Frozen Tracks (31 page)

'Who saw?'

'Gustav.'

'Gustav?'

Kaite mumbled something they couldn't hear.

'What did you say?' asked Ringmar.

'I don't know if his father saw,' said Kaite.

'Why do you feel threatened by Gustav then, Aryan?'

'He didn't want it to come out.'

'To come out? That he'd been beaten by his father?'

Kaite nodded.

'Why didn't he want it to come out?'

'I don't know,' said Kaite.

'And you expect us to believe this? That you feel so
threatened by him that you disappear?'

'It's the truth,' said Kaite.

'It's not the case that Gustav has hit you, is it?'
Ringmar asked.

'Eh?'

'You heard the question.'

'No,' said Kaite.

'No what?'

'Gustav hasn't hit me.'

'He wasn't the one who clubbed you down in
Kapellplatsen?'

'No.' Kaite looked up. 'I don't know who it was.'

'You weren't with Gustav at the time?'

'No, no.'

'Or with his father?'

'Eh?' That look of surprise again. And something
else. What is it? Ringmar wondered.

'Has Gustav's father hit you as well, Aryan?'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Kaite.

'Let's take it one step at a time,' said Ringmar. 'When
you saw Gustav being beaten at home on the farm –
were
you
attacked as well?'

'No.'

'Have you ever been attacked by Gustav's father?'

'No.'

'But Gustav doesn't want you to tell anybody what
happened?'

'No.'

'Why?'

'You'd better ask him that.'

'We will do,' said Ringmar. 'We certainly will do.'
He looked at Halders. 'Shall we phone?' He looked at
Kaite again. 'You don't need to come to the station with
us, but we'll wait here until a car comes to pick you
up and take you to our doctor so that she can take a
look at that wound.'

* * *

Ringmar and Halders drove back to the city centre. It
had stopped raining, but it was still just as dark.

'He's holding something back,' said Halders.

'Of course,' said Ringmar.

'You could have leant on him a bit more.'

'I thought I did a pretty good job,' said Ringmar.

'Of course.'

'We'll pick him up tomorrow,' said Ringmar. 'He can
think over what he's said. What he's set in motion.'

'You met old man Smedsberg in his element, up to
his knees in dung,' said Halders. 'What do you think?'

'Nothing,' said Ringmar. 'I don't think anything.'

'There's nothing to think,' said Halders.

'Was that a philosophical hypothesis?' asked Ringmar.

'No,' said Halders. 'I was referring to this case.
Nobody knows what to think.'

Ringmar produced a piece of paper again, read something,
then put it away.

'There was one thing you didn't ask about,' said
Halders.

'So you noticed?'

'Don't insult me.'

'I was only joking, Fredrik.'

'Why did you hold back on that?'

'As I said, I think he should have a bit of time to
think over what he's already said.'

Halders thought about the other boys. If there was
a connection, it would have been appropriate to ask
Kaite about it now, when he seemed vulnerable. But
Bertil had waited. He hadn't asked about them. He
hadn't leant on the girl, Josefin. He had chosen not to
press ahead. There was one reason above all others:

'Our black friend tells lies like a cow shits,' said
Halders.

Ringmar nodded. He was miles away, deep in thought.

'Do you think he feels relieved now?' Halders asked.

'Relieved!' shouted Ringmar, wide awake again.

Halders drove along Per Dubbsgatan. The hospital
was glittering faintly, ten thousand windows with Advent
candles in a blackish-red wall.

'What?' said Halders. 'What do you mean?'

'When I asked the lad if Gustav Smedsberg had threatened
him and he eventually got round to saying that he
had, he looked relieved,' said Ringmar.

'Maybe he had it inside him and needed to let it out,'
said Halders. 'Maybe it's true, in fact. Or partly true.
Or only partly a lie.'

'Perhaps he hasn't been threatened by Gustav,' said
Ringmar.

'You mean it was the old man who threatened him?'

'The lad seemed to be relieved, but there was something
else as well,' said Ringmar. 'There was something
else.'

'Maybe he needed a piss,' said Halders, and Ringmar
laughed out loud.

'Was it that funny?'

'I needed to laugh,' said Ringmar. He laughed again.

'You'd better make another trip out into the country,'
said Halders.

'If one is enough,' said Ringmar.

'We're going to crack this now,' said Halders. 'We'll
sort it out rapido and then we have other things to think
about.'

