'I want some sun.' She looked at Winter, held up one of her bare arms. 'Believe you me, I want a bit of sun on this pale skin of mine. A bit of sun in my head.'
'I'll join you on Boxing Day.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'Or the day after.'
'Shall we stay there over New Year?'
'At least.'
'Have you spoken to Siv?'
'I'll ring her now. I wanted to be certain what you were going to do.'
She leaned over the table. There was a tea cup in front of her; the radio was mumbling in a corner, words full of facts.
'Erik? Were you serious last night? Or were you just prepared to do anything at all in order to be allowed to stay at home and spend Christmas on your own, thinking to your heart's content?'
'I was as serious as it's possible to be.'
'I'm not sure how to interpret that.'
'Give me a date. I'm fed up of calling you my partner or my fiancée,' he said.
'I haven't said yes yet,' she said.
Winter's mobile rang as he was shaving. Angela handed it to him.
'That cap has cropped up again,' said Ringmar.
'Where?'
'We've heard from three witnesses during the night who think they saw a man pushing a pushchair with a child in it from H & M or somewhere near there, and he was wearing a checked cap. No leading questions.'
'How come they noticed that?'
'A woman was working right by where the mother left the pushchair, and she noticed that it was unattended for a while and then a man came up and went off with it.'
'And she didn't react?'
'Well, it seemed natural enough at the time. She recalled the incident when we started rooting around.'
'Good God, Bertil! If what she says is right, we're on to something here.'
'Not that it fills me with joy, you might say.'
'What about the other witnesses?'
'Independently of each other, they both saw that cap in Nordstan.'
'Nobody saw it outside?'
He could hear Bertil sigh. Bertil had had another sleepless night. Winter hadn't been able to stay with him, it wouldn't have been pos sible. It had been necessary to discuss the Christmas holiday with Angela. And to make a snowman with Elsa.
'We've had the usual idiots who've seen everything we'd like them to see. There've been more than ever of them, but that probably has to do with Christmas,' said Ringmar.
Winter didn't ask him what he meant by that.
'Have you made copies of the photo?' he asked.
'Hundreds.'
'I'll be with you in half an hour.'
'I haven't got round to talking to the other parents yet,' said Ringmar.
'I heard Micke's father was taken into hospital last night,' said Winter.
'I've seldom seen anybody in a worse state of shock,' said Ringmar. 'It hit him afterwards, like an avalanche.'
'Nothing new from the mother? Carolin?'
'She's told her side of the story,' said Ringmar. 'She didn't set up a kidnapping scenario, I don't think so. But we'll be talking to her again.'
'I thought of having another chat with Simon Waggoner later this morning,' said Winter.
'In the family home? Or at the station?'
'At home. Do you have the video camera?'
'It's here on my desk.'
'How are the checks on the day nursery staff going?' Winter asked.
'It's progressing. It takes time, as you know.'
'We have to check up on everybody who works, or has worked, at those places. I take it that Möllerström is aware of that? Even if we have to go back ten years, or even longer.'
He embraced Elsa and whispered things in her ear that made her giggle. The bags were all packed.
'We should have had some sort of Christmas party last night,' said Angela.
'We'll do it in just a few days' time,' he said.
'Don't fool yourself,' she said.
He didn't respond.
'We've both hidden a Christmas present for you somewhere in the flat,' she said.
'You'll NEVER find mine!' said Elsa.
'Animal, vegetable or mineral, or somewhere in between?' he said.
'Fish!' Elsa shouted.
'It's a secret, Elsa!' said Angela.
'Is it easy to find the parcels?' Winter asked.
'There's a letter in the kitchen with clues,' said Angela.
The taxi was waiting. The snow had gone, but the sun was there, located quite low in the blue expanse.
'Daddy is coming as well,' said Elsa as she got into the car. She looked miserable.
What am I doing? Winter thought.
The driver crammed the bags into the boot. He glanced at Winter. He'd heard.
