Frozen Tracks

21

THE MORNING MEETING WAS HELD BY CANDLELIGHT. TWO ADVENT candles were burning on the table, and hundreds of similar ones dotted the building. Coffee and Lucia buns were on the table, as well as a plate of ginger cookies that Halders was working his way through. Before Winter had the opportunity to say anything, the door burst open. Birgersson had a strange grin on his face, and was beckoning:

“Come and look at this.”

They could hear the singing in the corridor. It was December 13, St. Lucia’s Day, and the traditional procession was approaching, led by Lucia, dressed in a white robe and with a crown of burning candles on her head. She was accompanied by her maids, looking like angels gliding through the catacombs. Winter recognized Lucia as a girl from reception, and some of her maids. At the back of the procession were two “star” boys, both with the same strange grin as Birgersson had worn a minute ago, and still had, as Winter saw when he looked at him. The two star boys, wearing conical white hats and carrying sticks with a silver star on the end, were a couple of experienced officers from the cells. One of them was notorious for his violent temperament.

Halders tried to trip him as he walked past. His colleague responded with an internationally recognized gesture.

“You can shove that where the sun don’t shine,” said Halders with a smile, pointing at the star boy’s stick.

“That could be anywhere at all in this town,” mumbled Birgersson next to Halders. “At this time of the year.”

The procession continued along the corridor, singing Saaantaa Luuciiiia in keys unknown to musicologists, amplified by the acoustics of the tiled walls. Bergenhem held his hands over his ears.

“Did you know it was Lucia Day today?” asked Winter, turning to look at Birgersson.

“I’m the boss here, aren’t I? I know everything.”

“And now we’ll have to wait until next year,” said Aneta Djanali. “Another year before we can see anything like this again.”

“Maybe they’ll make you Lucia,” said Halders. “It would be modern and politically correct to have a black Lucia, don’t you think?”

“Yes, that has always been my dream. It would be a dream come true.”

“Besides, Lucia came from Africa,” said Halders.

“ Sicily,” said Djanali. “ Southern Italy.”

“Southern Europe, North Africa, what’s the difference?” said Halders.

“The coffee’s getting cold,” said Winter.

The candles were still burning on the table, but they had turned on the overhead light. Goodbye cozy atmosphere, Djanali thought.

“We’ll make another attempt to talk to the boy,” said Ringmar.

“How much does he understand?” said Halders. “He’s barely four years old.”

“According to his parents he speaks well,” said Ringmar. “Besides, he’s bilingual.”

“That’s more than you can say for us,” said Halders.

“Speak for yourself,” said Djanali.

“He’s still in a state of shock,” said Winter, “but they haven’t found any injuries to his head.”

Is this Halders we’re talking about? Bergenhem thought.

“His ability to move his limbs is improving, and he probably won’t suffer any permanent damage.” He looked up. “Physical damage, that is.”

“How’s your search through the records going?” asked Halders, looking at Möllerström.

“There are a lot of names,” said Möllerström. “Pedophiles, child abusers, other sex offenders, you know the types. It’s a long list.”

“Let’s go through it slowly and carefully,” said Winter.

“All we’ve come across so far are alibis,” said Bergenhem. “They all seem to be behaving themselves.”

“Any chance of more staff to help with the door-to-door?” Halders wondered.

“Possibly,” said Winter.

“What’s the matter with Birgersson?” said Halders. “This could have led to murder, for Christ’s sake. People living in the area might have seen the bloody lunatic when he picked up the boy.”

“For now we have to work with the resources we have,” said Winter.

“Why wasn’t the boy abused sexually?” asked Djanali. She looked around at her colleagues. “I’ve been asking myself that, you’ve been doing the same. He’s injured, but not in that way. Why? What does the man want? Why did he hurt the boy at all? Do these injuries mean something particular? Did he plan to do that from the start? Did something happen in the car? Had he actually intended to rape the boy? Why did he leave him like he did?”

“That’s a lot of questions,” said Halders.

“But all ones we have to ask ourselves,” said Djanali.

“Of course,” said Winter. “And it gets worse.” Everybody looked up. “Or maybe better. Listen to this. This is from the last twenty-four hours.”

