The Ice Child

Chapter Five

Riding in the car with Patrik was as terrifying as usual. Martin had a tight grip on the handle of the passenger door, and he offered up repeated prayers, even though he wasn’t at all religious.

‘The roads are in good condition today,’ said Patrik.

They passed Kville church, and he slowed down a bit as they drove through the small community. But he soon accelerated again, and when they came to a sharp bend a couple of kilometres further on, Martin was flung so hard against the door that his cheek ended up pressed against the window.

‘You can’t take the curves so fast, Patrik! I don’t care what your old driving instructor told you when you were learning to drive. That’s not the way to do it.’

‘I’m an excellent driver,’ muttered Patrik, but he did ease up for a while. They’d had this conversation before, and no doubt they’d have it many more times in the future.

‘How’s Tuva?’ he asked then, giving his colleague a nervous look.

Martin wished that people wouldn’t be so timid around him. He didn’t mind the questions. On the contrary. It showed that they cared about him and Tuva. And asking questions wouldn’t make things any worse. The worst had already happened. Nor did the questions open new wounds. The same wounds were ripped open every evening when he put his daughter to bed and she asked for her mother. And again when he tried to sleep, lying on his side of the bed, next to the empty space that used to be Pia’s. And every time he picked up the phone to call home to ask what groceries he should buy, and then realized that she would never be there to answer.

‘Tuva seems to be doing fine. She asks for Pia, of course, but mostly she just wants me to talk about her mother. She seems to have accepted that Pia is gone. In that sense I think children are wiser than we are.’ Then he fell silent.

‘I can’t even imagine what I’d do if Erica had died,’ said Patrik quietly.

Martin knew that he was thinking about what had happened a couple of years earlier, when both Erica and the unborn twins had almost died in a car accident.

‘I don’t know if I would have been able to go on.’ Patrik’s voice quavered at the memory of that day when he’d nearly lost her.

‘Yes, you would,’ said Martin, staring at the snowy landscape they were passing. ‘You have to. And there’s always someone to live for. You would have had Maja. Tuva is everything to me now, and Pia lives on through her.’

‘Do you think you’ll ever meet someone else?’

Martin noticed that Patrik had hesitated before asking the question, as if it might be a forbidden topic.

‘Right now I can’t imagine anything like that, but it’s also hard to picture myself spending the rest of my life alone. If it happens, it happens. At the moment I have my hands full trying to find some sort of balance in life for me and Tuva. We’re doing our best to fill the emptiness that Pia left behind. Besides, it’s not just a matter of me being ready for a new relationship; Tuva also has to be ready to let someone else into our family.’

‘Sounds sensible,’ said Patrik. Then he grinned. ‘Besides, there aren’t many girls left in Tanum. You ran through most of them before you met Pia. So you’ll have to expand your search area unless you’re interested in reruns.’

‘Ha, ha. Very funny.’ Martin could feel himself blushing. Patrik was exaggerating, but he did have a point. Martin had never been a hunk in the conventional sense, but his boyish charm combined with his red hair and freckles had ensured that the girls always found him attractive. But when he met Pia, he had put an end to his flirting. He’d never even glanced at another girl after that. He had loved her so much, and he missed her every second of every day.

Suddenly he couldn’t bear to talk about his wife any more. The pain he felt was so fierce and merciless that he had to change the subject. Patrik got the message, and for the rest of the drive to Göteborg they talked about nothing but sport.

Erica hesitated for a moment before ringing the doorbell. It was always difficult to decide how to start up a conversation with a family member, but Minna’s mother had sounded so calm and pleasant on the phone. She didn’t have the sharp or sceptical tone of voice that so many did whenever Erica contacted family members with regard to a book she was writing. And this time she wanted to talk about an ongoing case and not one that had been solved long ago.

She pressed the bell. A few moments later she heard footsteps approaching, and then the door opened halfway.

‘Hello?’ Erica ventured. ‘Are you Anette?’

‘Yes. But call me Nettan,’ replied the woman and then stood aside to let her in.

The word ‘mournful’ was what instantly came to mind when Erica stepped inside the front hall. Both the woman and the flat seemed mournful, and this was probably not due solely to Minna’s disappearance. The woman standing in front of her seemed to have given up hope long ago, crushed by all the disappointments that life had presented.

‘Come in,’ said Nettan and led the way to the living room.

Things lay scattered about, as if they had landed there and then never moved. Nettan cast an anxious glance at a pile of clothes on the sofa and then simply shoved everything on to the floor.

‘I was planning to do some cleaning…’ she said vaguely.

Erica sat down on the edge of the sofa and surreptitiously studied Minna’s mother. She knew that Nettan was almost ten years younger than she was, but it didn’t show. Her face was grey, probably from years of smoking, and her hair was dull and dishevelled.

‘I was just wondering if…’ Nettan pulled her nubby cardigan closer as she seemed to be mustering her courage to ask Erica something. ‘Sorry. I’m a little nervous. I don’t often get a visit from such a famous person. Actually never, now that I think about it.’

