. Patrik looked at her slender back and her hair curling damply at the nape of her neck. She looked so lovely as she sat there, even though he, as usual, had failed to pull her hair into a proper ponytail.

‘All right, I can talk now. We’re down at the beach, and we just had a little biscuit incident I had to take care of.’

‘Okay,’ said Erica. ‘Is everything good apart from that?’

‘Everything’s great,’ he lied as he again tried to wipe the sand off by rubbing his hands on his swim trunks.

Noel and Anton picked up the biscuits from the sand and continued eating them, causing an audible crunching sound to issue from their mouths. A seagull circled overhead, waiting for the toddlers to take their eyes off the biscuits for a second. But the gull wasn’t about to get any of the treats. The twins could finish off an entire packet of Marie biscuits in world-record time.

‘I’m finished with lunch now,’ said Erica. ‘Shall I come over and join you?’

‘Sure, do that,’ said Patrik. ‘Could you bring some coffee in a Thermos? I’m such a novice at these kinds of outings, I forgot to bring any coffee.’

‘No problem. Your wish is my command.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I’ve been longing for a cup of coffee.’

He smiled as he ended the call. After five years of marriage and three children, he could still feel butterflies in his stomach whenever he heard his wife’s voice on the phone. Erica was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Well, aside from the children. Then again, without Erica he wouldn’t have any children.

‘Was that Mamma?’ asked Maja, shading her eyes with her hand as she turned to look at him.

Dear God, she looked so much like her mother from certain angles. And that made Patrik very happy. Erica was the most beautiful woman he knew.

‘Yup, that was Mamma. She’s on her way here.’

‘Yay!’ shouted Maja.

‘Hold on, someone’s ringing me from the station. I have to take this call,’ said Patrik, using a sandy finger to push the green button on his mobile.

Gösta’s name had appeared on the display, and Patrik knew his colleague wouldn’t call to disturb his holiday unless it was something important.

‘Hi, Gösta,’ he said. ‘One minute. Maja, could you give the boys some pieces of apple? And take away that old lollypop stick Noel is about to stuff in his mouth. Thanks, sweetie.’

He raised the mobile to his ear again.

‘Sorry, Gösta. I’m listening now. I’m at the beach in Sälvik with the kids, and chaos doesn’t come close to describing things.’

‘I’m sorry to bother you when you’re on holiday,’ said Gösta, ‘but I was thinking you might want to know we’ve received a report of a missing child. A little girl has been missing since this morning.’

‘Since this morning?’

‘Yes, we don’t have any further information yet, but Mellberg and I are on our way to see her parents right now.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘That’s the thing. She disappeared from the Berg farm.’

‘Oh, shit,’ said Patrik, his blood turning cold. ‘Wasn’t that where Stella Strand used to live?’

‘Yes, that’s the place.’

Patrik looked at his own children who were now playing relatively peacefully in the sand. The mere thought of one of them going missing made him break out in a sweat. It didn’t take him long to make up his mind. Even though Gösta hadn’t specifically asked for his help, Patrik knew he would like someone to assist him other than Mellberg.

‘I’ll come,’ he said. ‘Erica should be here in fifteen minutes or so, and then I can leave.’

‘Do you know where the farm is?’

‘I do,’ replied Patrik.

He knew all right. Lately, at home, he’d been hearing a lot about that particular farm.

Patrik pressed the red button to end the call and leaned forward to pull all three children close. They protested, and he got completely covered with sand. But he didn’t care.

‘You look a little funny,’ said Jessie.

The wind kept blowing her hair into her face, and she reached up to brush it back.

‘What do you mean by “funny”?’ said Sam, squinting up at the sun.

‘Well, you’re not exactly a … boating type.’

‘So what does a boating type look like?’

Sam turned the wheel to avoid another sailboat.

‘Oh, you know what I mean. They wear deck shoes with tassels, navy-blue shorts, a polo shirt, and a crew-neck sweater draped over their shoulders.’

‘And a captain’s hat, right?’ Sam added with a little smile. ‘How do you happen to know what a boating type looks like, anyway? You’ve hardly ever been out on a boat.’

‘Sure, but I’ve seen films. And pictures in magazines.’

Sam pretended not to know what she was talking about.

Of course he didn’t look like a typical boating type. With his ragged clothes, his raven-black hair, and kohl-rimmed eyes. With dirt under his fingernails that were bitten to the quick. But she hadn’t meant it as a criticism. Sam was the cutest guy she’d ever seen.

Jessie shouldn’t have said that stuff about boating types. Every time she opened her mouth she said something stupid. That’s what everyone had told her at the series of boarding schools she’d attended. They all said she was stupid. And ugly.

And they were right. She knew that.

She was fat and clumsy. Her face was spotty, and her hair always looked greasy, no matter how often she washed it. Jessie felt tears well up in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away so Sam wouldn’t notice. She didn’t want to disgrace herself in front of him. He was the first friend she’d ever had. And the only one, ever since the day when he’d come over to her as she stood in a queue outside the Central Kiosk in town. He’d told her he knew who she was, and then she’d realized who he was.

And who his mother was.

‘Shit, how come there are so many people out here,’ said Sam, looking for an inlet that didn’t have two or three boats moored or anchored off shore.

Most of the best places were already taken by morning.

‘Fucking swimmers,’ he mumbled.

He managed to find a sheltered cleft on the back side of Långskär Island.

‘Okay, we’re going to pull in here. Could you jump ashore with the mooring line?’

Sam pointed to the rope lying on the deck in the bow of the boat.

‘Jump?’ said Jessie.

Jumping was not something she ever did. And definitely not from a boat on to slippery rocks.

‘It’s not hard,’ said Sam calmly. ‘I’ll stop the boat right before we get there. Crouch down in the bow so you can jump ashore. It’ll be fine. Trust me.’

Trust me. Was she even capable of such a thing? Trust someone? Trust Sam?

Jessie took a deep breath, crawled forward to the bow, took a tight grip on the rope, and crouched down. As the island got closer, Sam slowed their approach, and they slid gently and quietly towards the rocks where they would moor. Much to her own surprise, Jessie leapt from the boat on to the rocks, landing lightly, and still holding the rope in her hand.

She’d done it.

It was their fourth trip to the Hedemyr department store in two days, but there wasn’t much else to do in Tanumshede. Khalil and Adnan sauntered around the top floor among all the clothing and accessories on display. In the beginning Adnan had a hard time dealing with all the looks levelled at them, and the suspicion. By now he’d accepted that they attracted attention. They didn’t look like Swedes or talk like Swedes or move like Swedes. He probably would have stared too if he’d seen a Swede in Syria.

‘What the hell are you looking at?’ snapped Adnan in Arabic, turning towards a woman in her seventies who was staring at them.

No doubt she was keeping an eye on them to make sure they didn’t shoplift. Khalil could have told her that they would never take anything that didn’t belong to them. They wouldn’t dream of it. They weren’t brought up like that. But when she snorted and headed for the stairs to the ground floor, he realized it would be pointless.

‘What kind of people do they think we are? It’s always the same thing.’

Adnan continued cursing in Arabic and waving his arms around so he almost knocked over a lamp on a nearby shelf.