He told them about the other children who had met this unknown mister. Ellen Sköld. Maja Bergort. And Kalle Skarin, the boy in Bengt Josefsson’s memo at the Härlanda police station.

“Hmm, what can you say to that?” said Halders.

“Anything at all,” said Winter. “We’re a team and this is all about team-work, and I want to hear your views now.”

“Is there actually a link between these three?” asked Halders, of nobody in particular.

“We don’t know yet,” said Winter. “We’ll have to speak to the children.”

Everybody looked at him.

“Do you really mean that?” asked Sara Helander.

“I’m not a hundred percent sure what I mean yet,” said Winter. “Let’s continue the discussion.”

“Links,” said Djanali. “We were talking about links. What could they be?”

“Three children, or four if you include young Waggoner. One difference: The other three were not abducted.”

“Why not?” asked Helander.

“He wasn’t ready yet,” said Halders. He looked at Ringmar and Winter on the other side of the table. “It’s basic psychology. The guy wasn’t ready the first few times. He was testing and maybe went a step further each time, and in the end he was up for it. But it is not necessarily anything sexual. Or maybe that will come later.”

“Instant analysis,” said Djanali.

“I’ll be proved right,” said Halders. He looked at Winter again. “Which means that he’s going to strike again. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He shuddered. “And always assuming, of course, that we establish a connection. And that some of this did actually happen. Well, we know about the Waggoner boy. But what about the others? They might just have been telling stories.”

“They might have,” said Winter.

“Four small kids find their way into a weirdo’s car without anybody noticing? Is this credible?” wondered Sara Helander.

“Maybe he wasn’t what we normally call a weirdo,” said Halders. “Didn’t you hear my analysis?”

“But is it credible?” insisted Helander. “That none of the staff noticed anything?”

“What staff?” said Halders. “They don’t have any damn staff anymore,” said Halders. “That’s the way it is nowadays. Bigger and bigger groups of children, and less and less staff to take care of them.”

“So you’re suggesting that this actually could happen? That these kids could vanish, presto, just like that?”

“Absolutely.”

“I doubt it,” said Helander.

“I think you should take that doubt of yours to any playground you like where there are lots of kids running around, and take a second to think about how you might be able to kidnap one,” said Halders. “Or at least arrange a private meeting with one of them.”

“Are you being serious?”

“You’d be surprised, Sara. At how easy it is.”

“Shouldn’t we check out these places properly?” asked Bergenhem. “The children’s playgrounds and day nurseries or wherever it was that these things happened?” He looked at Winter. “Apart from Plikta, that is, where Simon was abducted.”

“That applies to Ellen Sköld as well,” said Winter. “According to her, it also happened at Plikta.”

Even as he said that Winter could picture Elsa’s face. His daughter on the swings, in the middle of the playground, next to the parking lot.

Would the man they were hunting be there now? Had he already been there twice and achieved what he wanted to do? Would it happen again? In the same place? It was possible. Possibly more than possible.

“Anyway,” said Bergenhem, “should we put some resources into it?”

“Yes,” said Winter, picturing Elsa’s face. “But I don’t know the best way to go about it yet. I’ll think it over, and have a word with Sture.”

“Do it now while Lucia is still on his mind,” said Halders, causing Sara Helander to giggle.

“Was that funny?” said Halders, with a surprised expression on his face.

“One other thing,” said Winter. “Three of the children lost something after meeting this man. Maja Bergort lost a ball.”

“Good God,” said Halders. “When don’t children lose balls?”

“Do you mind if I finish?”

Halders nodded and said nothing.

“Her favorite ball,” said Winter, “She always had it with her. Ellen Sköld had a little silver bird charm zipped into an overall pocket. Gone. And Simon Waggoner lost his watch.” He looked up. “All this is according to the parents.”

“What about the fourth child?” asked Aneta Djanali. “What was his name?”

“Skarin. Kalle Skarin. I’m drawing a blank there so far. I spoke briefly to his mother yesterday, and she is going to look into it,” said Winter.

“What’s the chronological order of the incidents?” Halders asked.

“In the order of the phone calls we received it started with Skarin, then Sköld, then Bergort, and lastly Waggoner.”

“If he is the last,” said Halders.

“Do we have any doctors’ reports?” asked Djanali.

