Frozen Tracks

by Ake Edwardson

  'Tomo-mo-mo-morrow,' said Jerner.

  He is nervous. Nervous about something.

  'You're working the whole of the holidays?'

  Jerner nodded.

  'Tough luck,' said Winter.

  They went out into the corridor and took the lift down. Jerner had his left hand in his jacket pocket. He was carrying his gloves in his right hand, and his briefcase was tucked under his left arm. He was staring straight at his own reflection in the lift mirror. Winter could see himself standing beside Jerner, but Jerner didn't seem to see him. As if I were a vampire that doesn't have a reflection. But I'm not a vampire. I am there. I look tired. Jerner looks more alert.

  'What route do you drive?' Winter asked as they walked towards the exit.

  Jerner held up three fingers.

  This is almost comical, Winter thought.

  'Number three? he said, interpreting the sign language, and Jerner nodded.

  Ringmar came out of his office just as Winter was getting out of the lift. He didn't look quite the same as before.

  'I'm off now,' said Ringmar.

  'Where to?'

  'Home.'

  'Is there anybody there?'

  'No. But I have to check that everything's OK.'

  'You can come round to my place later if you want,' said Winter.

  'Last night was enough. But thanks for the offer.'

  'Just come if you change your mind.'

  Ringmar nodded. He started walking off.

  'Did you find out anything new?' Winter asked.

  'It was Birgitta,' he said.

  'And?'

  'She wanted to talk to me, at least.'

  'What about?'

  'Don't push your luck, Erik.'

  'What about?' said Winter again.

  'About Martin, what the hell do you think?'

  Winter said nothing. They could hear footsteps in the distance, in the stairwell. The lift clattered into action.

  'There's light at the end of the tunnel,' said Ringmar.

  'Come home with me,' said Winter.

  'I'll be in touch,' said Ringmar, pulling on his overcoat as he walked away.

  'Your car's outside,' said Björck as he passed the front office.

  Ringmar drove out to the motorway in his official car, heading north. He drove in silence, no radio. He didn't know if Smedsberg would be at home.

  Winter switched off the lights and left. His footsteps echoed in the tiled corridor. His mobile rang.

  'I can't accept that you'll be on your own tonight, Erik.'

  His sister. She hadn't accepted that he was on his own. She'd phoned yesterday, and the day before that. And the day before that.

  'I have to work, Lotta.'

  'You mean that you have to be alone in order to think, is that it?'

  'You understand how it is.'

  'You must have food.'

  'That's true.'

  'You must have company.'

  'I might come a bit later,' he said.

  'I don't believe you.'

  'Come on, Lotta, I haven't chosen this of my own free will.'

  'You're welcome to come whenever you want,' she said, and hung up.

  There was a layer of ice on the car windows. He scraped and smoked. The smoke was like breath.

  He was alone in the streets, the only person out and about at this time. No buses, no trams, no taxis, no private cars, no police cars, no motorbikes, no pedestrians, nothing at all.

  Vasaplatsen was white and silent. He stood in the entrance to the flats and breathed in the air that felt cold without being raw.

  He poured himself a Springbank in the kitchen and took it into the living room, where he lay down on the sofa with the glass on his chest. He closed his eyes. The only sound to be heard was the faint hum from the freezer. He leaned his head forward and took a sip of the whisky.

  He sat up and ran his hand through his hair. He thought about playgrounds and day nurseries, parks, cars, squares such as Doktor Fries Torg, Linnéplatsen, Kapellplatsen, Mossen, about Plikta, about – tracks. Tracks heading in all di-di-di-directions.

  He thought about all that simultaneously. He couldn't keep things apart, everything came at the same time, as if they were linked. But they weren't linked.

  He rubbed his face. A shower and something to eat, then I can think again. And I have Christmas presents to look for as well.

  He took off his clothes as he walked to the bathroom. I'll have a bath. The whisky can keep me awake.

  Nevertheless, he reached for the telephone in the hall and called England. It was one of several such calls that late autumn and winter.

  Steve answered.

  'Merry Christmas, Steve,' said Winter.

  'Same to you, Erik. How are things?'

  Winter told him how things stood.

  'Have you checked all the parents thoroughly?' asked Macdonald. 'All of the parents?'

  Winter would remember that question when it was all over.

  41

  He put on his dressing gown and left the steaming bathroom. His drowsiness fell away as he walked around the flat. He glanced at the whisky bottle in the kitchen, but left it untouched. The centimetre he had drunk already would have to suffice for the time being. He might need to drive later tonight.

  He read the instructions in the kitchen, and started his search. Elsa's present was indeed like a fish under a rock – in a flat box taped underneath the double bed. Drawings: the sea, the sky, beaches. Snowmen. Angela's present was hidden in among the drawings: another volume for the bookcase. Some newly discovered texts by Raymond Carver, Call If You Need Me.

  He sat in the bedroom and phoned Spain.

  'Siv Winter.'

  'Hello, Mum. Erik here.'

  'Erik. We wondered when you would ring.'

  'That moment has come,' he said.

  'It's gone nine. Elsa's almost asleep.'

  'Can I speak to her? Merry Christmas, by the way.'

  'Are you at Lotta's?'

  'Not tonight,' said Winter.

  'Are you spending Christmas Eve all alone, Erik?'

  'That's why I stayed behind here.'

  'I don't understand you,' said Siv Winter.

  'Can I speak to Elsa now?'

  He heard her voice, she was halfway into a dream. He recognised Angela in her. It was the same voice.

  'Thank you for the doll,' she said. 'It was lovely.'

  'Thank you for the smashing drawings.'

  'You found them!'

  'The snowman seemed to be having a good time on the beach.'

  'He's on holiday,' she said.

