Dead of Winter

54

Laura is woken by her phone. Someone has put it on charge on the desk, and obviously switched it from silent. She might have done it herself last night; she can’t be sure.

‘Hi, it’s Peter. Thanks for last night.’

‘No, thank you.’

She’s not sure how to go on. Her head is still woolly.

‘Have you got time to come down to the council offices?’

‘When?’ She looks at her watch. Ten thirty.

‘About two o’clock? I think we might have a solution to your dilemma over the sale of Gärdsnäset.’

She hesitates, tries to replay the previous day’s events in her mind, but without much success.

‘OK. See you later.’

Vintersjöholm’s pool house is a separate building four minutes’ walk from the castle itself.

It looks brand new, but there is no lock on the main door, tiles are still stacked in one corner, and several wall lights are missing. Just like the rest of the castle, Laura has the feeling that nothing is quite finished, and yet there is no sign of any workmen.

There is one changing room. Unlike her own specially made swimsuit, the one she’s borrowed doesn’t cover the scar on her back, but then she’s not expecting company.

She slides down into the water, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness for a few seconds before she begins to swim. As always, swimming slows her thoughts to the point where she can pin them down, sort and categorise them.

What actually happened in the library last night? Was it just the wine and exhaustion taking their toll, making her see things that weren’t there? If so, did it start in the car during her conversation with Heinz Norell? And why has she promised to meet Peter to discuss Gärdsnäset?

Is this really about Elsa? Is it because she sees herself in the girl, and can’t bear to disappoint her?

She covers fifty lengths of the pool without coming up with any answers. Only when she gets out of the water does she notice the discreet CCTV camera up in one corner. She drapes her towel around her shoulders and instinctively turns away as she heads for the changing room.

Steph, Pontus and Erica have gone to a meeting, but the woman who serves Laura’s lunch hands over an envelope. It contains a car key and a note from Steph.

Go and buy a dress – we’re going to a party tomorrow night. No trouser suits allowed!

The council offices in Vedarp are housed in a building from the late Sixties that resembles a shoebox. Yellow brick, white metal trim, Advent candle bridges in every other window.

She gives her name at reception, and after five minutes Peter appears with the little man who came to visit her on the day of Hedda’s funeral.

‘Kjell Green,’ he introduces himself, as if he doesn’t expect anyone to remember his name.

They go into a small meeting room and Green makes a point of closing the door. He offers coffee and water, but both Laura and Peter refuse. In spite of the events at the end of yesterday evening, she realises she’s pleased to see Peter again.

‘So,’ Green begins tentatively. ‘As I understand it there are certain’ – he glances at Peter – ‘reservations with regard to our choice of construction company in the proposed Gärdsnäset development. Am I correct?’

Peter nods before Laura has time to speak.

‘As the council doesn’t yet own the land, no agreement is in place,’ Green continues. ‘No promises have been made, no guarantees offered—’

‘Laura wants to be certain that you won’t give the contract to Ulf Jensen,’ Peter interrupts.

‘Yes, you mentioned that.’ Green looks troubled. ‘As I said before, this is an important project for the future of our community, and of course we’re ready to discuss any—’

‘No discussion,’ Laura says. ‘I want the council to guarantee that the contract won’t go to Ulf Jensen or either of his sons. If you can do that, then we have a deal.’

Green shuffles uncomfortably.

‘It’s not that simple. This type of project is governed by the law on public procurement. We have to go with the bid that gives the taxpayers the best value for their money.’

He clears his throat, leans towards Laura while giving Peter a nervous sideways glance.

‘So we can’t put anything in writing, if you take my meaning. That would involve breaking the law.’

‘But off the record, the council is in agreement?’ Peter says.

Green hesitates, then gives a brief nod.

‘So you expect me to sell and trust you to keep your word?’ Laura says.

It’s Peter, not Green, who answers.

‘It’s in no one’s interest to con you, Laura. We all want something good to come from Gärdsnäset, and I can assure you I’ll be watching the council like a hawk.’

They leave together.

‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ Laura points to the espresso bar where Wohlin’s once stood.

‘I’m afraid not – I have to work. Sandberg is hassling me about the fires.’

She feels disappointed. ‘Anything new on Tomas?’

