Camilla Läckberg - The Gallows Bird

‘But what about the name on the address list? Why did it make you think of Hanna?’ Annika gave him an inquiring look.

‘First I got the disk from Hanna, since you’d asked her to drop it by. You had a hundred and sixty names on your list; what I found on the disk was one less. The only person who could have deleted a name was Hanna. She knew there was a chance that I might recognize the name. When she started working here at the station, she told me that she and Lars had rented their house from a Tore Sjöqvist, who was moving to Skåne for a year. So when that name popped up, along with an address in Tollarp, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.’ Patrik paused. ‘I felt it was necessary to go over everything one more time. What do the rest of you think? Are there any holes in my reasoning? Is there any doubt that we have enough to proceed?’

They all shook their heads. No matter how unbelievable it all sounded, there was a frightening logic to Patrik’s account.

‘Good,’ said Patrik. ‘The most important thing now is that we act before Hanna and Lars realize we’ve worked it out. And it’s also extremely important that they don’t hear about anything concerning their mother and how they vanished, because I think it could be dangerous for -’

He broke off when Annika gasped.

‘Annika?’ Patrik saw with rising uneasiness how the colour had disappeared from her cheeks.

‘I told her,’ she said in a tense voice. ‘Hanna rang just after you returned from Kalvö. She sounded pretty bad. She said that she’d got some sleep and was feeling better, and that she probably wouldn’t have to stay home for more than a day or two. And I… I…’ Annika stammered but then pulled herself together and looked at Patrik. ‘I said I wanted to keep her updated, so I told her what you’d found out. About Hedda.’

For a second Patrik sat utterly still. Then he said, ‘You couldn’t have known. But we’d better go out to the island. Now!’

All at once there was a frenzy of activity at the Tanumshede police station.

Patrik felt alarm settle like a hard knot in his stomach as he stood in the bow of the Sea Rescue Society’s boat Minlouis , racing towards Kalvö. In his mind he urged the boat to go faster, but it was already running at top speed. He was afraid they were already too late. When they’d jumped into the police cars and put on the blue lights to drive as fast as possible to Fjällbacka, they’d got a call from a boat owner. He told them excitedly that his boat had been confiscated by a policewoman in the company of an unknown man. He had kicked up a row about gangster behaviour and how they’d be sent straight to hell if there was the slightest scratch on his boat. Patrik had simply hung up on the man. He didn’t have time for complaints right now. The important thing was that they now knew that Lars and Hanna had got hold of a boat. And that they were on their way to Kalvö. To their mother.

The rescue boat dove into a trough between swells, and a shower of salt water rained down on Patrik. A storm was blowing up, and the placid surface that Gösta and Patrik had sailed over earlier in the day had been replaced by a restless slapping of the waves and greyish water. In their minds new scenarios kept playing out, new images of what they would see when they arrived. Gösta and Martin sat huddled inside the boat, but Patrik felt that he needed the fresh air to be able to focus on what lay before them. He knew it wouldn’t have a happy ending, whatever happened.

They arrived at the island after what felt like an endless boat trip even though it had only taken five minutes. There they saw the stolen boat haphazardly moored at Hedda’s pier. Peter, who was the skipper of the rescue boat, lay to skilfully, even though the vessel was bigger than the little pier. Without hesitating Patrik hopped ashore and Martin followed. They both had to help Gösta disembark.

Patrik had tried to persuade their older colleague to stay at the station, but Gösta Flygare had demonstrated surprising obstinacy and insisted on coming along. Patrik had relented. Now he was regretting his decision, but it was too late for such speculations.

He gestured up towards the cabin, which looked treacherously empty and uninhabited. Not a sound was heard from there. When they flicked the safeties off their pistols, Patrik thought the sound seemed to echo over the whole island. They crept towards the cabin and crouched outside the windows. Then Patrik heard voices inside and cautiously peered in through the filthy, salt-encrusted pane. First he saw only the shadow of someone moving, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light he thought he could distinguish two figures walking about in the kitchen. The voices rose and fell, but it was impossible to make out what they were saying. All at once Patrik felt at a loss about what to do next, but then he made up his mind. He nodded in the direction of the door. They carefully moved over there, and Martin and Patrik took up position on either side of it while Gösta waited a bit further off.

‘Hanna? It’s me, Patrik. And some of the others are here too. Is everything okay?’

No answer.

‘Lars? We know you’re in there with your sister. Don’t do anything stupid. Nobody else needs to die.’

Still no answer. Patrik began to get nervous, and his grip on the pistol had grown sweaty.

‘Hedda? Are you all right? We’re here to help you! Lars and Hanna, don’t hurt Hedda. She did something terrible, but believe me, she’s already been punished. Look around, see how she’s been living. She’s lived in hell because of what she did to you.’

Silence was the only reply he got, and he swore to himself. Then the door opened a crack and Patrik took a firmer grip on his pistol. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Martin and Gösta do the same.

‘We’re coming out,’ said Lars. ‘Don’t shoot, or I’ll shoot her.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Patrik, trying to sound as calm as he could.

‘Put your weapons down. I want to see them on the ground,’ said Lars. They still couldn’t see him through the gap in the door.

Martin glanced at Patrik, who nodded and slowly put down his pistol. Gösta and Martin followed his example.

‘Kick them away,’ said Lars dully, and Patrik took a step forward and kicked the three guns so they flew out of reach.

‘Step aside.’

Once again they obeyed and then waited tensely for something to happen. Slowly, very slowly, only an inch at a time, the door opened. Patrik had expected to see Hedda but instead he saw Hanna. She still looked sick, with a sweaty brow and eyes shining with fever. Her gaze met his, and Patrik couldn’t help wondering how he could have been so duped. How was it possible that she’d been able to conceal for so long all that evil behind such a normal façade? For a second he thought that she looked as though she wanted to explain, but then Lars shoved her forward, and the pistol he was holding against her temple came into view. Patrik recognized the gun. It was Hanna’s service weapon.

‘Move away, further,’ Lars hissed, and in his eyes Patrik saw nothing but blackness and hate. His eyes flicked from side to side, and something in his gaze told Patrik that Lars had finally let the mask fall, that he could no longer handle living a double life. The madness – or the evil, or whatever else it might be called – had finally won. The struggle was over against that part of his personality that wished nothing more than to be allowed to live a normal life with a job and a family.

The police officers moved a bit further away, and Lars passed them, holding Hanna as a shield in front of him. The door to the cabin stood wide open, and when Patrik glanced inside, he understood why Hedda couldn’t be used as a shield. In horror he saw that she was tied to a chair. The same kind of tape that had left traces of adhesive on some of the other victims was stretched across her mouth, and there was a hole in the middle of the tape, big enough to stick a bottle into. Hedda had died the same way she lived her life. Full of alcohol.