‘Let them think whatever they like. They’ve probably never seen an Arab before,’ said Khalil.

Finally he got Adnan to smile. Adnan was two years younger, only sixteen, and sometimes he still seemed like a boy. He couldn’t control his emotions; they controlled him.

Khalil hadn’t felt like a boy for a long time now. Not since the day when the bomb killed his mother and little brothers. The mere thought of Bilal and Tariq brought tears to his eyes, and Khalil quickly blinked them away so Adnan wouldn’t notice. Bilal was always getting into mischief, but he was such a happy kid, it was hard to be mad at him. Tariq was always reading and filled with curiosity; he was the boy everyone said would be something great one day. In a split second they were gone. Their bodies were found in the kitchen, with their mother lying on top of the boys. She hadn’t been able to protect them.

Clenching his fists, Khalil looked around, thinking about how his life was now. He spent his days in a small room in the refugee centre, or he roamed through the streets in this strange little town where they’d landed. Such a quiet and desolate place, lacking all smells and sounds and colours.

The Swedes went about in their own world, barely even greeting one another, and they seemed almost frightened if anyone addressed them directly. They all spoke so quietly, without gesturing.

Adnan and Khalil went downstairs and out into the summer heat. They paused on the pavement outside the department store. It was the same thing every day. So difficult to find anything to occupy their time. The walls of the refugee centre seemed to close in, as if trying to suffocate them. Khalil didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Here in Sweden he had a roof over his head and food in his belly. And he was safe. There were no bombs falling here. People lived without the threat of either soldiers or terrorists. Yet even in safety it was hard to live a life in limbo. Without a home, without anything to do, without purpose.

This was not living. It was merely existing.

Adnan sighed as he stood next to Khalil. In silence they headed back to the refugee centre.

Eva stood as if frozen to the spot, hugging her arms around her torso. Peter kept rushing around. He’d searched everywhere at least four or five times, lifting up bedclothes, moving the same boxes, calling Nea’s name over and over. But Eva knew it was pointless. Nea wasn’t here. She could feel her absence in her body.

She squinted her eyes, noticing a dot way off in the distance. A dot that got bigger and bigger, becoming a white splotch as it approached. Eva realized it must be the police. Soon she could clearly see the blue and yellow markings on the car, and a chasm opened inside her. Her daughter was missing. The police were here because Nea was missing. She’d been missing since this morning. Her brain struggled to take in the fact she’d been missing since the morning. How could they have been such bad parents not to notice their four-year-old had been gone all day?

‘Are you the one who called?’

An older man with silver hair had got out the police car and now came over to her. She nodded mutely, and he reached out to shake her hand.

‘Gösta Flygare. And this is Bertil Mellberg.’

An officer about the same age but significantly heavier shook her hand as well. He was sweating copiously and raised his arm to wipe his brow on his shirtsleeve.

‘Is your husband here?’ asked the thinner officer with greyer hair as he scanned the yard.

‘Peter!’ called Eva, alarmed at how weak her voice sounded.

She tried again, and Peter came rushing out of the woods.

‘Have you found her?’ he shouted.

Then he caught sight of the policemen and his heart sank.

It all seemed so unreal to Eva. This couldn’t be happening. She expected to wake up at any second, relieved to find she’d simply been dreaming.

‘Why don’t we sit down and talk over a cup of coffee?’ said Gösta calmly as he touched Eva’s arm.

‘Of course. Come in. We’ll sit in the kitchen,’ she said as she led the way.

Peter stayed where he was, standing in the middle of the farmyard, his long arms hanging limply at his sides. She knew he wanted to keep searching, but she couldn’t handle this conversation on her own.

‘Peter, come on.’

With heavy steps he followed his wife and the police inside. Turning her back on the others, Eva began fiddling with the coffee machine, but she was very aware of the officers’ presence. Their uniforms seemed to fill the whole room.

‘Milk? Sugar?’ she asked them, and both nodded.

She got out the milk and sugar as her husband stood in the doorway.

‘Sit down,’ she told him, a bit sharply, and he obeyed.

As if on autopilot, she set the table with coffee mugs, spoons, and a packet of Ballerina biscuits she found in the cupboard. Nea loved Ballerina biscuits. The thought made Eva flinch, and she dropped a spoon on the floor. Gösta bent down to pick it up, but she beat him to it. She put the spoon in the sink and took a new one out of the silverware drawer.

‘Shouldn’t you be asking us questions?’ said Peter, keeping his gaze fixed on his hands. ‘She’s been missing since this morning, and every second counts.’

‘We’ll wait for your wife to sit down, and then we’ll start,’ said Gösta with a nod towards Eva.

She poured coffee for all of them and sat down.

‘When did you last see the little girl?’ asked the fat officer as he reached for a biscuit.

Eva felt a rush of anger. She’d put the biscuits on the table because it was expected when guests came over, but it infuriated her to see him munching on a chocolate biscuit as they answered questions about Nea.

Eva took a deep breath, knowing she was being irrational.

‘Last night. She went to bed at the usual time. She has her own bedroom, and I read her a good-night story and then turned off the light and closed the door.’

‘And you didn’t see her after that? She didn’t wake up during the night? Neither of you went to check on her? You didn’t hear anything?’

Gösta’s voice was so gentle, she could almost ignore the fact that his colleague had helped himself to another biscuit.

Peter cleared his throat.

‘No. She always sleeps through the night. I was the first one up this morning. I was going to drive the tractor over to the woods, so I just had a quick cup of coffee and a piece of toast. Then I left.’

There was a pleading tone to his voice. As if there might be some answer to be found in what he’d said. Eva reached out to put her hand on his. It felt as cold as her own.

‘And you didn’t see Linnea at that time? In the morning?’

Peter shook his head.

‘No, the door to her room was closed. I tiptoed past as quietly as I could so I wouldn’t wake her. I wanted Eva to be able to sleep a little longer.’

She squeezed his hand. That was Peter in a nutshell. Always so considerate. Always thinking of her and Nea.

‘What about you, Eva? Tell us about your morning.’

Gösta’s gentle voice made her feel like crying.

‘I woke up late, it was already half past nine. I can’t remember the last time I slept so late. The whole house was quiet, and the first thing I did was go to check on Nea. The door to her room was open, and her bed was unmade. She wasn’t there, so I just assumed …’

Eva couldn’t hold back a sob. Peter placed his other hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze.

‘I assumed she must have gone with Peter out to the woods. She loves doing that, and she often goes with him. So it wasn’t strange and I didn’t think for a second …’

Eva could no longer hold back the tears. She reached up to wipe them away.

‘I would have assumed the same thing,’ said Peter, and again squeezed his wife’s hand.

She knew he was right. And yet. If only she had …

‘Could she have gone to visit a friend?’ asked Gösta.

Peter shook his head.

‘No, she always stays here on the farm. She has never even tried to go beyond our property.’

‘There’s always a first time,’ said the fat officer. He’d been sitting so quietly as he ate one biscuit after another that Eva practically jumped when he spoke. ‘Maybe she ran into the woods.’

Gösta gave Bertil Mellberg a look that Eva couldn’t decipher.

‘We’ll organize a search party,’ he said.

