Frozen Tracks (17 page)

Angela walked home deep in thought. Father Christmas
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 street lamps and windows.
She thought about the injured boy and his parents. She
thought about Lena Sköld, who had told her about her
life as a single parent. No man in her life now, and no
father for Ellen. Later, perhaps.

She paused outside the front door. Vasaplatsen was
quiet this evening, but a wind was getting up from the
north and blowing along the Allé. She raised the collar
of her overcoat and paused to take in the scene. A tram
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 carriage, but nobody at all
in the second one. A way of travelling for someone who
wanted to be alone. She had noticed the driver looking
at her as he drove past.

Driving a tram was one way of seeing Gothenburg.
Any driver who always took the same route would get
to know all the surrounding streets and the crossroads
and the parks. And the trams didn't go fast either. In
fact, they went annoyingly slowly, and she was glad she
had her Golf; but there again, she also had the usual
guilty conscience about being one of those who ruined
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 point of view. Elsa is still a tender
rosebud. What ought we to do? Do we have any choice
but to move house? 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 switched on
the kettle.

'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 quite a bit of talk about that . . . that incident.
The Waggoner boy.'

'We're going to try to speak to him tomorrow.'

'Have you got any leads?'

'We're checking all the local loonies now. Nothing
yet.'

'What does Pia say?'

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

'She can't see any signs of sexual violence,' he said.
'It's probably only your usual violence.'

'Only?'

'Didn't you hear the inverted commas? I prefer not
to write them in the air.'

'Where's that tea got to?'

The wind was blowing rain all over the big windscreen.
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 after
the other. 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 tram, but he wasn't
complaining. Somebody had got off at Vasaplatsen, but
nobody had 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 Central Station, on their
way to the northern wildernesses that he was also
heading for, of course. Wildernesses with blocks of flats
so tall that they looked as if they were trying to fly up
to heaven, but they could have asked him about heaven
and he'd have been able to tell them the truth about it.
There's nobody 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 kicked up a fuss.

He bit his hand so hard that it hurt.

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

He stopped the tram, 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 kicked up a fuss. 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 tram.

'Why aren't we setting off?'

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 ought
to know that if they were going to ride the tram. Some
didn't pay at all. Cheated. Some of them got caught
when an inspector came on board. 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've just stamped it.'

'No ticket?'

'Why are we standing here? Why don't you set off?'

'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 trams. He could tell you all about that!

'We got on and off about a hundred years ago, and
now we want to set off,' 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 get moving at last. They can give us an escort,'
said the drunk. 'I can ring them myself, come to that.'
He produced a mobile.

Now I'm off.

The tram started with a jerk and the man with the
mobile was flung backwards 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 tram was in motion.

'If it's bust 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 give
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 set off, stopped, set off again. It was quiet now.
He stopped once more. Opened the doors.

'You're bloody 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 round and set off
on his way back. It was always the same. They were a
traffic hazard. He could tell the authorities all about
that. Had done, 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 lift.
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.

'It was important for me to be there.'

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

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

'Yes.'

'It'll be lovely.'

'I expect so.'

'A warm Christmas,' she said.

'I don't suppose it will be all that warm.'

'No, there's bound to be sub-zero temperatures on
Christmas Eve in Marbella.' She continued warming her
hands round the cup she hadn't yet drunk out of. '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 come off. His mother
would be pleased. There would be sun there. Five
days on the Costa del Sol, and then it would be New
Year again and the weather would turn and spring
would begin to advance and then summer and there
was no need to look any further into the future than
that.

'I met a mum at the day nursery 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 just as well.'

'What did she have to say?' he asked.

'That her daughter had . . . met a stranger. She'd
evidently been sitting in a car with some grown-up, it
seemed. And that's all there was to it.'

'What do you mean, all there was to it?'

'I don't know. The girl came home and told her mother
about it. That she'd been sitting in a car, I gather, with
somebody else for a short while. That was all.'

'She came home and told her mum about it?'

'Yes. Ellen. The girl's name is Ellen. She goes to the
same day nursery as Elsa. Ellen Sköld.'

'I recognise 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, after all.'

'What did she do next? When she'd heard about this?'

'She reported it, or whatever you say. She spoke to
somebody at the local police station in Linnéstaden.'

'What do the staff say?' he asked. 'The nursery staff,
I mean.'

'She had spoken to them but nobody had noticed
anything.'

Winter said something she couldn't hear.

'What did you say?'

'You can't expect them to 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.'

'I was thinking about what you've just said. It sounds
a bit odd.'

'That's what her mother thinks as well. Lena.'

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

'Yes, I understand. 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 that disappeared when?'

'The day that it happened.'

'Children lose things all the time. It's nothing 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 recognise 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 recognise the girl
when he saw her.

He allowed the darkness to linger on in his flat after
he'd closed the door. He knew his way round it so well,
it wouldn't have mattered if he'd been blind. In his flat,
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 as if he was
laughing. But something was wrong.

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

He watched all the videos. He had a little collection.
Similar videos, but different even so. 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!