She laughed, and for a moment Erica caught a glimpse of what Nettan must have looked like when she was younger. When she still had a zest for life.

‘That’s so embarrassing,’ Erica said with a grimace. She hated it when people called her famous. She just couldn’t relate to that.

‘But you are famous. I’ve seen you on TV. Although you were wearing a little more make-up then.’ From under her fringe Nettan peered at Erica’s face, which today was completely devoid of make-up.

‘I know. They shovel it on when you’re going to appear on TV. But I suppose if they didn’t, those lights would make you look really ghastly. Normally I don’t wear make-up at all.’ She smiled and saw that Nettan was starting to relax.

‘Me neither,’ said Nettan, and there was something touching about her pointing out the obvious. ‘What I wanted to ask you was… Well, why are you here? The police have already interviewed me several times.’

Erica paused before replying. She didn’t have a good answer. Curiosity was closest to the truth, but she couldn’t say that.

‘I’ve assisted the local police with a number of cases in the past. So they trust me to help out when they’re short on manpower. And after what happened to the girl who disappeared from Fjällbacka, they need help.’

‘Oh, I see. I supposed that…’ Nettan again left her thought unfinished, and Erica let it go. She wanted to ask her about Minna.

‘Tell me about when your daughter disappeared.’

Nettan pulled her cardigan even tighter around her. She stared down at her lap, and when she began to speak, her voice was so low that Erica had to strain to hear what she was saying.

‘At first I didn’t realize she was missing. I mean, really missing. She’s always come and gone as she pleases. I’ve never been able to control Minna. She’s so strong-willed, and I suppose I haven’t exactly…’ Nettan raised her head to look out of the window. ‘Sometimes she would stay with friends for a couple of days. Or with some boy.’

‘Anyone special? Did she have a boyfriend?’ asked Erica.

Nettan shook her head.

‘Not that I know of, at any rate. There were several boys, but I don’t think she had a steady boyfriend. Though she had seemed happier than usual, so I did wonder. But I’ve asked some of her friends, and no one knew anything about a boyfriend. And they would have known, since it was the same group of kids that always hung out together.’

‘So why do think she was happier?’

Nettan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But I think about how I felt as a teenager. With sudden mood swings. Maybe it was because Johan had moved out.’

‘Johan?’

‘My boyfriend. He lived here for a while. But he and Minna never got along.’

‘When did he move out?’

‘I don’t remember exactly. But it must have been about six months before Minna disappeared.’

‘Did the police talk to him?’

Again Nettan shrugged.

‘I think they talked to several of my ex-boyfriends. Some of them could get a little rough.’

‘Were any of them ever threatening or abusive towards Minna?’ Erica had to rein in the anger that surged inside of her. She’d had plenty of experience with how victims of abuse reacted. And after the way Lucas had treated Anna, she knew how fear could shatter a person’s will. But how could anyone allow their child to be subjected to something like that? How could the maternal instinct become so weakened that a woman would let anyone harm her child, either psychologically or physically? She couldn’t understand it. For a moment her thoughts turned to Louise, all alone and chained in the cellar of the Kowalski house. That was the same thing, only much worse.

‘Sometimes. But Johan never hit her. They just screamed and yelled at each other all the time. So I think she was relieved when he moved out. One day he just packed up his things and left. And I never heard from him again.’

‘When did you realize that Minna wasn’t just staying with a friend?’

‘She was never gone more than a day or two. So after three days passed and she still hadn’t come home, and when she didn’t answer her mobile, I tried calling her friends. No one had heard from her for the past three days, so then I…’

Erica clenched her teeth. How could anyone let a fourteen-year-old girl go missing for three whole days before reacting? She was thinking of keeping an iron grip on her own kids when they were teenagers. She would never let them go off without telling her where they were headed and who they planned to visit.

‘At first the police didn’t take me seriously,’ Nettan went on. ‘They had dealt with Minna before. She’d been involved in some… trouble, so they didn’t even want to take a report.’

‘When did they realize that something must have happened to her?’

‘It took another day. Then they found that woman who had seen Minna getting into a car. Considering there were other girls who had disappeared, it shouldn’t have taken them so long. My brother thinks I should sue them. He says if she was a rich girl, like some of the others, the police would have acted immediately. But they don’t listen to people like us. And it’s not right.’ Nettan looked down and began nervously plucking at her cardigan.

Erica had to revise her previous opinion. She was interested to hear Nettan call the other girls rich. They were actually middle-class, but class differences were often relative. She herself had come here with a number of preconceived notions that had been confirmed the moment she entered the flat. Yet who was she to criticize Nettan? She had no clue about the circumstances that had shaped this woman’s life.

‘They should have listened to you,’ said Erica, impulsively reaching out to touch her hand.

Nettan flinched as if she’d been burned, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Tears began spilling down her cheeks.

‘I’ve done so many stupid things. I… I don’t… and now it might be too late.’ Her voice broke as the tears poured down her cheeks.