‘Do you think that’s what happened? She got lost in the woods?’

The woods went on forever. The very thought of Nea lost in there made Eva feel sick with apprehension. They had never worried such a thing might happen. And Nea had never gone off on her own. But maybe they’d been naive. Naive and irresponsible. Allowing a four-year-old girl to run free on the farm when it was right next to a big woods. Nea was lost, and it was all their fault.

As if Gösta could read Eva’s mind, he said:

‘If she’s in the woods, we’ll find her. I’m going to make a few phone calls right now, and we’ll start the search in no time. We’ll have a search party organized within the hour, so we can make maximum use of the daylight.’

‘Will she make it through a night out there on her own?’ asked Peter in a toneless voice.

His face was deathly pale.

‘The nights are still warm,’ Gösta assured him. ‘She’s not going to freeze, but we’ll do everything we can to find her before it gets dark.’

‘What was she wearing?’ asked Mellberg, reaching for the last biscuit on the plate.

Gösta looked surprised.

‘That’s a good question. Do you know what clothes she had on when she disappeared? Even though you didn’t see her this morning, maybe you could check to see if any of her clothes are missing.’

Eva nodded and stood up to go to Nea’s room. At last, here was something concrete she could contribute.

But at the door to the bedroom she hesitated. She took several deep breaths before she could push it open. Everything looked exactly the same as always, which made it even more heartbreaking. The wallpaper with pink stars, with little pieces missing where Nea had picked at the paper. The teddy bears piled up at the end of the bed. The bedclothes decorated with pictures of Elsa from the film Frozen. The Olaf doll that always lay on the pillow. The hanger with … Eva stopped short. She knew exactly what Nea had on. To make sure she peeked inside the wardrobe and then looked around the room. No, she didn’t see it anywhere. She hurried back downstairs.

‘She’s wearing her Elsa dress.’

‘What does an Elsa dress look like?’ asked Gösta.

‘It’s a blue princess dress. With a picture of the princess on the front. Elsa, from Frozen. She loves Frozen. And she probably has on her Frozen knickers too.’

Eva realized that things she took for granted, as the parent of a young child, might be completely foreign to someone else. She’d watched that film at least a hundred times. It was on twice a day, every day, year round. Nea loved it more than anything, and she could perform the whole ‘Let It Go’ scene. Eva forced back a sob. She could picture Nea so clearly as she whirled around wearing her blue dress and the long white gloves, dancing as she sang all the lyrics. Where was she? And why were they just sitting here?

‘I’ll go and make those phone calls. Then we’ll start the search,’ said Gösta, as if he’d heard her silent scream.

All she could muster was a nod. She looked at Peter. Both of them were thinking the same dark thoughts.

BOHUSLÄN 1671

It was an overcast November morning, and Elin Jonsdotter shivered as she sat next to her daughter in the clattering wagon. The vicarage, which they were gradually approaching, was beginning to look more like a castle compared with the little house where she and Per had lived in Oxnäs.

Britta had been fortunate. That had always been true. As their father’s favourite, Elin’s little sister had received all manner of advantages during their childhood, and there had never been any doubt that she would find a good husband. And their father had been right. Britta had married the vicar and moved into the vicarage, while Elin had been forced to settle for Per the fisherman. But Elin had no complaints. Per might have been poor, but a kinder person could not be found on this earth.

A heavy feeling settled in her chest at the thought of Per. But she gave herself a shake and plucked up her courage. There was no use shedding any more tears over something she could not change. God had wanted to test her, and now she and Märta would have to try to survive without Per.

She had to admit, it had been most generous of Britta to offer her a position as a maid at the vicarage, as well as a roof over their heads. Even so, Elin felt a great sense of unease as Lars Larsson drove into the yard, their few possessions piled in the wagon. Britta had not been a particularly nice child, and Elin doubted that age would have made her any kinder. But she could ill afford to turn down the offer. As tenants in the coastal area they had merely leased the fields. When Per died, the farmer had said they could stay until the end of the month, but then they would have to leave. As a poor widow without a home or any means of support, she would have to rely on the goodwill of others. And she had heard that Britta’s husband Preben, who was the vicar in Tanumshede, was a pleasant and amiable man. She had seen him only at church services. She had not been invited to Britta’s wedding, and of course she and her family had never been invited to visit the vicarage. But she recalled that he had kind eyes.

When the wagon came to a halt and Lars muttered that they should climb down, she pulled Märta close for a moment. Everything would be fine, she told herself. But a voice inside her was saying something else entirely.

Chapter Four

Martin gave the swing another push. He couldn’t help smiling at Tuva’s happy shriek.

He was feeling better with every day that passed, and he realized this was largely due to his daughter Tuva. Right now she was on summer holiday from pre-school, and he had a couple of weeks off, so they were spending every second together. And it had done both of them a world of good. Ever since Pia died, Tuva had slept in his bed, and every night she fell asleep leaning against his chest, often in the middle of a story. He would slip out of bed when he was sure she was sleeping and go sit in front of the TV for another hour or two, drinking a cup of the calming tea he’d bought at a health-food shop. Annika was the one who had suggested in the wintertime he should try to find some soothing natural herb or supplement for those times when sleep evaded him. He didn’t know whether it was a placebo effect or the tea was actually working, but he’d been able to get some sleep. And maybe that’s what had made all the difference, enabling him to cope with the loss. It never went away entirely, but the edges had gradually worn smooth, and he could even allow himself to think of Pia without falling apart. He tried to tell Tuva about her mother. They would talk about her and look at photographs. Tuva was so young when Pia died that she had very few memories of her mother. He wanted to tell her as much about Pia as he could.

‘Pappa, push me higher!’

Tuva shrieked with joy when he gave the swing an even harder push, and she soared higher.

Her dark hair flew around her face and, as had happened so many times before, Martin was struck by how much the little girl looked like Pia. He got out his mobile to film her, backing up to get everything in the frame. When his heels bumped into something, he heard a loud cry. Startled, he glanced behind him and caught sight of a toddler who was screaming to high heaven as he held a sandy toy spade in his hand.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Martin, kneeling down to comfort the boy.

He glanced around, but none of the other adults showed any sign of coming over, so he ruled them out as the kid’s parents.

‘Shhh, don’t worry, we’ll find your mamma and pappa,’ he consoled the toddler, who merely screamed even louder.

A short distance away, over by some shrubbery, he saw a woman about his own age who was talking on her mobile. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed upset. She was speaking angrily and motioning with her free hand. He waved to her, but she still didn’t notice. Finally he turned to Tuva, whose swing was losing momentum now that he wasn’t pushing it.

‘Wait here. I have to take this baby over to his mamma.’

‘Pappa kicked the baby,’ said Tuva loudly, but he shook his head at her words.

‘No, Pappa didn’t kick the baby. Pappa— Oh, never mind, we’ll talk about it later.’

Martin picked up the screaming boy, hoping he could make it over to the woman before she noticed that a strange man was carrying her son. But he needn’t have worried. She remained completely immersed in her phone conversation. He felt a trace of annoyance as he watched her talking and gesticulating when she should be keeping an eye on her child. The boy was now screaming loud enough to pierce his eardrums.