Winter's mobile rang in his inside pocket – two, three signals.
'Aren't you going to answer?' asked Angela from the back seat, through the open door.
He saw 'private number' on the display, and answered. It was Paul Waggoner, Simon's father.
'I just wanted to check what time we could expect you,' he said.
Winter exchanged a few words with him, then hung up.
'I'll take you to the airport,' he said, starting to take the bags out of the boot.
'A Merry Christmas,' said the taxi driver as he prepared to drive his empty car away.
Winter and Elsa sang Christmas carols all the way to Landvetter airport.
The check-in queue was shorter than he'd expected.
Angela smiled and waved from the escalator up to the terminal. He needed that. She was a good woman. She understood.
The question was how much she understood, he thought as he drove back to Gothenburg from the airport. On the way he listened to the news reports about the reality of his work life. Now that was all he needed to think about.
31
Winter came to the roundabout at Linnéplatsen, continued along the trunk road and turned off towards Änggården.
The Waggoners lived in one of the English-style semis. Of course. There was a Christmas tree outside the front door. There was still snow on the lawn, a thin rectangular drift that could have been a snowman once upon a time. Winter thought he could make out an orange carrot as he rang the doorbell. He rang again. He was carrying his equipment himself.
Simon Waggoner had not spoken, not drawn anything, not said anything about what had happened. It hadn't worked in the room they'd set up at police headquarters. Perhaps it might work now.
When a child is about one, it communicates in single words; at about eighteen months it starts using two-word sentences, and later uses three-word sentences. He knew that from the interviews he'd conducted with children, and from the literature. Christianson, Engelberg, Holmberg: Advanced Interview and Interrogation Methodology.
And he knew from his conversations with Elsa.
He knew that a child's language exploded between the ages of two and four.
After the age of two, a child is aware that it is an individual in its own right.
The child can start to link its experiences to a concept of itself, and explain to others what it has experienced. It has a memory. It is pos sible to find that memory, find paths leading to it. Forgetfulness disappears as language develops.
Four-year-olds can talk about experiences they have been through.
Simon Waggoner was four. He was nowhere to be seen as Winter stood in the hall, greeting the parents, Paul and Barbara. There was a smell of Christmas spices in the house, but not quite the same as in a typical Swedish home. Perhaps there was a Christmas pudding on the stove, slowly cooking for another few hours.
'Simon is very tense,' said Paul Waggoner.
'I understand that,' said Winter.
'As far as we can gather, he's been telling his teddy bear what happened,' said Barbara Waggoner. 'He confides in his teddy bear.' She looked at her husband. 'I don't know what we should make of that.'
'The teddy bear can be present at the interview,' said
Winter. 'What's his name?'
'Billy.'
Billy can do the talking, Winter thought. Billy can talk via Simon.
'We've arranged the guest room,' said Barbara Waggoner. 'We moved some of the furniture.'
'Is Simon used to being in the room?'
'Oh yes. He's in there every day. He likes to sit there drawing.'
'Good.'
'Follow me, I'll take you to it.'
The room was on the ground floor. They passed through the kitchen, which was big and light and had a window facing east. Sure enough something was cooking in a large saucepan, and it wasn't a Christmas ham. There were newspapers and drawing paper and coloured pencils on the kitchen table, various small moulds, wrapping paper and a stick of sealing wax. Two candles were burning in low candlesticks. There were Advent candles in the window, with three of them burning. The fourth one would be lit tomorrow, on Christmas Eve. But as this was an English family, no doubt their main celebration would be the day after, on Christmas Day. With full stockings in the morning.
The radio was murmuring away on the kitchen work surface, just as in Winter's flat, and he recognised the BBC voice, dry, reliable, clear. Facts, no rumours.
He hoped the Waggoners would avoid reading the newspapers, miss all the rumours and speculation.
The guest room was good, out of the way, no voices audible from elsewhere. No distracting toys on the floor or table, no Christmas deco rations.