It was as if someone had turned on a tap. Erica sensed that Nettan must have been holding back her tears for far too long. Now she wept not only for her missing daughter, who most likely would never return, but also for all the bad decisions she’d made, which had given Minna a life that was very different from the one Nettan had no doubt once dreamed for her.

‘I wanted us so badly to be a real family. I wanted someone to take care of Minna and me. But nobody ever has.’ Nettan was shaking as she sobbed, and Erica moved closer to put her arm around the woman, letting her cry on her shoulder. She stroked Nettan’s hair and quietly murmured to her, just as she did with Maja and the twins whenever they needed consoling. She wondered if anyone had ever comforted Nettan this way before, or whether she had ever comforted Minna. It seemed as if the woman had suffered a long series of disappointments and her life had not turned out the way she had hoped.

‘Would you like to see some pictures?’ said Nettan suddenly, pulling away. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan and gave Erica an expectant look.

‘Of course.’

Nettan got up to fetch several photo albums from a rickety IKEA bookshelf.

The first album covered Minna’s early years. The pictures showed a young and smiling Nettan holding her daughter in her arms.

‘You look so happy,’ said Erica before she could stop herself.

‘I know. That was a wonderful time. The best. I was only seventeen when I had her, but I was so happy.’ Nettan ran her fingertip over one of the photos. ‘My God, look at those clothes.’ She laughed, and Erica had to smile too. Styles back in the 1980s were awful, but the 90s really weren’t much better.

They leafed through the albums, seeing the years pass. Minna had been a sweet-looking child, but the older she got, the more closed her expression became, and the light in her eyes gradually faded. Erica could tell that Nettan had noticed the same thing.

‘I thought I was doing my best,’ she said quietly, ‘but I wasn’t. I shouldn’t have…’ She fixed her gaze on one of the men who appeared in the photographs. Erica saw that there were a lot of men. All those men who had come into Nettan’s life, bringing more disappointment, and then vanished.

‘This is Johan, by the way. Our last summer together.’ She pointed to a picture obviously taken in the heat of summer. A tall, fair-haired man had posed with his arm around Nettan as they stood in an arbour. Behind them was a red-painted house with white trim, surrounded by greenery. The only dissonant element in the idyllic setting was a sullen-looking Minna who sat nearby, glaring at Johan and her mother.

Nettan abruptly closed the album.

‘I just want her to come home. Everything will be different, I promise. Everything.’

Erica didn’t reply. For a while they sat in silence, neither of them knowing what else to say. But the silence was soothing rather than uncomfortable. Suddenly the doorbell rang, and they both gave a start. Nettan got up to open the door.

When Erica saw who came in, she jumped up in surprise.

‘Hi, Patrik,’ she said, smiling sheepishly.

Paula went into the station’s kitchen and found Gösta sitting there, just as she’d expected.

‘Paula? Hi!’ he exclaimed, giving her a big smile.

She smiled back. Annika had also been overjoyed to see her and had leapt up to give her a bear hug, asking a hundred questions about little Lisa.

Now Gösta got up to hug her, although a bit more cautiously than Annika. Then he held her at arm’s length as he studied her face.

‘You’re as white as a sheet and look like you haven’t slept in weeks.’

‘Thanks, Gösta. You certainly know how to pay a compliment,’ Paula teased him, but then she realized he wasn’t joking. ‘These past months have been rough,’ she admitted. ‘It’s not all sunshine and happiness being a mother.’

‘I’ve heard the baby has really been putting you through your paces. So I hope this is just a courtesy call, and you’re not thinking of wearing yourself out by doing any work here.’

He took her arm to usher her over to the chair next to the window.

‘Sit down. Have some coffee.’ He poured her a cup and set it on the kitchen table. Then he filled his own cup and sat down across from her.

‘Both work and pleasure, you might say,’ she told him, sipping her coffee. ‘It seems strange to be out on my own, but it’s also great to feel like my old self, at least for a little while.’

Gösta frowned. ‘We’re doing okay holding down the fort here.’

‘I know that. But Bertil was telling me about the case, and it made me remember something. Or rather, it made me think there was something I ought to remember.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He was talking about the autopsy report. And the fact that the girl’s tongue had been cut out. That sounded familiar, but I can’t recall why, so I thought I’d take a look in the archives to see if that might spark my memory. My brain isn’t what it used to be, unfortunately. It’s no myth that a woman’s brain turns to mush when she’s nursing. These days I can hardly even figure out how to use the remote control.’

‘God, yes. I know what you mean about hormones. I remember when Maj-Britt…’ He turned away to look out of the window. Paula realized that he was thinking about the child he and his wife had had but then lost. And he knew that she knew. She let him sit in silence for a moment, remembering.

‘So you have no idea what the autopsy results remind you of?’ he asked at last, turning to face her again.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It would be a lot easier if only I knew where to begin looking. It could take quite a while to go through the archives.’

‘It does sound like a big job to do a random search like that,’ Gösta agreed.

