Rites of Spring

Epilogue

The log cabin lies deep in the forest. The private detective drops her off at the end of the drive.

‘I’ll wait here,’ he says. ‘Good luck.’

Thea picks up her bag and sets off towards the house. It is warm. The trees are dark green, the air is still. There is a boat on a trailer on the drive, and a rack of fishing rods on the veranda.

Two girls aged four or five are playing on the lawn.

‘Hi!’ one of them says. ‘What do you want?’ She has black hair, dark eyes and confident expression.

‘I’m looking for John Swanson,’ Thea says.

‘He’s my granddad!’

The front door opens and a tall man steps out. His beard and hair are peppered with grey, he has a slight stoop, and he’s wearing jeans and a checked flannel shirt.

‘Can I help you?’ he asks in almost perfect English.

‘I’m looking for Leo Rasmussen,’ Thea says in Swedish. She sees him recoil, as if the name opens doors in his head that he would prefer to keep closed.

‘I’m Thea Lind,’ she adds quickly. ‘I’m here to tell you what really happened on Walpurgis Night in 1986.’

The man stares at her, and for a few seconds she is convinced that he’s going to tell her to leave. But then he gestures towards the veranda.

‘Take a seat,’ he replies in Swedish. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

She sits down in a wicker armchair and he disappears into the house. He returns with two bottles of mineral water and sits down beside her.

Thea takes a deep breath, then tells him everything from beginning to end. He listens in silence.

‘Here.’

She passes him her iPad, shows him a series of newspaper headlines from last spring. Pictures of the pick-up and the Ford being recovered from the canal. Of Leo and Elita when they were young. Of the Polaroid.

He scrolls through the images, still saying nothing. He lingers for a while on Elita’s self-portrait. Touches her face with his index finger before moving on.

‘Thank you,’ he says when he’s finished. ‘Thank you for telling me all this.’

His eyes are shining with unshed tears, and it might be an illusion, but she thinks his back is suddenly a little straighter, as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

She stays for a while and answers his questions, then gets up to say goodbye. She gives him a card with her phone number, then leaves him in peace with his thoughts.

On the way back to the car, the little dark-haired girl catches up with her. Takes her hand.

‘What’s your name?’ the child asks.

‘Thea. What’s yours?’

‘Elita.’

‘What a lovely name,’ Thea says.

For a brief moment she almost feels happy.