‘Excuse me,’ he said when he reached the woman, and she stopped in mid-sentence.

She had tears in her eyes, and mascara was running down her cheeks.

‘I have to go now. YOUR son is unhappy!’ she said, and ended the call.

She wiped her eyes and held out her arms towards the boy.

‘I’m sorry, I stepped back and didn’t see him behind me,’ said Martin. ‘I don’t think he’s hurt, but I probably scared him a bit.’

The woman hugged the boy.

‘Don’t worry. He’s at that age when he’s scared of strangers,’ she said, blinking away the last of her tears.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. She blushed at the question.

‘Oh my God, how embarrassing to stand here crying in broad daylight. And I wasn’t watching Jon either. I’m sorry. I must seem like the world’s worst mother.’

‘No, no, don’t say that. He was doing fine. Are you sure you’re okay?’

Martin didn’t mean to pry, but she looked so miserable.

‘Well, it’s not like somebody died, or anything. It’s just that my ex is such an idiot. His new girlfriend apparently isn’t interested in the “baggage” of his marriage, so he’s cancelled the three days he was supposed to have Jon. And his excuse was that she “was looking forward to the two of them spending some alone-time together”.’

‘How pathetic,’ said Martin, irate on her behalf. ‘What an arsehole!’

She smiled and he felt his gaze drawn to her dimples.

‘So what about you?’

‘Oh, I’m okay,’ he replied, and she laughed.

‘No, I meant which one is yours?’

She nodded towards the playground, and he slapped his hand to his forehead.

‘Oh, right. That’s what you meant. Well, my daughter’s over there – the little girl on the swing who’s looking a bit grumpy about not swinging any more.’

‘Oops. You’d better go over and give her swing a push. Or is her mother here too?’

Martin blushed. Was she flirting with him? He caught himself hoping she was. He didn’t know what to say in reply, but he realized he might as well tell her the truth.

‘No, I’m a widower,’ he said.

‘Oh, forgive me,’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘Trust me to go and make some crass remark like “it’s not like somebody died”.’

She touched his arm, and he gave her as reassuring a smile as he could muster. Something inside him didn’t want her to be sad or upset. He wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted to see those dimples again.

‘It’s okay,’ he said and felt her relax.

Behind him, Tuva was calling: ‘Pappaaaa!’ Her voice was getting shriller and more demanding.

‘Looks like you’d better go over and give your little girl’s swing a push,’ the woman said, wiping the snot and sand off Jon’s face.

‘Maybe I’ll see you here again,’ said Martin.

He could hear the hope in his voice. She smiled, and her dimples were even more visible than before.

‘Sure, we come here often. In fact, we’ll probably be back tomorrow,’ she said. Martin nodded happily as he started backing away to rejoin Tuva.

‘We’ll most likely see you then,’ he said, trying not to grin too much.

He took another step and felt his heels bump into something. This was immediately followed by a piercing shriek. Over by the swings he heard Tuva sigh.

‘Pappa, watch out …’

In the midst of the chaos Martin’s mobile rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the display: Gösta.

‘Where on earth did you find this person?’

Marie pushed away the woman who’d spent the past hour making up her face and turned to look at the film director, Jörgen Holmlund.

‘Yvonne is really good at her job,’ said Jörgen with that irritating quaver in his voice. ‘She’s worked on most of my films.’

Behind her, Yvonne was quietly sobbing. The headache that had plagued Marie since she arrived at her trailer was getting worse.

‘I’m supposed to be Ingrid Bergman down to her fingertips in every single scene. She was always flawless. I can’t look like one of the Kardashians. Contouring? Have you ever heard of anything so dreadful! My features are perfect. I don’t need fucking contouring!’

She pointed at her face, which had distinct patches of white and dark brown.

‘They’ll be blended together. It’s not going to look like that when I’m finished,’ said Yvonne, so faintly Marie barely heard her.

‘I don’t give a shit. My features don’t need fixing!’

‘I’m sure Yvonne can do it over,’ said Jörgen. ‘Just tell her what you want.’

Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead even though it was cool inside the trailer.

The big film team and the production office were being housed at TanumStrand, a tourist and conference centre situated between Fjällbacka and Grebbestad. But on location in Fjällbacka, various trailers served as the make-up and wardrobe quarters.

‘Okay, take it off and start over. Then we’ll see,’ she said, and she couldn’t help smiling when she saw how relieved Yvonne looked.

During her early days in Hollywood, Marie had always complied with other people’s wishes, doing whatever was asked of her. But she was a different person nowadays, and she knew how her role should be shaped, how she should look.

‘We need to be ready in an hour, at the latest,’ said Jörgen. ‘We’re going to film some of the easier scenes this week.’

Marie turned to look at him. Yvonne had used a damp cloth to remove an hour’s worth of work in ten seconds, and her face was clean of all make-up.

‘You mean we’re doing the cheaper scenes this week? I thought we had a green light from everybody.’

She couldn’t keep the concern from creeping into her voice. This was not one of those obvious film projects with investors queuing up in their eagerness to be part of it. The film climate had changed in Sweden, with priorities shifting to indie films, while the bigger pictures went begging. This project had already come close to folding several times.

‘They’re still having discussions about … priorities …’ Again the irritating quaver in his voice. ‘But that’s nothing for you to worry about. Concentrate on doing an amazing job on the scenes we film. That’s the only thing you need to think about.’

Marie turned back towards the mirror.

‘There are lots of reporters who want to interview you,’ said Jörgen. ‘About your connection to Fjällbacka, and the fact this is the first time you’ve been back in thirty years. I can understand if it feels … uncomfortable to talk about that time, but if you’d like to—’

‘Go ahead and schedule them,’ said Marie without taking her eyes off the mirror. ‘I have nothing to hide.’

If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that any publicity was good publicity. She smiled at herself in the mirror. Maybe the damned headache was finally starting to fade.

After relieving Patrik, Erica had packed up the children and then they slowly walked up the hill towards home. Patrik had taken off as soon as she arrived, and she’d noticed a trace of worry in his eyes. Erica shared his concern. Just considering the possibility of something happening to a child was like falling into an abyss.

She had given her own kids a few extra kisses when they reached home. She put the twins down for their afternoon nap and turned on the DVD player so Maja could watch Frozen. Now she was sitting in her home office. When Patrik had told her the name of the farm where the missing girl lived and the uncanny similarity in age, Erica had immediately felt a pressing need to go over her research material. She was a long way from being ready to start writing the book, but her desk was covered with maps, photocopies of newspaper articles, and handwritten notes about Stella’s death. She sat for a moment, staring at the piles of papers. At this stage, she was still gathering facts, making no effort to shape, arrange, or sort through all the material. That would be the next step in the long and winding path that would lead to a completed book. She reached for the copy of an article and studied the two girls in the black-and-white photographs. Helen and Marie. Their expressions sullen and truculent. It was difficult to tell whether she was seeing anger or fear in their eyes. Or evil, as many people had claimed. But Erica had a hard time believing children could be evil.

