Frozen Tracks

by Ake Edwardson

  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.

  21

  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 Halder
s. 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.