Peter shakes his head.

‘He’s done this before, taken off and stayed away. One summer he went camping in Norway, didn’t get in touch for months. Our visit stirred up a lot of stuff.’

Laura looks around at the snow and slush. It’s not exactly camping weather, but she decides to drop the subject.

‘How’s Elsa?’

‘What can I say? She’s a teenager . . . But she’ll be pleased that you’re selling to the council.’

‘I haven’t made up my mind yet.’

‘You soon will, though?’

‘I will.’ As he turns away she adds on an impulse: ‘There’s a Lucia party at the castle tomorrow.’

She notices that he dislikes the word as much as she does, and quickly goes on: ‘I wondered if you’d like to come with me?’

The anxious expression is replaced by a smile.

‘I’d love to.’

She says goodbye to Peter and considers following Steph’s instructions and going to look for some kind of party dress. She needs a cup of tea first, so she goes into the espresso bar, navigates her way through the range of teas advertised – easily resists the unappetising cakes on offer – and sits down at what used to be her favourite table in the window.

While she’s waiting for her tea to cool down she looks around, searching for traces of Wohlin’s, but there is nothing left.

She drinks slowly, tries to gather her thoughts.

She still has no proof whatsoever that Hedda’s death was anything other than an accident. As far as the noticeboard is concerned, she has at least managed to find out what Iben’s terrible secret was. She’s also pretty sure, in spite of Peter’s reservations, that it was Tomas who started the fires at both Ensligheten and Källegården. The fact that he set fire to his own hideaway reinforces her suspicions.

So what’s left?

She still doesn’t know who the mysterious smoker watching Hedda’s house is, nor who planted the petrol can and the insulating material in Jack’s old apartment.

And then of course there’s the big question: who asked Tomas to start the fire in the dance hall? Who did he mean when he wrote ‘we’ in his letter?

Was it Milla – still the most logical answer – or could it have been one of Iben’s brothers?

Laura is so absorbed in the puzzle that she doesn’t notice someone come into the café. She doesn’t look up until that person is standing right next to her table. She inhales sharply as she meets Ulf Jensen’s gaze.

‘So, little Laura. I hear you’ve been out and about. Talked to the council, laid down certain conditions.’

He pulls out a chair and sits down opposite her.

‘I thought we were good friends, you and I,’ he goes on. ‘I almost regarded you as a daughter. And then you go behind my back with Peter Larsson, that little cuckold who couldn’t even keep his own wife in order.’

His false teeth look like gravestones in his face. The smile infuriates her. So do his words.

‘And what about you?’ she says. ‘Could you keep Sofia in order? Because I heard that she set fire to the farm because she didn’t want to live with you.’

The comment has a greater effect than she’d expected. Ulf’s expression darkens, his jaw tightens – but he doesn’t take the bait.

‘Do you really believe,’ he says after a few seconds, ‘that the council would use another contractor? After all I’ve done for this community? All the medals, all the newspaper articles. Not to mention all the terraces and conservatories the boys have built, all the kitchens and bathrooms we’ve renovated.’ He lets out a bark of laughter. ‘There isn’t a single councillor who hasn’t slipped me an envelope stuffed with cash for a job done. They owe me, all of them. So do you, Laura!’

He clenches his fist, then points a gnarled index finger at her.

‘You and the others cost my little Iben her life. The least you can do is help me to save the farm where she grew up.’

‘You mean the farm where you abused her?’

The words just come out, without passing through her brain.

Ulf’s lips are white. He clenches both fists, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to attack her.

‘I loved Iben,’ he hisses when he’s regained the power of speech. ‘I loved her more than life itself, and I won’t let anyone say anything different – do you hear me?’

Saliva sprays across the table.

Laura calmly picks up her phone, searches for the sound file Lelle gave her. She is looking forward to throwing Iben’s words in his lying, hypocritical fucking face. But she can’t find it. It takes her a little while to work out why.

The file is gone.

Ulf slowly gets to his feet, looking a little more self-assured.

‘Now be a good girl and sign that contract with the council,’ he says, making an effort to remain calm. ‘As I said, it’s the least you can do for me and our little Iben. And do it soon, before something bad happens.’