The same kind of speculation occurred in all the famous cases where children committed horrible acts: Mary Bell, who was only eleven when she killed two children. The murderers of three-year-old James Bulger. Pauline Parker and Juliet Hulme, the two girls in New Zealand who killed Pauline’s mother. Erica loved the Peter Jackson film Heavenly Creatures, which was based on the case. After the event, people would say things like: ‘She was always such a horrible child.’ Or: ‘I saw the evil in his eyes even when he was young.’ Neighbours, friends, and even family members had been more than willing to give their views on such cases, pointing to factors they believed indicated some innate evil. But surely a child couldn’t be evil. Erica was more apt to believe what she’d read somewhere: ‘evil is the absence of goodness’. A person was undoubtedly born with a tendency towards one or the other, but whether that tendency was enhanced or diminished would depend on where and how the individual was raised.

For that reason she needed to find out as much as she could about the two girls in the photographs. What sort of children were Marie and Helen? How had they been brought up? She wasn’t planning to settle for what other people knew about them and their families. She was equally interested in what had gone on behind closed doors. What sort of values had been instilled in the girls? Were they treated well? What had they learned about the world prior to that terrible day in 1985?

Eventually both girls had retracted their confessions and stubbornly insisted on their innocence. Even though most people had remained convinced Helen and Marie were guilty, there had been plenty of speculation. What if someone else was responsible for Stella’s death? An opportunist killer. And what if an opportunity had once again presented itself? It couldn’t be a coincidence that a girl of the same age should disappear from the very same farm. What were the odds of that happening? There had to be a connection between the two events. What if the police had missed a clue the killer had left behind, and what if the perpetrator, for some reason, had decided to strike again? Maybe inspired by Marie’s return? But if so, why? And were other girls in danger?

If only she’d made more progress in her research. Erica got up from her desk. The heat was stifling in her office, so she leaned across to open the window. Outside, life was going on as usual. The sounds of summer reached her. Children shrieking and laughing down at the beach. Seagulls screeching as they hovered over the water. The wind rustling the crowns of the trees. Outside, everything seemed idyllic. But Erica hardly noticed.

She sat back down and began sorting through the materials she’d collected. But she hadn’t even started on the interviews. She had a long list of people she planned to talk to, and naturally Marie and Helen were at the top of the list. She’d already tried to approach Helen, sending her several letters without receiving a response, and she’d been in contact with Marie’s PR agent. On the desk were copies of various interviews Marie had given about the Stella case, so Erica didn’t think the actress would be averse to talking to her. In fact, it was commonly thought that Marie’s career would not have taken off as it had if the news about her past hadn’t been leaked to the press after she’d appeared in small roles in a few minor productions.

If there was one thing Erica had learned from the previous books she’d written about true crime cases, it was that people had a deep-seated longing to speak out, to tell their story. Almost without exception.

She switched on the ringer on her mobile in case Patrik happened to call, though he’d probably be too busy to keep her updated. She had offered to help search, but he’d said they would have more than enough volunteers, and it would be better if she stayed with the children. Erica had voiced no objections. From downstairs in the living room she could hear that the film had reached the point where Elsa had built an entire castle out of ice. Erica slowly put down the papers she was holding. It had been far too long since she’d kept Maja company in front of the TV to watch a film. I’ll just have to put up with that ego-tripping princess, she thought as she stood up. Besides, Olaf is so charming. The reindeer too, for that matter.

‘What have you arranged so far?’ asked Patrik, getting right to the point when he arrived at the farm.

Gösta stood outside the farmhouse, next to a group of wooden patio furniture painted white.

‘I rang Uddevalla and they’re sending a helicopter.’

‘What about the Coast Guard?’

Gösta nodded. ‘Everybody has been notified, and help is on the way. I phoned Martin and asked him to get together some volunteers for the search party. He got right on it, calling people in Fjällbacka, so we should have lots of people here very soon. And our colleagues from Uddevalla are bringing the search dogs.’

‘So what do you think?’ said Patrik, keeping his voice low because the girl’s parents were standing a short distance away, holding on to each other.

‘They want to go out and search on their own,’ said Gösta, who had noticed Patrik looking at the couple. ‘But I told them they needed to wait until we get organized, otherwise we might end up squandering resources if we have to go looking for them too.’

He cleared his throat.

‘I don’t know what to think, Patrik. Neither of them has seen the little girl since she went to bed last night, which was around eight o’clock. And she’s so young: four years old. If she’d been anywhere close by, she would have showed up sometime during the day. If nothing else, she would have come home when she got hungry. So she must have got lost. Or …’

He left the word dangling in the air.

‘It’s such a strange coincidence,’ said Patrik. Thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge kept creeping into his mind.

‘I know. The same farm,’ said Gösta, nodding. ‘And the girl is the same age. It’s impossible not to think about that.’

‘I assume we’re not working solely on the premise that she got lost. Right?’

Patrik was careful not to look at the parents as he spoke.

‘Right,’ said Gösta. ‘As soon as possible we’ll start talking to all the neighbours around here, at least those who live along the road leading to the farm. We need to find out whether they saw anything last night or today. But first we need to focus on the search. It gets dark a lot sooner now that it’s August, and I can’t stand the thought of her sitting somewhere in the woods, all alone and scared. Mellberg wants us to contact the media, but I think it would be better to wait.’

‘Good God, yes. But of course that’s what he’d want,’ said Patrik with a sigh.

Their boss was looking quite full of himself as he welcomed the volunteers who were starting to arrive.

‘Okay, we need to get organized. I brought along a map of the area surrounding the farm,’ said Patrik, and Gösta’s face lit up.

‘Let’s divide the search area into sections,’ he said, taking the map from Patrik.

He placed it on the patio table, took a pen from his shirt pocket, and began drawing.

‘What do you think? Is this about the right size section for a group? If we assign three or four people to each group?’

‘Sure, that’s good,’ said Patrik, nodding.

Over the past few years he and Gösta had worked well together, and even though Patrik’s usual partner was Martin Molin, he enjoyed teaming up with the older police officer. That had not been the case back in the days when Gösta’s partner was Ernst, their now deceased colleague. But it turned out it actually was possible to teach an old dog new tricks. Gösta’s mind still had a tendency to drift to the golf course instead of focusing on police work, but when it really mattered, like now, his mind was razor-sharp and completely focused.

‘Want to give everyone a briefing?’ asked Patrik. ‘Or do you want me to do it?’

He didn’t want to tread on his colleague’s toes by taking over.

‘You do it,’ said Gösta. ‘The main thing is to prevent Bertil from saying anything.’

Patrik nodded. It was seldom a good idea to allow Mellberg to speak to the public. Invariably he’d upset or offend someone, and they’d have to waste time on crisis-management instead of getting on with the task at hand.

He glanced over at Nea’s parents, who were now standing in the middle of the farmyard, still holding on to each other.

‘I’ll go say hello to the parents first,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll brief everybody who’s here so far, and we’ll have to repeat the briefing as more people arrive. Volunteers are going to be turning up the whole time, so it’ll be impossible to get everyone together at once. And we need to see about getting the search under way as soon as possible.’

He cautiously approached the girl’s parents. It was always difficult to deal with family members at times like this.

