Dead of Winter

62

Gärdsnäset is silent and peaceful once more. All that remains of last night’s drama is a series of tyre tracks criss-crossing the yard. The temperature has risen, making the mist thicken over the lake and hiding the black eye in the middle.

It is beginning to grow light, and some of the crows who are early risers greet her with raucous cries.

She unlocks the door, switches on the lights and is met by the familiar smell of dust, dirt and loneliness. She almost calls out to George, but stops herself at the last minute. The George dynasty at Gärdsnäset is over. The thought makes her sad.

She makes tea and sits down at the kitchen table, trying to process the events of last night and this morning.

It’s obvious that Peter is just as much of a mess as she is. He deals with his grief by methodically recreating key moments from his life. The car crash and the dance hall were already finished, but he was still working on the ship. A happier project than the others. Does that mean anything? She hopes so, for Peter’s sake. And Elsa’s.

She decides to call him from Hedda’s phone to apologise once again for overstepping the mark, but when she picks up the receiver, there is no dial tone. Presumably the phone bill was in one of the envelopes Hedda decided to ignore. Or maybe all the dust she and Elsa have churned up has made the old phone breathe its last.

Mobile coverage is as patchy as ever, so she makes do with a text. Sits and stares at the screen while her phone slowly sends the message.

So what now? Is she going to sell to the castle? Let Pontus and Erica turn the lake into a playground for their rich friends? Or trust the council to keep their lukewarm promise not to employ Ulf Jensen and his sons?

She takes a sip of her tea, contemplates Hedda’s noticeboard. Her aunt struggled with exactly the same dilemma; that was why she set everything out in one place. To give her an overview.

The contracts, the letter from Tomas, the notes someone destroyed. The black feather from a cygne noir, which Laura has put back in its place at the top of the board. It must have symbolised Iben’s secret, the unbelievable, terrible thing that had gone on right in front of them. Ulf Jensen had abused his daughter for years without anyone noticing. And since then he has played the grieving father for thirty years; he even persuaded the council to rename the school in honour of his victim.

The thought enrages her. She can’t sell to the council, can’t risk helping Ulf Jensen in any way. At the same time, selling to the castle doesn’t feel right either.

And several mysteries still remain.

It seems likely that Tomas was behind the fires. He didn’t exactly lack motive: he loathed his father, he loved Iben, and he knew what Ulf had done to her. Maybe he was the one who’d killed those sheep over at Alkärret all those years ago, a silent way of hitting back. But why would he try to frame her for the fires?

Tomas wasn’t a planner; he did as he was told.

So who was the nymph who had persuaded Tomas to start fires wherever Laura had been?

Who planted the petrol can and the insulating material in the boathouse?

Who killed George?

And what about Hedda’s death? Was it because of the Jensen family’s secrets that she died out there in the cold water, or was there another reason? One that Laura hadn’t yet worked out?

Who is behind the von Thurns’ bid for Gärdsnäset, since they clearly don’t have the funds themselves?

There are several people in the area who have money and a possible interest – Johnny Miller, for example. But why hide behind Vintersjöholm Development?

Laura sits down and tips out Hedda’s old photographs on the coffee table in front of her. For want of a better idea, she decides to sort them into piles.

Hedda and Johnny Miller, along with pictures of their love child Jack Olsson, who wasn’t Prince Charming but was in fact her cousin.

Another pile for pictures of herself and Hedda, a third for the Goonies gang.

She finds two photos stuck together, and carefully separates them. Jack and Milla by his car – standing at little too close to each other? They both left the area at about the same time, and they are both listed as no longer resident in Sweden.

And yet it has never occurred to her that they might have gone away together. Not until now.

The realisation makes her go cold all over. She replays all the memories she can dredge up of Jack and Milla – gestures, tone of voice, words. One memory grows clearer and clearer. She is sitting by her window, watching a female figure among the trees. A figure who ran from Jack’s apartment towards cabin number six.

Can it be true? Did Jack and Milla fool them all? She doesn’t want to believe it.

But if it’s true, what does that mean?

She stares at the photograph. She hasn’t seen Milla’s face for thirty years. It looks the same as she remembers it – but somehow it doesn’t. She screws up her eyes, tries to imagine that face thirty years older. After cosmetic surgery, maybe.

She hears the sound of a car engine and glances out of the window to see Ulf Jensen’s white pickup truck pull up in the yard, accompanied by the crows’ cacophony of warning cries.

She considers locking the door, but all the lights are on and her car is parked outside. Instead, she picks up her phone and sends a quick text to Peter and Steph.

Am at Gärdsnäset. Jensens are here, please come!

She presses send, watches the little symbol slowly move sideways, then slips the phone into her pocket. She looks out of the window again; Fredrik has Christian with him, which makes her feel a little better.

She definitely doesn’t want them in the house, so she puts on her jacket and meets them on the porch.

‘Hi, Laura,’ Christian says. ‘We heard what happened last night and we just wanted to check that everything is OK out here.’

‘Everything’s fine, thank you.’

She stays where she is, making it clear that she’s not inviting the brothers in. The crows are still making an enormous racket, flapping their wings and hurling themselves out of the trees on short forays.

‘So Tomas Rask really was back in the area,’ Christian goes on.

‘Yes.’

‘The fucker got what he deserved at last,’ Fredrik says with a scornful smile. ‘It’s high time he paid for what he did to Iben.’

‘You mean as opposed to what your father did to her?’

Laura regrets the comment immediately, but it’s too late. Fredrik leaps up the steps and grabs her.

‘What the fuck are you talking about, you little bitch?’