She grimaced. ‘I know. So I might as well get started.’

‘Are you sure you shouldn’t go home and rest instead? And take care of yourself and Lisa?’ He was still looking at her with concern.

‘Believe it or not, it’s actually more restful here than at home. And it feels great to wear something besides pyjamas for a change. Thanks for the coffee.’

Paula stood up. Nowadays almost everything was archived digitally, but all of the older investigative materials were still stored on paper. If they’d had the resources, they could have scanned all the information on a single hard drive instead of filling an entire room in the basement. But they currently didn’t have the funding, and it was possible they never would.

She went downstairs, opened the door, and paused for a moment on the threshold. Good Lord, what a lot of paper. Even more than she remembered. The investigations were filed by year, and in order to give her search some sort of strategy, she decided simply to start with the oldest and proceed from there. With an air of determination she lifted down the first file box and sat down on the floor.

An hour later she’d made it only halfway through the box, and she realized the search could turn out to be both time-consuming and fruitless. Not only was she unsure exactly what she was looking for, she didn’t even know whether it could be found here in this room. But ever since she started work at the police station, she’d spent a good deal of time reading through old cases. Partly out of personal interest and partly because she wanted to know about the crime history of the area. So it did seem logical that she would find what she was looking for here in the archives.

A knock on the door interrupted her. Mellberg peeked in.

‘How’s it going? Rita rang to say that I should come down here and find out how you’re doing. Plus she wanted me to tell you that everything is fine with Lisa.’

‘Oh, good. And I’m doing great here. But I assume that’s not the real reason you’re here.’

‘Er, well…’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t got very far, and I haven’t found what I’m looking for. I’m starting to wonder whether my poor brain is just overtired and playing tricks on me.’ Frustrated, Paula pulled her dark hair back into a loose ponytail, fastening it with an elastic band she had around her wrist.

‘No, no. Don’t start having doubts,’ said Mellberg. ‘You have a great intuition, and you need to trust your gut feeling.’

Paula looked at him in surprise. Encouraging words from Bertil? Maybe she ought to go out and buy a lottery ticket today.

‘You’re probably right,’ she said, making a neat stack of the papers in front of her. ‘I know it reminded me of something, so I’ll just keep looking.’

‘We need all the help we can get. Right now we have no leads at all. Patrik and Martin are in Göteborg talking to some guy who thinks he can work out who the perpetrator is by looking into a psychological crystal ball.’ Mellberg put on a pompous expression and continued in an affected manner: ‘I see the murderer is between twenty and seventy years old, either a man or a woman, who lives in a flat or perhaps a small house. The individual has taken one or more trips abroad, usually shops for groceries at ICA or Konsum, eats tacos on Fridays and always watches Let’s Dance on TV. Plus Allsång på Skansen in the summertime.’

Paula couldn’t help laughing at his play-acting. ‘You’re the very model of an open-minded person, Bertil. I have to say that I don’t share your opinion. I think getting assistance from a profiler might be productive, especially given the special circumstances of this case.’

‘Well, I suppose we’ll eventually see who’s right. Just keep searching. But don’t wear yourself out, or Rita will kill me.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ said Paula with a smile. Then she turned back to the files and went on reading.

Patrik was boiling with fury. His surprise at finding his wife in the living room belonging to Minna’s mother had swiftly changed to anger. Erica had an annoying tendency to get involved in things that were none of her business, and on several occasions it had led to dire consequences. But he couldn’t allow his emotions to show in front of Nettan. Instead, he kept his expression impassive the whole time he conducted the interview while Erica sat nearby, listening wide-eyed and with a Mona Lisa smile on her lips.

As soon as they left the building and were out of Nettan’s earshot, Patrik exploded.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ It was rare for him to lose his temper, and he felt the onset of a headache as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

‘I just thought that…’ Erica began, trying to keep up with Patrik and Martin as they headed for the car park. Martin didn’t say a word and looked as though he’d prefer to be somewhere else.

‘No, you didn’t! I can’t imagine you were doing any thinking at all.’ Patrik coughed. His outburst had made him draw in several hasty breaths of the cold winter air.

‘You’re so short on manpower that you can’t do everything, so I just thought that…’ Erica ventured again.

‘Couldn’t you have at least checked with me first? I would never have allowed you to talk to a family member about an ongoing investigation, and I suspect that’s why you didn’t ask me.’

Erica nodded. ‘You’re probably right. But I also needed to take a break from my book. I’m feeling stuck, and I thought that if I focused on something else for a while, then maybe…’

‘As if this case was some sort of work therapy?’ Patrik shouted so loudly that several birds perched on a nearby telephone wire flew off in fright. ‘If you’ve got writer’s block, you need to find a better solution than sticking your nose in a police investigation. Are you off your rocker?’

‘Sounds like the slang from the forties is making a comeback,’ said Erica in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it only made Patrik even angrier.

‘This is ridiculous. Straight out of a bad English detective novel, with some nosy old woman running around interviewing everybody.’

