Camilla Läckberg - The Gallows Bird

‘But what made you think of this in connection with our case? Those children drowned, so they couldn’t have been with Sigrid Jansson in the car two years later.’

Gösta hesitated. ‘But there was a witness…’ He paused but then went on, ‘A witness who claimed that the mother, Hedda Kjellander, didn’t have the children with her in the boat when she set off.’

Patrik sat in silence for a long moment. ‘Why didn’t anyone ever get to the bottom of this?’

Gösta looked dejected. ‘The witness was an elderly lady. A bit barmy, according to what people said. She used to sit at the window all day looking through her binoculars, and from time to time she claimed to see things… Sea monsters and things like that,’ said Gösta, but he still looked just as dejected.

He said he’d thought about the case occasionally. About the twins, whose bodies never washed up anywhere. But every time he had repressed the thought and convinced himself again that it was a tragic accident. Nothing more.

‘After meeting the mother, Hedda, I also had a hard time believing that she might be lying. She was in such despair. So upset. There was no reason to believe…’ The words died out and he didn’t dare look at Patrik.

‘What happened to her? The mother?’

‘Nothing. She still lives on the island. Seldom shows herself in town. She gets food and booze delivered out to her cabin. Although it’s mostly the booze she’s interested in.’

Patrik heard the penny drop. ‘Is it “Hedda on Kalvö” you’re talking about?’ He couldn’t believe it. But he’d never heard that Hedda had once had two kids. All the gossip he’d heard about her was that she had suffered two tragedies and since then had devoted herself to drinking herself senseless.

‘So you think…’

Gösta shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to think. But it’s a remarkable coincidence. And the ages match.’ He sat quietly and let Patrik consider what he’d said.

‘I think we need to go out there and talk to her.’

Gösta nodded.

‘We can take our boat,’ said Patrik, getting up. Gösta was still looking despondent as Patrik turned to him.

‘It was many years ago, Gösta. And I can’t say I would have done any different. I probably would have come to the same conclusion. And besides, you weren’t the one in charge.’

Gösta wasn’t so sure that Patrik would have dropped the matter so easily. And he probably could have leaned on his boss at the time a bit harder. But what’s done is done. It was no use brooding over it now.

‘Are you sick?’ Worried, Lars sat down on the edge of the bed and placed a cool hand on Hanna’s forehead. ‘You’re burning up,’ he said, pulling the covers up to her chin. She was shaking from a cold coming on and had that weird feeling of freezing even though she was sweating.

‘I just want to be alone,’ she said, turning on her side.

‘I was only trying to help,’ said Lars, hurt, and removed his hand that lay on top of the covers.

‘You’ve helped me enough,’ said Hanna bitterly with her teeth chattering.

‘Did you report in sick?’ He sat down with his back to her and looked out through the balcony door. There was such a distance between them that they might as well have been on separate continents. Something was tightening around Lars’s heart. It felt like fear, but it was a fear that was so deep, so penetrating that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt anything like it. He took a deep breath.

‘If I changed my mind about having kids, would that change anything?’

The chattering stopped for a second. Hanna sat up, propping herself against the pillows, but kept the covers drawn up to her chin. She was shaking so hard that the bed felt as if it was trembling too.

‘That would change everything,’ Hanna said, gazing at him with eyes shining with fever. ‘That would change everything,’ she repeated. But after a moment she added, ‘Or would it?’

He turned his back to her again and looked out at the roof of the house next door. ‘It probably would,’ he said, although he wasn’t sure whether he was telling the truth or not. ‘It would.’

He turned round. Hanna had fallen asleep. He looked at her for a long time. Then he tiptoed out of the bedroom.

‘Can you find it?’ Patrik turned to Gösta when they set out from the boat landing at Badholmen.

Gösta nodded. ‘Sure, I can find it.’

They sat in silence on the trip out to the island of Kalvö. When they docked at the worn and leaky pier, Gösta’s face had turned ashen grey. He had been out here several times since that day thirty-seven years ago, but it was always that first visit that popped up in his memory.

They walked slowly up to the cabin that stood on the highest spot on the island. It was obvious that no repairs had been made in a very long time, and weeds had sprouted up around the patch of lawn surrounding the house. Otherwise there was only granite as far as the eye could see, although a closer examination revealed signs of plants that were waiting for the warmth of spring to come and wake them up. The house was white, with the paint peeling off in big flakes that exposed the grey, wind-battered wood underneath. The roofing tiles were hanging crooked, and here and there one was missing, like in a mouth with missing teeth.

Gösta took the lead and knocked cautiously on the door. No answer. He knocked harder. ‘Hedda?’ He pounded his fist even harder on the wooden door, then tried to see if it would open. The door wasn’t locked and it swung open.

When they stepped inside they automatically put their arms over their noses because of the stench. It was like walking into a pig-sty strewn with rubbish, food scraps, old newspapers, and above all empty bottles.

Gösta advanced cautiously into the hall and called out. ‘Hedda?’ Still no answer.

‘I’ll go round and look for her,’ Gösta said, and Patrik could only nod. It was beyond comprehension how anyone could live like this.

After a few minutes Gösta came back and gestured to Patrik to come with him.

‘She’s lying in bed. Knocked out. We’ll have to try and get some life into her. Will you put on some coffee?’

Patrik looked around the kitchen at a loss. Finally he found a jar of instant coffee and an empty pot. It seemed to be mostly used for boiling water, since it was relatively clean compared to the other kitchen equipment.

‘All right, come on now.’ Gösta came into the kitchen dragging a wisp of a woman. Only a dazed murmur issued from Hedda’s lips but she did manage passably to put one foot in front of the other and make it to the kitchen chair that Gösta was aiming for. She tumbled onto the chair, put her head on her arms on the table and began to snore.

‘Hedda, don’t go to sleep again, you have to stay awake.’ Gösta shook her shoulder gently but got no response. He motioned with his head towards the pot on the stove where the water was now boiling. ‘Coffee,’ he said, and Patrik hurried to pour some in the cup that looked the least filthy. He had no desire for any coffee himself.

‘Hedda, we need to talk with you a bit.’ Only a mumbled reply. But then she slowly sat up, weaving a little on the chair, and tried to focus her eyes.

‘We’re from the police in Tanumshede. Patrik Hedström and Gösta Flygare. You and I have met several times before.’ Gösta was speaking extremely clearly, hoping that at least some of his words would sink in. He motioned Patrik to take a seat, and they both sat down at the kitchen table facing Hedda. The oilcloth on the table had once been white with tiny roses, but now it was so covered with food scraps, crumbs, and grease that the pattern was barely visible. It was equally hard to guess how Hedda might have looked before alcohol had destroyed her appearance. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled, and there was a thick layer of grease all over her body. Her hair had probably been blonde, but now it was grey and pulled sloppily into a ponytail. It didn’t look as though it had been washed in a long time. The cardigan she was wearing was full of holes and had obviously been bought long ago when her body was much smaller. It was tight across her shoulders and breasts.