Dead of Winter

42

Laura has run out of food, and has to drive over to Vedarp to do some shopping. On the way she tries to recall Ulf Jensen and Iben together, searching for details, hints, things she’d missed that will back up what Tomas wrote in his letter. Admittedly she was only a child at first and then a young woman, but she was already pretty good at reading people. At least that’s what she’d thought, until she found Tomas’s letter.

She remembers that Ulf was always hard on Iben during training sessions, and insisted that she needed to achieve top grades in her academic subjects. He wanted to know exactly where she was going, and almost always came to pick her up in the evenings, even from Gärdsnäset, which was only a short cycle ride from home. What did that prove? Nothing, except that Ulf was committed to his daughter and took good care of her. Laura had actually felt a little envious. Of course, Ulf could have been a completely different person behind the closed doors of Källegården. Was that why Iben never wanted to meet up at home?

She had always seemed a little subdued when she was with her father. So had her half-brothers, come to think of it. But didn’t that apply to most children who had a parent like Ulf Jensen?

And how did Ulf’s grief fit into the picture? Was he a despairing father mourning a beloved daughter, or was there something more behind it? She thought about what Kent Rask had said – that Iben’s death had given Ulf the chance to put her on a pedestal, that she would remain young and pure forever.

The thought is so unpleasant that a shiver runs down Laura’s spine, in spite of the warmth inside the car.

There is another explanation, of course. Tomas could simply have been suffering from delusion. After all, the poor guy had spent most of his life in various institutions. Or – if you preferred a conspiracy theory – the whole thing was a deliberate lie, a kind of counter-attack on the Jensen family who, according to Tomas’s father, were still after him.

However, that doesn’t explain the anonymous caller who contacted the police two days before Iben’s death.

So what was the truth? Maybe that was what Hedda had been trying to establish.

Laura parks behind the supermarket, pulls her hat well down over her forehead and goes in. She nods and smiles politely as she passes a couple in their sixties who, judging by their red shirts, seem to be running the place. She feels their eyes on her for some time, and she hears them whispering behind her back.

When she’s halfway round she realises she should have used a trolley instead of a basket, but she manages to make it to the checkout.

Two of the tills are open, and she joins the shortest queue. When it’s Laura’s turn, the woman she encountered on the way in places a sign on the conveyor belt: CHECKOUT CLOSED.

Laura looks around. There’s no one behind her, but in the other queue there are two pensioners, trolleys piled high.

‘Can’t you just put me through?’ she asks.

‘No, sorry. You’ll have to go over to the other side.’

The woman demonstratively slams the till shut, then turns her back on Laura with a sniff.

Laura is so taken aback that she can’t think of anything to say. Instead, she obediently moves across to the other queue. When it’s her turn, the man on the till glares at her.

‘Is that it?’ he snaps when he’s scanned her goods.

‘Yes.’

Laura enters her pin number, and the man presses a key. The card reader beeps angrily.

TRANSACTION FAILED, the display states.

‘Try again!’

She repeats the procedure, with the same result.

‘You’ll have to try again.’

This time she presses the buttons more slowly, watching the man’s movements. He hits the key before she’s even entered the fourth digit. The angry beep is repeated.

‘You don’t have another card?’ His tone is overtly unpleasant.

‘No, but you could try leaving the keys alone until I’m done,’ Laura replies as calmly as possible.

He gives her a filthy look. ‘Try again.’

This time it works.

She packs her purchases into a paper bag. A short distance away the woman is chatting to a couple of other customers. Laura can’t hear what they’re saying, but once again she feels their eyes on the back of her neck as she leaves the store.

When she reaches her car, she understands what’s going on.

Sell up and fuck off! someone has scratched into the driver’s door.

She puts down the bag and leans closer. The scratches are so deep that in some places she can see the exposed metal. A key, probably. Someone who wanted to cause trouble and frighten her. Unfortunately, they’ve succeeded on both counts.