‘Okay, but when I write my books, I sort of do the same thing you do. I talk to people, gather the facts, fill in the holes in the investigation, check the statements from witnesses…’

‘Right. And you’re a great writer. But this is a police investigation, and by definition it’s the police who should be doing the work.’

They had now reached the police car. Martin stood next to the passenger side, not sure what to do as he seemed directly in their line of fire.

‘But I’ve helped you out in the past,’ said Erica. ‘You have to admit it.’

‘Yes, you have,’ said Patrik reluctantly. In fact, she had done more than help. She had actively contributed to solving several homicide cases, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

‘Are you driving back home now? It seems like a long way to come just to talk to Nettan.’

‘You drove all the way here just to talk to her,’ Patrik countered.

‘Touché.’ Erica smiled, and Patrik felt his fury starting to subside. He could never stay angry with his wife for long, and unfortunately, she knew it.

‘But I don’t have to worry about wasting police resources,’ she went on. ‘What else are you planning to do here?’

Patrik cursed silently. Sometimes she was a little too clever for her own good. He glanced at Martin for support, but his colleague merely shook his head. Coward, thought Patrik.

‘There’s someone else we need to talk to.’

‘Like who?’ asked Erica, making Patrik grit his teeth. He was well aware how stubborn she could be, and how curious. And that combination could be extremely annoying.

‘We’re going to consult an expert,’ he replied. ‘By the way, who’s going to fetch the children? My mother?’ He was trying to steer the conversation on to a different topic.

‘Yes. Kristina and her new boyfriend,’ said Erica, looking like a cat who’d swallowed a canary.

‘Her what?’ Patrik could feel a migraine coming on. This day was getting worse and worse.

‘I’m sure he’s very nice. So, what sort of expert are you going to see?’

Patrik slumped against the car. He gave up.

‘We’re going to talk to someone who does psychological profiling.’

‘A profiler?’ said Erica, her face lighting up. ‘Okay, I’ll go with you.’ And she started towards her own car.

‘Now, wait a minute…’ Patrik called after her, but Martin stopped him.

‘You might as well call it quits. You haven’t got a chance. Let her come along. As she said, she’s helped us out before, and if we’re there, we can keep her in line. Three pairs of ears are probably better than two.’

‘Oh, all right,’ muttered Patrik, getting into the driver’s seat. ‘And after all this, we didn’t find out anything useful from Minna’s mother.’

‘No, but if we’re lucky, Erica did,’ said Martin.

Patrik glared at him. Then he turned on the ignition, and they sped off.

‘What clothes do you think we should bury her in?’ His mother’s question felt like the stab of a knife. Ricky hadn’t imagined the pain could get any worse, but the thought of Victoria being lowered into eternal darkness was so horrible that he wanted to scream out loud.

‘Let’s choose something pretty,’ said Markus. ‘Maybe that red dress she always liked so much.’

‘She was ten when she wore that dress,’ said Ricky. In spite of his grief he couldn’t help smiling at his father’s faulty memory.

‘Really? Was it that long ago?’ Markus got up and started washing dishes but then abruptly stopped and went back to the table to sit down. It was like that for all of them. They tried to do ordinary things, routine tasks, only to discover they just didn’t have the energy. They couldn’t do anything. Yet now they had to make a lot of decisions about the funeral service and burial even though they were incapable of deciding what to have for breakfast.

‘Choose the black one. From Filippa K,’ said Ricky.

‘Which one?’ asked Helena.

‘The one you and Pappa always thought was too short for her to wear in public. Victoria loved that dress. And it didn’t make her look like a slut. Not at all. She looked terrific.’

‘Do you really think so?’ said Markus. ‘A black dress? Isn’t that a little depressing?’

‘Choose that one,’ Ricky insisted. ‘She loved wearing that dress. Don’t you remember? She saved her money for six months before she could afford to buy it.’

‘You’re right. Of course she should wear the black dress.’ Helena gave her son a pleading look. ‘What about music? What kind of music should we have? I have no idea what she liked.’ And she burst into tears. Markus clumsily patted her arm.

‘We should have “Some Die Young” by Laleh,’ said Ricky. ‘And then “Beneath Your Beautiful” by Labrinth. Those were two of her favourites. And they’re appropriate.’

Having to make all the decisions was wearing him down, and he felt a sob lodge in his throat. He was always on the verge of tears.

‘What about afterwards? What should we serve?’ Yet another quandary. His mother’s hands moved restlessly on the kitchen table. Her fingers were so pale and thin.

‘Smörgåstårta. She loved that traditional savoury dish. Don’t you remember it was her favourite?’

Ricky’s voice broke, and he knew that he was being unfair. Of course they remembered. They remembered far more than he did, and their memories stretched back further than his own. But at the moment all the memories were so overwhelming that they couldn’t sort them out. He needed to help them.