“In two cases. Waggoner, obviously, and the Bergort girl.”

“And?”

“No sexual abuse, if that’s what you are wondering. We know about Waggoner’s injuries, and in the case of Maja Bergort there’s a suspicion of injuries.”

Everybody looked at him.

“A colleague in Frölunda, Larissa Serimov, took the call and was also at the hospital where the parents took the girl immediately after she told her story. The doctor found some bruises. Serimov visited their house a few days later and thought she could see more.”

“So maybe it’s got nothing to do with our case,” said Halders. “They beat their kid and drive to the emergency room with their hearts in their mouths to have the injuries checked, and seem to be innocent.” He looked at Helander. “Happens all the time.”

“But the mother’s story is almost exactly the same as what the other mothers have said,” said Winter.

“Why is it only the mothers?” wondered Halders.

“It fits,” said Winter.

Nobody spoke for a while. The candles were still burning as the daylight outside grew brighter. Winter had a clear view out the window and watched the concrete pillars of the Nya Ullevi stadium slowly acquiring the same wispy gray mist as the air around them. Everything was part of a whole, everything seemed to be hovering. There were no borders, no lines. Now he could hear the patrol cars down below, more traffic than usual. It was Lucia morning and Gothenburg was different, thousands of young people needed assistance after the night of partying. They were lying in bunches all over town, as Halders had put it when he arrived. The railway stations were full of teenagers sleeping off their intoxication and preparing to cope with their hangovers, which would be awful but not as deadly.

“I’ve been trying to find some kind of pattern in the locations,” Winter said. “Why those particular spots? Why those day nurseries, or those playgrounds?”

“Have you drawn a map of them?” asked Djanali.

“That’s what I’m going to sit down and do this morning.”

It will only raise more questions, Halders thought; but he didn’t say so. Instead he said: “Are you intending to talk to the parents?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to come with you when you go to the Bergorts out at Önnered.”

“If you get a grip on yourself.”

“You need me,” said Halders.

The morning wasn’t over. Work wasn’t over. They never worked on one isolated case at a time. That might have been the situation in an ideal world, but that wasn’t where they were living. In an ideal world they wouldn’t have existed at all as a profession. In an ideal world there was no such thing as CID detectives, no uniformed police officers. Law and order took care of itself. Everybody lived in a land of milk and honey.

But who the hell would want to splash around in that muck? as Halders said when the topic came up for discussion some time ago.

Fredrik did his best to keep the banter going, but Winter could see the shadows behind his eyes, even deeper than those behind Bertil’s.

Do you need to take time off? Winter had asked him casually not that long ago. Halders had taken time off, but not enough. I listen to what my children have to say, he’d said, and Winter might just have understood him. Fredrik had been condemned by fate to abandon the individual life he’d embarked upon and assume new responsibilities as the single parent of two children. How serious was it with Aneta? He didn’t know. Did she?

“There’s still no sign of our black medical student,” said Halders, looking at Djanali. “Have you put the word out on the home front?”

“They’re on red alert on the savannahs, from Kenya to Burkino Faso,” she said.

“Are there any savannahs in Burkina Faso?” asked Bergenhem, who was interested in geography.

“No,” said Djanali. “That’s the point.”

“It’s a matter of interpretation,” said Halders with a smile.

“I don’t get it,” said Bergenhem.

“You’re not the only one,” said Djanali.

“While you guys are bickering our man has escaped to South Africa,” said Winter.

“OK, we’ll nail him there, then,” said Halders.

“Come on now, Fredrik.”

Halders sat up straight. Winter could see how the pressure on the back of his neck was reflected in his face.

“We nailed Smedsberg late last night before he set off to visit his manure specialist buddies out in the flatlands. He confirmed that he’d fallen out with the Aryan, Mr. Kaite.”

“Over what?” Winter asked.

“A girl.”

“A girl?”

“That’s what he said. Kaite thought he had something going with a girl who thought she had something going with Smedsberg.”

“What did Smedsberg think?” Winter wondered. For Christ’s sake…

“He remained neutral, as he put it.”

“Does this girl exist?”

“We have a name and a telephone number.” Halders gestured with his arms. “We called, but nobody answered. We checked the address and went there, but nobody was in. We managed to get into the apartment. But Kaite wasn’t there, nor was the girl.”

