'Yes,' said Simon.
They sat down where they were supposed to sit. The camera was rolling. Winter started his journey towards the centre in ever-decreasing circles. He had to start with neutral subjects: that would give him an indication of how well Simon spoke, what he could talk about, his linguistic ability, imagination, behaviour patterns. His ability to pin down time in relation to events.
'Have you made a snowman, Simon?'
Simon nodded.
'When did you make it?'
The boy didn't answer.
'Where's the snowman now?'
'Out there,' said Simon, pointing at the window.
'On the lawn out there?'
'It's broken,' said Simon, gesturing with his uninjured hand.
Winter nodded.
'It's melted,' said Simon.
'I saw the nose when I arrived,' said Winter.
'I fixed the nose,' said Simon.
Winter nodded again.
'Have you made a snowman at the nursery, Simon?' he asked.
The boy nodded.
'Have you made lots?'
'There hasn't been snow.'
'Do you play indoors then?'
Simon didn't answer. He was still holding Billy, the teddy bear, but not so tightly now. He didn't look as often at the camera, nor at his mother.
For the first few minutes Winter had wondered if it was a mistake to allow her to be in the room, but he didn't think so now.
'Do you play indoors when it isn't snowing, Simon?'
'No. Play outside.'
'What games do you play?'
The boy seemed to be thinking about what to say. Winter was trying to make him start saying more. Perhaps it was too soon.
'Do you play hide and seek?'
'Yes.'
'Do you play tag?'
Simon didn't answer. Perhaps he didn't know what tag was.
'Do you play a game where you catch each other?'
'Yes.'
'Do you play on the swings?'
'Yes. And the slide.'
'Do you like the slide?'
'Yes. And the train.'
'Do you have a train at the nursery?'
Simon didn't answer. Winter thought. Suddenly they were at the playground where Simon had disappeared, next to the big park. A regular outing for the day nursery. There was a wooden train, as close to life-size as it could be for children. Engine and coaches, on the edge of the big playground that was always full of children.
Suddenly they were there, he and Simon. Should he take them back to the secure place where they had been before, back home, and to the nursery, continue the circular movement? Or should they stay where they were and get closer to the boy's trauma, continue the inward journey into the darkness? Winter knew that if he moved forward too quickly he might not be able to go back to a position where the boy would say what actually happened. They would revert to silence, and they wouldn't find anything out.
'Did you drive the train?'
'Yes.'
'Where did you drive the train, Simon?'
'At the playground.'
'Was that an outing from the nursery?'
Simon nodded.
'Drove lots of times,' said Simon, shuffling on the chair.
Soon we'll stop for juice and a bun and a coffee and a cig . . . no, not a cigarillo. But he felt the desire, it increased as he became more tense himself.
'Do you often drive the train?'
'Yes!'
'Are there lots of people travelling with you, Simon?'
'Arvid and Valle and Oskar and Valter and Manfred and . . . and . . .' he said, and Winter had time to think about how times change, old-fashioned names become fashionable again, old people revert to their childhood. Twenty years ago Simon could only have been describing a group of old-age pensioners clambering into a toy train.
'Did Billy travel with you as well?'
'No.'
'Where was Billy?'
Simon looked baffled. It was a difficult question.
'Was Billy at home?' Winter asked.
Simon still looked confused. What was wrong? What am I doing wrong? Winter thought.
'Was Billy at the nursery?' he asked.
Simon looked at Billy and leaned down closer to the bear's little face, which was turned towards the boy now, as if he no longer had the strength to listen to this conversation. Simon whispered something to Billy, but very quietly. He looked up again.
'Can Billy say where he was?' asked Winter.
'On the train,' said Simon. 'Billy rode the train.'
'Billy rode while you were driving?'
Simon nodded again.
'Billy rode on the train all the time?'
Simon nodded.
'Not the car,' he said out of the blue, and leaned over Billy again, as if he wanted to hide his own face in the teddy bear's. Winter could see that the boy had become more tense, from comfortable calm to sudden unrest.
