Rites of Spring Anders Motte (classic children's novels txt) 📖

Was that why she was waiting for you in the forest? Was the whole thing actually her idea?

LEO RASMUSSEN: No, no, no!

INTERVIEWER: Elita was manipulative – plenty of people have said so. She was fascinated by death, and wanted to be the spring sacrifice. Did you agree to help her, Leo? Did you pick up a stone and hold it above your head as she lay there on her back in her white dress? Maybe you didn’t intend it to go any further?

LEO RASMUSSEN: No, no . . .

INTERVIEWER: You were angry with her – perhaps that made it easier. She’d rejected you. If you couldn’t have her, then nor could anyone else. Or was it all just a game? Elita liked games, dressing up, acting out little stories. She liked to be the centre of attention. She didn’t want you, didn’t want to run away with you, and yet she’d had the nerve to ask you to help her with this stupid charade. You were angry, hurt and drunk. And now she was lying there in front of you, kitted out as the spring sacrifice, asking you to kill her. The woman who’d just turned you down, laughed at your pain. All you had to do was bring the stone down on her face – that would stop her laughing. Maybe you didn’t even do it deliberately. Maybe you just dropped the stone. Maybe the whole thing was just a tragic accident?

LEO RASMUSSEN: (SOBS)

INTERVIEWER: Perhaps your mother can’t stand any more of your lies, Leo. She’s realised what actually happened, and she’s not coming back until you tell the truth.

LEO RASMUSSEN: (CRIES)

INTERVIEWER: I can see you’re suffering, Leo. You’ll feel better as soon as you get it off your chest. Was it an accident, Leo?

LEO RASMUSSEN: I . . . I don’t remember. I fell off the horse. (CRIES) My mother . . .

INTERVIEWER: But you do remember being there? In the stone circle?

LEO RASMUSSEN: M-maybe.

INTERVIEWER: And that you were angry with Elita?

LEO RASMUSSEN: Yes. (CRIES) But I loved her.

INTERVIEWER: So you did it out of love? Could it have been an act of love? Because she asked you to do it?

LEO RASMUSSEN: Maybe. (CRIES)

INTERVIEWER: It’s OK, Leo. You’re doing really well.

LEO RASMUSSEN: (SOBS HELPLESSLY)

INTERVIEWER: So shall we say that you did it out of love?

INTERVIEWER: You’re nodding, Leo, but you have to say it out loud for the tape. Did you kill Elita out of love?

LEO RASMUSSEN: Mm . . .

Thea lets out a long, slow breath. In spite of the dry, typewritten transcript, she can feel the charged atmosphere in the room. The interviewer was manipulative, exploiting Leo’s isolation, his love for Elita, the sense of abandonment he must have felt, knowing that his mother had gone.

She doesn’t know if the police are allowed to do that. Her only experience is what she’s seen on TV crime shows, and it’s nothing like what she’s just read.

She rubs her forehead, feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing. Exhausted. But there is one document she hasn’t yet read, and which interests her. Something she knows a lot more about than police interrogation and crime scene reports.

The form is old and typewritten, but she is familiar with the language of the autopsy report from her time as a forensic pathologist.

The summary on the first page is aimed at non-medical personnel, such as police officers, prosecutors, defence lawyers and judges. It states baldly that Elita Svart died as a result of blunt force trauma to the head. Her injuries indicated that she was subjected to one or possibly two violent blows to the upper part of the face, which led to instantaneous death. The murder weapon is described as a large blunt object, probably a stone.

There were no traces on the body that could be linked to a possible perpetrator. No fragments of skin under Elita’s nails to suggest a struggle, although there was a certain amount of soil. Several strands of hair were found on her clothing; the reader is referred to a different technical report. Thea checks and learns that these hairs come from horses and dogs – the animals that lived at Svartgården.

A more detailed account of the autopsy itself follows the summary. Thea soon realises that something isn’t right. The beginning and end are there, but a chunk is missing in the middle. She assumes that the original document pages stuck together, so the archivist failed to copy this section. However, when she checks the pagination, she sees that there are no pages missing – and yet the report is definitely incomplete.

She takes a closer look at the numbers from the middle onwards. The typeface looks slightly different, and the numbers are about a centimetre further to the right than in the rest of the document. She photographs some of them with her phone, then enlarges the image on the screen and plays around with the brightness. In a couple of places she thinks she can see a faint, uneven shadow right next to the numbers – as if someone has Tippexed over the original then typed a different one.

Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. If the pathologist had found something significant, it would have been included in the summary on the first page. She photographs that too, adjusts the brightness once more. No Tippex shadows this time, but there is something almost at the bottom. A thin line across the page could indicate that someone placed a piece of white paper over the original so that the last sentence didn’t appear on the copy. A kind of Eighties version of Photoshop.

Thea goes through the autopsy report once more just to make sure, and reaches the same conclusion.

One page is missing – the examination of Elita’s stomach. Someone has removed that page, and tried to hide the information.

What could they have found in her stomach that was so controversial that someone went to so much effort to keep it quiet?

A sentence from Elita’s letter pops into Thea’s head.

Because no secret is greater than mine.

She rubs her