The Killing Forest (5 page)

C
harlie was asleep in the back of Eik's rattletrap Jeep Cherokee when they entered the forest west of Roskilde forty-five minutes later. They had passed the driveway to Camilla and Frederik's place, but trees blocked all views of the big manor house.

“You think this is it?” Eik asked as he signaled with his blinker. A red barrier closed off the forest road, and a sign expressly forbade all vehicles on the private property.

“I think it's a little farther,” Louise said. She reached into the front pocket of her bag and pulled out the scrap of paper with directions. “There's a parking lot and a path leading to a small area with benches.”

Several hundred meters down the road they saw the parking sign and pulled in.

“Don't even think it,” Louise said when Eik made a move to let the dog out. Instead of opening the door, he reached out for Louise and pulled her close.

“Don't you think you two can be friends?” He hugged her, his odor filling her nose. She closed her eyes for a moment and enjoyed it, until she heard a car on the road slowing down. She broke away from him just before a light-blue Fiat 500 pulled in and parked beside Eik's dirty four-wheel-drive.

The photographer was in his late fifties and partially bald, his gray hair like a wreath gracing his round head.

“You're early,” he said, smiling as he tapped his watch. “I thought we were meeting in two minutes!”

“Right, you're right, you're not late,” Eik said. He walked over and introduced himself.

The photographer slung a camera over his shoulder and locked his car. Something about him made Louise think of her father, an ornithologist, who had the same energetic look when he took off with a pair of binoculars around his neck.

“You never know what you'll run into, so I always carry a camera with me,” he explained.

Louise smiled at him. He took off, waving them down a slope instead of following the gravel path. “This way,” he said, holding back a few limbs for them. “We'll circle around the edge of the forest until we hit a stretch that juts out into a field. That will take us to the camera.”

Louise followed Eik. She swore when she stumbled over a root.

“I have three bases here in the forest,” the photographer said. “They're placed to capture specific animals. For instance, the boxes I use to photograph birds are in a clearing farther in the forest, much higher up than the camera that caught the fox cubs.”

He pointed around at the different types of trees and chattered about them as they worked their way around the forest.

“Can you tell us when the photo was taken?” Eik asked as they stopped.

The photographer pulled a folded-up sheet of paper out of his pocket. “I can tell you that it was taken on June eleventh at precisely six forty-seven a.m. The time is registered automatically when a photo is taken.”

Eight days ago, Louise thought. “Did you find him in any of the other photos?”

The photographer nodded. “Five. I've written it all down for you.”

He handed her the paper. “The first time he showed up was a week before the photo used in the paper. June sixth. But you have to look closely to see him. Let's go down here.”

He walked onto a path hidden behind the exposed roots of a fallen tree. “The camera is right over there.”

Louise approached the metal box screwed onto a tree stump. The hole for the camera lens was on the other side.

“It's focused on the fox den over there,” the photographer explained, pointing to a thick tree trunk on a slope, its open roots just above the den's entrance. Eik headed for the small hole while the photographer checked the lock on the box holding the digital camera.

“The fox cubs were born in March, so they're three months old now,” he continued. But Louise wasn't listening. Eik waved her over, and before she got there she spied the remains of a small campfire.

“Do you want to look through my photos?” the photographer called after her; she thanked him when he offered to mail them to her.

“And thank you very much for helping us on such short notice,” she said. She gave him her card so he could call if he happened to see the boy again.

“What is it about this boy?” he asked. “Did he do something stupid?”

She smiled and shook her head, impressed that he had waited so long to ask. “We just want to find out why he's staying here in the forest and not at home with his parents.”

“He's been here, no doubt about that, but not recently,” Eik said as he squatted down beside the fire. “Him, or at least somebody.”

The fire had been extinguished before burning out. A small pile of limbs lay beside it, along with an old can. Eik sniffed it.

“I think he was making soup out of stinging nettles,” he said. He dropped the can back onto the ground. “But he didn't finish.”

