This Land is no Stranger Sarah Hollister (best biographies to read .txt) 📖

“Take the message to heart, Detective, and stay out of my family’s business,” Hans said, moving as if to return inside.

“Wait, what? What did you say?”

He halted. “I said, and I will not repeat it, don’t come near the Voss family again or you will regret it.”

Brand let the truth sink in. “You’re Hans Voss?”

But the man disappeared into the house without answering.

The sign in the Haunted Forest, Brand knew, represented a warning.

I’d turn back if I were you, it read.

Ebba stepped out of the house onto the terrace. “Detective Brand?” she called.

“Yes?” Brand answered, rising to her feet.

“It’s the oddest thing, but the police are here, some of our own Stockholm police officers. They say they wish to speak to you.”

Ebba gave a thin smile, displaying her wine-stained teeth. “What’s this about, Veronika?”

28.

They let her cool for forty-two minutes, sitting alone in the interview room at the local polisstation. Except for the Judas slot in the door with a Plexiglas pane behind it, the space was windowless.

Earlier, two uniforms and a kriminalinspektör named Linnéa Beck had marched her out of the dinner party. Ebba’s guests lined up and stared with unconcealed delight, as if they thought the whole thing might be a show put on for their entertainment.

In front of Lehtonen’s luxurious home a pair of police vehicles had pulled up, a van and a smaller sedan. In the back seat of the sedan sat a white-faced Krister Hammar, peering out of the side window. Brand tried to give him what she thought was a reassuring look but which probably read as a grimace of commiseration. The officers placed Brand in the van and Beck climbed into the front beside the driver.

Kriminalinspektör Beck treated Brand with pro forma officiousness. No, she was certainly not under arrest. They would simply like to ask a few questions of her down at the station house.

“Look,” Brand informed her. “I’m an NYPD detective lieutenant with fifteen years on the job.”

“Yes, Detective Brand,” Beck said. “By now I have often been informed of this fact.”

“I mean, of course I’ll cooperate,” Brand pleaded. “I can vouch for Mr Hammar, too. Do we really have to be put through this whole business?”

But they had brought her to the polisstation and held her there. The pace of the process felt agonizingly slow. She recognized the technique. The solitary waiting period represented a way to increase her tension. It was designed to break her resistance.

Something bothered Brand beyond the obvious awkwardness of the immediate situation. Once again she felt a nagging sense of hidden forces at work. A dynamic existed that she urgently needed to understand. It eluded her, always just out of reach. Some sort of puppet-master worked behind the scenes. When Brand tried to follow the attached strings to see who was manipulating her, the marionette apparatus melted into darkness.

Finally, a pair of Swedish cops entered the interrogation room. Both were male, both were in plainclothes, and neither one of them was Linnea Beck. The two introduced themselves as Detective Inspectors Edvin Larsson and Vincent Hult. They sat across the table from Brand. Larsson looked too young to carry much weight. They both came off as friendly and spoke perfect English. At first, they seemed not at all interested in the strong arm.

“Detective Brand,” Hult began.

“Oh, it’s Veronika, please.”

“Yes, Veronika,” Hult nodded.

“I mean, we’re all friends here, right?” Brand attempted a bright smile.

Hult gave a forced one. Larsson stayed silent and fiddled with note-taking. Brand wondered how differently the interview might have gone down had her duty pistol been somehow involved. She took back her curse of the pink-haired punk for stealing the Glock.

“What’s this about?” she asked.

“You indicated to Linnea that you have primarily stayed in the immediate Stockholm area during your visit to Sweden, is that correct?” Hult asked.

“I made a visit to my family’s homestead in Härjedalen.”

Hult nodded. His sidekick Larsson scribbled in his notes.

“So, Härjedalen,” Hult said. “Anywhere else?”

“No, not really,” Brand fibbed.

“On your journey to Härjedalen, did you take a detour to a village called Västvall?”

“No.” The business of police, Brand reminded herself, was to sit around and listen to people lie.

“You also visited a historical manor house near the small town of Ljusdal, is that right? The incident that occurred there is quite concerning.”

Brand stayed mute.

“Where do you stay while here in Sweden, Veronika?”

“Well, right now I have use of a guest house in a Stockholm suburb,” Brand said. “It’s Täby or Djursholm. As the crow flies, I guess my cousin Lukas Dalgren’s place is fairly near to Stockholm.”

“Fågelvägen,” Hult murmured to Larsson, which Brand figured was how Swedes said, “as the crow flies.”

Hult turned back to Brand. “What I want you to help us understand is why you are in Sweden in the first place.”

“Well, it’s a free country, as we say back home.” Brand didn’t like the guy, and was giving him back a little sand. “You’ve seen my U.S. passport and my NYPD ID. I’m here legally. I didn’t have to swim the Mediterranean or anything.”

“Please, Veronika,” Hult said, impatient with her.

“Okay, so the boring truth is, my grandparents emigrated from here,” Brand said. “I have many relatives in the country.”

“You come to Sweden in the middle of February,” Hult said. “You tell the customs inspectors on entry into the country that your visit is personal, that you are attending a reunion of family. But we know that what you call ‘the boring truth’ is not the entire truth—not the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Isn’t that right?”

Brand was impressed. The Swedish police definitely did their homework, up to and including reaching out to customs inspectors. “I attended a reunion with my family,” she said. “Many of whom I’ve never met before. This is my first time in Sweden. As I said, many of my ancestors came from here.”

“But the reunion business seems to be some sort of cover story,” Hult said.

“Why would you say that?”

The younger