‘I’m Patrik Hedström. From the police,’ he said, shaking hands with them. ‘As you can see, we’ve started bringing in volunteers for the search party, and I’m planning to give them a quick run-down on what’s happening so we can begin the search.’

He realized he sounded very official, but that was the only way he could keep his own emotions in check and focus on what needed to be done.

‘We’ve called our friends, and Peter’s parents, who are in Spain, said they’d be here,’ Eva explained quietly. ‘We told them it wasn’t necessary, but they’re terribly worried.’

‘We have search dogs on the way from Uddevalla,’ said Patrik. ‘They’ll need an item that belongs to your daughter …’

‘Nea,’ said Eva, swallowing hard. ‘Her name is actually Linnea, but we call her Nea.’

‘Nea. Nice name. Do you have something belonging to Nea that the dogs can sniff so they’ll be able to track her scent?’

‘The clothes she wore yesterday are in the hamper. Would that do?’

Patrik nodded.

‘Perfect. Could you go and get them? And would you mind making some coffee for the volunteers?’

He could hear how stupid it sounded to suggest serving coffee, but he had two reasons for making the request. He wanted to be undisturbed while he was giving the volunteers instructions, and he wanted to keep the parents occupied. That usually made things easier.

‘Shouldn’t I go with them?’ said Peter. ‘On the search, I mean?’

‘We need you to stay here. When we find her, we have to know where you are, so it’s best if you stay here at the farm. We’ll have more than enough volunteers out there.’

Peter seemed to hesitate, so Patrik placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.

‘I know how hard it must be to stay here and wait. But believe me, that’s the most useful thing you can do.’

‘Okay,’ said Peter quietly. Then he and Eva headed for the house.

Patrik gave a loud whistle to draw the attention of the three dozen or so people who had already gathered in the farmyard. A man in his twenties who was filming the scene stuffed his mobile in his pocket.

‘In a few minutes we’ll be sending you off to start searching. Every minute counts when such a young child is missing. We’re looking for Linnea, known as Nea, who is four years old. We don’t know exactly how long she’s been missing, but her parents haven’t seen her since they put her to bed last night around eight o’clock. Each thought she was with the other parent all day today, an unfortunate misunderstanding, so it wasn’t until about an hour ago that they discovered she was missing. One of the theories we’re working on, and it’s the most likely one, is that the little girl has got lost in the woods.’

He pointed towards Gösta, who was still standing next to the patio table with the map spread out in front of him.

‘We’re going to divide you up into groups of three or four, and then my colleague Gösta will assign you to a specific area. We don’t have any extra maps to give you, so you’ll have to do the best you can. Perhaps use your mobile phone to take a picture of your section on the map so you can keep tabs on your search area.’

‘We can also pull up a GPS map of the area,’ said a bald man, holding up his phone. ‘If anyone needs a good app, come and see me before we leave, and I’ll show you which is the best one. I always use a GPS map on my mobile when I go hiking in the woods.’

‘Thanks,’ said Patrik. ‘After you’ve been assigned a search area, I’d like you to walk about an arm’s length apart. And move slowly. I know it can be tempting to try to search the area as fast as possible, but there are so many places in the woods where a little four-year-old might be hidden, or … uh … might hide, so it’s better to take your time.’

He raised his fist to his mouth and coughed. ‘If you should … find something,’ he said and paused.

He didn’t know how to go on, and he was hoping the people gathered here would understand without him being more specific. He started over.

‘If you should find something, please do not touch or move anything. It might be a clue, or, well, something else.’

A few people nodded, but most kept their eyes fixed on the ground.

‘So stay where you are and phone me immediately. Here’s my number,’ he said, taping a big piece of paper with his number to the wall of the barn. ‘Go ahead and type it into your mobile. Everybody understand? Stay where you are and phone me. Don’t do anything else. Okay?’

An older man at the back raised his hand. Patrik recognized the man. His name was Harald, and he’d owned the bakery in Fjällbacka for years.

‘Is there any …’ He stopped and tried again. ‘Is there any chance this is not a coincidence? With the farm, I mean? And the little girl? And what happened …’

He didn’t need to say anything more. Everybody understood exactly what he was getting at. Patrik wasn’t sure how to reply.

‘We’re not ruling out anything,’ he said at last. ‘But for the moment, the most important thing is to search the woods nearby.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrik saw Nea’s mother come out the front door carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms.

‘All right. Let’s get going.’

The first group of four went over to Gösta to get their assigned area. A helicopter could be heard approaching above the treetops. It wouldn’t have any trouble landing because there was plenty of space on the farm. People began heading for the woods, and Patrik watched them go. Behind him he heard the helicopter make its landing, and at the same time the police vehicle bringing the dogs from Uddevalla turned into the farmyard. If the girl was out there in the woods, they would find her. He was convinced of that. But there was another possibility: she hadn’t got lost. And that’s what scared him.

THE STELLA CASE

They’d been searching for the girl all night. More and more had joined the search, and Harald could hear people all around him in the woods. The police had done a good job, and there was no lack of volunteers. The family was well liked, and everyone knew the little girl with the reddish blond hair. She was the kind of child who refused to give up until she won a smile from anyone she happened to meet in the shops.

He felt bad for the parents. His own kids were grown now; two of his sons were helping to search. He’d closed the bakery. It wasn’t a busy time anyway, since the summer holidays were mostly over and there were long intervals during the day when the bell over the door didn’t ring. Although he would have closed even if there was a flood of customers. He felt a pain in his chest at the mere thought of the horror Stella’s parents must be going through right now.

Harald randomly poked at the bushes with the stick he carried. Their task was not an easy one. The woods covered a big area, yet how far could the little girl have gone on her own? If she was even in the woods at all. This was only one of the possibilities the police were considering. Her face had appeared on all the news broadcasts, because it was just as likely she could have been coaxed into a car. If so, she’d be miles away by this time. But Harald refused to think about that. Right now his task was to help search the woods, along with all the others whose footsteps and voices he could hear through the branches.

For a moment he paused to breathe in the forest scent. He rarely ventured into the outdoors these days. The last few decades he’d been busy with the bakery and his family, but when he was a young man he’d spent a lot of time outdoors. He promised himself to get back in the habit. Life was short. The past day had been a constant reminder there was no way of knowing what lay around the corner.

Only a few days ago Stella’s parents had no doubt thought they knew what to expect from life. They had lived each day without pausing every other moment to rejoice at what they had. Same as most people. It wasn’t until something happened that people stopped to treasure every second they had with those they loved.

He set off again, walking very slowly, one metre after another. Up ahead he caught a glimpse of water in between the trees. They had received detailed instructions about what to do if they came upon a pond or lake. They were supposed to notify the police, so they could drag the water or send divers in if it was deep. The water he was looking at right now was calm and smooth, except for a few dragonflies landing on the surface, spreading tiny little rings around them. That’s all he saw. The only other thing visible to the naked eye out on the small lake was a tree trunk that had fallen into the water, felled by wind or lightning several years earlier. He went closer and saw that the roots of the trunk were still clinging to the shore. Cautiously he climbed up on the broken tree. He saw nothing but the calm surface of the water. Then he slowly lowered his gaze to look down at his feet. That’s when he noticed the hair. The reddish blond hair floating like seaweed in the murky water.