‘And julmust. She could drink litres of that Christmas soda. We should still be able to find it in the shops. Don’t you think so?’ As he tried to recall if he’d seen any on the shelves lately, he was instantly seized with panic. It suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world. They had to find julmust so they could serve it after the funeral.

‘I’m positive we can still find some,’ said his father soothingly, placing his hand on Ricky’s. ‘That’s a great idea. Everything you’ve suggested is great. Including the black dress. I’m sure Mamma knows where it is, and she can iron it. And we’ll ask Aunt Anneli to make several smörgåstårtor for the occasion. Victoria always loved the ones she made. We were planning to serve them at her graduation from school this summer, and…’ For a moment he seemed to lose his train of thought. ‘Anyway, I know we can still buy julmust. That’ll be great, just great.’

No, it won’t, Ricky wanted to bellow. They were sitting here talking about putting his sister in a coffin and burying her in the ground. Nothing was ever going to be good again.

Deep inside, the secret was still chafing. He thought for sure everyone would be able to see that he was hiding something, but his parents didn’t seem to notice. They stared vacantly out of the window as they sat here in the small kitchen with the lingonberry-patterned curtains that Helena loved so much. The curtains that Ricky and Victoria had always tried to get her to replace.

Would everything change once they awoke from their trance? Would they then see and understand? Ricky knew that sooner or later he would be forced to speak to the police. But would his parents be able to bear the truth?

Sometimes Marta felt like the horrible orphanage supervisor in Annie. Girls, girls, everywhere nothing but girls.

‘Liv was allowed to ride Blackie three times in a row!’ cried Ida, her cheeks bright red as she came striding across the yard. ‘It should be my turn now.’

Marta sighed. All these constant quarrels. There was a definite hierarchy in the stable, and she saw, heard, and understood more of the girls’ arguments than they knew. But today she had no patience for such things.

‘You’ll have to settle this dispute yourselves. Don’t come to me with such trivial matters.’

She saw Ida flinch. The girls were used to the fact that Marta was stern, but she seldom lashed out in anger.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ida hastened to say, though her apology didn’t sound sincere. She was a spoiled girl who frequently whined, and she ought to learn better manners, but Marta had to be practical. They were dependent on the income from the riding school. They could never live solely on what Jonas earned as a veterinarian, and the girls – and by extension, their parents – were her customers. So she was forced to handle them with kid gloves.

‘Forgive me, Ida,’ she said now. ‘I’m just upset because of what happened to Victoria. I hope you understand.’ She gritted her teeth and then smiled at the girl, who immediately relaxed.

‘Of course I do. It’s so awful. The fact that she’s dead and all.’

‘Okay, let’s go and have a talk with Liv, and you can ride Blackie today. Unless you’d rather ride Scirocco?’

Ida’s face lit up with joy. ‘Can I really? Isn’t Molly going to ride him?’

‘Not today,’ said Marta, her expression hardening at the thought of her daughter, who was in her room brooding over the cancelled competition.

‘Then I’d rather ride Scirocco, and Liv can have Blackie,’ said Ida generously.

‘Perfect. So that’s decided.’ Marta put her arm around Ida and they headed into the stable. The smell of horse filled the air. This was one of the few places in the world where she felt at home, where she felt like a real person. The only one who had ever loved the smell as much as she did was Victoria. Every time she had stepped inside, a blissful look would come into her eyes, a look that Marta shared. She was surprised at how much she missed the girl. Victoria’s death had struck her with a force that was unexpected and confusing. She paused in the middle of the stable aisle, only vaguely aware of Ida triumphantly calling to Liv, who was grooming Blackie in his stall.

‘Go ahead and ride him today. Marta says I can ride Scirocco instead.’ The spiteful glee in her voice was all too evident.

Marta closed her eyes and pictured Victoria. Her dark hair flying around her face as she raced across the stable yard. The way she was able, with gentle firmness, to get all the horses to obey her slightest command. Marta had the same inexplicable power over horses, but there was a big difference. Horses obeyed Marta because they respected her, but also because they feared her. They had obeyed Victoria because of her gentle handling combined with a strong will. And this contradiction had always fascinated Marta.

‘Why does she get to ride Scirocco? Why can’t I?’

Marta opened her eyes to find Liv standing in front of her, arms crossed.

‘Because you don’t seem especially willing to share Blackie. So you can ride him today, just as you wanted. And then everyone will be happy.’ She could tell that she was about to lose her temper again. Her job would have been much easier if she’d only had the horses to worry about.

To make matters worse, she had her own little brat to deal with. Jonas hated it when she called Molly a brat, even though she pretended to do it in fun. She couldn’t understand how he could be so blind. Molly was becoming insufferable, but Jonas refused to listen, and there was nothing Marta could do about it.

Ever since they first met, she had known that he was the puzzle piece that was missing in her life. After exchanging only a single glance, they realized they belonged together. She had seen her own soul reflected in his, and he had done the same. And they would always feel that way. The only friction between them was caused by Molly.

