Frozen Tracks (20 page)

'Whatsfordinner?

He hadn't the heart to tell her it was venison. Bambi.
He just hadn't the heart.

'A lovely little steak that won't take long in the oven,
and there'll be sauce and I can make you some mashed
potato and some mushrooms.'

'Yes!'

'And before that you can help me to make a salad
with some langoustines and whatever else we can find.'

'Find WHERE?'

'Inside your nose,' he said, turning round.

'Ha ha ha!' She was jumping up and down in her
child seat. 'Really really hungry.'

But she could still talk. In the kitchen she very nearly
fell asleep with her arm round a langoustine that looked
as if it were her cuddly toy. He picked it up, prepared
it and added it to the others.

Elsa couldn't wait. An unusually hard day at the
office. She ate a claw, which gave him just enough time
to conjure up a small portion of mashed potato and
heat up what was left of yesterday's salmon and cod au
gratin. It smelled good, but Elsa's interest had faded
somewhat.

He read to her.

'Are you tired tonight, darling? What have you done
today?'

She was asleep. He closed his eyes and thought about
the Waggoner boy, who didn't want to talk and couldn't
raise one arm, but could still see.

He lifted her into her bed and left the door ajar. He
went back to the kitchen, checked the steak, peeled some
more potatoes and took some more mushrooms out of
the freezer. He happened to think about that clunking
noise over the telephone, and poured himself a Rosebank
with a small glass of water as a chaser.

The sky was clear. Winter stood in the balcony
doorway and drank and enjoyed the fresh, dry taste of
herbs, and the whiff of a lowland breeze. He rejected
the idea of a Corps. He left the balcony door open for
a while, went to his desk, switched on his PowerBook
and spent a quarter of an hour thinking while the big
room filled up with music.

If he had described that scene to anyone, they would
have understood it as peaceful. He didn't feel at peace.
He was trying to work out a pattern on the basis of
what he'd heard that day, and there was no trace of
peace in that pattern.

Angela came home while he was laying the table.

'Will you pour me a drop of wine?' she said before
coming anywhere near the kitchen. He had heard her
briefcase thud on the floor from a great height. 'Mmmm,
that smells good.'

She went in to see Elsa as he was adding a lump of
butter to the sauce. The final touch before they sat down
to eat.

'Yes, why not?' said Angela when she came into the
kitchen and saw the deep dishes with the shellfish salad.
'It's Thursday after all.'

'Elsa was tired out.'

'I'm more hungry than tired now,' she said. 'And
thirsty.' She held her wine glass up to the light and
studied the contents. 'I declare as the house doctor that
wine is good for you after a hard day's work.'

They sat down at the table. The music was still
Mingus, drifting in from the living room.

'I hope you didn't tell Elsa what we're eating for the
main course?' she said.

He shook his head.

'It's very good even so. Everything is good.'

'Better than Bistro 1965?'

'There are questions you can't answer with a yes or
a no,' she said.

Such as: Have you stopped beating your children? he
thought.

The morning meeting was held by candlelight. Two
Advent candles were burning on the table, and there
were hundreds of similar ones dotted around the
building. Coffee and Lucia buns were on the table, as
well as a plate of ginger biscuits 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
13 December, St Lucia's Day, and the traditional procession
was approaching, led by Lucia dressed in a white
robe with a crown of burning candles on her head. She
was accompanied by her maids, looking like angels
gliding through the catacombs. Winter recognised 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
each carrying a stick 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 up as he walked past. His
colleague responded with an internationally recognised
gesture.

'You can shove that somewhere 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 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 aspiration. 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 switched on the ceiling light. Goodbye, cosy atmosphere,
Djanali thought.

'We'll make another attempt to talk to the boy,' said
Ringmar.

'How many words 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.
'Paedophiles, child abusers, other sex offenders, you
know the types. It's a long list, you could say.'

'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.'

'We have to work with the resources we have,' said
Winter.

'Why wasn't the boy abused sexually?' asked Djanali.
She looked round 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 in particular? Had he planned to do that
from the start? Did something happen in the car? Had
he 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 perhaps 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.

'What can one say?' said Halders.

'Anything at all,' said Winter. 'We're a team and this
is all about teamwork. 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 per cent sure what I mean yet,'
said Winter. 'Let's continue the discussion.'

'Links,' said Djanali. 'We were talking about links.
What might they look like?'

'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 madman 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 doesn't
need to be anything sexual. Or perhaps 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. '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 fantasising.'

'They might have,' said Winter.

'Four rather 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.

'I beg your pardon?'

'They don't have any bloody staff any more,' said
Halders. 'Even Erik agrees with me about that, not to
mention all the poor buggers themselves. There aren't
enough of them. That's the way it is nowadays. Bigger
and bigger groups of children, and fewer and fewer staff
to take care of them.'

'So you are suggesting that this actually could happen?
That these kids could vanish, hey presto, just like that?'

'I certainly am.'

'I doubt it,' said Helander.

'I reckon you should take that doubt of yours to any
playground you like where there are lots of kids larking
about, and you should spend a second thinking about
how you might be able to kidnap one,' said Halders.
'Or at least arrange a private interview with one of
them.'

'Really?'

'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 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 car park.

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?
Perhaps. Perhaps more than perhaps.

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

'Yes,' said Winter. 'But I don't quite know how best
to go about it yet. I'll think it over, and have a word
with Sture.'

'Do it now while he still has Lucia in his long-term
memory,' 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
had lost something after being kidnapped, or whatever
we should call it. 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 favourite ball,' said Winter. 'She always had it
with her. Ellen Sköld had a little silver bird charm zipped
into a jumpsuit pocket. Gone. And Simon Waggoner
has 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've drawn 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 interference, if that's what you are
wondering. We know about Waggoner, 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 had told her story. The
doctor found some bruises. Serimov visited their house
a few days later and thought she could see more.'

'So perhaps it's got nothing to do with our case,' said
Halders. 'They beat their kid and drive in to A & E
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
the other mums',' 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 of the window and watched the
concrete pillars of the Nya Ullevi Stadium slowly
acquiring the same wispy grey mist as the air round
about. 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 discover 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 keep 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 the best of all worlds, but that wasn't
where they were living. In the best of all worlds they
wouldn't have existed at all as a profession. In the best
of all worlds 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 a
world like that? as Halders said when the topic came
up for discussion some time ago.

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

Do you need to take time out? Winter had asked in
an offhand fashion not all that long ago. Halders had
taken time out, 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 a lone adult with
two children of school age. 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 made any
soundings on your home front?'

'They're on red alert in all the savannahs from Kenya
to Burkina Faso,' she said.

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