Frozen Tracks

18

ANGELA WALKED HOME DEEP IN THOUGHT. SANTA CLAUS WAS IN most of the shop windows, but there was no snow on the ground. The pavements glistened damply in the electric light from the streetlamps and windows. She thought about the injured boy and his parents. She thought about Lena Sköld and her life as a single parent. No man in her life now, and no father for Ellen. Maybe later.

She paused outside the front door. Vasaplatsen was quiet this evening, but the wind was picking up from the north and blowing along the Allé. She raised the collar of her overcoat and paused to take in the scene. A streetcar stopped on the other side of the street, then trundled off again in the same direction as the wind. She could see two people in the front car, but nobody at all in the second one. A way of traveling for someone who wanted to be alone. She noticed the driver looking at her as he drove past.

Driving a streetcar was one way of seeing Gothenburg. Anyone who drove the same route for a long time would get to know all the surrounding streets and the intersections and the parks. And the streetcars didn’t go fast, either. In fact, they were annoyingly slow, and she was glad she had her Golf; but then again, she also had the usual guilty conscience about ruining the quality of the air that everybody was forced to breathe, whether they wanted to or not.

She would leave the car at home. Occasionally.

Elsa has to breathe this air. Vasaplatsen isn’t the best place to be, from that perspective. Elsa is still a tender rosebud. What do we do? Do we have any choice but to move? We’ll have to discuss it again, Erik and I, seriously. She had shouted from the hall but there was no reply, so she’d gone to the bedroom. They’d fallen asleep in the double bed. There were about ten picture books scattered around them in a rough circle.

Elsa mumbled in her sleep when Angela picked her up and put her to bed in her own room, where the light was on.

Winter was in the kitchen now, and had put the kettle on.

“How about a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please. I need that after all the coffee at the meeting.”

“Would you like a slice of pie?”

“No thank you.”

“Half a baguette with brie and salami?”

“

Non, merci.”

“Smoked mussels.”

“Erik, I’m not hungry.”

“How did it go?”

“There was some talk about that… that incident. The Waggoner boy.”

“We’re going to try to speak to him tomorrow.”

“Any leads?”

“We’re checking all the local loonies now. Nothing yet.”

“What does Pia say?”

Angela had met Pia Fröberg, the forensic pathologist, several times.

“She can’t see any signs of sexual assault,” he said. “It’s probably just your usual assault.”

“Just?”

“Didn’t you hear the quotes? I prefer not to write them in the air.”

“Where’d that tea go?”

The wind was blowing rain all over the big windshield. There was something wrong with one of the wipers: It was out of sync with the other one. Or perhaps it was the other one that was faulty. In any case, it was like watching somebody with a limp, dragging one leg. He’d have to report it.

Gothenburg glittered as he drove around the city. It would soon be Christmas again. The old man had asked him. He’d said no.

Hardly anybody in the streetcar, but he wasn’t complaining. Somebody got off at Vasaplatsen, but nobody got on. There’d been a woman standing in a doorway, watching him. Didn’t people have anything better to do? There was a restaurant on the corner to her left. She could have gone there.

Several people got on at the Central Station, on their way to the northern wildernesses that he was also heading for, of course. Wastelands with high-rises so tall they looked as if they were trying to fly up to heaven, but they could ask him about heaven and he would’ve told them the truth about it. There’s nothing there.

He drove alongside the river, which was as black as it always was. He could see the other bridge to the west that was bigger and more beautiful. You could see a lot of beautiful things from here. There were fir trees decorated with a thousand Christmas candles.

The boy had put up a fight.

He bit his hand so hard it hurt.

Bill was dangling on his string beside him. The parrot was positioned in such a way that nobody getting on would be able to see it unless they sort of bent around the driver, and why would anybody want to do that? Besides, it wasn’t allowed.

He stopped the streetcar, and lots of people got on. Why on earth did they want to be out at this time? It was starting to get late.

Why hadn’t he driven the boy back to where he’d found him?

He’d intended to do that. He always did that. Assuming that he’d driven away in the first place.

I don’t understand why I didn’t take him back. Perhaps because he put up a fight. That was no doubt why. He didn’t want to be nice when I was being nice. I tried.

