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

Someone is there, right beside her.

Are you trying to blackmail me, little Jenny? her father whispers the second before she wakes up.

*

She looks at the clock. Four thirty, and the chances of getting back to sleep are non-existent. The nightlight spreads a faint glow through the room. The damp patch has grown darker, as if the plaster, or whatever the bedroom ceiling is made of, is becoming saturated.

She lies there gazing up at the patch for a while. She thinks of her father, and the letter she hasn’t written yet. How long will he wait? What will happen when he gets tired of waiting?

She pushes away the thought, replaces it with yesterday’s conversation with Kurt Bexell. It is surprisingly easy.

Bexell told her that he’d fallen out with the chief of police in Ljungslöv, who sent Arne Backe to threaten him.

Why was the chief of police so keen to put him off? Who was he?

She turns to Google, enters chief of police Ljungslöv in the search box and immediately gets a hit from the local paper.

Crowds turn out to say goodbye to valued chief of police

The article from 2010 is about the funeral of Stig Lennartson, chief of police in Ljungslöv from 1981 to 2006. It is illustrated with two pictures: one of Lennartson himself, a bald man with heavy bags under his eyes, and one of a large group of mourners leaving the church. Thea immediately recognises her in-laws, followed by Arne Backe, Dr Andersson, Erik and Per Nyberg, and various other people she’s seen around the village.

So Lennartson is dead. Was he the one who tried to hide Elita’s pregnancy in the autopsy report? Judging by Bexell’s account, that seems entirely possible – but why? Lennartson had no personal connection to the case, as far as she can see. According to the article, he didn’t even live in Tornaby, but out in the country on the other side of Ljungslöv.

If Lennartson didn’t tamper with the report of his own initiative, then who had enough power and influence to make a senior police officer alter the information in a case file?

Thea looks at the funeral photo again. Her in-laws are almost right at the front. Ingrid looks the same as usual, the same determination in her eyes, chin carried a little too high. Bertil, on the other hand, looks quite different. The gentleness she is accustomed to isn’t there; instead his gaze is fixed, his expression grim.

In 2010 Thea and David hadn’t met. And Bertil wasn’t diagnosed with dementia until two years later. Was he caught at an unfortunate moment, or does the picture show the real Bertil, the man he was before he began to slip into oblivion?

She googles him, finds some photos from roughly the same period. Meetings at the sports club, some celebratory dinner. He looks more cheerful at these occasions, but it’s very clear that the gentleness she likes so much is something that he’s acquired in later years.

Ingrid is there too, standing slightly behind Bertil, her hand tucked under his arm, as if she is deliberately staying in his shadow.

Thea thinks about the strange visit from her mother-in-law the other day. The effort Ingrid has made to help her and David get here. Ingrid’s concerns over what people will think if Thea goes around talking about Elita Svart. Or is Ingrid actually worried about something else? Is she afraid that Thea will find something? A crack in the perfect façade, which will allow the dampness to start spreading, allow secrets to slip out.

*

She and David have breakfast together. He got home late, long after she’d gone to bed. He looks exhausted; he’s spending every waking moment getting ready for the dinner.

She’s finding it difficult to let go of what Kurt Bexell said: that David might have influenced the other children to identify Leo. She’d like to ask him about it, but he’s already made it very clear that he doesn’t want to talk about Elita Svart. Bringing it up now would definitely lead to a row.

Another thought has struck her. If Bexell was right, if Leo’s confession was false and he was actually innocent, then the murderer is still out there. A murderer who has got away with it for over thirty years.

Is that what the warnings were about? The cellar, the Green Man on her car – is she in danger?

‘I have to go.’ David pulls on his jacket as he finishes his sandwich. ‘I’ve got my hands full all day. See you tonight.’

She nods. Forces a smile.

*

Thea has three patient visits planned for her morning rounds. The first two are in Tornaby, and the GPS finds them without difficulty. The third is some distance outside the village.

During the drive she catches herself glancing frequently in the rear-view mirror, keeping any eye out for cars that might be following her. Everything seems normal, at least on the surface, yet she can’t shake off the feeling of being watched. Emee whimpers nervously, as if she’s picked up on Thea’s mood.

As they pass the common she sees that the effigy of the Green Man is in position on top of the bonfire. It looks almost exactly the same as the old photographs in the Folk Museum: a shapeless mass of leaves and branches, the head and arms the only parts that make it vaguely human.

The GPS guides her to four identical houses by the side of the road, so close together that they look as if they’re seeking shelter from the wind. The façades are dirty brown, the tiled roofs covered in moss. A TV aerial is perched on one, slightly askew. She can’t see any numbers, and doesn’t know which house she’s supposed to be visiting, so she knocks on the first door. There’s a rusty little van outside, but she doesn’t realise who it belongs to until the door opens.

‘What do you want?’ Jan-Olof mutters, without returning her greeting.

‘I’m looking for Böketoftavägen 23.’

‘That’s Mother.’ He points to the neighbouring house.