Rites of Spring by Anders Motte (life books to read .txt) 📗

their bicycles and safety.

Only Elita and the Green Man are left.

‘I’m assuming you’ve worked it out,’ Bertil says. ‘What happened.’

‘Almost. I don’t think it was Bill the children saw. I think it was Nelson.’

Bertil pulls a face, then nods.

‘Which means that Hubert was the Green Man.’

Another nod. ‘The count did his best, but that boy has never been right,’ Bertil says.

Thea shakes her head. ‘So Leo came off Bill in the forest on the other side of the canal, just as he said in his early interviews. Bill ran away, down onto the road where Arne almost crashed into him.’

‘Probably.’

‘Arne assumed it was Bill, and therefore Leo, that he’d seen at the stone circle. He drove to your place, told you the story, and made the children believe the same thing.’

Bertil sighs. ‘Arne didn’t know any better. We were all shocked. No one knew what had actually happened. He only said what he thought was true.’

‘But Jan-Olof wasn’t quite so sure,’ Thea continues. ‘He’d seen someone bending over Elita, but that person wasn’t as tall as Leo, and didn’t have the same build. So when it was time for the children to be interviewed by the police, he hesitated. David stepped up and filled in the rest of the tale. He couldn’t resist playing the leading role.’

Bertil’s expression is melancholy now.

‘But Lasse Svart knew that Bill hadn’t come home covered in mud, and therefore he couldn’t have floundered across the canal. Someone must have shown him the police photographs of the hoof prints, or he just came here to see for himself at some point. As soon as he saw the prints, he knew they weren’t Bill’s, and that there was only one other horse in the area that could have made them. A horse he’d shod himself. Nelson.’

Thea pauses, expecting Bertil to protest, to say that she’s got it all wrong. But Bertil stands there in silence, looking as if he is trying very hard to stay sharp.

‘So Lasse went to the count, asking for compensation in return for his silence. He wanted to keep Svartgården, which was why the count rescinded the notice to quit. Not out of sympathy, but because he had no choice.’

‘Lasse wasn’t satisfied with that,’ Bertil says. ‘The bastard demanded cash too. Fifty thousand.’

Thea can’t hide her surprise.

‘And that’s where you came into the picture?’

‘That’s right. The count needed help to withdraw that amount of money from the bank. Lasse had also seen Arne’s patrol car in the forest on Walpurgis Night, and he threatened to tell the police if we didn’t pay up.’

‘Was framing Leo part of the deal?’

Bertil shakes his head.

‘Lasse did that of his own accord. He hated his stepson. He never regarded him as a member of the family. Arne said they’d had a fight on Walpurgis afternoon, and Lasse had pulled a knife. He was a vile person, but . . .’

Bertil pauses and his eyes cloud over for a moment, then he’s back. Thea realises she doesn’t have much time.

‘Leo was already the main suspect,’ she says. ‘The children had identified him, and Elita’s letter suggested that he might be involved. All Lasse had to do was change his statement slightly, claim that Bill had come home covered in mud, then shoe him so that the prints more or less matched Nelson’s.’

‘Something like that. But as I said, he did that off his own bat.’

‘What about the cap badge? The one Erik Nyberg just happened to find?’

Bertil closes his eyes, as if he’d forgotten that detail.

‘A bad decision. Nothing to do with me.’

‘So Erik knew where to look? Knew where Lasse had planted evidence against Leo? And he and the count had no problem with Leo taking the blame?’

‘The count and Erik did what they thought was best in order to protect Hubert.’ Bertil’s face has lost all its colour. ‘I think I need to sit down.’

Thea helps him over to the sacrificial stone.

‘How much do you actually remember, Bertil?’

‘It comes in waves. I . . .’ He breaks off, seems to be thinking.

‘Have you talked about this to anyone outside the family before?’

He looks a little more present.

‘No, and it’s high time. Soon I won’t be able to remember anything anymore, and I don’t want to take the lies with me to the grave. They’ve already caused too much misery. Poor Jan-Olof, who has carried this for so long. David and the others too.’

‘Do you think they had their doubts?’

‘I’m sure they did – David definitely. Why do you think he stayed away for so many years? He knew he’d lied, both to the police and in court.’

‘Did you tell him that he’d helped to frame an innocent man?’

Bertil shakes his head.

‘No. We didn’t tell him or Arne, but I think they had their suspicions. Particularly when . . .’ He makes an irritated gesture as if he’s forgotten what he was going to say.

‘When the count set up the Bokelund Foundation with your help, and disinherited Hubert,’ Thea says. ‘Gave virtually his entire fortune to the community as a kind of recompense for what Hubert had done.’

‘Yes.’ Bertil sighs. The air seems to have gone out of him all of a sudden.

‘Elita was pregnant. Who removed that information from the case file?’

‘Lennartson, the chief of police. He and I played bridge together. We agreed that it was an unnecessary detail that would give rise to a whole lot of speculation. Make the situation worse.’

‘I presume Lennartson owed a lot of money to your bank?’

Another sigh. ‘He did.’

‘Who was the child’s father?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Bertil shrugs; he looks as if he’s telling the truth.

‘And what happened to Hubert?’

‘The count sent him to stay with relatives in England the very next day. Kept him away for years.’

‘And the count had Nelson shot and the body incinerated as soon as possible to get rid of any evidence. With Erik Nyberg’s help?’

‘Yes.’ Bertil leans heavily on his stick.

‘And what about the Svart family?’

No response. She repeats the question, but Bertil doesn’t look up or move.

‘Bertil?’ She