'We have other things to think about at the same
time,' said Ringmar.

'I'm going to grab young Mr Smedsberg right away,'
said Halders. 'Young Mr Cowboy.'

They were approaching the crossroads.

'Can you drive me home, please, Fredrik? I need to
check something.'

'Er . . . yes, of course.'

'Left here.'

They drove past Slottsskogsvallen. Dusk fell during
the six minutes it took Halders to get to Ringmar's
house. The symphony of light in the neighbour's garden
was magnificent.

'Now I've seen everything,' said Halders.

'He's mentally defective,' said Ringmar, getting out
of the car.

'You don't need to switch any lights on in your place,
Bertil.' Halders looked sympathetic. 'Look at it like that.'

But Ringmar had to switch the hall light on as it was
shielded by the living room. That didn't help, though.
No message on the answering machine on the hall table.
No message in the mail he'd picked up from the box
on the way in. He dropped the crap on the floor. Silence
everywhere. No kitchen fan buzzing away at full pelt.
No voices. No Christmas ham boiling on the stove.

Pia Fröberg had a furrow between her eyebrows that
seemed to grow deeper the longer she examined the
injury on Kaite's head. There was something there she
was scrutinising between her spread-out hands.

Kaite appeared to be lost in thought, gazing out of
the window, head on one side.

'Hmm,' said Fröberg.

'What?' asked Ringmar.

'Well, you can see something, but you can also choose
not to.'

'Great. Thank you for that.'

'But Bertil, I can't say here and now if this is a special
mark, or just... just a mark. A scar. A wound in the
process of healing.'

'OK, OK, I'm with you, Pia.'

'But it could be an imprint.'

'Which in that case would represent something?' said
Ringmar.

'In that case, yes.'

'Could it be this?' said Ringmar, holding up a copy
of Carlström's drawing.

'It could be. It's not possible to say here and now.'

'Let's go,' said Halders.

They headed for the door.

'What am I supposed to do?' said Kaite, raising his
head.

'I've no idea,' said Halders without turning round.

'Shouldn't I go with you?'

'Do you want to?' asked Halders, turning to face him.

'N . . . no, no.'

'Go home and take it easy,' said Ringmar, who had
also turned round. 'We'll be in touch.'

'What will happen to this thing, then?' said Kaite to
Pia Fröberg, moving his head slightly. 'Will it leave a
permanent mark?'

'It could do.'

'Oh my God.'

'It's not possible to say yet,' said Fröberg, feeling
sorry for the lad.

They drove towards the city centre. There were more
and more lights and lamps and glittering garlands
hanging over the streets.

'Ring young Smedsberg and check if he's at home,'
said Ringmar.

There was an answer after the third ring.

'This is Detective Inspector Fredrik Halders.'

Smedsberg came up to Ringmar's office after the hour
it had taken him to get there. He won't run away, Halders
had said.

'Please sit down,' said Ringmar.

Smedsberg sat down on the modest visitor's chair.

'Shouldn't we go to another room?' said Halders.

'Oh yes, of course,' said Ringmar. 'Please come this
way, Gustav.'

'What's this all about?' asked Gustav Smedsberg.

'What was that?' said Halders.

'I don't underst—'
'Why are you still sitting down?' said Halders.

'It's only two floors down,' said Ringmar.

Neither of the police officers spoke in the lift.
Smedsberg looked as if he were on the way to the electric
chair. Either that or he's the type who always looks
worried, Halders thought.

It was not a cosy room. It was the opposite of the
interview rooms prepared to make children feel secure.
There was a nasty lamp on the desk and an even worse
one hanging from the ceiling. There was a window, but
the view of the ventilation duct was hardly likely to
raise anybody's spirits. The room seemed to be fitted
out for its purpose, but everything was accidental – a
window in the wrong place, a ventilation duct in the
wrong place.

'Please sit down,' said Ringmar.

Smedsberg sat down, but cautiously, as if he expected
a different instruction from Halders, who he was looking
at now. Halders gave him a friendly smile.

Ringmar switched on the tape recorder that was
standing on the table. Halders was fiddling with the
tripod for the video camera, which was making a
humming noise, the cosiest thing about the room.

'Will you be celebrating Christmas at home this year,
Gustav?' asked Ringmar.

'Er . . . what?'