“Were you involved in this, Aneta?” Winter asked, but she shook her head: “I was in the car.”

Winter looked at Halders.

“Did you leave a note on the hall table asking her to call you when she got back home?” Winter asked, with acid in his voice.

“That didn’t occur to me!” said Halders, raising a finger to the skies.

“Do you believe Smedsberg?”

“I don’t believe anybody,” said Halders, “but he did give us her name. Josefin. Josefin Stenvång.”

“Smedsberg is the only one of these four guys who wasn’t injured,” said Ringmar.

“Do you see a connection there, Bertil?” Halders wondered.

“Eh?… What?”

“Four students and three injured. Four children and three uninjured. Do you see a connection?”

“What did you have for breakfast today, Fredrik?” Ringmar asked. “You’re just a little bit on overdrive.”

“Doesn’t the job we do depend on links, connections?” Halders said. “Or have I completely misunderstood everything?”

“Fredrik,” said Winter.

Halders turned around.

Is this the moment when the crisis is going to kick in? Winter thought. Fredrik has managed to keep going until now. Oddly enough. Is there madness in his eyes? No. Has he started to hyperventilate? Not yet. What can I say now, when I have his full attention? What direction can I point him in?

“Please let Bertil finish what he has to say,” said Winter.

“OK, OK,” said Halders.

“Anyway, we have Smedsberg,” said Ringmar. “He avoids the blow to the head. He’s not marked by a branding iron or whatever the damned thing is. He saw a newspaper delivery boy. He grew up on a farm. He suggests that the wounds might reveal a number that could lead us to a particular farm, or some kind of code or symbol that would do the same. He lives in the same student dorm as two of the other victims, Kaite and Stillman. Book as well, come to think of it. So far he has denied knowing any of them, including Book.”

“He’s also a Chalmers student,” said Halders.

“Oh, come on Fredrik, can’t you keep your comments to yourself for once?” said Helander. Halders didn’t seem to hear.

“We mentioned Jens Book,” Ringmar continued. “Studying journalism, but not at the moment. He’s still in Sahlgren Hospital. He’s gotten some mobility back on his right side. The latest report is positive, very positive in fact, and it looks like he’ll be able to walk again eventually.”

“If the blow stops him from working as a journalist in the future, the report certainly is very positive,” said Halders. He turned to Helander. “I don’t like journalists, you see.”

“Jens Book had been with his friend Krister Peters about half an hour before he was attacked in Linnéplatsen outside Marilyn, the video store.”

“His homosexual friend,” said Halders.

“Do you have a problem with that, Fredrik?” Ringmar had looked up from his file.

“Not at all. I only mentioned it for clarification.”

“Peters is gay,” said Bergenhem. “I’ve met him, as you know. He makes no attempt to hide the fact.”

“Why was he secretive about his meeting with Book, then?” asked Djanali.

“It wasn’t Peters who was secretive. It was Book himself,” said Ringmar. “We had to drag it out of him. It took time.”

“Not unusual behavior,” said Bergenhem. “If he doesn’t want to tell anybody, that’s up to him. Don’t you think? There are lots of people who don’t want to. We’ve talked about it before.” Bergenhem could see that Halders wanted to say something but was holding back. “Do you have a comment to make about that, Fredrik?”

Halders shook his head.

“So Book’s possible relationship with Peters doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with this,” said Bergenhem.

“But Peters doesn’t have an alibi,” said Ringmar.

“Then again, the plain fact is that Book is the one we know most about when it comes to what they were doing immediately before they were attacked,” said Bergenhem. “If we believe Peters, we know more or less what Book was up to all evening, apart from a short time before he was bashed.”

“Yes,” said Winter, who hadn’t spoken for some time, had just listened and made a few notes.

“But it’s quite different when it comes to Kaite, for instance. What was he doing in the hours before he was attacked in Kapellplatsen?”

Nobody answered.

“Kaite is very vague about that, and now he’s run off to God only knows where,” said Bergenhem. “He’s also had an argument with Smedsberg, who lived in the dorm next door. There’s a link for you, Fredrik.” Halders gave a start. As if he’d woken up out of a short coma, Winter thought.

