A door opens, and Laura hears Steph’s voice.
‘Laura! I thought you’d gone to bed ages ago.’
Steph places a hand on her shoulder, ice-cold against the heat of her skin. In a second the fire is back where it belongs, the crack in the chimney breast is barely visible. The books and shelves are untouched.
‘You must be exhausted, you poor thing,’ Steph says, helping Laura to her feet. She glares at Erica. ‘Come on, let’s get you to your room.’
54
Laura is woken by her phone. Someone has put it on charge on the desk, and obviously switched it from silent. She might have done it herself last night; she can’t be sure.
‘Hi, it’s Peter. Thanks for last night.’
‘No, thank you.’
She’s not sure how to go on. Her head is still woolly.
‘Have you got time to come down to the council offices?’
‘When?’ She looks at her watch. Ten thirty.
‘About two o’clock? I think we might have a solution to your dilemma over the sale of Gärdsnäset.’
She hesitates, tries to replay the previous day’s events in her mind, but without much success.
‘OK. See you later.’
Vintersjöholm’s pool house is a separate building four minutes’ walk from the castle itself.
It looks brand new, but there is no lock on the main door, tiles are still stacked in one corner, and several wall lights are missing. Just like the rest of the castle, Laura has the feeling that nothing is quite finished, and yet there is no sign of any workmen.
There is one changing room. Unlike her own specially made swimsuit, the one she’s borrowed doesn’t cover the scar on her back, but then she’s not expecting company.
She slides down into the water, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness for a few seconds before she begins to swim. As always, swimming slows her thoughts to the point where she can pin them down, sort and categorise them.
What actually happened in the library last night? Was it just the wine and exhaustion taking their toll, making her see things that weren’t there? If so, did it start in the car during her conversation with Heinz Norell? And why has she promised to meet Peter to discuss Gärdsnäset?
Is this really about Elsa? Is it because she sees herself in the girl, and can’t bear to disappoint her?
She covers fifty lengths of the pool without coming up with any answers. Only when she gets out of the water does she notice the discreet CCTV camera up in one corner. She drapes her towel around her shoulders and instinctively turns away as she heads for the changing room.
Steph, Pontus and Erica have gone to a meeting, but the woman who serves Laura’s lunch hands over an envelope. It contains a car key and a note from Steph.
Go and buy a dress – we’re going to a party tomorrow night. No trouser suits allowed!
The council offices in Vedarp are housed in a building from the late Sixties that resembles a shoebox. Yellow brick, white metal trim, Advent candle bridges in every other window.
She gives her name at reception, and after five minutes Peter appears with the little man who came to visit her on the day of Hedda’s funeral.
‘Kjell Green,’ he introduces himself, as if he doesn’t expect anyone to remember his name.
They go into a small meeting room and Green makes a point of closing the door. He offers coffee and water, but both Laura and Peter refuse. In spite of the events at the end of yesterday evening, she realises she’s pleased to see Peter again.
‘So,’ Green begins tentatively. ‘As I understand it there are certain’ – he glances at Peter – ‘reservations with regard to our choice of construction company in the proposed Gärdsnäset development. Am I correct?’
Peter nods before Laura has time to speak.
‘As the council doesn’t yet own the land, no agreement is in place,’ Green continues. ‘No promises have been made, no guarantees offered—’
‘Laura wants to be certain that you won’t give the contract to Ulf Jensen,’ Peter interrupts.
‘Yes, you mentioned that.’ Green looks troubled. ‘As I said before, this is an important project for the future of our community, and of course we’re ready to discuss any—’
‘No discussion,’ Laura says. ‘I want the council to guarantee that the contract won’t go to Ulf Jensen or either of his sons. If you can do that, then we have a deal.’
Green shuffles uncomfortably.
‘It’s not that simple. This type of project is governed by the law on public procurement. We have to go with the bid that gives the taxpayers the best value for their money.’
He clears his throat, leans towards Laura while giving Peter a nervous sideways glance.
‘So we can’t put anything in writing, if you take my meaning. That would involve breaking the law.’
‘But off the record, the council is in agreement?’ Peter says.
Green hesitates, then gives a brief nod.
‘So you expect me to sell and trust you to keep your word?’ Laura says.
It’s Peter, not Green, who answers.
‘It’s in no one’s interest to con you, Laura. We all want something good to come from Gärdsnäset, and I can assure you I’ll be watching the council like a hawk.’
They leave together.
‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ Laura points to the espresso bar where Wohlin’s once stood.
‘I’m afraid not – I have to work. Sandberg is hassling me about the fires.’
She feels disappointed. ‘Anything new on Tomas?’
Peter shakes his head.
‘He’s done this before, taken off and stayed away. One summer he went camping in Norway, didn’t get in touch for months. Our visit stirred up a lot of stuff.’
Laura looks around at the snow and slush. It’s not exactly camping weather, but she decides to drop the subject.
‘How’s Elsa?’
‘What can I say? She’s a teenager . . . But she’ll be pleased that you’re selling to the council.’
‘I haven’t made up my mind yet.’
‘You soon will, though?’
‘I will.’ As he turns away she adds on an impulse: ‘There’s a Lucia party at the castle tomorrow.’
She notices that he dislikes the word as much as she does, and quickly goes on: ‘I wondered if you’d like to come with me?’
The anxious expression is replaced by a smile.
‘I’d love to.’
She says goodbye to Peter and considers following Steph’s instructions and going to look for some kind of party dress. She needs a cup of tea first, so she goes into the espresso bar, navigates her way through the range of teas advertised – easily resists the unappetising cakes on offer – and sits down at what used to be her favourite table in the window.
While she’s waiting for her tea to cool down she looks around, searching for traces of Wohlin’s, but there is nothing left.
She drinks slowly, tries to gather her thoughts.
She still has no proof whatsoever that Hedda’s death was anything other than an accident. As far as the noticeboard is concerned, she has at least managed to find out what Iben’s terrible secret was. She’s also pretty sure, in spite of Peter’s reservations, that it was Tomas who started the fires at both Ensligheten and Källegården. The fact that he set fire to his own hideaway reinforces her suspicions.
So what’s left?
She still doesn’t know who the mysterious smoker watching Hedda’s house is, nor who planted the petrol can and the insulating material in Jack’s old apartment.