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

hears the sound of another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

‘Her face was covered with a handkerchief,’ Arne continues. ‘I’ve always regretted lifting it up.’ His expression is even more tortured now. ‘What Leo did to her . . . Smashed her beautiful face to a pulp. Six years was way too lenient for that bastard.’

He falls silent, turns away again.

‘What happened next?’ Thea prompts him.

Arne looks at her. Takes a deep breath.

76

Walpurgis Night 1986

Arne tried to drive as steadily as he could. As if it was the most normal thing in the world to arrive at Ingrid and Bertil’s house in a filthy patrol car in the middle of the night.

He knew where the spare key to the double garage was. He killed the headlights before he drove in. Their car was already there, the engine still ticking faintly, which meant they’d just got home.

He closed the doors from the inside, then went into the garden via the back way.

Just as he’d expected, the kids were in the bar. The lights were on and he could hear agitated voices, see several people moving around.

As he began to cut across the lawn, he heard a noise. He turned around, saw a dark figure and jumped, but it was only the Leanders’ timid boy, presumably heading for the bar too.

When the boy saw him, he stopped dead. Arne could understand why; he must look like shit, with his uniform covered in dirt and mud.

‘It’s OK, Leander – it’s me, Arne Backe. We’re going to the same place. Why aren’t you there already?’

The boy, whose name Arne couldn’t remember, looked confused. Arne wasn’t surprised; he wasn’t the brightest kid in the village.

‘Why are you late? The others are already here.’

‘I . . . I got lost,’ the boy stammered. ‘I was a bit behind the rest of them.’

Jan-Olof, that was his name.

Arne gestured towards the bar. ‘In you go. Let’s get this mess sorted out.’

He followed Jan-Olof indoors. The resolve that had come over him after seeing that fucking horse was still there, and it grew stronger when he saw the pale faces of the three children. Bertil and Ingrid were standing opposite them, still in their fancy clothes from the party. Worried, anxious.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ Bertil said.

Arne waved a dismissive hand. ‘Later. Elita Svart is dead.’

The three faces, four including Jan-Olof’s, became even whiter. The children looked like little ghosts.

‘Dead?’ Ingrid snapped, her tone making it clear that she didn’t believe him.

‘She’s lying in the middle of the stone circle with her skull smashed in. The kids were there, playing some kind of game – a spring sacrifice ritual. Then a horse came galloping into the glade, its rider dressed as the Green Man. The kids ran away and the rider killed Elita.’

The colour drained from Ingrid’s face and she clutched Bertil’s arm. Even Bertil, who was always so self-possessed, looked shocked.

Arne cleared his throat, tucked his thumbs into his belt and rocked back and forth on his heels.

‘But I know who did it,’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘Who scared the kids and killed Elita. And I know how to get him. Provided we all work together.’

77

Arne drops the cigarillo butt on the ground and crushes it with his heel, then he spreads his arms wide.

‘Now you know my secret, Thea. I was there, I saw what happened. With hindsight, of course I should have spoken to my colleagues, but I was terrified of losing my job. Plus there were already four witnesses who’d seen Leo on the horse; a fifth wasn’t really important.’

‘And you’re sure it was Leo?’ she asks, playing for time.

Is Arne lying? She can’t see any signs; in fact, he seems relieved, as if the story has been chafing away at him for far too long.

‘Absolutely certain. And I recognised the horse; I’d seen him earlier in the day in the paddock at Svartgården. Bill had a white sock on his right hind leg – there was no mistaking him.’

‘And Elita’s pregnancy? The fact that someone tampered with the autopsy report?’

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that. I didn’t have much of an insight into the investigation. Lennartson treated me like an errand boy. It was several years before he even looked me in the eye.’

The answer seems honest, just like the rest of his account.

The doors open at the top of the steps and several guests emerge.

‘Maybe we should go back inside?’ Arne suggests.

Thea nods. ‘Thank you for telling me all this.’

‘Thank you for listening. It was good to get it off my chest – but I’m sure you understand that our respective secrets must stay between us.’

‘Of course.’

She follows him up the steps. Hubert is at the top, waiting for her.

‘Hi,’ she says. ‘I’m so glad you came.’

She makes an effort to sound the same as always, but it’s hard. Hubert looks serious, maybe a little annoyed.

‘Are you enjoying Per’s company?’ he asks when Arne has gone indoors.

‘Yes, I am.’

Hubert stares at her. ‘Be careful with him,’ he says quietly.

She wonders what he means, but more people are coming outside, and there’s another question she has to ask.

‘You knew Elita. You gave her a copy of the poetry book you lent to me.’

Hubert’s expression doesn’t change. They are surrounded by other guests now – Nettan, Sebastian, Bianca, and a few people that Thea doesn’t know. Suddenly they’ve drawn her into a noisy conversation about the castle and David, and she can’t get out of it. Hubert stands there watching her for a while, then turns and goes back inside.

It’s a long time before Thea is able to re-join Per Nyberg.

‘Good to see you – I thought you’d found someone else,’ he says with a laugh.

‘What have I missed?’

‘Chocolate tart, coffee and cognac. But you haven’t missed it – I got some for you.’

‘That was kind of you – thanks.’

Hubert is also back in his seat. She can see that he is watching them again, even