Jonas had threatened to leave Marta if she refused to have a child, so she had relented. In reality, she hadn’t thought he was serious. He knew as well as she did that if they split up, they would never find anyone else who understood them in the same way. But she didn’t dare take the risk. She had found her soul mate, and for the first time in her life she had submitted to another person’s will.

When Molly was born, things had turned out just as she had feared. From that point on she’d been forced to share Jonas with someone else. A huge piece had been stolen from her by someone who initially possessed neither will nor identity. She couldn’t understand it.

Jonas had loved Molly from the very first second. His love for the child was so natural and unconditional that Marta hardly recognized him. And from that moment a wedge had been driven between them.

Marta went over to help Ida with Scirocco. She knew that Molly would be furious when she heard that someone else was going to ride the horse, but after her daughter’s sulky behaviour, the thought gave Marta a certain satisfaction. No doubt Jonas would be cross with her too, but she knew how to make him think of other things. The next equestrian competition was in a week’s time, and by then he would be putty in her hands.

What Paula was attempting to do was no easy task, and Gösta couldn’t help worrying about her. She had looked so pale.

Restlessly he leafed through the papers on his desk. It was frustrating that the investigation had stalled. None of the work they’d done since Victoria disappeared had produced any results, and now they were almost out of ideas. The interview with Jonas hadn’t proved useful either. Gösta had insisted that he go over everything one more time, in the hope he might say something different from his first statement. But Jonas had recited exactly the same details as before, with no discrepancies. And when he heard that ketamine might have been used on Victoria, his reaction had seemed both genuine and entirely believable. Gösta sighed. He might as well spend some time on the other police reports that were gathering dust on his desk.

It was mostly petty crime: stolen bicycles, shoplifting, arguments between neighbours over stupid matters and exaggerated claims. But certain reports had been neglected too long, and he was a bit embarrassed about that.

He got out the file from the bottom of the stack, which meant that it was the oldest. A suspected break-in. Or was it? A woman by the name of Katarina Mattsson had discovered mysterious footprints in her garden, and one evening she saw someone standing on her property, staring into the dark. Annika was the one who had taken the report, and as far as Gösta knew, the woman hadn’t been heard from again. So the matter had probably been resolved. But he should still follow up on it, and he decided to ring her later.

He was just about to put down the file when something caught his eye. He looked at the address of the woman, and thoughts began whirling through his head. It could be a coincidence, of course, but maybe not. He read through the report again, thinking hard. Then he made up his mind.

A short time later he was in his car, driving towards Fjällbacka. The address he was heading for was in a residential neighbourhood called Sumpan, though he had no idea why it had been given that name. He turned on to the quiet street where the gardens were small and the houses stood close together. He knew it was possible that she might not be home, but when he found the house he saw there were lights on in the windows. Tense with anticipation, he rang the bell. If he was right, he might have discovered something important. Gösta glanced at the house on the left but didn’t see anyone. He hoped no one would choose this moment to look outside.

He heard footsteps approaching and then a woman opened the door and gave him a surprised look. Gösta quickly introduced himself and explained why he was there.

‘Oh, that was a long time ago. I almost forgot about it. Come on in.’

She stepped aside to let him in. Two boys who looked to be about five years old peeked out from the next room, and Katarina nodded in their direction.

‘My son Adam and his friend Julius.’

The boys’ faces lit up when they saw Gösta standing there in his uniform. He waved awkwardly, and they rushed forward to look him up and down.

‘Are you a real policeman? Do you have a gun? Have you ever shot anyone? Do you have handcuffs with you? Do you have a radio so you can talk to other policemen?’

Gösta laughed and held up his hands.

‘Take it easy, boys. Yes, I’m a real policeman. Yes, I have a gun, but I didn’t bring it with me. And I’ve never shot anyone. Now what else did you ask me? Oh, yes. I do have a radio so I can call for backup if the two of you get too rowdy. And here are my handcuffs. You can have a look at them later, if you like. But right now I need to talk to Adam’s mother for a moment.’

‘Really? We can look at them? Okay!’ The boys jumped up and down with joy, and Katarina shook her head.

‘You’ve really made their day. Actually, their whole year. But listen to me, boys, you heard what Gösta said. You can look at the handcuffs and radio later, but first he and I need to have a talk. So why don’t you go back to the film you were watching, and we’ll call you when we’re done. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ said the boys as they went back to the TV, giving Gösta one last admiring glance.

‘I’m sorry for the way they grilled you,’ said Katarina, leading the way to the kitchen.

‘It was fun,’ said Gösta as he followed her. ‘Besides, I should enjoy it while it lasts. In ten years they may be screaming “you dirty cop” at me instead.’

‘Oh, don’t say that. I’m already dreading those delightful teenage years.’

‘It’ll be fine. I’m sure you and your husband have taught him good manners. Do you have other children?’ Gösta sat down at the table. The kitchen looked a bit worn, but it was bright and cheerful.

