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

Her knees are trembling, she tenses her thighs as much as she can to stop them. She thinks about what Margaux would have done.

‘Now move!’

Thea shakes her head.

Arne raises the gun. Thea takes a deep breath.

‘Did you know that you sent the wrong person to jail? That Leo was innocent?’

‘What?’

‘It wasn’t Leo and Bill you saw – not in the stone circle, anyway. It was Hubert, riding Nelson.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ The hand holding the gun wavers.

‘They’ve lied to you all these years, Arne. Bertil and your sister. Protected you because you persuaded the children to make a false statement.’

‘Shut the fuck up!’ His voice gives way.

‘Somewhere deep down, I think you suspected. I think you knew something wasn’t right about the investigation. Why else would Lennartson have told you to threaten that journalist? And why would the count, who was so passionate about the Gordon family history, disinherit his son? You had a feeling that a murderer had walked free while an innocent man ended up behind bars. And that Bertil, whom you so admired, was the brains behind it all. But neither you, David nor anyone else wanted to know the whole truth. You were happy for Bertil to keep the secret for you. It gave you the chance to pretend that you’d done the right thing.’

‘Stop it!’ Arne’s voice has gone up in pitch, but Thea can see that her words have hit home.

‘Drop the gun, Arne.’

The words come from the edge of the forest. Someone is standing there in the darkness. A short man in a yellow raincoat, holding a double-barrelled shotgun.

‘Hubert?’ Arne exclaims.

‘Drop the gun, I said!’ The man raises the shotgun and takes a couple of steps forward, into the glow of the outside lights.

Rain is pouring down onto Thea’s face. She wipes her eyes so that she can see properly; it is indeed Hubert.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Arne snaps.

‘Kerstin called and told me what had happened. Please put down the gun, Arne.’

‘I was only supposed to frighten her, for fuck’s sake! Make her stop poking around and leave Tornaby for good.’

Arne lowers his arm, but keeps hold of the weapon.

‘Is Thea right, Hubert? Was it you riding the horse?’

‘Drop the gun, Arne.’

‘Answer me!’ He raises his arm, aiming at Hubert this time. The little man doesn’t move; his shotgun is still trained on Arne.

‘Come on, Hubert! Bertil’s kept your secret all these years. I would never reveal something that would harm him.’

‘And what secret is that?’

Arne wipes the rain from his face with his free hand as his brain tries to compute what Thea has told him.

‘That it was you and not Leo who murdered Elita Svart.’

There is silence for a few seconds. Hubert’s expression doesn’t change, and all at once Thea knows why. She curses herself silently for not realising long ago, when she read the autopsy report.

Elita had died from a single powerful blow to the head. The ground all around her was covered in hoof prints, there was horse hair on her clothes.

Her hands were effectively bound by the ribbons. Nelson was difficult to handle, according to Hubert.

‘It wasn’t him,’ she says loudly.

‘What?’ Arne gives a start.

‘Hubert didn’t kill Elita Svart. No one did.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘Elita was kicked to death by Nelson. That’s what happened, isn’t it, Hubert?’

She turns to him.

‘It wasn’t Nelson’s fault,’ Hubert mumbles. ‘The children started screaming, the drums, the fire – it was all too much. Nelson panicked and reared up. Elita was standing right in front of him and . . .’

‘Shit!’ Arne rubs his forehead. ‘You mean the whole thing was an accident? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?’

‘I . . . I didn’t dare.’

Thea sees Hubert’s shoulders slump. The rain hammers down on his raincoat, trickling down in sad little rivulets.

‘Shit,’ Arne says again. ‘So what do we do now?’

The question seems to be directed at Thea, but it is Ingrid who answers. She has silently appeared behind Arne.

‘We protect the village,’ she says. ‘That’s what Bertil and the count did, and we must do the same thing. For their sake.’

She places a hand on Arne’s shoulder.

‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’ he says. ‘Didn’t you trust me?’

‘Bertil trusted you more than anyone else,’ Ingrid assures her brother. ‘You’re like a son to him – he was so proud of you when you qualified as a police officer. He didn’t want to see you get into trouble.’

She pats him gently.

‘You did what you thought was right. We all did, especially Bertil. He realised that the truth was too costly, and that someone must be sacrificed for the good of everyone else. Just like now.’

‘But we can’t kill someone, can we?’

‘We have no choice. If she talks, the whole thing collapses. Bertil could end up in jail and you’d probably lose your job. Think about David, the castle – everything we’ve built up would be taken away from us. That can’t happen.’

Arne looks unsure, but he is still holding the pistol.

‘You have to be strong now, Arne,’ Ingrid continues. ‘Do what Bertil would have done.’

‘Enough.’ Hubert raises the shotgun a fraction. ‘I can’t lie anymore.’

Ingrid tilts her head on one side.

‘What do you think your father would have said about all this, Hubert? Wouldn’t he have told you to protect the honour of the Gordon family, as he did? Do what’s best for the village?’

She takes a couple of steps towards Hubert, whose shoulders slump even more.

Ingrid keeps walking, holds out her hand.

‘Ingrid,’ Arne says warningly.

Thea holds her breath.

‘Give me the shotgun,’ Ingrid says firmly.

Hubert’s head droops.

‘Well done, Hubert. Your father would have been proud of you. You’re a true Gordon.’

Those words have an instant effect on Hubert. Without warning he sweeps the shotgun in a wide arc and fires.

The report is so loud and so deafening that Thea closes her eyes and covers her head with her arms. When she opens her eyes Ingrid is lying on the ground, and for a second she thinks