“Maybe he slept over here,” Louise said, from the other side of the tree. The trunk was split, and when she leaned in close she saw that part of the tree was hollow. The hole wasn't big, but a boy could curl up and lie in it.

She got down on her knees and crawled halfway in, groping around on the ground. She found a few small limbs for the fire, but when her fingers touched something soft, she pulled her hand back and banged her head above the opening.

“There's something in there,” she said when she backed out.

Eik pushed her aside and squeezed into the hollow space while flicking his lighter. He came out carrying a dark-blue sweatshirt, which he unfolded on the ground. Inside was a small pocketknife, a lighter, and a set of keys.

“It's cold and damp from the ground,” he said. “But we can't know how long it's been here. Possibly only one night. It's not much use to us.”

He studied the knife. “It's his,” he said, handing it over to her. “His name is engraved on it.”

He sat on the ground and studied the small, primitive camp.

“Let's take these things back with us,” Louise said. She began packing it all in the sweatshirt.

“No, wait,” he said. “If he still lives here, he'll need his knife and the warm sweatshirt. There's no reason to make things harder for him.”

Louise brought out her phone and took a picture of the engraved name on the knife. Then she rolled up the old sweatshirt with everything inside and laid it in the hollow tree. “Let's drive over to his parents and give them the news before we inform social services.”

N
either of them spoke until they arrived in Hvalsø.

Louise gave him directions at the roundabout, steering him out of town and over the hill before the asphalt road turned to gravel.

“Why oh why is that boy living out in the rain and mud instead of relaxing in his nice, warm room at home?” Eik asked.

She shrugged. It wasn't unusual for kids to run away from home. Or for them to return, either voluntarily or when they were found.

The butcher's house was one of the last on the road. An old friend from school had lived in the first house, and they had often ridden horses on the gravel road leading into the forest.

She motioned for Eik to pull in. On the right side of the driveway stood a big chestnut tree, like a giant parasol shading most of the farmyard. The three-winged house had stable doors on every wing and a thatched roof overhanging the windows, like thick hair over a forehead. A white van was parked by the green front door.

Louise took stock of the place a moment before walking up to the door. She was fairly confident that the butcher didn't know who had turned him in about the meat back then, yet she had butterflies in her stomach when she grabbed the heavy knocker and let it fall against the brass back plate.

A moment later the door opened. There he stood, only slightly taller than her. His ranginess had vanished and his round cheeks had spread to the rest of his body. The open expression on his face suddenly closed; clearly, he'd been expecting someone else. He casually stepped back and looked expectantly at her without speaking. She could tell he didn't recognize her.

Something in his eye jogged her memory. She knew Klaus had been with him the evening before his death. That Lars had agreed to come by and help him carry their double bed upstairs while she was in Roskilde, at the Gnags concert with Camilla.

Louise had completely forgotten that. Just as she had repressed all the too-painful details. She didn't even know if the bed had been moved upstairs, because she didn't go inside the house after she found Klaus hanging in the hallway. And she'd never returned.

Her little brother Mikkel, her parents, and Camilla had packed her things and taken them to Lerbjerg. Klaus's parents had dealt with all his belongings. They told Louise that she was welcome to anything they had bought together, but she had politely declined. All of it had been recycled.

A shadow passed over the butcher's face when he finally recognized her. He lowered his eyes to the level of her throat to avoid eye contact. He still hadn't said anything and she couldn't find a way to get started, until Eik saved her by announcing that they wanted to talk about his son.

“Police,” the butcher said, nodding as he stepped aside. “I don't know if my wife is awake. She's not doing so well. I thought you were the nurse; it's been over an hour since I called.”

“I'm very sorry to hear that,” Eik said.

“Have you found him?”

The butcher looked up at Eik, who was already halfway into the hall. He seemed uneasy, fearful.

“No, we haven't found your son yet,” Louise said. Quickly, she stepped inside. “We'd like to talk to you about him, and why he might possibly be hiding in the forest close to Roskilde.”

The butcher got in her face. “Let's get something straight right now. If you've been listening to that schoolteacher, you need to know he's full of shit. I don't want to hear it. My son isn't hiding. Why the hell should he be?”

