Frozen Tracks (16 page)

'I only get that in summer,' he said. 'For some reason
or other.'

'I know the reason,' she said as they turned off
towards the sea. She could hear sea birds through
Brorsson's open window.

'What?'

'You get a stiff neck in the summer because you drive
with the window open,' she said, and saw the glint of
water beyond the field that appeared to be almost as
full of water as the sea.

'But it isn't summer now,' he said.

She laughed loudly.

'Although it's pretty warm,' he said. 'From a purely
statistical point of view, the average temperature today
is high enough for it to count as summer.'

'In that case it must be summer, Billy,' she said.

'Yes, you're right,' he said, turning to look at her.

'And so it follows that you'll soon get a stiff neck,'
she said, looking out at the rocks and the sea, both of
which were totally motionless.

Brorsson wound the window up.

'Straight on,' she said at the roundabout.

They drove to a turning space, parked and stepped
out of the car. The modern terraced houses on the right
were built in steps, like some of the rocks. There were
hills behind them. The bay was open here, and the ocean
lay in wait beyond the archipelago. There were sailing
boats still moored to jetties as if to confirm what
Brorsson had just said: summer refused to die this year.
No snow this year, and Larissa Serimov liked snow.
Snow on the ground and snow on the ice. That's my
heritage. A white soul in a white body.

'It's open,' said Brorsson.

They could see the interior of the restaurant through
the glass doors. It looked inviting. The horizon appeared
to cut right through the building, making it seem like
a tower, or a lighthouse. The placidity of the coast this
newly born December felt as restful as it was. But not
for them.

'We've just had lunch,' she said. 'Have you forgotten?'

'Yes, I know, but I thought we could get the customers
to blow into the bag when they come out.' She noticed
his eyes, apathetic and exhilarated at the same time.
'Just a little puff. I need to book a few more drunks
before Christmas.' He looked at her. 'The statistics are
important as far as I'm concerned.'

'So I've gathered.'

'What do you say, then?' he said, checking his watch.

'Can't you leave people alone just for once?'

'What do you mean?'

'Like that poor woman yesterday afternoon in
Linnégatan. We wouldn't have needed to be there at all
if it hadn't been for your statistics.'

'She didn't stop,' he said.

'She tried to let you pass.'

'She was lucky to get away with it,' he said.

'Get away with what?' asked Serimov.

He didn't answer.

'Get away with what?' she asked again.

'Arrogant bitches,' he said.

'You have a problem, Billy,' she said.

'So, shall we wait here for a bit and see what we can
do?' he said.

'Certainly not. They live up there, and that's where
we're going,' she said, pointing.

'In that case there was no need for me to drive down
here first,' he said.

'I wanted to see the sea,' she said.

'The sea, the sea! I could kiss the sea!' he said.

Kiss my arse, she thought: she was good at swearing.
She had a Russian background after all. The Russian
language was world champion when it came to swearwords.
We talk about rude words, but lots of the Russian
swearwords don't sound rude at all; they are beautiful,
she thought, gazing out to sea again.

They got back into the car and drove up the steeply
sloping streets.

'Here we are,' she said, and he pulled in.

'I'll wait out here,' he said.

'Don't harass the neighbours,' she said. She got out
of the car and rang the doorbell.

Kristina Bergort answered after the second ring.
Larissa could see Maja peeping out from behind her
mother.

'Come in,' said Mrs Bergort.

'I hope this isn't too inconvenient for you,' Larissa
said, aware of how silly it sounded. She had phoned in
advance and Kristina Bergort had said that it was OK.

The girl was clinging on to her mother.

'Magnus rang to say that he couldn't get away from
work,' said Bergort.

You are the one I want to talk to anyway, Larissa
thought, feeling awkward in the kitchen wearing her
police uniform.

Maja looked at her belt and the gun sticking out like
. . . like a . . . well, sticking out. Larissa realised that she
hadn't spoken to the girl yet.

'Hello, Maja,' she said.

The girl looked up shyly, smiled quickly and then
looked down again.

'You can go back to your games,' said her mother.