His strong fingers dig into her upper arm.

‘Fredrik,’ Christian says warningly, but he does nothing to stop his brother. Fredrik pushes his face close to hers. The crows crank up the volume.

‘Say that again,’ he hisses, emitting a fine spray of saliva. ‘Say that again if you dare!’

Laura tries to remain calm, but it’s impossible not to be afraid. Fredrik is built like a bull, a vein is throbbing at his temple and his teeth are bared as if he’s about to bite her.

‘We’ve brought some papers with us – and a big bag of cash that will be yours as soon as you sign on the dotted line, like a good girl.’

‘And if I refuse?’ She makes a huge effort to sound confident.

Fredrik grins, exchanges a glance with his brother.

‘What Fredrik is trying to explain is that we’d very much like you to sign,’ Christian says, joining his brother on the porch. ‘I’ve already told you what a difficult position we’re in, and to be perfectly honest, it’s the least you can do. Fredrik recognised your voice. It was you who phoned Källegården that night, you who set the wheels in motion. If it hadn’t been for you, Iben might still be alive today.’

Laura has thought the same thing a thousand times, but still his words hit her like a punch to the stomach.

‘I . . .’ she begins, but she can’t look either of them in the eye.

Christian produces a rolled-up document from his inside pocket.

‘So how about we go inside and get this sorted once and for all, little Laura? In a nice, friendly way. After all, Hedda promised to sell to us back in the autumn, before that bitch from the castle turned up and put ideas in her head.’

He moves behind her, opens the door wide with a welcoming gesture.

‘By the way,’ he adds, ‘didn’t you used to have a cat? Fredrik said he’d seen you making a fuss of it. You seemed very fond of the poor little thing.’

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Fredrik grinning broadly.

Suddenly, she is incandescent with rage, and that rage gives her courage.

‘You know what, Christian? You can take your fucking papers and shove them up your arse. Or even better, shove them up your incestuous paedophile of a father’s arse. You and Freddie here must have made a hell of an effort not to see what he was doing to your sister. Or maybe he had a go at you too? Is that why you’re still so scared of him? Slinking along by the walls like terrified—’

The blow comes so fast that she doesn’t have time to defend herself. Christian punches her in the face so hard that her head jerks back; there is a loud, whining sound in her ears, mingled with the warning cries of the crows and the sound of black flapping wings as they take off from the treetops.

‘Fucking bitch,’ Christian hisses, raising his hand again. ‘Hold onto her, Fredrik. It’s time she got what she deserves . . .’

Fredrik locks her arms from behind. Laura tries to break free, but she has no chance. She aims a kick at Christian’s crotch, but there is no strength in it. She closes her eyes, waits for the next blow.

Instead, a car comes racing into the yard, stopping Christian in his tracks. Laura hopes it’s Peter, but instead the vehicle has the Vintersjöholm logo on the side. It screeches to a halt, the door flies open. Steph gets out and runs towards them. She is wearing a cap with earflaps, pulled well down over her forehead, and for some reason she is also wearing sunglasses. Her hands are pushed deep into the pockets of her oversized jacket. Fredrik alters his grip, but keeps hold of one of Laura’s upper arms.

‘Two big boys and one little girl,’ Steph says acidly. ‘Are you sure you can manage?’

‘Stay out of this,’ Fredrik snaps. ‘We’re just having a chat, aren’t we, Laura?’

He squeezes her arm and she winces with the pain.

‘They want me to sign the contract selling Gärdsnäset to the council,’ she groans, still trying to twist free.

‘Do they indeed,’ Steph says, stopping at the bottom of the steps. She still has her hands in her pockets, as if she’s out for a brisk walk in the forest. She turns her head towards Fredrik, then Christian.

‘Didn’t your daddy tell you that men don’t hit girls?’ she says quietly. ‘Oh no, sorry. Your daddy abused them instead. By the way, was it all girls, or just the ones he was related to?’

Christian slowly moves down the steps.

‘Get back in your fucking car and disappear,’ he says.

Steph doesn’t move a muscle.

Christian reaches out to grab her jacket. Steph takes one hand out of her pocket and pushes it into Christian’s chest. There is a loud crack, like a whiplash but followed by an electrical reverberation. Christian drops to the ground as if he’s been felled by a hammer, lies in the slush with his arms and legs twitching uncontrollably.

Steph holds up an object that resembles an electric shaver with two prongs at one end. She presses a button, producing another crack and making a blue flame shoot out between the prongs.

‘Let go of my friend,’ she says quietly.

Fredrik doesn’t react. His mouth is hanging open as if he can’t work out what the hell is going on.

Steph crouches down, pushes the taser into Christian’s crotch and fires again. He rolls up into a trembling ball.

‘Didn’t you hear me? Or would you like me to lobotomise your brother?’

She holds the taser an inch or two from Christian’s temple.

Laura feels the grip on her arm loosen. She takes a couple of steps away from Fredrik, who remains standing there with his hands dangling by his sides, a confused expression on his face.

‘Pick him up and fuck off,’ Steph says. Her voice has a sharpness that Laura has never heard before.

Fredrik does as he’s told. With some difficulty he manages to get his brother on his feet and drags him over to the truck. Christian can barely stand. He whimpers faintly as Fredrik bundles him into the passenger seat.

Fredrik starts the car and spins it around, revving the engine. Gives them the finger as he skids away along the slushy track with a screech of tyres.

Steph puts the taser back in her pocket.

‘There you go,’ she says. ‘Now, how about a cup of coffee? Or preferably something stronger, if your aunt has anything along those lines tucked away.’