‘I believe you and Hedda wrote to each other?’
‘Yes – well, it was mostly her. I’m not good at replying.’
‘You told her something about Iben’s father.’
Tomas nods slowly. ‘I’d promised never to say anything to anyone, but Hedda’s letter made me happy, so I thought I owed her that.’
‘When was this?’
‘Not long ago – maybe a month or so? I collect my mail from a postbox in Ängelholm.’
‘Did she say why she was asking?’
‘I think Iben had tried to tell Hedda at some point, then changed her mind. Something about Ulf, which Hedda didn’t really understand. She wrote that she’d been turning it over in her mind for years, and wondered what I knew. So I told her.’
‘Did you have any further contact after that?’
Tomas shakes his head. He reminds her of a large, unhappy bear.
‘No. Peter called and told me that Hedda was dead.’
‘How . . . ?’ Peter clears his throat. ‘When did you find out about Iben and her father?’
‘We must have been eleven or twelve. She said she slept in Ulf’s bed, and she told me other things too. Things I don’t want to say out loud.’
Tomas looks down at the floor, the muscles around his eyes twitching.
‘Do you think her brothers knew?’ Peter asks.
Tomas snorts derisively. The air in the hut feels sticky.
‘They lived in the same house – of course they knew. Christian and Fredrik have always been Ulf’s obedient little lapdogs.’
‘Did Iben try to talk to anyone apart from Hedda?’
‘I don’t think so. She was terrified of Ulf, terrified of what he’d do to her if she told anyone.’
Laura looks at Peter, sees that he’s thinking the same as her. The phone call they’ve just listened to.
‘But I tried to do something,’ Tomas goes on.
‘What?’
Silence.
‘What did you try to do?’ Peter says.
Tomas places his big hands on the table and studies them closely. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to discuss the matter any further.
‘What actually happened that night at the dance hall?’ Laura asks gently.
Tomas looks up. ‘I lit a fire. I used to enjoy lighting fires back then.’
He falls silent, plucks at the sleeve of his jumper.
‘Why?’
‘It feels nice. Something inside me . . . eases.’
‘You dropped the bar on the door,’ Laura says. ‘Locked us in.’
‘No!’ Tomas shakes his head. ‘I didn’t lock anyone in! The fire spread much faster than I’d expected. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I never meant for her to die. Not like that . . .’
We decided, Laura thinks. She holds her breath; is Tomas trying to catch Peter’s eye?
No, he’s looking down at the table again.
‘In your interview with the police—’ she begins, but Tomas holds up his hand.
‘I don’t want to talk about that night anymore.’
He reverts to plucking at his sleeve. There is a patch of pink, bubbly skin on his wrist, and Laura realises what the plucking is about. The scar on her back begins to crawl.
‘You burned yourself,’ she says. ‘You burned yourself too.’
Tomas glances up. Something flickers in his eyes. Laura takes a deep breath, stands up and takes off her jacket. Undoes the top buttons of her shirt, turns her back on the two men and slips down the shirt so that her scar is visible.
‘Jesus,’ Tomas whispers.
Laura adjusts her clothing before turning around again. Tomas has tears in his eyes, Peter’s face is ashen.
‘I’m so sorry, Laura.’ Tomas’s voice is thick with emotion. ‘It was never meant to be like this. I didn’t really want to do it, it was like a favour—’
He breaks off, looks away.
‘A favour for whom?’
Peter’s question comes like the crack of a whip. Tomas recoils.
‘No one,’ he mutters. ‘Forget I said anything.’
Laura goes and sits down beside him. Places her hand on his arm.
‘Who asked you to start the fire, Tomas? Was it Milla?’
He glances up at her, the muscles around his eyes twitching frantically now. Without a word he stands up, grabs his jacket, opens the door and walks out. Laura and Peter look at each other. After a few seconds they push back their chairs and follow him.
‘Tomas!’ Peter yells into the darkness. ‘Tomas!’
But all they can hear is the wind soughing in the trees.
50
Peter carefully manoeuvres the car back along the narrow logging track. Laura doesn’t want to distract him.
‘Haven’t you asked Tomas about that night before?’ she says eventually.
‘No. I never wanted to. Or dared to. What if he’d said he was innocent, that Sandberg had pressured him into confessing? You and I accused him . . .’
Peter doesn’t go on. There’s no need.
‘Do you think he’s lying?’
‘No. He seemed very upset when he saw your . . . your . . .’
‘Injuries,’ Laura supplies, realising she doesn’t have a problem talking about her scar. ‘I don’t think he was lying either.’
They fall silent. The car tilts slightly on the slippery surface, but Peter skilfully keeps it on the track.
‘I’ll come back up tomorrow,’ he says after a while. ‘Tomas just needs time to get himself together.’
‘Did he start the fires at his father’s place and at Källegården?’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because he’s a pyromaniac. Because he hates both his father and Ulf Jensen.’
‘Tomas hasn’t been in trouble for years. He’s behaved himself, followed his treatment plans.’
‘You don’t have to protect him, Peter. He admitted that he was the one who started the fire at the dance hall. You – or we – didn’t accuse him of something he hadn’t done.’
Peter doesn’t answer; he keeps his eyes fixed on the route ahead. The headlights light up the snow-covered ground on either side of the track, but in among the trees it is pitch-black. Way down below them, the ice on the lake glimmers. Laura decides to change the subject.
‘Did Tomas mention Milla when he was interviewed by the police?’
‘No. Sandberg asked him on several different occasions whether anyone else was involved – Tomas denied it every time.’
‘And Milla? What did she say?’
Peter glances at her for a second.
‘She and Jack told the same story. They’d gone to Milla’s cabin so that she could put a dressing on his head injury. They heard noises and went back to the dance hall, but it was already in flames. The fire service arrived shortly afterwards.’
‘And then?’
‘She left only a couple of days later. Hedda had found her a new place somewhere – I can’t remember where.’
‘Värmland. She was furious. Do you know what became of her?’
Peter shakes his head. ‘I can run a database search tomorrow.’
‘Good idea. Do you think Milla was involved in the fire? Was she the one Tomas meant?’
‘I’ve no idea. Tomas lives in a fantasy world to a certain extent. He’s on some pretty strong medication. On the other hand . . .’
He falls silent as he negotiates a bank of snow to access the wider track.
‘We know how manipulative Milla could be. She talked me and Tomas into doing those break-ins. She could wind people around her little finger.’
Including me, Laura thinks, but she doesn’t say anything.
‘I’m sure she could have persuaded Tomas to set fire to the dance hall if she’d wanted to,’ Peter goes on. ‘But why would she do that?’
‘Iben knew about the break-ins, and Milla got the idea that Iben had told Hedda, and that was why she was being moved to Värmland. She was very angry with Iben.’