Somebody to his right said something. The doors were open. He could feel the wind coming in from the outside. This could create a sort of spiral of wind in the streetcar.

“Why aren’t we moving?”

He turned to look at the man standing next to his cab.

“Sixteen kronor,” he said.

“Eh?”

“A ticket costs sixteen kronor,” he said. People should know that if they were going to take a streetcar ride. Some didn’t pay at all. Cheated. Some of them got caught when an inspector came onboard. He never talked to the inspectors, who were known as the Tenson gang because they always wore ugly Tenson jackets. They did their job and he did his.

“I don’t want a ticket,” said the man. “I’ve already got one and I just got it stamped.”

“No ticket?”

“Why are we standing here? Why don’t you start moving?”

“This is a stop,” he said. “I have to stop so that people can get on and off.”

“They’ve already done that, for Christ’s sake!” said the man, who appeared to be drunk. There were always drunks on the streetcars. He could tell you all about that!

“We got on and off about a hundred years ago, and now we want to go,” said the man, leaning forward. “Why the hell don’t you start moving?”

“I’ll call the police!” he said, without having intended to say that the second before he did so.

“Eh?”

He didn’t want to say it again.

“Call the police? That’s a fucking brilliant idea. Then we might finally get moving. They can give us an escort,” said the drunk. “I can call them myself, come to that.” He produced a mobile.

Now I’m off.

The streetcar started with a jerk, and the man with the mobile was flung backward and almost fell over, but managed to hang on to one of the straps. He dropped his mobile and it crashed to the floor.

They were off.

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” yelled the man. His posture was most peculiar. A drunk who couldn’t stand up straight. Now he was bending down. He was visible in the mirror. “I dropped my mobile.” It was impossible to hear what he said next. Now he was back by the driver’s cab again. It was forbidden to talk to the driver while the streetcar was in motion.

“If it’s busted I’ll fucking report you to the fucking police, you fucking idiot.”

He decided to ignore the drunk. That was the best way.

He came to a halt at the next stop. People were waiting to get on. The drunk was standing in the way. The newcomers forced him back. He had to make way. A lady got on. A ticket? Of course. That’ll be sixteen kronor, please. Here you are, a ticket and four kronor change.

He took off, stopped, took off again. It was quiet now. He stopped once more. Opened the doors.

“Consider yourself lucky that my mobile’s still working, you fucking idiot,” yelled the drunk as he got off. Good riddance.

Unfortunately there would be more of them. Some more would get on after he’d turned around and started on his way back. It was always the same. They were a traffic hazard. He could tell the authorities all about that. He had, in fact.

“It’s as if I’ve lost all my enthusiasm for Christmas,” said Angela. “It was a sort of sudden feeling I had in the elevator. Or an insight.”

“An insight into what?”

“You know.”

“You shouldn’t have come with me the first time we saw the boy,” said Winter.

“Yes, it was important for me to be there.”

He didn’t reply, listened for a moment to the fridge, and to the radio mumbling away in its corner.

“Is it the twenty-third our flights are booked for?” Angela asked.

“Yes.”

“It’ll be nice.”

“I expect so.”

“A warm Christmas,” she said.

“I don’t think it will be all that warm.”

“No, there’s bound to be subzero temperatures on Christmas Eve in Marbella.” She continued warming her hands around the cup she hadn’t yet finished. “Stormy, freezing cold, and no central heating.”

“There might be snow,” said Winter.

“There is snow,” she said. “On top of Sierra Blanca.”

He nodded. The trip would work out. His mother would be pleased. There would be sun there. Five days on the Costa del Sol, and then it would be New Year’s again, and the weather would turn and spring would begin to advance, and then summer, and there was no need to look any further ahead than that.

“I met a woman at the nursery-school meeting who had something interesting to tell me,” she said, looking at him. “It was a bit strange.”

“Go on.”

“It made me think about that boy. I mean, we had been talking about it during the evening.”

“We can’t keep everything secret,” said Winter.

“That might be for the best.”

“What did she have to say?” he asked.

“That her daughter had… met a stranger. Apparently she’d been sitting in a car with some grown-up. That’s all.”