'Will you be celebrating Christmas at home on the
farm, with your dad?'

'Er . . . no.'

'Really?'

'What difference does it make to you?' asked Smedsberg.

'It's just standard interview technique,' said Halders,
who was still next to the camera but leaning over the
desk. 'You start with something general and then come
round to the heavy stuff.'

'Oh.'

'Why have you been threatening Aryan Kaite?' asked
Ringmar.

'The heavy stuff,' said Halders, gesturing towards
Ringmar.

'Er . . .'

'You seem to have a limited vocabulary for a student,'
said Halders.

'We have been informed that you threatened Aryan
Kaite,' said Ringmar.

'W-what?'

'What do you have to say to the accusation that you
threatened him?'

'I haven't threatened anybody,' said Smedsberg.

'We have been informed that you did.'

'By whom?'

'Who do you think?'

'He would never da—'
Ringmar looked at him.

'What were you going to say, Gustav?'

'Nothing.'

'What's happened between you and Aryan, Gustav?'

'I don't understand.'

'Something has happened between the two of you.
We want to know what. We might be able to help you.'

Smedsberg looked as if he might be smiling. Ringmar
saw the smile come and go within a fraction of a second.
The camera saw it. What did it mean?

'What has really happened between you and Aryan,
Gustav?'

'I've already told you, a hundred years ago. It was
a girl.'

'Josefin Stenvång,' said Halders.

'Er . . . yes.'

'But that's not all, is it?' Ringmar eyed Smedsberg.

'There are other reasons as well, aren't there?'

'I don't know what he's told you, but whatever he's
said, it's wrong,' said Smedsberg.

'But you can't know what he's said, can you?'

'It's wrong in any case,' said Smedsberg.

'What's the truth, then?'

Smedsberg didn't reply. Ringmar could see something
in his face that he thought he recognised. It wasn't relief.
It was at the other end of the emotional register, the
dark side.

'It will be better for you if you tell us.'

That same smile again, like a flash of cynicism, combined
with the darkness in the boy's eyes. What has he been
through? Ringmar didn't know, couldn't begin to guess.

'Gustav,' said Ringmar, 'that story you told us about
how you were attacked on Mossen – it's not true, is it?'

Smedsberg said nothing. He wasn't smiling any more.

'You were never attacked, were you?'

'Of course I was.'

'It doesn't matter if you change your story.'

'Of course I was,' Smedsberg said again.

And again: 'Of course I was.'

Are we talking about the same thing? Ringmar thought.

'Were you attacked by your father, Gustav?' Ringmar
asked.

Smedsberg didn't answer. That was an answer in itself.

'Was it your father who attacked you at Mossen,
Gustav?' Ringmar asked.

'No.'

'Did he attack you at home, Gustav?'

'It doesn't matter what he said.'

'Who, Gustav? Who has said what?'

Smedsberg didn't answer. Ringmar could see that the
lad wasn't feeling well now, not well at all. What the
hell was he concealing? Is it something that has nothing
to do with this business? Something worse?
Ringmar looked at Halders, and winked.

'That story about the branding iron you told us the
first time we met – you made it up, didn't you?'

'Did I?' said Smedsberg.

'Nobody uses such things, do they?'

'Not nowadays, perhaps.'

'And they never have used them at your farm,' said
Halders.

A special look in Smedsberg's eyes again, something
different this time. Is he playing games with us? Ringmar
wondered. No, it's something different. Or it might be
a game, but not his.

'What made you think of that branding iron, Gustav?'

'Because it LOOKED LIKE IT.'

Oops, Ringmar thought.

Halders seemed to be waiting for more.

'Haven't you been able to check it out?' asked
Smedsberg.

'Check what out?' asked Halders.

'The iron, for Christ's sake!'

'Where would we be able to do that?'

Smedsberg looked at Halders, and now there was
something different in his eyes. Perhaps it was desperation
now, and insecurity.

'Do I have to spell everything out for you?' he said.

* * *

'He hasn't told us a single thing,' said Halders as they
drove past Pellerins Margarine factory.

'Or everything,' said Ringmar.

'We ought to have grilled those other two student
brats straight away,' said Halders.

'You're talking about people who have been badly
assaulted,' said Ringmar. 'One of them so badly that he
was on the point of being a permanent invalid.'

'He'll recover,' said Halders. 'He'll be OK.'

