Black Ice

by Ian Giles

  BLACK

  ICE

  CARIN

  GERHARDSEN

  TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH

  BY IAN GILES

  A lie is like a snowball:

  the further you roll it the bigger it becomes.

  —Martin Luther

  Contents

  January 2014

  1. Jeanette

  2. Sandra

  3. Jan

  4. Jeanette

  5. Sandra

  6. Jeanette

  7. Sandra

  8. Jeanette

  May 2018

  9. Sandra

  10. Jeanette

  11. Sandra

  12. Jeanette

  13. Sandra

  14. Jeanette

  15. Sandra

  January–February 2014

  16. Jan

  17. Sandra

  18. Jan

  19. Sandra

  20. Jan

  21. Sandra

  22. Jan

  23. Sandra

  May 2018

  24. Sandra

  25. Jeanette

  26. Sandra

  27. Jeanette

  28. Sandra

  January–February 2014

  29. Karl-Erik

  30. Jeanette

  31. Kerstin

  32. Jeanette

  33. Jan

  34. Jeanette

  35. Jan

  36. Jeanette

  37. Kerstin

  June 2018

  38. Sandra

  39. Jeanette

  40. Sandra

  41. Jeanette

  42. Sandra

  43. Jeanette

  44. Sandra

  45. Kerstin

  46. Sandra

  47. Kerstin

  48. Sandra

  49. Jan

  50. Kerstin

  51. Sandra

  July 2018

  52. Kerstin

  53. Sandra

  54. Jan

  55. Sandra

  56. Kerstin

  57. Sandra

  58. Jan

  59. Kerstin

  60. Jeanette

  61. Kerstin

  62. Jan

  63. Jeanette

  64. Kerstin

  65. Sandra

  66. Kerstin

  67. Sandra

  68. Kerstin

  69. Sandra

  70. Kerstin

  71. Jan

  72. Sandra

  73. Kerstin

  74. Jan

  75. Sandra

  76. Jan

  77. Sandra

  78. Kerstin

  Acknowledgements

  41-YEAR-OLD MAN MISSING WITHOUT TRACE

  The alarm was raised when police were contacted by a relative on Tuesday evening. The man reportedly drove his car to work in Visby at around eight o’clock in the morning. After remaining at his place of work for the duration of the morning, he left around lunchtime. When he failed to attend a meeting scheduled for the afternoon, his employer contacted his wife, and she later reported him missing.

  The police have worked together with his family and colleagues to identify places that he may have gone to. They have also searched the surrounding area but say that it is not possible to carry out a more extensive search as they currently have nothing to go on. The man’s mobile phone was last active in the vicinity of his workplace.

  When he was last seen, the 41-year-old was wearing a black jacket, light shirt, and a pair of dark trousers. He is described as being of normal build, 5ft10, with short dark hair and brown eyes.

  The police have encouraged the public to get in touch if they know anything about the disappearance.

  GOTLANDS ALLEHANDA

  JANUARY

  2014

  1

  Jeanette

  IT WAS ONLY once they left the busy roads around Visby and got out into the countryside that she was able to relax. There was always the same stress, the same fear that someone would recognise her sitting in the wrong car beside the wrong person. The lies at work: an errand to run, a dentist’s appointment, late lunch with a girlfriend.

  You had to be inventive when pursuing forbidden love, and a good actor to boot.

  Jeanette did not consider herself to possess either of these qualities. Yet here she was, her heart thumping and her cheeks crimson, using every ounce of calm she had.

  What exactly was she playing at? Was it worth it?

  She studied her lover discreetly from the side. The way he held the wheel with one of his coarse hands while the other hung loosely by one thumb. The superficial veins crisscrossing the back of his hand. The vigilant eyes taking note of everything happening on the road and around them. His chest rising inside the unbuttoned jacket as he breathed.

  “Was everything okay?” he asked. “Did anyone say anything?”

  “I said I needed to pick out new tiles for the bathroom.”

  “And no one questioned that?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you doing up your bathroom?”

  “Don’t know,” she replied. “Seems like it.”

  What did they need a new bathroom for? Her husband thought a new bathroom would change their lives for the better, but she needed something else. Clearly—since she was sitting here risking the entire world that she knew for a moment of love with someone else’s husband.

  “I don’t like lying to my workmates either,” he said. “Leaving early under false pretences. But it is what it is.”

  The relationship was a month or so old. They could no longer dismiss it as a passing whim. They had been sneaking off like this a couple of times a week, and it dominated every part of her mind.

  She didn’t really know him all that well. Their workplaces were next to each other but had nothing to do with the other. She worked in a furniture shop; he ran a garage. They were never seen together, never called each other, never exchanged any secret messages in the car park. Anything that needed to be said was dealt with here in his car, always during the day, and compensated for with overtime on other occasions. No one ought to suspect anything, so they really had nothing to fear. They could simply let themselves be possessed by each other’s lust, the lingering warmth in their bodies and the desire for the next meeting.