Chapter Five

Sanna was standing in the middle of an aisle in the Konsum supermarket. During the summer she usually kept the garden centre open as long as possible, but today she hadn’t been able to keep her mind on her customers. For once all the questions about how often geraniums needed to be watered seemed too stupid for words.

She gave herself a shake and looked around. Vendela was supposed to come back from staying with her father today, and Sanna wanted to make sure she had plenty of her favourite foods and snacks on hand. One week her daughter was vegan, the next she would eat only hamburgers, and after that she might be on a diet and merely gnaw on a carrot while Sanna babbled on about how young girls needed to eat or risk succumbing to anorexia. Nothing was permanent, nothing was the way it used to be.

She wondered whether Niklas had the same problems with their daughter. Taking turns having Vendela stay with them every other week had worked out well for many years. But now Vendela seemed to have discovered the leverage she wielded. If she didn’t like the food, she would say it was better at her father’s place, and that he let her hang out with Nils in the evenings. Sometimes Sanna felt utterly exhausted, and she wondered why she’d ever thought the early years of Vendela’s life had been demanding; the teenage years seemed to be ten times worse.

It was as if her daughter had turned into a stranger. Vendela always used to be on at her mother the minute she spotted her sneaking a smoke behind the house, and she’d frequently lectured her about the risk of cancer. But lately Sanna had noticed that Vendela’s clothes reeked of cigarette smoke.

Sanna glanced around at the shelves and finally made up her mind. She’d go for something safe. Tacos. And she bought both ground beef and tofu, just in case this turned out to be a vegan week.

These teenage phases had passed Sanna by; she’d grown up too fast for that. Stella’s death, and all the awful things that followed, had catapulted her straight into adulthood. There had been no opportunity for teen angst, no parents to make her roll her eyes.

She’d met Niklas at the community college. They moved in together when she got her first job. Eventually they had Vendela – and Sanna had to admit the pregnancy had been an accident. The fact their relationship had failed was her fault, not his. Niklas was a good man, but she’d never been able to let him fully into her heart. Loving someone, no matter whether it was a spouse or a daughter, hurt too much. That was something she’d learned early on.

Sanna put tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions in her trolley and headed for the checkout.

‘I suppose you’ve heard the news,’ said Bodil as she began scanning the prices of each item Sanna placed on the conveyor belt.

‘No, what’s going on?’ asked Sanna as she picked up a soda bottle and placed it flat on the belt.

‘You didn’t hear about the little girl?’

‘What little girl?’

Sanna was listening with only half an ear. She was already regretting her decision to buy Coke for Vendela.

‘The one who’s disappeared. From your old farm.’

Bodil couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. Sanna froze, holding the bag of Tex-Mex shredded cheese in her hand.

‘Our farm?’ she said, hearing a rushing sound in her ears.

‘Yes,’ said Bodil, continuing to scan the items without noticing that Sanna had stopped unloading her trolley. ‘A four-year-old girl disappeared from your old farm. My husband went out to join the search party in the woods. I heard lots of people have turned up to help.’

Sanna slowly set the bag of cheese on the belt. Then she headed for the door, leaving her groceries behind. Her purse too. Behind her, she heard Bodil calling her name.

Anna leaned back in her chair and looked at Dan, who was sawing a board in half. Right now, in the worst of the summer heat, he’d decided it was the perfect time to get started on the ‘new deck’ project. They’d been talking about it for three years, but apparently it couldn’t be put off any longer. She guessed his male nesting instincts had come into play. Her own nesting instincts had taken a different form. She’d been going through the clothing in all the wardrobes in the house. The kids had started hiding their favourite clothes, fearing they’d end up among the garments she was planning to give away.

Anna smiled at Dan as he worked in the heat. She realized that for the first time in ages she was actually enjoying life. Her small decorating business wasn’t exactly ready to be launched on the stock market, but she’d won the trust of many of the discriminating summer visitors, and she was now having to turn away customers because she was too busy. And the baby was growing inside her. They’d decided not to find out the gender, so for now they simply called the child ‘baby’. The other children were eagerly involved in trying to come up with a name, but with suggestions like ‘Buzz Lightyear’, ‘RackarAlex’, and ‘Darth Vader’, they hadn’t been much help. And one night a grumpy Dan had quoted Fredde from the TV show Solsidan: ‘We each made a list of suggested names, and then we took the one at the top of Mickan’s.’ All because she’d dissed his suggestion that, if the baby was a boy, they should call him Bruce after Bruce Springsteen. Dan claimed her choice, Philip, made it sound as if the kid was going to be born wearing a navy pea jacket. So that’s how things stood. The birth was only a month away, and they still hadn’t decided on a single name for a boy or a girl.

But it’ll all work out, thought Anna as Dan came over to her. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips. He was sweaty and tasted of salt.

‘So here you sit, relaxing,’ he said, patting her belly.

‘Yup. The kids have all gone out to visit friends,’ she said, taking a sip of her iced coffee.

She’d heard it said pregnant women shouldn’t drink too much coffee, but she needed some sort of treat for herself now that alcohol and unpasteurized cheese were both forbidden.

‘I practically died at lunch today when my sister sat there sipping a big, cold glass of bubbly,’ she moaned. Dan squeezed her shoulder.

He sat down next to her and leaned back with his eyes closed, enjoying the late afternoon sun.

‘Soon, sweetheart,’ he said, stroking her hand.

‘I’m going to bathe in wine after the birth,’ she sighed, as she too closed her eyes.

Then she remembered that pregnancy hormones put her at risk for brown spots. With a muttered curse she opened her eyes and put on her broad-brimmed hat.

‘Shit. I can’t even sunbathe,’ she cursed.

‘What?’ said Dan drowsily, and she realized he was about to fall asleep in the sun.

‘Nothing, sweetheart,’ she said, although she suddenly had an irresistible urge to kick him in the shin, purely for being a man and not having to endure the pains of pregnancy or give up anything.

It was so fucking unfair. As for those women who sighed dreamily about how wonderful it was to be pregnant and what a gift it was to be the one who brought children into the world – well, she’d like to punch them. Hard.

‘People are idiots,’ she muttered.

‘What?’ Dan said again, this time sounding even drowsier.

‘Nothing,’ she said, pulling the brim of her hat down over her eyes.

What was she thinking about before Dan came over and interrupted her? Oh, right. How wonderful life was. And it was. In spite of the pregnancy pains and everything else. She was loved. She was surrounded by family.

She took off the hat and lifted her face to the sun. To hell with brown spots. Life was too short not to enjoy the sun.

Sam wished he could stay here forever. Ever since he was a kid, he’d loved it here. The heat from the rocks. The gurgling of the water. The screech of the seagulls. Out here he could escape from everything. He could close his eyes and let it all slip away.

Jessie was lying next to him. He could feel the warmth of her body. A miracle, that’s what she was. The fact she’d come into his life at this particular moment. Marie Wall’s daughter. What an irony of fate.

‘Do you love your parents?’

Sam opened one eye and squinted at her. She was lying on her front with her chin propped on one hand, staring at him.

‘Why are you asking?’