She straightens up and looks around. There are only a few lights in the car park, and several vehicles nearby that would have hidden the perpetrator from view. She catches a movement in her peripheral vision and turns to see a small figure in a thick padded jacket coming towards her.

‘Hi!’

It’s Elsa, with her hands pushed deep in her pockets. She’s wearing a cap with earflaps that covers half her face.

‘Hi,’ Laura says, staring at her damaged car once more. Elsa joins her.

‘Fuck! Did you see who did it?’

‘No – I was in the shop, but I could tell there was something going on.’

Elsa nods.

‘It’s the fires. Everyone’s heard that you were taken in for questioning. There are all kinds of rumours flying around. Frightened people do stupid things.’

Laura looks at her.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I heard my dad say it on the phone.’

‘Who was he talking to?’

‘No idea.’

They stand in silence for a few seconds.

‘He likes you.’

‘Who?’ It’s a ridiculous question, but the word is out of her mouth before Laura can stop it.

‘My dad, of course.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘His face kind of lights up when he talks about you.’

‘Does it?’

So Peter talks about her.

‘He was in love with you when you were young, wasn’t he?’

‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

Elsa shakes her head.

‘No point. Like I said, he never talks about the old days. I’ve asked him about the fire and Iben Jensen loads of times, but he always changes the subject.’

‘And Tomas Rask?’

‘Same there, but I’ve checked his phone. It’s not exactly difficult. He used to use Mum’s birthday as the code, but now he’s changed it to mine.’

Elsa pauses deliberately, well aware that Laura is keen to hear what she has to say.

Laura gives in. ‘And?’

‘Dad and Tomas have called each other at least ten times over the past few days. The last time was yesterday evening.’

Laura drives Elsa home. She and Peter live in a large, slightly ostentatious two-storey property with a view over the lake. Bright lights illuminate both house and garden. Combined with the tall wrought-iron fence, the place looks more like an ambassador’s residence than a family home.

‘Nice,’ Laura says.

‘It’s Mum’s really. Her father bought it for her when she and Dad got married. I think we ought to move, but Dad doesn’t want to. This is my mum’s style, not mine and Dad’s, if you know what I mean.’

Laura nods.

‘Do you want to come in?’

‘Another time, thanks.’

During the drive back to Gärdsnäset, Laura goes over what she’s just learned.

Peter didn’t tell Sandberg that he was in touch with Tomas. But why so many calls, and why now?

The answer comes to her as she turns off the main road. Tomas is in the area, and Peter knows where.

She sees a glint of metal up ahead, and as she approaches her usual parking spot, she is surprised to discover another vehicle there. A white pickup truck with the words JENSEN & SONS CONSTRUCTION LTD on one side.

She stays in the car with the engine running, headlights fixed on the pickup. The driver gets out and raises his hand in a friendly wave. Christian Jensen. To her relief he appears to be alone. She lowers the side window.

‘I was just about to leave when I saw your lights,’ he says. ‘Have you got time for a quick chat?’

He points to the house and Laura tries to remember if she turned Hedda’s noticeboard around before she left. She can’t let Christian see it.

‘The place looks like a bomb site,’ she says apologetically. ‘We can talk here.’

Christian seems surprised, but he walks around the car and gets into the passenger seat.

‘Terrible business with the fire,’ Laura says, mainly because he’s probably expecting her to comment.

‘Yes . . .’ He clears his throat. ‘Obviously we’re not accusing you of anything, Laura. I want you to know that.’

‘OK.’

The scratches on her car door suggest that someone else has a different view.

‘But that’s not why I’m here.’ Christian shuffles in his seat. ‘You remember what we talked about the other day? The debts, the risk that we could lose Källegården.’

She nods.

‘There was one thing I didn’t tell you.’

‘Oh?’

‘Dad has cancer. The prognosis isn’t good.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

Christian nods slowly. ‘That’s another reason why we need the construction contract for Gärdsnäset. Dad’s dreamed of building a new sports facility for thirty years. We want to give him that opportunity, as a final victory. We might even name it after Iben.’