  'Good for him.'

  'When are you coming, Daddy?'

  'Soon. When I get there we'll have another Christmas Eve!' he said.

  She giggled, but as if in slow motion.

  'Are you tired, Elsa?'

  'Nooo,' she said. 'Grandma said I could stay up as long as I like.'

  'Is that what she said?'

  'As looong as I like,' said Elsa, sounding as if she might drop the receiver at any moment and lie down to sleep on the marble floor.

  'Have a nice evening, my lovely,' said Winter. 'Daddy loves you.'

  'Love and kisses, Daddy.'

  'Can you ask your mummy to come to the telephone, my lovely?'

  He heard Muuummy in the half distance, and then Angela's voice.

  'Are you still at work?'

  'No. I'm still working, but not at work.'

  'You sound tired.'

  'Drowsy, more like it, but I'm waking up again. I had a bath.'

  'Good thinking.'

  'I wasn't thinking much at all at the time.'

  'Any news since we last spoke?'

  'I found the book and rang straight away.'

  He heard a giggle, just like Elsa's.

  'I've got a question for you,' he said. 'Do you know anybody at the day nursery who stutters? An adult. Staff or parents.'

  'Stutters? As in st-st-stutters?'

  'Yes.'
/>
  'No. I can't say I do. Why do you ask?'

  'Or Lena Sköld. When you spoke to her. Did she say anything about somebody stuttering then?'

  'No, not as far as I recall. What are you getting at, Erik?'

  'We think the person Ellen met stuttered. I think she is trying to tell us that. Or rather, has told us already.'

  'What's that got to do with the day nursery?'

  'You know that we are checking up on everybody connected with the place.'

  'I was thinking about all this earlier today,' said Angela. 'What if the things the children have been saying were just figments of their im agination after all?'

  'It wasn't a figment of the imagination for Simon Waggoner.'

  'No. But the others.'

  'Three parents have reported the same thing,' said Winter.

  'Have you spoken to them?' she asked. 'About the stuttering?'

  'No. We didn't get this lead until late this afternoon. I'll speak to them.'

  'Tonight?'

  'Yes.'

  'It's starting to get late,' she said.

  'Everybody understands how serious this is,' he said. 'Christmas Eve or no Christmas Eve.'

  'Any new tips regarding the boy? Micke Johansson?'

  'All the time. We have extra staff at the switchboard throughout the holiday period.'

  'Are you sending out a search party? If that's the right expression.'

  Winter thought of Natanael Carlström when she said 'search party'. That had been one of the first things he'd said.

  'There are a lot of people out looking,' he said. 'As many as we can possibly muster. But Gothenburg is a big city.'

  'What do your local stations have to say?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'The officers who took the phone calls in the first place. Do they have anything to say about a stutter, or any other details?'

  'Am I talking to DCI Angela Winter?'

  'What do they have to say?' she repeated. 'And it's DCI Angela Hoffman.'

  'I don't know yet. I've tried to contact the ones at Härlanda and Linnéstaden, but they are off duty and not at home.'

  He phoned the Bergorts, who were still a man short. When Magnus Bergort had vanished, Winter had rung Larissa Serimov and asked her point blank if she could be with the mother and daughter. He had no right to do that, and she was under no obligation. She was off duty.

  'I'm not doing anything special tonight anyway,' she'd said, and he thought he could hear her smiling.

  'It's a lonely family,' Winter had said. 'Kristina Bergort has nobody who can be with her and the girl tonight.'

  'What if he comes home?' she'd asked. 'He might be violent.'

  What could he say? Use your SigSauer?

  'I could always shoot him,' she'd said.

  'He won't come home,' Winter had said. 'Be careful, but he won't come home.'

  'Do you think he's topped himself?'

  'Yes.'

  He'd been waiting for news that somebody had driven into a cliff or a tree on one of the roads heading east. Nothing yet. But he thought that Magnus Bergort was no longer of this world, or soon would be.

  Serimov answered:

  'This is the Bergort home, Serimov speaking.'

  'Erik Winter here.'

  'Hello, and Merry Christmas,' said Serimov.

  'Is Maja in bed?'

  'She's just gone to sleep.'

  'Can I speak to her mother?'

  Kristina Bergort sounded tired but calm. Maybe it was a relief for her. Irrespective of what might happen next.

  'Has anything happened to Magnus?' she asked.

  'We still don't know where he is,' said Winter.

  'Maja is asking for him,' said Kristina Bergort.

  Winter could see the girl in front of him, when she didn't want to enter her father's study.

  'Has she said anything about the man in the car having a stutter?' Winter asked.

  'No, she's never said anything about that.'

  'OK.'

  'Do you want to ask her?'

  'I think so, yes.'

  'When? Now?'

  'Perhaps tomorrow. If that's all right?'

  'Yes, that should be OK. Everything is so . . .' and he could hear that she was losing her grip on her voice, not much, but enough for him to be clear that the call must come to an end now.

  His mobile rang. For a moment he wasn't sure where it was. He found it in the inside pocket of his jacket, hanging in the hall.

  'You didn't ring.'

  'I haven't had time, Bülow.'

  'You never do.'

  'I'm up to my neck in it at the moment,' said Winter.

  'So am I. I'm staring at an empty computer screen.'

  Winter had gone to his study. His PowerBook was gleaming vacantly on his desk.

  'The situation is very sensitive at the moment,' he said.

  'The night editor has sent reporters out to Önnered,' said Bülow.

  'What the hell did you say?'

  'To the Bergorts. Since you sent out an alert for—'

  Winter pressed as hard as he could on the red key. The problem with mobile phones was that there was no receiver to slam down. You would need to hurl the whole thing.

  It rang again. Winter recognised the number.

  'We ha—'