  “It is how it is,” she repeated. “Is that how it’s going to be?”

  He smiled.

  “What would you prefer? Is this enough for you, or would you dare to throw yourself into something new?”

  She didn’t know what to say. Would he dare to take that step and leave behind the old? Her answer was dependent on his. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly where he had her if he didn’t give her anything to hang on to.

  Their love was passionate right now. She was in a state of sickness—she couldn’t sleep at night or concentrate in the day. But would it last if she was honest with her husband, asked for a divorce, and turned their shared home into a war zone? Would this new irrepressible love cope with that? And for how long?

  Perhaps it was the validation she needed. The reassurance that she was still worth loving, still worth making love to. Now she had that, and perhaps it was enough. This man had given her so much energy and joie de vivre that it had shaken new life into her deeply soporific existence. But that wasn’t necessarily the same thing as her giving up her home and her finances, turning her back on the man that she had sworn to love. She was conscious that it was novelty’s charm that appealed. It wasn’t impossible to leave it behind, go home and be a good wife instead.

  She tried to persuade herself, but she could already sense the scent of her lover’s naked body, the warmth of his breath and the passionate sounds that would soon fill the car.

  Even so, she was still of two minds. She felt
rather pathetic sitting there like a schoolgirl and dreaming of a future that almost certainly didn’t exist. Pathetic, and somehow dirty. She was lying and deceiving for just a few transient moments of devotion each week. Her lover was the direct opposite. He took life in his stride, a smile always on his lips. If she were to end the relationship, he would find a new cause for rejoicing and continue smiling.

  They were getting close to the location of their rendezvous and heartbeats in the car quickened. He put his hand on her thigh and she could barely contain herself. She wanted to pull off her clothes and throw herself onto him, press her lips to his, and let herself be embraced, a wave of heat flooding over her.

  The sky was getting dark and it began to snow gently. The weather forecast said it wouldn’t freeze until night, but the road already looked slippery. They approached the old limestone quarry by Madvar. For a moment, the tires lost their grip and the car skidded precariously.

  2

  Sandra

  HER ARMS FILLED with odds and ends, she stood in the car park outside the XL-Bygg DIY store cursing her stupidity. Today she had finally made it to the store to find some bargain Christmas decorations and outdoor lighting on sale. Of course, she hadn’t considered for a moment that she would, as usual, buy too much, all while her car was at the repair shop and her father couldn’t help her. She hadn’t meant to buy more than she could take on the bus, but here she was loaded up like a packhorse.

  The ground was wet and dirty, making her reluctant to put down her boxes and paper bags. She didn’t have any gloves—it had been far warmer when she had left home in the morning.

  She had called for a taxi twice and on both occasions she had been promised a car within a few minutes. Forty minutes had elapsed so she now put down her purchases to call again.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said, making an effort to sound angry when she was really just irritated. “I live in the country and can’t very well walk all the way to Vejdhem.”

  “How strange,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “There must have been a misunderstanding somewhere down the line. I’ll prioritise your booking and send a car immediately.”

  Yes, that was certainly the case, and at that point Sandra should probably have made an acerbic comment. But she wasn’t especially ready for battle—more timid than anything—so instead she politely offered her thanks and ended the call. She sighed heavily, glancing resignedly at the mountain of shopping, and tapped at her phone, her chubby fingers frozen stiff, looking for an entertaining YouTube video to pass the time.

  Before she had time to start watching, a man appeared in front of her. She had noticed him a little while ago when he had passed her with rapid steps on the road between the store and his car. Apparently he had changed his mind and turned around.

  “Vejdhem,” he said. “Is that where you’re going?”

  He looked pleasant; his thick dark hair, greying at the temples, reminded her of a younger version of her father.

  “Yes,” Sandra replied. “I’ve been waiting for the past forty minutes for a taxi that is apparently never coming.”

  “We can sort that,” said the man. “I’m going that way, so you can get a lift with me.”

  Then he bent down and picked up her things, managing to get everything before walking towards the car.

  “Thanks,” said Sandra in relief, following. “That’s really nice. I should probably cancel the taxi.”

  “Do you feel they’ve done anything to deserve that?” he said with a smile.

  Sandra didn’t disagree; she didn’t owe the taxi company anything.

  He put the shopping in the boot and held open the passenger door. She got in and tried to blow life into her chilly fingers.

  “It seems to have got really cold suddenly,” she said as they pulled away.

  “It’s the ‘Siberian chill’ on its way,” he said, referring ironically to the alarming headlines in the evening papers.

  He had a sense of humour, which made any conversation easier. After all, they were going to spend some time together.

  “Do you live near Vejdhem?” Sandra asked.

  “No, but I have an errand to run in your neck of the woods, so it isn’t even out of my way.”

