Still holding her hand to her cheek, Molly kept on staring at Marta. Then she turned on her heel and ran out of the stable. The other girls began whispering to each other when they saw her crying as she ran across the yard, but she didn’t care. They probably thought she was crying about Victoria, like everyone else had been doing since yesterday.
Molly ran for home, going around back to the door to her father’s veterinary clinic, but it was locked. There were no lights on, and Jonas wasn’t there. Molly wondered where he could be as she stood in the snow for a moment, stomping her feet to stay warm. Then she took off running again.
She tore open the door to her grandparents’ house.
‘Grandma!’
‘Good Lord, where’s the fire?’ Helga came out to the front hall, drying her hands on a dish towel.
‘Is Jonas here? I need to talk to him.’
‘Calm down. You’re crying so hard I can barely understand you. Is this about the girl that Marta found yesterday?’
Molly shook her head. Helga led her into the kitchen and got her to sit down at the table.
‘I … I …’ Molly stammered, but then she had to stop and take several deep breaths. Just being in her grandmother’s kitchen helped her to calm down. In this house, time stood still. Nothing ever changed in here while outside the world continued to rush onward.
‘I need to talk to Jonas. Marta says I can’t take part in the competition on the weekend.’ She hiccupped and then fell silent so her grandmother had time to take in how unfair the situation was.
Helga sat down. ‘Well, Marta likes to make the decisions. You’ll have to wait and see what your father says. Is it an important competition?’
‘Yes, it is. But Marta says it wouldn’t be appropriate to compete after what happened to Victoria. And of course I think it’s sad, but I don’t see why that’s any reason for me to miss the competition. That cow Linda Bergvall is bound to win if I’m not there, and then she’ll be so annoying, even though she knows I could have beat her. I’ll die if I’m not allowed to go!’ With a dramatic expression, she leaned over the kitchen table, rested her face on her arms, and began to sob.
Helga patted her gently on the shoulder. ‘Now, now, it’s not the end of the world, and your parents are the ones who make the decisions. They’d do anything for you, but if they think you shouldn’t compete … well, then there’s not much to be done about it.’
‘But don’t you think Jonas would understand?’ said Molly, giving Helga a pleading look.
‘I’ve known your father since he was this big,’ said Helga, holding her thumb and index finger only a centimetre apart. ‘And I’ve known your mother for a long time too. Believe me when I say that it’s impossible to make them change their minds, once they’ve made a decision. So if I were you, I’d stop complaining and look forward to the next competition instead.’
Molly dried her face on the paper napkin that Helga handed her.
She blew her nose and then got up to toss the napkin in the bin. The worst thing was that her grandmother was right. It was hopeless to try and talk to her parents once they’d decided. But she was still planning to try. Maybe Jonas would take her side, in spite of everything.
It had taken Patrik a whole hour to thaw out, and it was going to take Mellberg even longer. It had been sheer madness to go out in the woods when the temperature was minus seventeen degrees Celsius and he was wearing thin shoes and only a windproof jacket instead of a proper winter coat. Mellberg’s lips were blue as he stood in a corner of the conference room.
‘How’s it going, Bertil? Are you still cold?’ asked Patrik.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Mellberg, slapping his arms against his body. ‘I could use a stiff whisky. That might warm me up from the inside.’
Patrik shuddered at the thought of an intoxicated Bertil Mellberg at the press conference. Although that might actually be an improvement over the sober version.
‘So what approach do you think we should take?’ Patrik asked.
‘I thought I’d take charge, and you can back me up. The reporters like to see a strong leader, someone they can turn to in situations like this.’ Mellberg tried to sound as authoritative as he could with his teeth chattering.
‘Of course,’ said Patrik, sighing to himself so heavily that he thought Mellberg might hear. Always the same story. Getting Mellberg to do anything useful in an investigation was about as easy as trying to catch flies with a pair of chopsticks. But the minute he had the chance to step into the spotlight, or claim credit for work done by the rest of the team, no one could keep Bertil away.