‘No, just Adam. But we’re not… I mean, we divorced when Adam was only a year old, and my ex-husband isn’t interested in being part of his life. He has a new wife and kids, and apparently he doesn’t have enough love to go around. The few times Adam went over there to visit, he felt like he was in the way.’

She was standing with her back to Gösta as she measured coffee from a tin, but now she turned around and shrugged apologetically.

‘Sorry for dumping all of that on you. Sometimes the bitterness just spills out. But we’re doing fine, Adam and I. And if his father can’t see that Adam is an amazing little boy, that’s his loss.’

‘No need to apologize,’ said Gösta. ‘It sounds like you have good reason to feel disappointed.’

What bloody fools some men are, he thought. How could anyone just cast a child aside and devote himself to a new bunch of kids? He watched as Katarina set two cups on the table. She had a pleasant sense of calm about her. He thought she must be about thirty-five or so, and he remembered from the police report that she was an elementary school teacher. He had a feeling that she was both good at her job and well-liked.

‘I didn’t think I’d hear back from the police,’ she said now as she sat down after pouring the coffee and setting out a packet of biscuits. ‘But I don’t mean to complain. When Victoria disappeared, I realized that was what you needed to focus all your time on.’

She held out the packet of biscuits to Gösta, and he took three. Oatmeal biscuits. His absolute favourite, aside from the Ballerina variety.

‘It’s true that the case has taken up most of our time. But I still should have looked at your report earlier. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long.’

‘Well, you’re here now,’ she said, helping herself to a biscuit.

Gösta smiled gratefully. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you remember and why you decided to contact the police.’

‘Well…’ She hesitated, frowning. ‘The first thing I noticed were the footprints in the garden. My lawn turns into a sea of mud whenever it rains, and it rained a lot early in the autumn. On several mornings I noticed footprints in the mud. They were big, so I was fairly certain the shoes must have belonged to a man.’

‘And then you saw someone standing out there?’

Katarina frowned again.

‘Yes. I think it was a couple of weeks after I saw the footprints the first time. For a while I wondered if it could have been Mathias, Adam’s father, but that didn’t seem likely. Why would he sneak over here when he barely stays in touch? Besides, the person was smoking cigarettes and Mathias doesn’t smoke. I don’t know if I mentioned that I found cigarette butts.’

‘You didn’t happen to save the butts, did you?’ asked Gösta, even though he realized it was a long shot.

Katarina grimaced.

‘I think I managed to throw out most of them. I didn’t want Adam to find them. Of course I may have missed one or two, but…’ She pointed towards the yard, and Gösta saw what she meant. Through the window he could see a thick layer of snow covering the lawn.

Gösta sighed. ‘Did you get a good look at this person?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. I mostly saw the glow of his cigarette. We had already gone to bed, but Adam woke up and was thirsty, so I came down here to the kitchen in the dark to get him a glass of water. And that’s when I saw the glow of a cigarette in the garden. Someone was standing out there smoking, but I didn’t really see the person. Just a silhouette.’

‘But you think it was a man, not a woman?’

‘Yes. If it was the same person who left the footprints. And now that I think about it, he seemed very tall.’

‘Did you do anything? Did you reveal in any way that you’d seen him, for instance?’

‘No. The only thing I did was ring the police. It made me a little uneasy, even though I didn’t feel directly threatened. But then Victoria disappeared, and it was hard to think about anything else. And I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary since then.’

‘Hmm…’ said Gösta. He cursed himself for not looking at the report and making the connection earlier. But there was no use in crying over spilt milk. He needed to make the best of things now. He stood up.

‘Do you happen to have a snow shovel? I’d like to go out and see if I can find any of those cigarette butts.’

‘Sure. It’s in the garage. You’re welcome to use it. And you could clear the driveway while you’re at it.’

Gösta put on his shoes and jacket and went out to the garage. It was nice and tidy, and he found the shovel leaning against the wall just inside the door.

Out in the garden he paused to think. It would be stupid to sweat unnecessarily. He needed to choose the right place to begin. Katarina had opened the terrace door facing the garden, so he asked her, ‘Where did you find most of the cigarette butts?’

‘Over there on your left, close to the house.’

He nodded and trudged through the snow to the spot she had pointed out. The snow was heavy, and he felt a twinge in his back as he lifted away the first shovelful.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to do that?’ asked Katarina, sounding concerned.

‘No, I’m fine. It’s good for this old body of mine to get some exercise every now and then.’

He noticed the boys peering at him from the window and waved to them before going back to shovelling. He rested now and then, but after a while he had cleared about a square metre of ground. He squatted down to study the area, but the only thing he saw was frozen mud with a few blades of grass. Then his eyes narrowed. Something yellow was sticking up at the edge of the square he’d cleared. Cautiously he brushed away the snow on top of it. A cigarette butt. He pulled it loose and then stood up, his back aching. He looked at the butt. Then he raised his eyes and saw what he was convinced the mysterious stranger had also seen as he stood and smoked. Because standing here in Katarina’s garden he had a good view of Victoria’s house. And of her bedroom window upstairs.