Maja turned round and Larissa could see a scratch
on her upper arm, like a line of chalk. Larissa watched
her walk away. She crossed over the threshold. Larissa
was still watching. There was something odd. But what?
There was something about the way she moved. What
was it? Her leg? It was . . .

Maja was out of sight now.

'Is there something wrong with her leg?' Larissa asked.

'What? Her leg?'

'Maja's leg. She seemed to be limping.'

'Limping? Maja? I haven't noticed anything.' Kristina
Bergort looked at her with an expression that could
have been construed as worried. 'Surely I would have
noticed?'

Larissa Serimov wondered what to say next. She
ought to know. She knew why she'd come here.

'Would you like a cup of coffee?' asked Mrs
Bergort.

Larissa thought about Billy Brorsson waiting outside,
said, 'Yes please', and then her mobile rang.

'Are you going to be in there long?' asked Brorsson.

'Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour.'

'I'll go for a little drive.'

She hung up and thought about the plight of humanity
exposed to assault by Brorsson, and turned to Kristina
Bergort.

'I've been thinking a bit more about that story Maja
told you,' she said.

They were served coffee, cheese rolls and three kinds
of biscuits. The rooms were full of Christmas decorations,
an excess of them. The children had been allowed
to do whatever they liked. Angela recognised Elsa's
paintings because Elsa had shown them to her before.
There were lines and circles that could symbolise most
things. Or just represent them. Not everything was
symbolic.

There was a smell of candle wax and hot punch.
Parents were circulating and discussing the Christmas
atmosphere that had arrived here about three weeks
early.

There were no children present this evening. No overtime
for them, Angela thought. Elsa can relax at home
with Erik. Rolling the ball over the floor until he's too
stiff to stand up again. No. It's not as bad as that. But
obviously, being a father at forty is not the same as
being a father at twenty-five.

She looked round. She was at a sort of middle age
when it came to parenting, not too young and not too
old. Waiting until you turned thirty before having a
child was no sensation nowadays. Lots of women waited.
But she wouldn't have wanted to wait any longer.
Nevertheless, Erik had waited until she couldn't accept
it any longer. And she hadn't accepted it any longer. No
more waiting.

The future was not over. Just wait and see, Erik.

They assembled in the big hall. The nursery manager
welcomed them to the annual Christmas get-together.
This day nursery is a bit special, she said. Inner-city
dwellers and inner-city children.

Angela could see the house by the sea in her mind's
eye. An avenue, trees on all sides, gravel paths and a
kitchen garden.

The future was not over.

But the flat at Vasaplatsen wasn't something you could
just discard. At the moment it seemed to be the best
place for Elsa. Big shiny floors. Easy to roll a ball over
them.

It was afterwards, when there were fewer parents still
present, that the matter cropped up. Several people spoke
up. Lots of them had been thinking about it all evening,
the staff as well of course, but one of them said:

'We didn't really know how to bring it up.'

'Which day nursery was it?' somebody asked.

'Hepatica.'

'Where's that?'

'In Änggården.'

'But that's not very far from here.'

'They were in Slottskogen.'

'It's terrible.'

'Yes, awful.'

'Has anything like this happened before?'

'Not to my knowledge.'

'How's the boy?'

'I don't know.'

Angela listened, but said nothing. She had seen the
boy the evening it happened, and then again today. One
day after. Simon. His parents. His father had said 'fuck'
at one point, maybe a couple of times.

Angela was sitting on the edge of the group, next to
the window, on a chair that was intended for a much
shorter and younger person. A street lamp illuminated
the swings and the slide. Car headlights lit up the street
down the slope. She thought about the hole in the fence.
Had it really been mended?

She could see the church tower in the park on the
other side of the street; that was lit up as well.

A woman sat down on the other little chair.

'It remains to be seen if we'll be able to stand up
again,' she said.

'I daren't try yet,' said Angela.

'Lena Sköld,' said the woman, reaching out her right
hand.

'Angela Hoffman.'

Angela had never met Lena Sköld before. It was
usually Erik who took Elsa to the day nursery, and
collected her. But come to think of it, she did recognise
her after all. And she thought she could remember what
her child looked like. A girl with dark hair.

'I'm Ellen's mum,' said Lena Sköld.