‘How about letting in the hyenas?’ said Mellberg, turning to Annika, who got up and went over to the door. She had made all the arrangements while they were out in the woods. She’d given Mellberg a quick rundown of the most important points and also printed out key words on a piece of paper for him. Now they could only cross their fingers and hope that he didn’t embarrass them any more than necessary.
The journalists shambled into the room, and Patrik greeted several that he knew – some from the local media and some who worked at the national level, reporters that he’d run into on various occasions. As usual there were also a few new faces. The newspapers seemed to have a high turnover rate where journalists were concerned.
They all sat down, exchanging a few murmured remarks, while the photographers good-naturedly jostled for the best positions. Patrik hoped that Mellberg’s lips wouldn’t look quite so blue in the photos; at the moment he looked as though he belonged in the morgue.
‘Everybody here?’ said Mellberg, shivering. The reporters had already started waving their hands in the air, but he motioned for them to stop. ‘We’ll take questions in a moment, but first I want to turn over the floor to Patrik Hedström, who will give you a brief report on what has happened.’
Patrik gave his boss a surprised look. Maybe Mellberg realized after all that he didn’t have a grasp of the big picture, which was what this crowd of reporters needed to hear.
‘Thank you. All right then,’ Patrik replied. He cleared his throat and came over to stand next to Mellberg. He paused to gather his thoughts, trying to work out what he should tell them and what he should withhold. An unguarded word to the media could destroy so much, and yet the journalists were their link to one of the greatest assets any investigation could have: the public. He needed to give the press enough information to trigger a ripple effect that would start tips coming in from ordinary people. There was always someone who had seen or heard something that might turn out to be relevant even though that person might not think so. But handing out the wrong information, or revealing too many details, could give the perpetrator an advantage. If he or she knew what sort of leads the police were following, it would be easier to hide their tracks or simply refrain from making the same mistake next time. And that was everyone’s greatest fear right now, that this horrific crime would be repeated. A serial criminal rarely stopped of his own accord. Most likely not in this instance, at any rate. Patrik had a bad feeling about this one.
‘Yesterday Victoria Hallberg was found near a wooded area east of Fjällbacka. She was then struck by a car, and we are convinced it was an accident. She was taken to Uddevalla hospital, where all possible efforts were made to save her life. Unfortunately, her injuries were too severe and at 11.14 she was pronounced dead.’ He paused and reached for a glass of water that Annika had placed on the table. ‘We have searched the area where she was found, and I’d like to thank all the volunteers from Fjällbacka who turned up to help. There is little more I can tell you. We are continuing to cooperate with other police districts investigating similar cases. We need to find the girls who have gone missing, and we need to catch the person who kidnapped them.’ Patrik took a sip of water. ‘Any questions?’
Everyone instantly stuck their hand in the air, and several reporters began speaking at once. The photographers in the front of the room had started snapping pictures as Patrik spoke, and he had to res
train an urge to smooth down his hair. It was always a strange feeling to see big pictures of his own face printed in the evening papers.
‘Kjell?’ He pointed to Kjell Ringholm from Bohusläningen, which was the local paper with the most subscribers. Kjell had offered the police valuable assistance on previous cases, so Patrik tended to give him preferential treatment.
‘You mentioned that Victoria had suffered severe injuries. What type of injuries? Were they the result of being struck by the car, or was she injured prior to the accident?’
‘I can’t comment on that,’ replied Patrik. ‘I can only say that she was struck by a car and she died from her injuries.’
‘We have information that she had been subjected to some sort of torture,’ Kjell went on.
Patrik swallowed hard, picturing in his mind Victoria’s empty eye sockets and her mouth, with a stump where her tongue had been. But those were details they didn’t want to release. He cursed whoever hadn’t been able to resist talking to the press. Was it really necessary to divulge such information?
‘Given the ongoing police investigation, we can’t comment on any details or the extent of Victoria’s injuries.’
