The Ice Child

by Camilla Lackberg

  Marta reached for the honey and stirred a big spoonful into her tea.

  ‘I hear you’re going to compete at the weekend,’ said Helga.

  Molly sipped the hot tea. ‘Yes, I didn’t get to go last Saturday, so I’m not about to miss the next one.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Helga pushed the plate of sponge cake over to Marta and Molly. ‘I’m sure you’ll do great. Are both of your parents going with you?’

  ‘Yes. They wouldn’t miss it.’

  ‘I don’t know how you put up with all that driving around,’ Helga said to Marta. ‘But I suppose that’s expected these days. Parents always have to be ready to put in an appearance.’

  Marta gave her a suspicious look. Helga wasn’t usually so positive.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. And the training sessions have gone well. I think we have a good chance of winning.’

  Molly couldn’t help smiling. It was so rare for her to receive praise from her mother.

  ‘You’re so talented. You both are,’ said Helga with a smile. ‘I once dreamed of learning to ride when I was a girl, but I never had the chance. And then I met Einar, of course.’

  Her smile faded and her expression closed up. Marta studied her in silence as she stirred her tea. Einar was good at erasing a smile. She knew that from experience.

  ‘How did you and Grandpa meet?’ asked Molly. Marta was surprised at her sudden interest in someone other than herself.

  ‘At a dance in Fjällbacka. Your grandfather was so handsome back then.’

  ‘He was?’ said Molly in surprise. She could hardly remember her grandfather from the time before he was confined to a wheelchair.

  ‘Yes, he was. And your father looks so much like him. Wait here and I’ll fetch a photo to show you.’ Helga stood up and went into the living room. She came back with an album which she leafed through until she found the right photograph.

  ‘Look. Here’s your grandfather in his heyday.’ There was an odd bitterness to Helga’s voice.

  ‘Oh, he’s so cute! And he looks exactly like Pappa. Not that Pappa is cute. I mean, that’s not something you notice about your own father.’ Molly studied the photo. ‘How old was Grandpa in this picture?’

  Helga thought for a moment. ‘He must have been about thirty-five.’

  ‘What kind of car is that? Was it yours?’ said Molly, pointing to the car that Einar was leaning against.

  ‘No, that was one of the cars he bought and fixed up. An Amazon. He made it look so great. Say what you like about him, but he was a genius when it came to fixing up cars.’ Again that bitter tone crept into Helga’s voice. Marta gave her mother-in-law a surprised look as she took another sip of the sweetened tea.

  ‘I wish I’d known Grandpa back then,’ said Molly.

  Helga nodded. ‘I can understand that. But your mother knew him then, so you can ask her about him.’

  ‘I guess I never thought about that before. He’s always been the grumpy old man upstairs,’ said Molly with the blunt candour of a teenager.

  ‘The grumpy old man upstairs. That’s an excellent description.’ Helga laughed.

  Marta smiled. Her mother-in-law seemed so unlike herself today. For a number of reasons that were more or less obvious, they had never cared much for each other. But today Helga didn’t seem as superficial as usual, and Marta appreciated that, though it probably wouldn’t last. She took a bite of sponge cake. She was glad this courtesy visit was almost over.

  It was very quiet at home. The children were at the day-care centre and Patrik was in Göteborg, which meant that Erica would be able to work undisturbed. She’d brought her files downstairs from her study to spread them out on the floor in the living room. Papers were strewn all about. The latest addition was a copy of the homicide report in the Ingela Eriksson case. It had taken a good deal of persuasion, but eventually Patrik had agreed to give her a copy of one of the printouts he was taking along to Göteborg. She’d read it several times. The similarities with Victoria’s injuries were uncanny.

  Erica had already re-read all her notes from her meetings with Laila, as well as from the phone conversation with Laila’s sister and her talks with Louise’s foster parents and some of the prison staff. She’d spent many hours interviewing people in an effort to understand what had happened on the day Vladek Kowalski was murdered. Now she was also trying to find a connection between his murder and the five missing girls.