'I'm Elsa's mum,' said Angela.

'Yes, of course.' She picked up her cup. 'We – Ellen
and me – haven't been here for very long.' She took a
sip of coffee. 'We used to use a different nursery before.'

'I think I can remember what Ellen looks like,' said
Angela.

'She's in the picture behind you.'

Angela turned to look at the little photograph behind
her, stuck on to a bigger sheet of paper. The girl was
standing on a beach, laughing out to sea. It was windy.
The photograph was framed by all colours of the
rainbow. Arrows with the girl's name pointed at the
picture. A little exhibitionist.

'She wanted to make it clear that she was the one in
that picture and nobody else,' said Lena Sköld with a smile.

'She's evidently got plenty of self-confidence,' said
Angela.

'Hmm . . . I don't know about that.' She took another
sip of coffee. 'We'll find out about that eventually, I
suppose.' She looked at Angela. 'I'm a single parent.'
She put down her cup and smiled. 'As they call it.'

Angela nodded. Through the window she could see
people leaving the nursery on their way home. She
checked her watch.

'Yes, I suppose it's time we were making a move,'
said Lena Sköld. 'If we can stand up.' She made an
effort with her legs. 'Huh, I failed at the first attempt.'

'I don't think I'm even going to try,' said Angela.

Lena Sköld also stayed put, looking through the
window in which her face was mirrored.

'I keep thinking about what we were talking about
earlier,' she said.

'About the boy who, er, disappeared?' said Angela.

'Yes.' She looked as if she wanted to say more, and
Angela waited.

'Something odd happened to me not long ago. Or
rather, to Ellen.' She looked at Angela. 'It feels almost
creepy. Yes, it certainly does. What with what happened
to the boy and all that. But I mean this incident with
Ellen. In view of the rest of it.'

What on earth is she talking about? Angela wondered.

'It was very strange,' said Lena Sköld. 'What
happened to Ellen. She came home and, well, I suppose
you could say she told a story. About how she'd met
somebody while her group was on an outing.'

'What do you mean, met somebody?'

'A man. A mister, as she called him. She said she'd
met this mister and been sitting with him for a while.
In a car. If I understand it rightly they were sitting in a
car.'

'That's what she told you?'

'That's how I understood it, at least,' said Lena Sköld.
'And there was another thing. She had something that
disappeared that day.'

'What was it?' Angela asked.

'A little silver charm that she had in her jumpsuit
pocket. It had vanished. The police asked me to check
if there was anything missing, and it was that charm.'

'The police?'

'That evening when Ellen came home, I mean, when
she said she'd met somebody, I phoned the police
about it.'

'The police where?'

'What do you mean?'

'Did you phone the local police station, or the communications
centre?'

'I don't know what it's called. I looked up a number
in the phone book and got through to a call centre and
they passed me on to another number.' She put her cup
down on the floor. 'It was a police station quite close
to where I live.'

'Your local station,' said Angela.

'Yes.' She looked at Angela. 'You seem to know about
these things. Are you a police officer?'

'No.'

'I think they said it was the Majorna and Linnéstaden
police.'

'What else did they say?'

'The man I spoke to wrote down what I said. At
least, it sounded as if he did. And then he said that stuff
about me checking to see if anything was missing, and
I did and I phoned back to tell him about the charm.'

'Have they been in touch with you again? The police,
I mean?'

'No.'

'How's Ellen?'

'Same as ever. I expect it was just her imagination.'
She looked round the playroom, which was neat and
tidy. All the toys were in big boxes along the walls.
There were drawings pinned all over the walls. Most of
them depicted Christmas. And the symbols of Christmas,
Angela noticed.

There was still a smell of candle wax and hot punch,
anticipating Christmas. There was a sound of voices
from the other rooms, but fewer now.

'But when you hear what happened to that poor boy,
it makes you wonder.'

Angela said nothing.

'What do you think?' asked Lena Sköld.

'Have you tried talking to Ellen about it again?'

'Yes, several times.'

'What does she say?'

'More or less the same thing. I've been thinking about
that. She doesn't seem to have forgotten about it. It's
the same little story. Or maybe it's just a fairy story. A
fantasy.'