My God, Winter thought. This is quick. I've got us to this point, but has it been too quick? But it was Simon who'd said that, of his own accord.
'Didn't ride in the car,' said Simon.
He's starting to tell us what happened, Winter thought. But what does he mean? We know he was abducted. Wasn't it in a car?
'Tell me about the car, Simon.'
What Winter needed to do now was let Simon tell his story at his own pace, in his own way. He hoped Simon felt sufficiently secure to start telling the tale. That was all he could ask for.
He remembered what he had read, and passed on to his colleagues:
Hand control over to the child and let the child itself say which people are going to be described. Let the child decide on the scenario. It's important that the interrogator makes it clear that he or she doesn't know what happened.
He would try to break down Simon's reluctance to tell.
He must give the boy time.
He suddenly felt the need to make a note, but resisted it. He hadn't said anything about making notes before the interview started. It would only distract Simon now, perhaps spoil something.
'Tell me about the car, Simon.'
Simon turned to Billy again. He whispered something that Winter couldn't hear.
Now it's time for Billy. Winter said Billy's name and then Simon's. Simon looked up.
'Have you told Billy about the car?' Winter asked.
Simon nodded.
'Do you think he could tell me about it?'
Simon leaned down over Billy again and Winter waited while the pair of them discussed the matter.
'Billy wants to hear the question,' said Simon.
'I want Billy to tell me what you told him about the car,' said Winter.
'You have to ask,' said Simon.
'Was the car next to the train?'
'Simon says it was in the woods,' said Simon. His tone of voice was darker; the shift was barely noticeable, as if he had left his own body and moved into Billy's little brown one, which he had now lifted up to face level and was holding out like an overdemonstrative ventriloquist. Winter felt a shudder, and another. I've used cuddly toys before, but this is different, he thought. He looked at Barbara Waggoner. She looked scared stiff.
'Tell me about the car, Billy,' said Winter.
Simon held Billy in front of his face, then lowered the teddy a little bit.
'It was a big car in some big, big woods,' he chanted in his changed voice, as if he were about to tell a fairy story, or a ghost story. 'The boy went into the big woods and the car drove through the woods.'
Simon was looking at Winter now, not at his mother, not at the camera, and not at Billy. Winter stayed motionless.
Barbara Waggoner tried not to move.
'The mister had some sweeties and there were sweeties in the car,' said Billy. 'Brrrrrrmmm, brrrrrrrm, the car drove off with sweeties!'
Billy paused. Simon looked up.
'Billy rode in the car,' said Simon.
Winter nodded.
&nb
sp; 'Yes, so he said.'
'No, no, Billy didn't ride in the car!' said Simon. He looked at Winter, then at his mum.
'No, no, Billy rode in the train. Billy rode in the car!'
'Did Billy ride in the train and the car as well?' asked Winter.
'No, no.'
Simon shuffled restlessly on the chair. They were getting close to the incident.
'There was a Billy that rode in the car?' said Winter.
'Yes, yes!'
'But it wasn't your Billy? The Billy who's sitting here?'
'No, no!'
'Was it a teddy who rode in the car?' Winter asked.
'No!'
'What was it?'
'Billy, Billy. Billy Boy!' Simon was almost shouting now, in yet another voice, almost croaking. 'Billy Billy Boy!'
'Did the mister have a Billy?' asked Winter.
Simon picked up his teddy again, returned to the teddy bear's voice:
'The mister had Rotty on the mirror.'
'Rotty?' asked Winter.
Simon lowered the teddy, and croaked:
'Rotty, Rotty! Billy Boy, Billy Boy!'
Pretty Rotty, Winter thought. Pretty Polly.
'Did the mister have a parrot?'
Simon put the teddy bear in front of his face again and said:
'Yes, yes. Billy Rotty!'
Rotty on the mirror. The man had a parrot hanging from his mirror. A bird hanging from his rear-view mirror.
Jesus, we're on our way.