  She surveyed the material in front of her, trying to grasp the big picture. What was it that Laila wanted to tell her? And what was holding her back? According to the staff, in all these years she’d had no contact with anyone outside of the prison. No visitors, no phone calls, no …

  Erica sat up straight. She had forgotten to ask whether Laila had ever received any post. How could she have been so stupid? She picked up her mobile and tapped in the number of the prison, which she knew by heart.

  ‘Hi, this is Erica Falck.’

  The guard who answered said, ‘Hi, Erica. This is Tina. Were you planning to come over for a visit?’

  ‘No, I’m not visiting today. I just wanted to ask about something. Has Laila ever received any post in all these years? And has she ever sent any letters?’

  ‘Yes, she has received a few postcards. And I think some letters too.’

  ‘Really?’ said Erica. That was not what she’d expected to hear. ‘Do you know who sent them?’

  ‘No, but maybe one of my colleagues does. The postcards were completely blank. And she refused to accept them.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘From what I heard, she didn’t even want to touch them. She asked the guard to throw them away. But we saved them in case she changed her mind.’

  ‘So you still have them?’ Erica could hardly hide her excitement. ‘Could I see them?’

  After the guard promised to let her see the postcards, Erica ended the call, stunned at this turn of events. It had to mean something. But she couldn’t for the life of her work out what it could be.

  Gösta scratched his head. The station felt deserted. Annika was the only other person there. Patrik and Mellberg were in Göteborg, and Martin had gone over to Sälvik to knock on doors in the neighbourhood near the beach. The divers had not yet found Lasse’s body, but that wasn’t so strange given the difficult circumstances. He had spoken to some of Lasse’s acquaintances, but none of them knew anything about the money. Now he was sitting here wondering whether he should drive to Kville to talk to the head of Lasse’s church.

  Gösta was just about to get up when his phone rang, and he picked it up at once. It was Pedersen.

  ‘That was fast. What did you find out?’

  He listened intently.

  ‘Really?’ Gösta then said. After asking a few more questions, he ended the call and sat in silence for several minutes. Thoughts whirled through his mind as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. Slowly a possible theory began to take shape.

  He put on his jacket and hurried past Annika who was sitting at her desk in the reception area.

  ‘I’m going over to Fjällbacka for a while.’

  ‘What are you going to do there?’ she called after him, but he was already going out the door. He’d explain later.

  The drive from Tanumshede to Fjällbacka took only fifteen or twenty minutes, but it seemed endless. He wondered whether he should phone Patrik to tell him about Pedersen’s report, but he decided it wasn’t necessary to interrupt the meeting. It’d be best if he went ahead on his own, and then he might have something new to report when Patrik and Mellberg came home. Right now the important thing was to take the initiative. And he was fully capable of handling this alone.

  When he reached Jonas and Marta’s farm, he rang the bell and after a few minutes a sleepy-looking Jonas opened the door.

  ‘Did I wake you?’ asked Gösta, glancing at his watch. It was one in the afternoon.

  ‘I was out on an emergency call early this morning, so I was just catching up on my sleep
. But come in. I’m awake now.’ He made an attempt to smooth down his hair, which was standing on end.

  Gösta followed him out to the kitchen and sat down at the table even though Jonas hadn’t invited him to take a seat. He decided to get right to the point.

  ‘How well do you know Lasse?’

  ‘I’d say that I don’t know him at all. I’ve said hello a few times when he came to fetch Tyra at the stable, but that’s about it.’

  ‘I have reason to believe that you’re not telling the truth,’ said Gösta.

  Jonas was still standing, and a look of annoyance appeared on his face.

  ‘I’m starting to get sick and tired of all this. What exactly do you want?’

  ‘I think that Lasse knew about your relationship with Victoria. And he was blackmailing you.’

  Jonas stared at him. ‘You can’t be serious.’

  He looked genuinely surprised, and for a moment Gösta questioned the theory he’d come up with after speaking to Pedersen. But he shook off the doubt. This had to be how everything fit together, and it wouldn’t be very difficult to prove.