Louise was so surprised by this outburst that for a moment she stood speechless, staring at the Thor's hammer hanging from a silver chain around the man's neck.

Eik walked into the kitchen and asked where they could sit and talk. The butcher turned his back on Louise and motioned them into the living room, where a big flat-screen TV took up most of one wall.

“I'm not listening to more gossip,” he said. “The whole town's talking. They even talk about it while they're fucking standing in line in my shop. And they stare. Like it's my goddamn fault, all of it. That my wife's sick, that my boy couldn't handle it. I'm not going to fucking take it anymore. And now you show up…”

He sank down into his soft leather easy chair, his back to the windows with a view of the fields behind the house.

“Your son is handling it better than a lot of people would,” Eik said, sitting on the sofa across from him. “We have reason to believe that he's doing fine. But we need to ask you and your wife a few questions.”

“Have you talked to him?” the butcher asked. He sat up; suddenly he looked very pale.

“Would you please see if your wife is awake and able to speak with us?” Eik said. Louise kept her mouth shut and walked over to the window behind the dining room table. The lawn looked more like a meadow, separated from the field behind by an uneven stone fence.

The butcher walked over to a door across the room, knocked lightly, and went inside. Louise glanced into the room, but it was dark. He closed the door, and she turned back to the view outside, disquieted by the atmosphere in this house.

She knew Hvalsø all too well. Knew how it felt when the town talked about you, whispered behind your back. Even though she had an instinctive aversion to the butcher, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for him, too. And anyway, Klaus must have had a reason to be friends with him.

“You can come in,” he said from the doorway.

The first thing Louise noticed was the metal pole with the IV bag and the clear plastic tubing that disappeared underneath the thick comforter. A tiny, frail woman lay buried in pillows.

Eik stood beside the bed and introduced himself. Louise joined him and was about to offer her hand when she froze.

“Jane,” she said, her voice hoarse. She crouched down, her eyes now level with her old schoolmate. “Is it you?”

The woman was a shadow of the schoolmate Louise had played handball with, but after Louise hooked up with Klaus they'd gone their separate ways.

She stopped before her voice broke. Why in hell had she not read up on the case properly? She should have checked to see if the boy's mother was someone she knew.

“Yes, it's me.” The voice seemed to come from deep down in the pillow. “I'd recognize your voice even if I couldn't see you.”

Jane's eyes were sunken, her face so thin that her cheekbones stood out like two sharp corners. Not much remained of the grocery manager's beautiful daughter, but she lifted her hand up a few centimeters from the comforter and smiled at Louise.

“Lars says you have news about Sune.” Her eyes blurred, and a moment later a tear ran down her cheek.

Louise took her hand and stroked it with her thumb. “We think we've found him.” She pulled her phone out with her other hand and showed Jane the photo of the pocketknife from inside the hollow tree. “Or at least we found where he's been staying some of the time,” she said. She asked if the knife belonged to their son.

It was overwhelming to see the relief flooding into the mother's face when she saw the knife. The father's reaction wasn't as clear. Relief. Fear. Confusion, maybe.

“It's his old knife,” Jane said to her husband. The tears came freely now; she turned her head to the side and let them fall on the pillow. Then she closed her eyes, and it seemed as though she withdrew into herself.

Louise let her rest. A somber silence fell over the room.

“I just don't understand what he's doing out there,” Jane said a few moments later, her eyes still closed. “Is he hiding from someone?”

Her husband broke in. “None of us understands this. We've been preparing ourselves for anything after he disappeared. Someone could've stolen his knife,” he added.

Louise and Eik glanced at each other. What the hell was it with him? Louise thought. Could it be some mental wall he'd built, to shield himself from the family's problems?

Eik asked if they could borrow a few chairs and sit down.

“Sure,” the butcher said, bringing in two dining room chairs. They sat beside the bed. Jane looked up at the ceiling with her hands folded on the comforter.

“Our son has been very deeply affected by my illness,” she said, turning to them now. “But all the time he's been missing, I've never believed he would go so far as to take his own life.”