“And our friend the law student, Jakob Stillman, is no longer as silent as he was forced to be at first, but he doesn’t have a very good memory either,” said Bergenhem. “Unless it’s the blows that have knocked the memories out of his head. Which I don’t believe. I think he was somewhere that he doesn’t want to tell us about, and then he walked across Doktor Fries Square and was attacked in the same way.”

“What took him to Doktor Fries Square?” said Djanali.

“What took Kaite to Kapellplatsen?” said Bergenhem.

“Is there a link?” wondered Halders.

“Perhaps nothing more than the fact that they were on their way home,” said Winter.

“On their way to the same place but from different directions,” said Ringmar.

“At different times,” said Bergenhem.

“Stillman seems to be a full-blooded heterosexual,” said Halders. “If you can believe Bertil’s daughter’s friend, that is.” He looked at Bergenhem. “Talking of nonlinks.”

“The link here is that three of them were attacked by the same person,” said Ringmar. “Or all four, in fact, since the intention was that Smedsberg should get the same treatment.”

“If we can believe him,” said Halders.

“He reported it to the police,” said Djanali.

“So did that family out at Önnered,” said Halders. “Possibly for the same reason as Gustav Smedsberg.” Halders looked at Winter. “By the way, shouldn’t we be on our way there now?”

“Soon.”

“Speaking of getting under way, perhaps we should pay a visit to the Smedsberg family farm,” said Bergenhem. “Out in the flatlands, as Fredrik put it.”

“Why?” asked Winter.

“The weapon. The branding iron. If we follow through with the hypothesis that all of the victims actually did the opposite of what they said they did, it’s Gustav Smedsberg who clubbed down the other three, and he did it with a branding iron like the one he said was back at home on the farm.”

“Hang on,” said Djanali. “If we shortly get hold of the identity number or whatever it’s called, and on that basis can find the farm the weapon comes from, well, if Smedsberg half kills people with a weapon that can be traced back to him, and he puts us on the right track… Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“You’re suggesting that people’s actions are rational and based on sound logic,” said Halders. “That we should use that as our starting point. The day we start doing that we might just as well pack up here and start selling roasted almonds in Slottsskogen.” He looked at Bergenhem.

“We’ll see,” said Winter. “Perhaps we ought to drive out to the flatlands.”

“It occurred to me that Kaite might be there,” said Bergenhem. “And the girl, perhaps.” He looked at Halders. “Bearing in mind what you just said about logic. Smedsberg and Kaite might have fallen out, so what could be more natural than Kaite relaxing at Smedsberg’s home?”

“Precisely,” said Halders. “But he won’t be able to hide away from us out there in the Wild West.”

“Who said he’s trying to hide away from us?” asked Ringmar.

“He ran off when we tried to have a chat with him, didn’t he? We were in his room, and he vanished.”

“Hmm.”

“What are you getting at, Bertil?”

“He might be more afraid of something else than you, Fredrik.”

Halders said nothing.

“You as a police officer, I mean.”

“Yes, I’m with you. You could have a point there.”

“How long was he gone?” asked Ringmar. “When you were sitting in his room, waiting?”

“He still hasn’t come back,” said Djanali with a smile.

“I’ll rephrase my silly question,” said Ringmar.

“We understand it even so,” said Halders. “We waited for ten minutes, and then it dawned on us that he couldn’t be in the john all that time and we found he was gone with the wind. Gone with the monsoon.” Halders pointed at the window, where the pale light of morning had turned into the darkness of aggressive winter rain. “Listen to that. I’ll be damned if we don’t have a northern monsoon up here at the edge of the universe.”

“Have you questioned all the others living in the corridor?” asked Bergenhem.

“Of course. And we didn’t leave until we’d checked all the rooms to make sure he wasn’t there.”

“There is one thing,” said Djanali.

Everybody waited.

“We’ve been waiting for the wounds on the boys’ heads to heal sufficiently for us to see if there is a brand of some kind. But it didn’t work with Stillman and Book. The scab has fallen off, but we haven’t seen anything. We were waiting for Kaite, or however one should put it.” She looked up but not at anybody in particular. “Was there somebody else waiting? Or who couldn’t wait?”