The Fire Witness

162

Torkel nods toward the papers on the table in front of them.

“The dead girl was named Ylva. She was the daughter of a farm foreman working on the Rånne estate. When I arrived on the scene, they’d already moved her onto a sheet. They told me she’d fallen from the bell tower…”

The old policeman leans back against his chair and the wood creaks. A heavy fly buzzes against the windowpane.

“They said there was blood on the railing under the roof. They pointed and I looked, and I noticed that something wasn’t right.”

“Why did you end the preliminary investigation?”

“There were no witnesses. I had nothing. I questioned everyone but got nowhere. I was told not to disturb the folks at the Rånnes’ manor anymore. They gave the girl’s father leave from work and… it was… I have a picture that Janne took. He worked for Arbetarbladet and we used him as a crime scene photographer.”

The old policeman shows them a black-and-white photograph. A little girl is lying on a sheet on the lawn. Her hair is spread out. At the side of her head, there’s a pool of blood looking just like the one on Miranda’s bed. The same place.

The bloodstain looks like a heart.

The little girl’s face is soft and her cheeks are round. Her mouth is closed, which makes her appear as if she’s asleep.

Flora stares at the picture with her hand on her hair and her face loses all color.

“I didn’t see anything,” she moans, and then she begins to weep.

Joona moves the photograph away. He tries to calm Flora, and after a few moments she gets up and takes the photograph from Torkel. She dries her tears and stares at it, bracing herself against the sink. She doesn’t notice when she knocks an empty beer bottle into the soapy water.

“We were playing a game called shut-your-eyes,” she says at last.

“So you were covering your eyes?”

“Yes, we were supposed to cover our eyes with our hands.”

“But you looked, didn’t you?” Joona asks. “You saw who hit the little girl with the rock.”

“No, I had my hands over my eyes.”

“Who hit her?”

“What did you see?” asks Torkel.

“Little Ylva. She was happy… She covered her eyes with her hands, then he hit her.”

“Who hit her?” Joona asks.

“My brother.”

“You don’t have a brother,” Joona says.

Torkel shakes so much his coffee cup rattles in its saucer.

“So it was the boy,” he mutters. “Could it have been the boy?”

“Which boy?” asks Joona.

Flora’s face is completely white. Tears run freely down her face. The old policeman gets up from his chair with difficulty and rips a paper towel from the roll on the counter. Flora is shaking her head, but Joona sees that her mouth is moving slightly.

“What did you see?” asks Joona. “Flora?”

Torkel reaches her and hands her the towel. He says carefully, “Are you little Flora? The silent little sister?”