Her husband quickly jumped in. “No one's said he did.” His tone made it obvious that they indeed had talked about it, possibly even prepared themselves for it. “But you do read nowadays that a lot of teenagers play around with the idea,” he continued. “It's the ultimate punishment for parents. The school principal even said that on the phone.”

He sniggered. “It's almost like they blame us already. That it's our fault he might have done it.”

“Lars, please!” his wife whispered. “Don't be so angry.”

The butcher suddenly hid his face in his hands and bowed his head.

“It's not always easy living in a small town, with people gossiping,” she said, to excuse her husband.

Louise looked away when her old school friend made eye contact with her.

“At any rate, not when you have a shop, and everyone thinks they know you,” Jane continued. “And Lars is right. You get the impression that people think my illness is why Sune isn't doing well, that maybe he even…” She closed her eyes.

“But luckily there's no reason anymore to believe that your son chose that path,” Eik said. He asked if Sune had been a Boy Scout.

“Yes,” his mother said, with a hint of pride. “He has all the merit badges you can earn. He never cared about hanging out at the gym with the other boys.”

Louise noticed that his father was about to say something, but he stopped himself.

“Does this mean he's coming home?” Jane said hesitantly, as if she was afraid it was too early for optimism. “Not a moment has gone by that I haven't thought about him. What hurts the most is that we might never say good-bye to each other. I've planned it all; I know exactly what I want to say to my son, the words that will help him when I'm gone. But now that he's not here, I haven't been able to say any of it to him.”

She turned to Louise, who had to muster every bit of willpower not to lower her eyes. She'd known this woman well, and it was heart wrenching to see her this way.
Be professional
, she scolded herself. She tried to focus on what was in front of her: a dying woman now hoping to be reunited with her son.

“We found a campsite in Boserup Forest, where your son probably has been staying since he disappeared,” Eik said. Louise straightened up in her chair, thankful once again for Eik.

“Fine,” the butcher said, preparing to stand up. “I'll go out and get him.”

Louise and Eik said nothing, and eventually the parents sensed that something was wrong.

“He's not there anymore,” Louise said. “The camp's been abandoned.”

“Did he have any money when he disappeared?” Eik asked. “Cash, credit card?”

Both parents shook their heads. “He had a debit card, but it's in his wallet,” his father said. He leaned back in his chair.

“We're going to ask Roskilde Police to initiate a search for—” Louise said.

“I'll find my son myself,” the butcher said. “Sune has been through enough. I don't want him hunted by the police, too.”

Louise nodded and handed him her card. “I don't know if you have anyone to help you search, but call me if you don't find him. And I'll notify my colleagues in Roskilde.”

Jane reached out for her hand. “Thank you for helping,” she said, smiling broadly now. “I can't tell you how relieved I am. I've been so unhappy. I might leave this world at peace with myself after all; that means more than I can ever say. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. It's so important to be able to say your good-byes.”

Louise squeezed Jane's hand and nodded. She wasn't sure she could help her old friend. All she knew was that Jane's son had been staying in the forest, and right now she had no idea where he was.

She felt the butcher's eyes on her back all the way out to the hall, and when she turned to say good-bye he was right behind her. She lowered her hand when she saw the expression on his face.

“I can't believe you'd stoop so low, putting René behind bars,” he said, his voice low. “He helped you, and that asshole got what was coming to him.”

“René killed him,” she snapped. “Shot him. It was completely unnecessary.”

“That's not what I heard.”

“So what did you hear?”

The butcher retreated a step and looked on her with scorn. “I heard he saved you from that asshole fucking your brains out.”

“He told you that?”

“You hear so much,” he said offhandedly, but then continued. “It's hard for him to tell what happened, sitting in jail. But I have a visitor's permit. I'm going in to see him tomorrow.”

Louise was enraged. She could imagine them sitting together and talking about her. Only moments ago she had almost changed her mind about Lars Frandsen, but now she remembered very clearly why she had hated him and his gang.