“What do you mean, that’s all?”

“I don’t know. The girl came home and told her mother about it. That she’d been sitting in a car, I guess, with somebody else for a little while. That was all.”

“She came home and told her mom about it?”

“Yes. Ellen. The girl’s name is Ellen. She goes to the same nursery school as Elsa. Ellen Sköld.”

“I recognize the name.”

“That’s who it was. Her mother’s called Lena.”

“And she believed it?”

“She didn’t really know what to believe. Nothing had happened.”

“What did she do next? After hearing about this?”

“She reported it. She spoke to somebody at the local police station in Linnéstaden.”

“What did the staff say?” he asked. “The nursery-school staff, I mean.”

“She spoke to them but nobody had noticed anything.”

Winter said something she couldn’t hear.

“What did you say?”

“They can’t see everything,” he said.

She stood up, went to the sink, and put her mug on the draining board. Winter remained seated. She went back to the table. He was staring into space.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

“This all sounds strange.”

“Her mother thinks so, too. Lena.”

“But she reported it to the police. So there should be a record of it.” He looked at her. “At the station, I mean.”

“There must be. The police officer she spoke to seemed to take it seriously, at least. He asked her to check if the girl had lost anything, and it turned out that she had.”

“Something disappeared? When?”

“The day it happened.”

“Children lose things all the time. That’s not unusual, you know that.”

“But this seems to have been something she couldn’t just lose. Ellen, I mean. It was a charm that was fastened down somehow.”

“Lena Sköld,” said Winter. “You said the mother was called Lena Sköld?”

“Yes. What are you going to do?”

“Talk to her.”

“I didn’t tell her that I lived with a detective chief inspector.”

“Well, she’ll find out now. Does it matter?”

“No.”

“I think I’ve probably exchanged a few words with her when I’ve dropped Elsa off. I recognize the girl’s name. But I don’t think her mother knows what my job is.”

“Does it matter?”

Winter smiled, and stood up.

“You knew exactly what you were doing when you told me this, didn’t you?” he said.

She nodded.

“Have you ever heard of anything like this before?” she asked.

“I’ll first have to find out exactly what it is that I’ve heard about,” he said.

He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He thought he would probably be able to recognize the girl when he saw her.

He allowed the darkness to linger on in his apartment after he closed the door. He knew his way around it so well, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been blind. In his apartment, that is. He wouldn’t have managed so well outside.

Darkness was more attractive indoors than out. A small amount of light trickled in through the venetian blinds even though he had closed them as tightly as possible.

He sat in front of the television screen. The boy in the video was laughing. At least, it looked like he was laughing. But something was wrong.

Why had he stopped? Suddenly he didn’t want to touch the boy anymore. What was it? Should he go to the doctor and tell him what happened and ask if it was normal or abnormal?

He watched all the videos. He had a little collection. Similar videos, but slightly different. He was familiar with all the details now. You could see. A little extra step each time. He knew that now. And yet, he didn’t really. He was on the way to… to… He refused to think about it. Refused. I refuse!

Don’t think about the boy. That was something different. No. It was not.

Mom never heard him when he shouted. He had moved in there and didn’t need to make a bed for his mom every evening in the house a thousand miles away. Mom was there. He used to shout.

She never heard.

Once he emerged afterward and he shouted and she sat there with her head averted, and she didn’t hear him then either. It was as if he wasn’t there. He didn’t dare stand in front of her. Maybe she really hadn’t heard him before, but if he stood in front of her and she didn’t see him, he wouldn’t exist anymore. He knew that she wasn’t blind, and so he wouldn’t exist. He didn’t exist.

Then she wasn’t there anymore.

And then came all the rest of it.

The telephone rang. He jumped and almost dropped the remote control. He let the phone ring, ring, ring. Five times, six. Then it stopped. He didn’t have an answering machine. What was the point?

It rang again. He wasn’t there. Or he was there but he didn’t hear the telephone, and so he wasn’t there. It stopped eventually, and he could busy himself with the videos for a bit longer and then get ready for bed. All this without switching on a single light. Anybody passing by outside would definitely think there was nobody at home, or that someone was in bed, asleep. And that was what he was going to do now.