'Even so,' said Ringmar.

'He'll be able to play for the Blue and Whites six
months from now,' said Halders. 'Even if he's still lame.
Nobody would notice the difference among that lot.'

'You must be getting them mixed up with Örgryte
football club,' said Ringmar.

'I think the most important thing now is to go out
there again,' said Winter from the back seat.

He watched the townscape change and eventually
disappear. Forests and an endless network of lakes now.
Commuter trains.

He had been poring over the transcripts of the interviews
with the children and trying to conjure up a picture
of the man who had talked to them, done other things.
He'd searched and searched. There was something he
could make use of. The man had a parrot who might
be called Billy. Winter had gone back to Simon Waggoner
with ten toy parrots in ten different colours, and Simon
had picked out the green one.

He had also pointed at the red one.

The man might well have been in his forties, possibly
a worn-out thirty-year-old, possibly a fit and active fifty-year-old.
Winter had been talking to Aneta Djanali when
Halders and Ringmar returned from interrogating
Smedsberg.

'We sent him home,' Ringmar had said. 'I think it's
the best thing for now.'

They had made up their minds to make the journey
out into the country.

'I'll come with you,' Winter had said. 'I've been there
before and I can think about this other stuff in the car.'

He was sitting in the back seat, hunched over his
PowerBook. Lakes and forests and hills turned into
plains.

'That's it,' said Ringmar at the crossroads.

'Drive straight to old man Carlström's,' said Winter.

Ringmar nodded, and they passed a hundred metres
away from Smedsberg's house. They couldn't see a
tractor, there was no sign of life.

'It's like being at sea,' said Halders.

Ringmar nodded again and drummed on the steering
wheel.

'A different world,' said Halders. 'When you see this,
you begin to understand a thing or two.'

'What do you mean?' asked Winter, leaning forward.

'Smedsberg is an odd character, isn't he? When you
see this, it becomes easier to understand why.' They passed
a man on a tractor who raised a hand in greeting. The
tractor had emerged from a side road a hundred metres
ahead of them, from a little copse. Like a tank coming
out of a patch of camouflaging bushes. 'A different world,'
said Halders again. They could see two figures on horseback
in what appeared to be the far distance.

They were being followed by birds. A minor twister
whistled across a little field, whipping up a swirl of dead
leaves. Ringmar drove past the same house as before.
They suddenly found themselves in a forest, shadows.
Then they were back among the open fields again. They
passed Smedsberg's wife's family home. Gerd.

They were there.

They got out of the car and walked towards the
house. Nobody came out to greet them.

'How shall we explain our visit this time?' said
Ringmar.

'We don't need to explain ourselves this time either,'
said Winter.

The winds circled round the house. Everything was
just the same as the last time. In the distance, Winter
could see the sort of tower he'd noticed before, like a
lighthouse. Darkness was closing in quickly. It felt colder
here than anywhere else. On their last visit, he'd thought
that if they returned soon, everything would be white,
and it really would look like a wintry sea.

When he raised his hand to knock, he thought about
the feeling he'd had when he'd last stood there: the
certainty that he would return, and he hadn't been able
to explain that feeling. But it had to do with darkness.
It was a premonition that foreboded something horrendous.
Now that I've experienced the feeling, it won't go
away, he'd thought. He could feel it again now. That was
why he'd chosen to accompany the others, to see if he
would experience it again. Yes. There was a secret buried
here. And something had made him come here again,
and it had nothing to do with the assaults on the young
men, with this case. What was it? It must have some
connection with it, surely. But simultaneously he thought
that he would have to bear it in mind again, remember
that not everything was what he saw and thought it
was, that there was something else about this place.

Why am I thinking like this?

After the third salvo of hammering, they could hear
somebody moving inside, and a voice said:

'What's it about?'

'It's us again,' said Winter. 'From the police. May we
come in and ask you a few more questions?'

'About what?'

The voice was as gruff as before and still seemed to
be in several layers, an old man's voice. Life is a series
of repeats, Ringmar thought. At best.

'May we come in?' Winter said again.

They heard the same mumbling and a clanking of
bolts. The door opened and the man inside again
appeared as a silhouette, illuminated by a low-octane
light from the hall and perhaps also the kitchen. Winter
held out his ID. The man ignored it but nodded at
Halders.

'Who's he?'

Halders introduced himself and showed the man his
ID.