Rites of Spring, Anders Motte [reading diary .TXT] 📗

touches his arm. His body jerks and he raises his head. The confusion is back.

‘Kerstin?’

‘No, it’s me, Thea. Your daughter-in-law.’

Bertil frowns.

‘Daughter-in-law? That can’t be right. David’s only . . .’

He loses the thread. Gets to his feet and gazes around.

‘This is where it happened,’ he murmurs. ‘Poor girl.’

He takes a few steps, trips over something and falls headlong. Thea rushes over to him and helps him up. He’s cut his forehead. She searches her pockets for something to staunch the bleeding, the moves on to his. Finds a white linen handkerchief and helps him to press it against the wound.

‘We need to get back to the car, Bertil. That’s going to need a stitch.’

‘No, no. We’ll go to Kerstin’s . . .’

He points towards the hunting lodge, takes a couple of wobbly steps and almost falls again. Thea catches him just in time.

‘Don’t you think it would be better to go to the car and . . .’

‘No!’ he shouts. ‘We’ll go to Kerstin’s. Dear, dear Kerstin. She’ll help us.’

He sets off again with the handkerchief pressed to his forehead, and Thea realises she’s not going to be able to steer him in any other direction.

She tucks her arm under his and lights the way with the torch.

86

It doesn’t take too long to reach the hunting lodge. Bertil plods along determinedly. He doesn’t say much, just concentrates on keeping the handkerchief in place.

Thea thinks about what he told her. Or rather confirmed.

Hubert murdered Elita, and Leo was sacrificed to save him. To save the reputation of the Gordon family, save the children who’d lied to the police, save Arne’s career, and in the long term the whole community, since it is the Bokelund Foundation’s money that keeps the village alive. All the pieces of the puzzle are in place – or almost all of them.

She still doesn’t know what happened to the Svart family.

Once again she thinks about the beret she found in the kitchen at Svartgården. Had Eva-Britt and Lola somehow discovered what Lasse had done? Realised that he’d planted the cap badge, maybe even come across the blackmail money, or seen him shoeing Bill?

They arrive at the lodge before Thea has completed her train of thought. The grey tabby cat is sitting on the step, staring at them. Thea knocks on the door and Kerstin opens it almost immediately.

‘Dear me, Bertil, did you get lost again?’

Bertil straightens up. ‘No, not tonight. I’ve been talking to Thea. Telling her about the spring sacrifice . . .’

He shakes his head in frustration, as if to clear his mind.

‘He’s had a fall,’ Thea says. ‘Do you have a first aid kit?’

‘Of course. Come into the kitchen and we’ll fix you up, Bertil.’

They settle him on the kitchen sofa, just like last time. The bleeding has slowed.

Kerstin produces a surprisingly well-stocked first aid box, then makes tea while Thea tapes the wound.

‘There you go – that’ll do for now, but it would be best to get it stitched.’ She turns to Kerstin. ‘Can you call Ingrid? We’re not on the best of terms at the moment, after what happened with Jan-Olof.’

Kerstin shakes her head.

‘Poor Jan-Olof. He’s had a difficult time for many years, both with his mother’s health and his own. It was hardly your fault that he got drunk and fell – you saved his life!’

Thea feels a warmth spread through her chest, and it’s not just from the tea. Kerstin glances at Bertil, who seems to have fallen asleep.

‘Ingrid is very black and white. Empathy isn’t her strong point. If you don’t mind my saying so, I think it was a bad decision – throwing you out and giving you the sack just because you’d kept quiet about who your father was. I think a lot of people would have done the same in your situation.’

Thea sighs.

‘I assume all this is on the Tornaby Facebook page? That the whole village knows about my family history?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Thea takes a gulp of her tea. It’s one of Kerstin’s own blends; it’s slightly too bitter, but she can’t bring herself to say so.

‘Do you mind if I use the bathroom?’

‘Go ahead. I’ll give Ingrid a call.’

Thea sinks down on the toilet seat. Her body feels heavy.

She tries to gather her thoughts. Eva-Britt and Lola confront Lasse. They toss the beret on the table in front of him. Then what? No doubt there’s a row. You don’t demand answers from a man like Lasse Svart. Someone gets hurt, bleeds so much that he or she has to have the wound dressed in the bathroom. The print on the wall was made by a man with big hands. Is Lasse the one who’s bleeding?

Thea’s head feels heavy now. She stands up, splashes her face with cold water. Flops down again.

There are some magazines in a basket at her feet; the top one is Bridge. Another bridge player, like Bertil and the chief of police.

Suddenly another piece of the puzzle slots into place.

What was it Kerstin Miller said when Thea asked how she ended up in Tornaby?

Oh, the usual reason when someone moves halfway across the country – love. It didn’t work out . . .

Dear, dear Kerstin – that was how Bertil referred to her. And Ingrid seems to do her best to stay away from the hunting lodge.

Thea returns to the kitchen. Bertil is fast asleep. Kerstin is sitting beside him on the sofa holding his hand. It could be a tender gesture, but Thea now realises it’s much, much more than that.

‘You love him,’ she says. ‘You moved down here because of him, in spite of the fact that he was married.’

Kerstin looks up, nods slowly.

‘We met at the national bridge championship in Stockholm. I watched him win the title, then went and introduced myself afterwards. I told him how much I admired his game. As soon as our eyes met, I knew. He was ten years older than me, and married, but none of that mattered. It was Bertil I wanted to be with. When the post at