Kjell was about to say something else, but Patrik held up his hand to stop him, and then called on Sven Niklasson, a reporter for Expressen. He had also dealt with this journalist before, and he knew that Niklasson was always sharp. He did his homework and never wrote anything that might damage an investigation.
‘Was there any indication that she had been sexually abused? And have you found any link to the disappearance of the other girls?’
‘We don’t know yet. The autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow. As far as the other missing girls are concerned, at this time I can’t divulge what we know about any possible links. As I said, we are continuing to work with the other police districts, and I’m convinced that this cooperative effort will lead to the arrest of the perpetrator.’
‘Are you sure that we’re talking about only one perpetrator?’ The reporter from Aftonbladet took the floor without being called on. ‘Couldn’t it be several individuals, or even a gang? Have you looked into possible connections with trafficking?’
‘At the present time we are not ruling out anything, and that also applies to the number of perpetrators involved. Of course we’ve discussed the possibility of a link to human trafficking, but Victoria’s case does not seem consistent with that theory.’
‘Why’s that?’ persisted the reporter from Aftonbladet.
‘Due to the nature of her injuries, it seems unlikely that she was going to be sold,’ Kjell interjected, as he scrutinized Patrik’s expression.
Patrik didn’t comment. Kjell’s conclusion was correct and revealed more than the police wanted to say, but as long as he refused to confirm anything, the newspapers could only print speculations.
‘As I said, we are investigating all possible leads. We are not ruling out anything.’
He allowed the reporters to ask questions for another fifteen minutes, but he was unable to answer most of them, either because he didn’t know the answer or because he didn’t want to release more details. Unfortunately, the more questions thrown at him, the clearer it became just how little the police actually knew. It had been four months since Victoria disappeared, and even longer since the girls in the other districts had gone missing. Yet there was so little to go on. Frustrated, Patrik decided the time had come to stop taking questions.
‘Bertil, is there anything you’d like to say in conclusion?’ Patrik adroitly moved aside to make Mellberg feel that he was the one who had been conducting the press conference.
‘Yes, I’d like to take this opportunity to say it was a blessing in disguise that it was in our district that the first of the missing girls was found, given the unique expertise available at our station. Under my leadership, we have solved a number of high-profile murder cases, and my list of previous successes shows that …’
Patrik interrupted him by placing a hand on his shoulder.
‘I wholeheartedly agree. We’d like to thank all of you for your questions, and we’ll stay in touch.’
Mellberg glared at him, angry at missing an opportunity for a little self-promotion, but Patrik steered him out of the room while the journalists and photographers gathered up their things. ‘Sorry about cutting in like that, but I was afraid they would miss their deadline if we kept them here any longer. After that great presentation you gave, we want to be certain they’ll file their reports in time for the morning editions.’
Patrik was ashamed of the drivel he was spouting, but it seemed to work because Mellberg’s face lit up.
‘Of course. Good thinking, Hedström. You do have your useful moments.’
‘Thanks,’ said Patrik wearily. Handling Mellberg took as much effort as running the investigation. If not more.
‘Why are you still unwilling to talk about what happened? It was so many years ago.’ Ulla, the prison therapist, peered at Laila over the rims of her red-framed glasses.
‘Why do you keep asking me about it? After so many years?’ replied Laila.
Back when she started serving her sentence she’d felt pressured by all the demands to describe everything, to open her soul and reveal the details from that day as well as the preceding period. Now it no longer bothered her. No one expected her to answer those questions; they were both just going through the motions. Laila knew that Ulla had to continue to ask about that time, and Ulla knew that Laila would continue to refuse to answer. For ten years Ulla had been the prison therapist. Her predecessors had stayed for varying lengths of time, depending on their ambitions. Tending to the psychological well-being of prisoners wasn’t particularly rewarding monetarily or in terms of career development or satisfaction at receiving good results. Most of the prisoners were beyond saving, and everybody knew it. Yet someone still had to do the job, and Ulla seemed to be the therapist who felt most content with her role. And that in turn made Laila feel calmer about being with her, even though she knew the conversation would never lead anywhere.
