Page 62 of Hidden in Memories
“The question is how they managed to buy it at all. The council is usually pretty cautious on these matters, and in a case like this, which has led to so many protests in the area, it would be extra sensitive.”
Anton studies the drawings again. Raffe is right. They clearly show the need for more land. If their theory is correct, Charlotte Wretlind managed both to push through a remarkable land purchase and to obtain planning permission that should perhaps never have been granted.
How did she do it?
“Let’s see if there were any suspect financial transactions between Charlotte and Bengt Hedin. If she paid him any money, possibly under the table. I think that would be a lot more useful than digging around in Copperhill’s accounts.”
Raffe has already started making notes.
“The text message exchange is a strong indication that Hedin has been paid for helping Charlotte,” Anton continues. “Even if it sounds as if he wanted to pull out.”
“I agree.” Raffe looks up from the screen. “But how does that fit with the murder?”
Anton pictures various scenarios. Could it be Bengt Hedin who got into the hotel on Sunday in order to attack Charlotte? He didn’t exactly give the impression of a man with violent tendencies, although he did seem nervous during their meeting earlier today.
Could more than one person be behind the killing?
“I think he’s involved in some way,” he replies eventually. “The question is how.”
50
The pillars at the entrance to the Timmerstugan restaurant not far from the VM6 lift are adorned with colorful Easter branches. There are tables and benches outside for those who want to enjoy a beer after skiing.
Ida feels a little guilty as she sits down opposite Gustav. She ought to go home and relieve her mom. She promised to be back by five at the latest, and it’s already quarter to.
But it’s wonderful to sit in the afternoon sun with a glass of foaming lager. They’ve had a fantastic day on the slopes, skiing like crazy people, as if it were the last day of the season.
Her body is exhausted, but her heart is full of joy. She can’t remember the last time she had so much fun.
“Skål,” Gustav says, raising his glass to her. “I’m so glad we bumped into each other. It must be fate!”
His smile is infectious. He has taken off his helmet, and his curls hang loose over his shoulders. They are like a halo around his head, shimmering in the sunlight. Gustav’s hair makes most girls sigh enviously; Ida used to laugh and say it was wasted on a guy.
“You’re an amazing skier,” he goes on. “So confident, brilliant technique.”
Ida feels her cheeks flush red. She competed in the slalom as a child, like many others in the area, but stopped in her teens when other interests—like boys and clothes—took over. She never really had the competitive edge that would have made her willing to sacrifice everything for training, but she still has the technique.
“I guess it’s just muscle memory,” she mumbles into her glass. The unexpected praise warms her heart. She rarely feels ... cool.
Or openly admired. There is no doubt that Gustav likes her, she can see it in his eyes.
The sun is still warm, and melting snow drips from the gutters. VM6 is no more than a hundred yards away. It has just closed for the day, and the chairs are on their way down from the top station. Ida can see the last of the skiers skimming down Stjärnbacken, the piste above the restaurant.
The DJ changes the track to “Jump” by Van Halen, the music pumping from the speakers. Ida gets the urge to leap up and dance.
“We should do this again,” Gustav says, winking at her like he did on the chairlift when they met a few hours ago. He takes a swig of his beer, and a little of the foam sticks to the corners of his mouth. It’s kind of cute.
Something within Ida comes to life.
Gustav puts down his glass and reaches out across the table. He takes her hand between his, gently runs his fingertips over her palm, lingering on the sensitive skin in the center.
His touch burns like fire, and a shiver of excitement runs through Ida’s body.
He leans forward until his face is only a couple of inches from hers. His lips are slightly parted, and he doesn’t take his eyes off her.
What the hell is she doing?
Ida yanks her hand away. She picks up her phone to check the time, making it impossible for Gustav to misread the gesture.