'Good,' said Winter again.
'Where shall I put the tripod?' asked Paul Waggoner.
'We need the camera to be as far away from Simon as possible,' said Winter. 'But he must be able to see it.'
They placed it against the north wall, in the middle, clearly visible. Winter would work it himself, using the remote control.
The picture would have to contain both himself and Simon all the time. It was the interplay between them that had to be documented; he would need to keep coming back to the recording to see if something he did, some movement or other, affected the boy.
And he needed to capture Simon's face, his body movements. The technology would assist him; he had the latest camera, which enabled him to focus on Simon's face in a separate picture.
'It's ready,' said Winter. 'I'm ready.'
He went out of the room and waited in the little hallway that led to the staircase. There was a window in the wall behind, so he couldn't really see Simon's face properly as he came down the stairs against the light, holding his mother's hand.
This wasn't the first time Winter had met Simon. It might have been the third time, possibly the fourth.
He squatted down so that he could greet Simon at eye level.
'Hi, Simon.'
The boy didn't answer. He clung on to his mother's hand and took a step to one side, diagonally backwards.
Winter sat down on the floor, which was polished and varnished wood, possibly pine. It was soft.
Simon sat down on Barbara Waggoner's knee. After a short while he slid down on to the floor.
He was holding Billy tucked under his arm. The teddy bear's eyes were aimed straight at Winter.
'My name's Erik,' Winter said, 'and we've met before, haven't we?'
Simon didn't answer. Clung on to his teddy bear.
'What's your teddy called?' Winter asked.
The boy looked at his mother, who nodded and smiled.
'I used to have a teddy called Willy,' said Winter. It was absolutely true. It suddenly occurred to him that there was a photograph of Willy in the family album, with Winter wearing a romper suit, sitting and looking up at something outside the picture, holding the teddy bear with his left hand. When had he last looked at it? Why hadn't he shown it to Elsa yet?
Simon looked at Winter.
'Mine was called Willy,' said Winter again, looking at Simon's friend.
'Billy,' said Simon.
That was the first word Winter had heard Simon utter.
'Hello, Billy,' said Winter.
Simon held Billy out with his uninjured arm.
'I'm a policeman,' said Winter to both his interviewees, and then he looked at Simon: 'My job is to find out about things. Things that have happened.' He slowly adjusted his position on the floor. 'I want to ask you about that.'
Winter knew how important it was to start by placing the interview in a frame. He needed to de-dramatise the whole thing, while still being clear and natural, and make the boy feel secure. He must use simple words, short sentences, try to speak like Simon did. He must approach the centre in ever-decreasing circles. Perhaps he would never get to the very centre. Or perhaps he would get there amazingly quickly.
'I want to have a little talk with you,' Winter said.
Simon looked at his mother.
'You don't have to answer, Simon.'
Winter moved again. He was getting stiff from sitting on the floor.
'Erik's going to talk to you in the guest room,' said Barbara Waggoner.
Winter nodded.
'Why?' asked Simon.
'I have a camera there. It will film us,' said Winter.
'A camera?'
'It will film us,' said Winter. 'When I press a button.'
'We have video camera as well,' said Simon, looking at his mother.
'We've lent it to Grandma,' said Barbara Waggoner. 'You remember when we were there with it, Simon, don't you?'
The boy nodded.
'Do you want to see my camera?' Winter asked.
The boy seemed to hesitate, then he nodded.
Winter stood up and led the way into the guest room. That was important. Simon came in with his mother. Normally relatives were not allowed to sit in on interviews, but this wasn't normal. Winter knew that Simon wouldn't say a word if he couldn't see his mother.
'It's not very big,' said Simon.
'I'll show you,' said Winter, and nodded to Mrs Waggoner, who lifted Simon up while Winter sat on the chair Simon would be sitting on. Simon looked into the camera.
'Can you see me?' Winter asked.
Simon didn't answer.
'Can you see when I move my hand?' asked Winter.
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