76 Walpurgis Night 1986

Arne tried to drive as steadily as he could. As if it was the most normal thing in the world to arrive at Ingrid and Bertil’s house in a filthy patrol car in the middle of the night.

He knew where the spare key to the double garage was. He killed the headlights before he drove in. Their car was already there, the engine still ticking faintly, which meant they’d just got home.

He closed the doors from the inside, then went into the garden via the back way.

Just as he’d expected, the kids were in the bar. The lights were on and he could hear agitated voices, see several people moving around.

As he began to cut across the lawn, he heard a noise. He turned around, saw a dark figure and jumped, but it was only the Leanders’ timid boy, presumably heading for the bar too.

When the boy saw him, he stopped dead. Arne could understand why; he must look like shit, with his uniform covered in dirt and mud.

‘It’s OK, Leander – it’s me, Arne Backe. We’re going to the same place. Why aren’t you there already?’

The boy, whose name Arne couldn’t remember, looked confused. Arne wasn’t surprised; he wasn’t the brightest kid in the village.

‘Why are you late? The others are already here.’

‘I . . . I got lost,’ the boy stammered. ‘I was a bit behind the rest of them.’

Jan-Olof, that was his name.

Arne gestured towards the bar. ‘In you go. Let’s get this mess sorted out.’

He followed Jan-Olof indoors. The resolve that had come over him after seeing that fucking horse was still there, and it grew stronger when he saw the pale faces of the three children. Bertil and Ingrid were standing opposite them, still in their fancy clothes from the party. Worried, anxious.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ Bertil said.

Arne waved a dismissive hand. ‘Later. Elita Svart is dead.’

The three faces, four including Jan-Olof’s, became even whiter. The children looked like little ghosts.

‘Dead?’ Ingrid snapped, her tone making it clear that she didn’t believe him.

‘She’s lying in the middle of the stone circle with her skull smashed in. The kids were there, playing some kind of game – a spring sacrifice ritual. Then a horse came galloping into the glade, its rider dressed as the Green Man. The kids ran away and the rider killed Elita.’

The colour drained from Ingrid’s face and she clutched Bertil’s arm. Even Bertil, who was always so self-possessed, looked shocked.

Arne cleared his throat, tucked his thumbs into his belt and rocked back and forth on his heels.

‘But I know who did it,’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘Who scared the kids and killed Elita. And I know how to get him. Provided we all work together.’

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