  ‘Don’t you think it would be best if you told me the truth? We’ll be looking at your mobile phone records and your bank account, which will tell us that the two of you have been in contact and that you’ve withdrawn cash to give to Lasse. You can spare us the trouble by telling me about it now.’

  ‘Get out of here,’ said Jonas, pointing toward the front door. ‘I’ve heard enough.’

  ‘We’re going to find out anyway. It’s all there in black and white,’ Gösta went on. ‘So what happened? Did he demand more money? Did you get tired of paying him and so you killed him?’

  ‘I want you to leave.’ Jonas’s voice was ice-cold. He ushered Gösta to the door and practically pushed him out of the house.

  ‘I know I’m right,’ said Gösta as he stood on the front steps.

  ‘You’re wrong. First of all, I was not having an affair with Victoria, and secondly, Terese said that Lasse disappeared sometime between Saturday morning and Sunday morning, and I have an alibi for that whole period. So the next time I see you, I’ll expect an apology. And I’ll be happy to tell one of your colleagues what my alibi is. But I’m not talking to you.’

  Jonas slammed the door shut, and Gösta again felt a twinge of doubt. What if he was wrong, even though all the puzzle pieces seemed to fit? There was one more visit he needed to make, and then he’d get started on exactly what he’d just told Jonas he would do. He would examine his bank account and mobile phone records, which would reveal the truth. Then Jonas could say whatever he liked about his supposed alibi.

  It would soon be time. Laila had a feeling that any day now another postcard would turn up. A couple of years ago the cards had suddenly started arriving. By now she’d received a total of four. Several days after she got each postcard, a letter would arrive containing a newspaper clipping. All the cards were blank, but she had worked out what the message was meant to be.

  The postcards scared her, and she’d asked the staff to throw them out. But she had saved the newspaper clippings. Every time she took them out of the hiding place, she hoped to understand more, now that she was not the only target of the threats.

  Feeling tired, she lay down on the bed. In a few minutes she would have to endure another pointless therapy session. She had slept badly last night, plagued by nightmares about Vladek and the Girl. It was hard to understand how things had turned out as they had. How did what was abnormal gradually end up seeming normal? They had slowly been changed until they could no longer even recognize themselves.

  ‘It’s time now, Laila.’ Ulla was knocking on her open door. With an effort Laila got up. The fatigue she felt seemed to get worse every day. The nightmares, the waiting, all the memories of how her life had slowly but surely gone wrong. She had loved him so much. His background had been completely different from her own. She had never imagined that she’d ever meet someone like him, and yet they had been drawn to each other. It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world until the evil took over and destroyed everything.

  ‘Are you coming, Laila?’ said Ulla.

  Laila forced her feet to move. She felt like she was walking through water. Fear had prevented her from speaking for such a long time. It had prevented her from doing anything at all. And she was still afraid. Terrified. But the fate of the missing girls had touched her deeply, and she could no longer keep silent. She was ashamed of her cowardice, the fact that she’d allowed the evil to prey on so many innocent lives. Meeting with Erica was at least a beginning. Maybe it would finally give her the courage to reveal the truth. She thought about something she’d once heard, about how the beating of a butterfly’s wings could cause a storm somewhere else in the world. Maybe that was what would happen now.

  ‘Laila?’

  ‘I’m coming,’ she said with a sigh.

  Fear gripped her body, and she saw only horrors wherever she looked. On the floor she saw wriggling snakes with glittering eyes, on the walls spiders and cockroaches were swarming. She screamed, and the sound echoed like a dreadful choir. She struggled to flee the creatures, but something was holding her tight, and the more she fought, the more it hurt. From far away she heard someone calling her name, louder and louder, and she tried to move towards the urgent voice, but again she was held back, and the pain only increased her panic.

  ‘Molly!’ The voice pierced the sound of her own screams, and everything seemed to stand still. She heard her name repeated, now calmer and quieter, and she saw the vermin begin to dissolve and then disappear as if they’d never existed at all.

