The Shapeshifters (21 page)

‘He was afraid,' she said hesitantly. ‘Afraid of not being believed.
Because people didn't believe him. And then there's Mum. She's afraid of making herself look stupid.'

She smiled as she said this, but the police officer did not return her smile.

‘And you're not?' he said.

Susso shrugged her shoulders.

‘I don't care. Not as much.'

He nodded his head.

‘And this is the first time you have captured something on a photograph?'

‘Yes,' she replied, nodding emphatically. ‘I have photos other people have taken, but they're not very good. If you have visited the website, you will have seen them already.'

He received this information with a nod, but she could not decide whether he nodded because he had seen the pictures, or whether he simply wanted to move on.

‘But it's the first time I've . . . captured anything on a photo myself. I've set up the camera before but never got anything. So this is the first time.'

He watched her for a few seconds, waiting in case she had anything more to add. There was nothing. When she shut her lips and raised her eyebrows to indicate that she had finished he stood up.

‘Wait a minute,' he muttered, and walked out of the room.

He returned with two other men trailing behind him. Both were in their sixties. One was short and bald, with a flattened nose, and she thought he looked like an old boxer. He was wearing a light-blue police shirt with a dark-blue tie, and a ballpoint pen was attached to the edge of his breast pocket. His name was Kjell-Åke Andersson and he told Susso that he was leading the investigation.
He spoke slowly, emphasising every syllable, and she could tell he came from Tornedalen. He pulled up a chair and sat down diagonally opposite her. His eyes were red and bloodshot, but he kept them fixed on her.

A trail of aftershave followed the second man into the room. He had a leather jacket and a white, well-trimmed moustache. Before he took his place by the window, scanning the car park and the street, he introduced himself briefly as Wikström from the county CID. The black jacket shone like the protective shell on a beetle's back, and Susso thought there was something odd about him. The jacket and the overpowering smell of aftershave did not correspond to his age.

She now had three pairs of eyes directed at her, and she did not like it. Only intermittently did she succeed in looking unconcerned. She worked her tin of snus out of her pocket but she could not bring herself to open it, and sat pressing the lid, making it creak. She was fully aware that she gave the impression of being nervous but there was nothing she could do about it.

‘It is extremely rare for a child to be abducted in this way,' said Kjell-Åke ponderously. ‘That's why it's hard for us to know how to go about looking for him. But we do know that every hour is vitally important now, at the beginning.'

When he had said this he fell silent, and judging from his enquiring look it was clear that Susso had to confirm that she understood. She nodded.

‘For that reason,' he continued, ‘it can be disastrous if the investigation is focused in the wrong direction. Even at this stage, after a few days.'

With small nods of her head Susso indicated that she understood this too.

‘So before we go any further we want to be sure that this picture, the one you took with your camera, is not a hoax, or whatever you want to call it. That it's not someone dressed up, that it doesn't have anything to do with this website of yours in any way.'

She kept quiet, waiting for the rest, which was about to come.

‘That is the most likely explanation we have,' he said, inhaling deeply, ‘considering the person's actual appearance.'

He breathed out and gave her a meaningful look. His eyebrows were like cotton wool on a forehead crowded with lines.

‘It's not a wind-up,' Susso said. ‘Not as far as I know, anyway.'

‘You know,' said the man by the window, craning his neck as if he had caught sight of something that interested him outside, ‘we could draw a line under all this today. But if at a later stage of our investigation it emerges that you have lied, or withheld information, you could be prosecuted. For impeding police investigations. It's a crime that can result in a prison sentence. You need to be aware of that.'

‘Furthermore,' interjected Kjell-Åke, crossing his arms and wrinkling his tie, ‘it could have significant consequences for the boy. Today he might be alive, but in a couple of days he might not be.'

When Susso looked up she saw the detective in charge of investigations had tilted his head to one side.

‘Now you wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?' he said kindly. ‘So it's best you tell us straight away whether it's an internet hoax or something.'

‘I can only tell you what I've done,' Susso said, ‘and all I did was set up a camera at Edit's house.'

Wikström had picked up his mobile, and an unhappy look
spread over Kjell-Åke's face. It was as if he pitied her for not fully understanding the implication of what he had said.

She shrugged her shoulders.

‘I don't know what else I can say,' she said. ‘Perhaps it was a stupid thing to do. But all I did was set up the camera. I don't know any more about the man in the photo than you do. Believe me, on my life.'

‘Right,' said Wikström, snapping his mobile shut.

‘Yes, let's give them that,' said Kjell-Åke, pushing his fists into his thighs and straightening his back as if it was aching.

‘Give them that?' she said. ‘What does that mean?'

‘Give it to the media.'

Susso's head started to spin.

‘But what if he hasn't done anything?' she said. ‘What if it's just a coincidence that he was at Edit's house. If he hasn't done anything . . .'

‘Then of course we will want to
know
that,' said Kjell-Åke.

From a small packet he shook out a piece of chewing gum and slid it between his lips. Susso smelled the waft of mint that emerged from his mouth.

‘So we can exclude him from the investigation.'

Susso's face took a direct hit from the cold as she came out of the police station. Darkness had settled over the white rooftops. It felt as if she had been sitting in Hannler's office for hours. An elderly woman on a kick sledge loaded with shopping glided past on silent runners.

The car's windscreen had iced over, so she had to use the scraper. Her fingers were stinging with the cold because her gloves were on the seat inside the car, pressed together in prayer.

Slowly she drove along the main road, uncertain which direction to take. She ought to eat but she wasn't hungry. She didn't feel sick but something was wrong. There were not many people out and few cars, the occasional pair of headlights driving past. Between the buildings hung strings of lights like bead necklaces against the frozen sky. She picked up her mobile and held it to her ear for a moment before ringing her mother.