‘You seem to look forward to Erica Falck’s visits,’ said Ulla now, startling Laila. This was a new topic. Not one of the usual, familiar subjects that they danced around. She felt her hands start to shake as they lay on her lap. She didn’t like new questions. Ulla was aware of this and she fell silent, waiting for a reply.
Aware that her usual replies, which she could rattle off in her sleep, wouldn’t suffice, Laila couldn’t decide whether to respond or keep quiet.
‘It’s something different,’ she said at last, hoping that would be enough. But Ulla seemed unusually persistent today. Like a dog refusing to let go of a bone.
‘In what way? Do you mean it’s a break from the daily routines here? Or something else?’
Laila clasped her hands to keep them still. She found the questions confusing. She hadn’t a clue what she was hoping to achieve by meeting with Erica. She could have gone on declining Erica’s repeated requests to visit her. She could have gone on living in her own world while the years slowly passed and the only thing that changed was her face in the mirror. But how could she do that now that evil had forced its way in? Now that she realized it wasn’t simply a matter of taking new victims. Now that it was happening so close.
‘I like Erica,’ said Laila. ‘And of course her visits are a break from all the dreariness.’
‘I think there’s more to it than that,’ said Ulla, pressing her chin to her chest as she studied Laila. ‘You know what she wants. She wants to hear about what we’ve tried to talk about so many times. What you don’t want to discuss.’
‘That’s her problem. No one is forcing her to come here.’
‘True,’ said Ulla. ‘But I can’t help wondering whether deep down you’d like to tell Erica everything and in that way lighten the burden. She seems to have somehow reached you, while the rest of us have failed, in spite of all our attempts.’
Laila didn’t answer. They had tried so often, but
she wasn’t sure she could have told them even if she had wanted to. It was too overwhelming. And besides, where should she begin? With their first meeting, with the evil that grew, with that last day when it happened? What sort of starting point could she possibly choose so that someone else would understand what even she found inexplicable?
‘Is it possible that you’ve fallen into a pattern with us, that you’ve kept everything inside for so long that you just can’t let it out?’ asked Ulla, tilting her head to one side. Laila wondered whether psychologists were taught to adopt that pose. Every therapist she’d ever met did the same thing.
‘What does it matter now? It was all so long ago.’
‘Yes, but you’re still here. And I think in part that’s your own doing. You don’t seem to have any desire to lead a normal life outside these prison walls.’
If Ulla only knew how right she was. Laila did not want to live outside of the prison; she had no idea how she would manage that. But that wasn’t the whole truth. She didn’t dare. She didn’t dare live in the same world as the evil she had seen close-up. The prison was the only place where she felt safe. Perhaps it wasn’t much of a life, but it was hers, and the only one she knew.
‘I don’t want to talk any more,’ said Laila, standing up.
Ulla’s gaze didn’t waver, seeming to go right through her. Laila hoped not. There were certain things she hoped no one would ever see.
Normally it was Dan who took the girls to the stable, but today he was busy at work, so Anna had driven them there instead. She felt a childish joy that Dan had asked her to step in, that he had asked her anything at all. But she wished she could have avoided the stable. She had a deep-seated dislike of horses. The big animals frightened her. It was a fear stemming from her childhood when she had been forced to take riding lessons. Her mother Elsy had decided that she and Erica should learn to ride, leading to two years’ torment for both sisters. It had been a mystery to Anna why the other girls at the stable were so obsessed with horses. Personally she found them totally unreliable, and her pulse would still race at the memory of how it felt to cling to a rearing animal. No doubt the horses could sense her fear from far away, but that made no difference. Right now she was thinking of simply dropping off Emma and Lisen and then retreating to a safe distance.
The Ice Child Page 7