It was an intimate question. Especially since they’d known each other only a short time.

‘I’ve never met my father,’ she said, looking away.

‘How come?’

Jessie shrugged.

‘I don’t know. I guess my mother didn’t want me to. I’m not sure she even knows who my father is.’

Sam reached out his hand to touch her arm. She didn’t flinch, so he left it there. Her eyes brightened.

‘What about you? Do you have a good relationship with your parents?’

He’d been feeling so safe and calm, but now that disappeared. Yet he understood why she would ask, and he somehow felt he owed her an answer.

‘My father, he’s … well, he’s been in the war. Sometimes he’s gone for months at a time. And sometimes he brings the war home with him.’

Jessie leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

‘Has he ever …’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.’

‘What about your mother?’

Sam closed his eyes, letting the sunlight warm him.

‘She’s okay,’ he said at last.

For a few seconds he thought about what he was refusing to think about, and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. Then he opened his eyes and fumbled in his pocket for the cigarettes he’d brought along. He took out two, lit both of them, and handed one to Jessie.

Calm spread through his body, the buzzing faded from inside his head, and the memories were carried away by the smoke. He leaned forward and kissed Jessie. At first she froze. From fear. From surprise. Then he felt her lips soften and let him in.

‘Oh, how adorable!’

Sam gave a start.

‘Look at the little lovebirds!’

Nils came sauntering down from the rocks with Basse and Vendela in tow. As always. They didn’t seem to be capable of surviving without each other.

‘So who’s this?’ Nils sat down right next to Sam and Jessie, staring at her intently as she pulled up her bikini top. ‘Looks like you’ve found yourself a girlfriend, Sam.’

‘I’m Jessie,’ she told him, holding out her hand, which Nils ignored.

‘Jessie?’ said Vendela behind him. ‘You must be Marie Wall’s daughter.’

‘Aha. The daughter of your mother’s pal. The Hollywood star.’

Nils was now looking at Jessie with interest as she kept on tugging at her bikini top. Sam wanted to protect her from their prying eyes. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her to pay them no mind. Instead he reached for her T-shirt.

‘I guess it’s no surprise that the two of you would find each other,’ said Basse, giving Nils a poke in the side.

His voice was a shrill, feminine falsetto, but no one ever teased him about it for fear of drawing the wrath of Nils. His real name was Bosse, but in middle school he’d got everyone to call him Basse instead, because it sounded cooler.

‘Yeah, I guess it’s not really that strange,’ said Nils, looking from Jessie to Sam.

‘Okay, I’m fucking hungry,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Vendela smiled at Jessie. ‘See you later.’

Sam looked at them in surprise. Was that it?

Jessie leaned towards him.

‘Who were those guys?’ she said. ‘They’re weird. Nice, but weird.’

Sam shook his head.

‘They’re not nice. Not at all.’

He pulled his mobile out of his pocket, opened the photo file, and skimmed through the videos. He knew why he’d saved this particular video. It was a reminder of what people could do to each other. And to him. But he’d never planned to show it to Jessie. Enough people had already seen it.

‘They posted this on Snapchat last summer,’ he said, handing his mobile to Jessie. ‘I managed to film it before it was removed.’

Sam looked away as Jessie clicked on the start button. He didn’t need to watch it. When he heard the voices the whole scene clearly unfolded in his mind.

‘You’re so out of shape!’ Nils had shouted. ‘Wimpy like a girl. Swimming is good exercise.’

Nils had headed for Sam’s boat, which was moored not far from where it was today.

‘You can swim back to Fjällbacka. It’ll build muscles.’

Vendela laughed as she filmed everything with her camera. Basse came running alongside Nils.

Nils tossed the mooring line into the boat, then set his foot on the bow and gave it a push. The small wooden boat began slowly backing away from the island, but it got caught in a current a few metres out, and the distance increased rapidly.

Nils turned towards the camera, grinning broadly.

‘Have a nice swim.’

At that point the video ended.

‘Holy shit,’ said Jessie. ‘Holy shit.’

She looked at Sam with tears in her eyes.

He shrugged.

‘I’ve been through worse.’

Jessie blinked away her tears. He suspected that she too had survived worse experiences. He put his hand on her shoulder and felt how she was shaking. But he could also feel the bond between them. And what united them.

One day he would show her his notebook and share all his thoughts with her. Including his big plan. One day everyone would see.

Jessie wrapped her arms around his neck. She smelled so wonderful, of sun and sweat and marijuana.

It was getting late, but still light, like a memory of the sun that had shone all day from a clear blue sky. Eva looked towards the farmyard where the shadows were beginning to lengthen. Cold fingers seemed to clutch at her heart as she thought about Nea, who always hurried inside before dark fell.

People were coming and going out there. Voices mixed with barking from the dogs as they took turns to search. The ice-cold fingers again clutched at her heart.

The older officer, Gösta, came in the front door.

‘I was thinking of having a cup of coffee, and then I’ll go back out.’

Eva got up to pour him some coffee. She’d made countless pots of coffee over the past few hours.

‘Nothing yet?’ she asked, even though she knew the answer.

If he had any news, he would have told her at once instead of asking for coffee. But there was something comforting and soothing about asking the question.

‘No, but we’ve got a big team out there searching. It feels like all of Fjällbacka has turned out.’

Eva nodded, trying to compose herself before speaking.

‘Yes, everyone has been amazing,’ she said, sinking down on her chair. ‘Peter went out to join the search too. I couldn’t keep him away.’

‘I know.’ Gösta sat down across from her. ‘I saw him in one of the search groups.’

‘What …’ The words stuck in her throat. ‘What do you think happened?’

She didn’t dare look at Gösta. Various scenarios, each one worse than the last, kept running through her mind. Whenever she tried to seize hold of one of them, wanting to understand, the pain was so great she could hardly breathe.

‘There’s no use in speculating,’ said Gösta gently, reaching out to place his hand on hers. His calm concern slowly warmed her.

‘But she’s been missing such a long time now.’

Gösta squeezed her hand.

‘It’s summer and it’s warm outside. She’s not going to freeze. The woods cover a large area, there’s a lot of territory to search, and we simply need a few more hours. I’m sure we’ll find her, and she’ll be scared and upset, but no harm done. Okay?’

‘Except … that’s not what happened to the other little girl.’

Gösta pulled away his hand and took a sip of coffee.

‘That was thirty years ago, Eva. Another lifetime, another era. It’s pure coincidence that you’re living on this farm, and it’s pure coincidence that your daughter is the same age. Four-year-olds get lost. They’re filled with curiosity and, from what I understand, your daughter is a lively little girl with an adventurous streak. Which means it’s probably not so strange that she couldn’t resist venturing into the woods. Obviously it didn’t turn out the way she’d expected, but we’re going to find her. There are so many of us searching.’

He stood up.

‘Thanks for the coffee. I’ll head back out now. We’ll keep searching all night, but it would be a good idea for you to get some sleep.’

Eva shook her head. How could she sleep while Nea was out there in the woods?

‘I didn’t think you’d want to,’ said Gösta, ‘but at least I tried.’

She stared at the door after he closed it behind him. She was alone again. Alone with her thoughts and the cold fingers gripping her heart.