‘TV?' said Gudrun.

‘Yes.'

‘When?'

‘Don't know. As soon as possible, I guess. I don't know when it's on.'

‘But will they say anything? About Dad, I mean? And the website?'

‘I find that hard to believe. That can't be relevant, surely.'

‘And the newspaper too. Isn't that what you said?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh Lord . . .'

Gudrun went silent for a moment, but then she said:

‘What does Edit say?'

Susso held the phone tight between her ear and her shoulder so that she could change gear without letting go of the steering wheel.

‘I'm going to drive there now,' she said. ‘So she doesn't know anything yet.'

It felt hard tapping in the number: Susso had not spoken to Edit since she had phoned to say Mattias had disappeared. She had told Susso that he had come to see her even though he was not
supposed to. When Mattias had knocked on the door she had phoned Per-Erik's mobile and told him that the boy was with her. She had given him some juice and then he had left for home. But he never reached home.

She rang Edit, who was at Carina and Per-Erik's house. They said she was welcome to drop by if she wanted to. Even though she was scared at the thought of seeing Mattias's parents, she said she would come. She could not pass Vaikijaur without looking in.

The Mickelsson family lived in an ochre-painted house on the north side of the road, a few hundred metres from Edit's house. A rope of lights circled a flagpole, making the pole itself invisible. All that could be seen was a glowing strand spiralling up into the twilight.

Leaning against the garage wall was a metal snow shovel, and the driveway was scraped clean. When Susso had parked the car and slammed the door shut she thought she heard someone scream far away. She held her breath and stood completely still so that the soles of her shoes would not make the snow underfoot creak. A heat pump hummed behind the house, but otherwise there was not a sound in the white landscape. She looked along the road, mainly to see for herself where it must have happened. Somewhere behind those walls of ploughed snow.

Per-Erik was not at home when Susso arrived, and she was grateful for that. She had not forgotten his behaviour. Or his hostile expression.

Carina Mickelsson was sitting in a corner sofa next to Edit, who had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Susso had imagined that Carina's face would be red and swollen from crying, but she looked composed. Her hair was almost black and she had scraped it back in an untidy ponytail at the nape of her neck. She looked
as if she was concentrating intently on something—holding back the tears, perhaps. She was wearing a burgundy hooded sweatshirt with the cuffs pulled over her hands. Her arms were folded. She immediately began questioning Susso about the photo. Susso answered as best she could. She did not take off her outer clothes, not wanting to barge in on their grief.

When she explained that the photo might be shown on television Edit broke out of her immobilised state and reached for her mug on the glass-topped table.

‘It might just be a coincidence that he was here a few days before . . . before it happened,' said Susso. ‘But I don't think they have anything else to go on. Not at present.'

‘It's no coincidence,' Carina said. ‘Of course it's him.'

Susso was quiet. She nodded guardedly and looked around the room. The television was on with the sound turned down.

‘I'm so glad you set up that camera,' said Carina, looking at Susso. She had stern grey eyes and thin pencilled eyebrows. ‘Otherwise he would be lost without trace,' she went on. ‘Disappeared into thin air. Now at least they've got something to go on. And that's thanks to you.'

‘I've been feeling it must be my fault,' said Susso softly, dropping onto the armrest of the sofa, which creaked under her weight.

Carina was not listening. She was talking continuously.

‘I simply cannot work out why that revolting little object has taken him,' Carina said. It sounded as if she was about to start crying, but she held the tears back. ‘I don't understand
why
. Why Mattias?'

The wretchedness in Carina's eyes receded suddenly, as if something had occurred to her.

‘Perhaps he hasn't got any children of his own,' she said, ‘and
he wants Matti to be his child. There are people who do that, aren't there? People who haven't got any children of their own. Who take children. People who are kind. Who don't mean to harm them.'

She talked hurriedly, looking from Edit to Susso.

Edit was looking down, her eyelids swollen, but Susso nodded in agreement. She tried giving an encouraging smile.

Squashed behind the television was the Christmas tree, shining brightly. There were a few jagged cut-out paper decorations hanging on it, strewn with too many gold sequins. There was a framed photograph of Mattias standing on the wall unit, the same picture that had been in the newspaper.

The brown hair parted in the middle, flopping down each side; the big eyes with small folds underneath. There was a trace of gleaming mucus running from his little nose. They could have wiped his nose before taking the picture, Susso thought. He had an identity tag around his neck, a shining silver rectangle which lay outside his Spiderman sweatshirt. She was about to ask if Mattias was wearing the tag when he disappeared, but said nothing because she thought it might come out wrong.

 

 

IS THIS THE MAN WHO TOOK MATTIAS?

Seved recognised the little man immediately.

He was the one who had been standing on the roof of Torsten's barn and had stared at him from the digger bucket. The one Börje had called a nosy little bugger.

‘What's this . . . ?'

‘Don't you recognise him?' asked Börje. ‘It's Jirvin. We saw him.'

‘But why is his picture here? What's he done?'

He skimmed through the article. It described how the police suspected the person in the photograph of being connected with the kidnapping of four-year-old Mattias Mickelsson. Anyone with information about the identity of the man was requested to contact the police without delay.

‘But where does that picture come from? Who's taken it? Why?'

Börje shrugged.

‘It was probably taken outside the boy's house.'

‘But what was he doing there?'

‘They don't know.'

‘And what does Torsten say? Have you asked him?'

‘Asked?'

Börje sneered and raised his voice as he repeated:

‘Asked? Do you think you can get any kind of information out of that man?'

‘Yes, but this is serious,' said Seved. ‘What if someone has seen him up at Torsten's? Or in the area? It's not completely out of the question, all the years he's lived there.'