  ‘You’re hallucinating,’ said Marta, and her voice now sounded very clear.

  Molly squinted her eyes and tried to see where she was. Her head felt fuzzy and she was terribly confused. Where had the snakes and cockroaches gone? They were right here. She’d seen them with her own eyes.

  ‘Listen to me. Nothing that you’re seeing is real.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, her mouth dry. Again she tried to move towards Marta’s voice.

  ‘I can’t move,’ she said. She kicked her legs, but couldn’t get free. It was pitch-dark all around her, and she realized that Marta was right. Those creatures couldn’t be real because she wouldn’t have been able to see them in the dark. But it felt as if the walls were closing in on her, and she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs. She could hear her own breathing getting fast and shallow.

  ‘Calm down, Molly,’ said Marta in that stern tone of hers. The voice that always made the girls in the stable pay strict attention. And this time it worked too. Molly forced herself to breathe more calmly, and after a while her panic began to subside and her lungs filled with oxygen again.

  ‘We need to stay calm. Otherwise we’ll never make it through this.’

  ‘But what is … Where are we?’ Molly sat up and ran her hand down her leg. A metal ring was fastened around her ankle, and with more fumbling she discovered the crude links of a chain. In vain she tried to tug at it as she howled into the dark.

  ‘I told you to calm down! You’ll never get free doing that.’

  Marta’s tone was insistent and firm, but this time she couldn’t hide her own panic, and Molly finally understood. She abruptly stopped screaming and whispered into the dark:

  ‘The person who took Victoria has taken us too.’

  She waited for Marta to reply, but her mother didn’t say a word. And her silence scared Molly more than anything else.

  The detectives had eaten lunch in the cafeteria at the police station, and when they gathered once again in the conference room, they were all feeling drowsy and a bit bloated. Patrik shook himself to wake up. He’d been getting very little sleep lately, and his body felt heavy with fatigue.

  ‘So, let’s get started again,’ said Palle Viking, pointing at the map. ‘The disappearances all occurred in a relatively limited geographic area, but no one has been able to see any connection between the various site
s. As for the girls, there are several similarities in terms of appearance and background, but we haven’t found any other common denominators, such as shared interests, or participation in the same internet forums, or anything like that. There are also some clear differences, especially when it comes to Minna Wahlberg, just as our Tanumshede colleague pointed out earlier this morning. Here in Göteborg we’ve made great efforts to locate anyone else who might have seen the white car, but as you all know, so far the results have been zero.’

  ‘The question is why the perpetrator was so careless in that particular instance,’ said Patrik, and everyone turned to look at him. ‘He didn’t leave a single scrap of evidence in any of the other kidnappings. And here I’m assuming that it was the driver of the white car who kidnapped Minna, though we don’t know that for sure. But Gerhard Struwer – the profiler we told you about earlier – thinks we should focus on those occasions when the perp deviates from his normal pattern.’

  ‘I agree. One theory we’ve discussed is that the murderer knew the girl personally. We’ve already interviewed a lot of people who knew Minna, but I think it would be worthwhile to keep digging.’

  The others murmured their agreement.

  ‘I’ve heard rumours that even your wife has had a chance to talk to Minna’s mother,’ said Palle with an amused smile.

  The other officers sniggered, and Patrik could feel himself blushing.

  ‘Yes, well, my colleague Martin Molin and I went to see Minna’s mother, and my wife Erica also … happened to be there.’ He could hear how apologetic he sounded.

  Mellberg snorted. ‘That is one nosy woman.’

  ‘It’s all in our report,’ Patrik hurried to say, trying to drown out Mellberg’s comment. He nodded towards the papers they’d all received. ‘Although there’s no mention of Erica’s visit.’

  More sniggering, and he sighed. Patrik loved his wife, but sometimes she put him in very embarrassing situations.

  ‘I’m sure your report of the conversation will be sufficient,’ said Palle with a smile. Then he turned serious. ‘But we’ve also heard that Erica has a good head on her shoulders, so it’d be wise to find out if she learned anything that the rest of us might have missed.’