  Conversation flowed. Sandra didn’t get in many words, but she didn’t need to either. She listened with some interest as the man told her about his passion for Gotland’s history, as he summarised the ice hockey league standings, and when he told her about his efforts on behalf of human rights and against hunger and war and environmental destruction and everything else. He ensured there were no awkward silences in the car, and Sandra was grateful for that.

  However, she thought he was driving a little carelessly. He wasn’t attentive enough when passing or at crossroads, and he was often looking at her rather than the road while talking. After a while it occurred to her that the loquaciousness and lack of concentration in driving might both be because he was not altogether sober, even though it was only a little before three o’clock in the afternoon. On reflection, wasn’t there a whiff of spirits in the car? Fortunately there wasn’t much traffic on the roads and she would soon be home.

  They drove past the old limestone quarry at Madvar. The road was suddenly covered in black ice, and instead of slowing down the man accelerated into the corner.

  3

  Jan

  HE ZIPPED UP his fly, did up the button, and tightened his belt. He bent forward and kissed her softly on the mouth and both her cheeks. She was steaming with warmth and had the diffuse scent of woman. Shampoo, lotion, soap, or a mild perfume—something attractive that tempted him to stay in the warmth around her body. But he restrained himself and a moment later he was in the driver’s seat, in an excellent mood in spite of everything.

  Putting the key in the ignition made the music come on. He turned up the volume and tore away. Even if tires hardly ever screeched these days, he still loved the powerful forward motion of the car, the feeling of being pushed back into the seat. His fingers drumming the wheel in time with the bass, he pulled onto the main road.

  It appeared out of nowhere without a moment’s warning. Just as he was exiting the corner by the ravine, the oncoming car appeared in his field of vision. It was rushing straight towards him at high speed across the black ice.

  At the same moment he caught sight of it, he knew it was all over. For one or both of them. He had snow tires and wouldn’t be able to dodge the car, wouldn’t be able to stop even if he slammed on the brakes. He just wanted it to be over. Quickly.

  4

  Jeanette

  HER HANDS TREMBLING, she brushed off the worst of it. Earth, clay, twigs, rotting leaves. There was broken glass strewn all over the ground. All this glass and dented metal looked unreal when contrasted against nature. She was so shaken up that her body wouldn’t obey her, fits of shivering taking hold of her, her teeth chattering. She still had enough presence of mind to get out her mobile. To immortalise what seemed most unreal about the picture.

  The blood everywhere inside the car. The man stuck in the driver’s seat with a large piece of glass in his throat.

  Once again, she noted that he was presumably already dead. The large shard of glass was like the blade of a knife between cartilage and tendons, and surely made it impossible to breathe. He had an open wound on his forehead, and judging by the angle, his neck might very well be broken.

  Jeanette debated with herself once again. What was the point of calling emergency services if the man was already dead? She would be obliged to disclose who she was, as well as having to explain under police questioning why she had been in this out-of-the-way location in the middle of winter. It would all come out, her husband would find out—everyone else too. The affair really wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny in the light of day, her reputation would be damaged and her future . . . No, you made your own luck, and she had a crucial decision to make here and now.

  She did it. She laboriously pulled herself to the boot—the doo
r was wide open after the passage through the air. She picked up the bag and forced the strap over her shoulder. She threw a regretful glance at the smashed-up car and its driver. But the decision had been made. She started to climb out of the ravine.

  Darkness was falling quickly now, and it began to snow heavily.

  5

  Sandra

  AT FIRST, she was more or less paralysed and didn’t know what to do. She was overwhelmed by a feeling of unreality—that she wasn’t present in her own life. Was it just a bad dream? She knew the answer, but couldn’t take it in.

  Things like this didn’t happen to Sandra. She was too respectable, too grey and boring. Her upbringing had been sheltered: an only child pampered by her parents and poorly equipped for adversity. As a result, she lacked the experience required to respond sensibly when life deviated from its usual path.

  Naturally, she ought to contact the police. Criminals couldn’t be allowed to get off simply because people didn’t dare to or have the energy to report them. But she sat at the kitchen table with the phone in front of her and couldn’t bring herself to call. Not the police, not her parents, not anyone else.

  She couldn’t think clearly, let alone express herself in a composed and comprehensible manner. So what should she do? What would tomorrow be like if she didn’t do the right thing today?

  Her body was throbbing and aching—should she at least seek care?

  No, not today. Her body and soul were too lacerated. She didn’t have it in her to be examined or patched up, let alone explain herself, accounting for what had happened. Because that would certainly mean the police would be brought in, and she would be called to account: Why hadn’t she raised the alarm sooner? Why hadn’t she done anything? How could she let it happen? The smell of alcohol in the car should surely have been some kind of red flag?

  Sandra knew she lacked the ability to make wise decisions and take control of her life. Not just today, but every day. So how was she supposed to change that right now when life was showing its very worst side?