He pauses, clears his throat again. Laura doesn’t know what to say. Tomas’s words are echoing in her head.

‘Anyway,’ Christian goes on. ‘I heard you’d spoken to Kjell Green from the council. Their bid is four hundred thousand less than Vintersjöholm’s.’

He is stating a fact, not asking a question.

‘Hedda told us that back in the autumn,’ he adds when he sees Laura’s raised eyebrows. ‘So Fredrik and I made her an offer. We’ve tucked away a certain amount of money over the years – Christmas trees, wood, various bits and pieces. We can’t use it to pay off the loan – the bank would ask too many questions, plus it’s nowhere near enough. But . . . two hundred thousand in cash is the equivalent of over three hundred thousand through what you might call official channels. That makes the two bids almost the same. Maybe that will help you to decide?’

He smiles, but he still looks uncomfortable.

‘And that’s the offer you made Hedda?’

He nods.

‘What did she say?’

‘Hedda was no stranger to forest business.’

‘So what happened? Why didn’t she sign on the dotted line?’

‘I don’t know. Everybody thought the matter was settled, but suddenly Hedda started putting it off. And then . . .’

‘And then she died.’

Laura can’t help thinking about Tomas’s letter again. She has to try to broach the subject.

‘Your father . . .’ she begins. ‘He and Iben were very close.’

‘Very.’

Laura doesn’t quite know how to continue.

‘Too close?’ she says eventually.

Christian frowns. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I heard a rumour. There was an anonymous call . . .’

She expects anger, but Christian just looks weary.

‘That fucking phone call has haunted us for thirty years. We first heard about it a few days after the fire. The chief of police and my dad were good friends, so he promised to see that the information about the call never came out, but knowing it existed was enough, somehow. The thought that someone could make up something so terrible about our family.’ He sighs. ‘Dad could be very hard, and God knows he demanded a lot from us, but he did it with the best of intentions. He had the same attitude as a sports coach. That was why we won everything that was going. Do you know that Vedarp athletics club has had five competitors at national level because of him? Five – from a village with a population of four thousand. People came from all over north-western Skåne to train with Ulf Jensen.’

He pauses, shakes his head.

‘There were those who didn’t understand his methods, mainly parents whose kids couldn’t take the pressure. A lot of crap has been talked about my father over the years, but whoever made that anonymous call takes the biscuit.’

He turns to face her.

‘The four of us were a close family, maybe closer than a lot of others because we didn’t have a mother. The idea that my father would have done something to my sister is just ridiculous. And besides . . .’ He looks her in the eye. ‘You and Iben were best friends. Did she ever say anything to you? Did she ever even hint that things weren’t OK at home?’

‘No.’

‘There you go. The person who made that call was an evil fucker with a sick mind, but because Iben died, his allegation remains unchallenged.’

Christian glances at his watch.

‘Sorry – it’s getting late and I promised to be home for dinner. Think about our offer and give me a call. Here’s my mobile number.’

He places a business card on the dashboard and gets out of the car, then changes his mind and sticks his head back in.

‘One more thing.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t mention that phone call to Fredrik. He goes crazy whenever it comes up, and as you might recall, he isn’t quite as cool-headed as you and I are.’

Laura watches him drive away.

. . . his allegation remains unchallenged.

According to Peter, the officer who took the call hadn’t been able to tell whether it was a man or a woman. It could have been a slip of the tongue on Christian’s part, but the more Laura thinks about it, the more likely it seems that Christian knew who he was talking about – or at least had his suspicions. She thinks back to the conversation with Fredrik at Källegården, how he’d asked about Jack, told her the story of the break-in, the missing money and jewellery. What if there were more reasons for the Jensens to hate Jack?

That would also explain why Jack has stayed away for all these years, why he didn’t even dare to show up at Hedda’s funeral.

On a sudden impulse she takes her torch out of the glove compartment, gets out of the car and follows the path along the shoreline. Long before she reaches the iron cross, she sees a little dot of light among the trees. The flickering flame of a grave lantern.