32
Aneta Djanali had got those responsible to furnish the interview room with armchairs children could creep on to, in warm colours. Everything that Ellen Sköld might regard as a toy had been taken away. The girl's interest had to be concentrated on Djanali.
Aneta had entered the room first. Now she was holding the remote control – Ellen had already familiarised herself with the camera.
Lena Sköld was waiting outside. Djanali wanted to try that first. We'll see how long the girl can sit still.
Ellen was cheerful and inquisitive. Djanali watched her trying out various sitting and lying positions on the armchair.
This is not a traumatised child. I must try to bear that in mind when the questions are asked and the answers given. If they are.
They chatted for a while. Ellen played with her fingers as she answered Djanali's questions. Or rather, commented on them, it seemed to the detective inspector.
'Your mum told me that it was your birthday a month ago, Ellen.'
The girl nodded, up and down, up and down, but said nothing.
'How old are you now?'
'Four,' said Ellen, holding up a bunch of fingers.
'Wow,' said Djanali.
Ellen nodded again, forcefully.
'Did you have a fun birthday party?' asked Djanali.
'Yes!'
'Tell me about it.'
Ellen looked as if she wanted to talk about it, but couldn't choose between all the fun things that had happened on her birthday.
'Dad came,' she said when Djanali was on the point of asking a follow-up question. 'Dad came and brought some presents.'
Djanali thought about the single mother on the chair in the corridor. Lena Sköld had sole custody, she knew that. Even so, there was an absent father who came to his four-year-old daughter's birthday party with presents. Not all children with a lone parent were so lucky. The children are just as single as their parents, she thought.
'What presents did you get?'
'From Dad?' asked the girl.
'Yes,' said Djanali. This girl is bright, she thought.
'I got a doll called Victoria. And I got a car that the doll can ride in.' She gave Djanali a meaningful look. 'Victoria has a driving licence. Really.' She looked at the door, next to the camera. 'Mum doesn't have a driving licence.' She looked at Djanali. 'Do you have a driving licence?'
'Yes.'
'I don't have a driving licence.'
'It's mostly grown-ups who have a driving licence,' said Djanali.
The girl nodded. Djanali could picture her in a front seat with a grown-up who had a driving licence. Did the girl have Victoria with her in the car? Did they have any information about that? Victoria wasn't with her now. But if Victoria had in fact been in the car as well, she might have seen something Ellen hadn't seen. Victoria had a driving licence, after all.
'Do you like riding in cars, Ellen?'
Ellen shook her head and her expression seemed to become more tense – barely noticeable, but even so . . . I must check the recording afterwards, Djanali thought.
'Do you and your mum have a car, Ellen?'
'No. My mum doesn't have a driving licence. I said that.'
'Yes, you did say that. I forgot. So in your house it's only Victoria who has a car and a driving licence, is that right?'
The girl nodded, up and down, up and down.
'Where's Victoria now?'
'She's ill,' said Ellen.
'Oh dear.'
'Mum and me are going to buy some medicine for her.'
'What's the matter with her?'
'I think she has a cold,' said Ellen, looking worried for a moment.
'Has the doctor been to take a look at her?'
She nodded.
'Was it a nice doctor?' asked Djanali.
'It was me!' shouted Ellen, and giggled.
Djanali looked at her and nodded. She looked at the eye of the camera, that might be seeing everything. She wondered how long Lena Sköld would be able to wait outside. Victoria had to have her medicine. Christmas would be here soon. It was the day before the day now. She hadn't bought all her presents, nothing yet for Hannes and Magda, although she had bought two CDs for Fredrik, with Richard Buckner and Kasey Chambers, because that was what Fredrik had wanted, among other things. She had written a wish-list herself. She would have a Christmas meal on Christmas Eve, Swedish style, with the Halders family, or what was left of it; she might even try the super-Nordic tradition of 'dipping in the pot' (she'd never tried dipping bread into the stock from the Christmas ham before), and hoped to avoid having to listen to jokes from Fredrik apologising for not having camel meat and tapioca pudding, today of all days. She would open presents piled under the Christmas tree.
Frozen Tracks Page 36