Frozen Tracks (9 page)

'I've never seen anything like this before.' She looked
in the direction of the juniper bushes. 'How on earth
can the fence have broken?'

'I don't know,' said Winter. 'I haven't had time to
examine it. But you'd better have it mended right away.'

'I'll phone this very minute,' she said, standing up.
'We'll keep the children indoors in the mean time.'

Winter went back to the fence and secured the loose
strand of wire. Another length came loose when a few
rusty staples gave way. He was stronger than August,
but nonetheless, the boy had managed to open up the
gap, even if it was rusty to start with. Not encouraging.
Winter thought of Elsa. Had she ever been to this hole
in the fence with August? Never go with strange men.

The whole group was playing some kind of hide and
seek, the children were laughing and looked delightful.
He'd have loved to run forward and stand against the
wall and count to a hundred, then shout 'Time's up!'
and 'Coming!' and then start looking and see somebody
emerge from their hiding place and make a dash for it,
but he would be faster and touch base first and then
they'd do it all over again with the same result and
everybody would say that he was the fastest and the
best and then, when it was his turn to hide, nobody
would find him and he would dash out and touch base
and win again. He would win every time.

He was crying now.

It was raining, he could see drops on the windscreen.

The same voice on the radio again, always the same
voice when he was out driving, when he felt as he felt
now. When he wanted to be where the children were.
Talk to the children, that was what he wanted to do.
That was all.

The same voice, the same time, the same programme,
the same light in the sky. The same feeling. Would any
of the children want to go with him, a bit further? Go
home with him? How would he be able to turn them
down? Even if he wanted to?

The voices out there sounded like a swishing noise,
just like the rain. He liked both sounds, the way in
which they blended so softly and gently that made him
want to sit there for ever and ever and listen to them.

Then came that feeling that was an extra feeling, and
he knew that it made him feel frightened and he tried
to shake his head so that it would sink back down inside
him like it had done before, but it didn't. It made him
stretch and open the car door and step out on to the
ground covered in rotting leaves that smelled more
strongly than they had done the previous time, and now
he was standing at the side of the car and the feeling
was getting even stronger and it was like a band of steel
across his chest. He could hear his own breathing and
it was so loud that everybody else ought to be able to
hear it as well. But nobody heard. Everybody ran.
Everybody laughed. Everybody was happy and he didn't
want to think about when he was as little as that and
maybe had run and laughed just like they were doing.
With Mum. Mum had always held his hand and the
ground had been covered in leaves of many colours.

There was a little girl, running.

A good hiding place.

He followed her.

Here's a better one.

Yes. I'm playing with them as well. Now they're
looking this way! What if they see you!
Here, here.

This is a better hiding place.

In here.

He'd seen this passage before, a sort of corridor
between the big stone and the trees where he'd left the
car. Behind the small hill. He'd almost been surprised
by how easy it was to drive there from the car park.

This is the best place, over here. Nobody will find
you here.

He felt the rain on his tongue and he realised it had
been sticking out.

He'd thought the police would want to talk to him
again, but why should they? He hadn't done anything.
It was the other one. Everybody had understood that.
They'd understood that at work. Have a rest for a few
weeks, and we'll take a good look into what happened.

I don't need a few weeks. I need my work. That was
what he'd told them. He'd answered their questions
about what had happened, he'd told them everything.

Have you never had anybody like that in your tram?
Somebody like that! Gothenburg is full of them, in the
trams, in the buses. It was dangerous for the public,
and dangerous for the drivers. Just look at this mess!
Isn't this proof of what can happen? What
caused
the
accident?

Yes, this is my car. Who'll be able to find you in
here? This is the best place.

Janne Alinder stretched his arm in an attempt to ease
the pain in his elbow. He raised it to an angle of about
forty-five degrees, palm down, and it occurred to him
that if anybody were to come into his office now it
might look a little odd.

Johan Minnonen came in and stood behind him.

'Don't worry, I won't tell anybody,' said Minnonen.

'Tennis elbow,' said Alinder.

'Unusually straight for that.'

'You can believe whatever you like.'

'My dad fought on their side.'

'Whose side?'

'The Germans, of course. Against the Russians.'

'Not all Germans were Nazis,' said Alinder.

'Don't ask me.' Minnonen's expression became more
sombre. 'I was too little. And Dad never came back home.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' said Alinder.

'Neither did I, come to that. Come home again, that
is. I'd been sent to Sweden, and I stayed here.' Minnonen
hadn't sat down. 'A war child, as they called us. My
real name was Juha, but the Swedes called me Johan.'

'What about your mother?'

'Oh yes, we met again after the war; but there were
a lot of us brothers and sisters. Ah well . . .'

Alinder knew that was as much as Minnonen was
going to let on. He had never been as forthcoming as
this before.

Oh my God, he realised that he still had his arm
raised.

The telephone rang. He lowered his right arm and
picked up the receiver. Minnonen clicked his heels and
saluted, then left and made his way towards the police
cars.

'Police, Majorna-Linnéstaden, Alinder.'

'Er, yes, hello. My name is Lena Sköld. I rang a few
days ago about my daughter, Ellen.'

Sköld, Sköld, Alinder thought. Daughter. He had
some vague recollection.

'It was about Ellen. She said she'd been with, er, with
some stranger or other.'

'I remember now. How is she?'

'She's fine. Everything's as normal.'

'Good.'

'Anyway, you said I should get in touch again if I
thought that . . . that something was missing. I think
that's what you said?'

If you say so, Alinder thought. Hang on a minute,
yes, I remember now.

'Yes, I remember saying that.'

'Well, she always has a good-luck charm in a pocket
in her jumpsuit, but it's missing,' said Lena Sköld.

'A good-luck charm?'

'Yes, you know, one of those—'

'Yes, I know what it is. I mean . . .' What the hell
do
I mean? 'A charm, you say?'

'An old good-luck charm, the one I used to have
myself when I was a kid. It's a sort of superstition thing
. . . from me. It's supposed to bring you good luck.'

Silence.

'And?'

'She always has it in the left-hand chest pocket of
her jumpsuit. A special extra pocket. I can't understand
how . . .'

Silence again.

'And?'

He waited for whatever she was going to say next.

'I can't understand how it could have fallen out,' said
Lena Sköld.

'Could Ellen have taken it out herself?'

'No, I don't think so.'

'And this is the first time?'

'What do you mean?'

'The first time it's been lost?' Alinder asked. A daft
question, but what am I supposed to do? This is the
type of conversation I don't really have time for.

'Yes, of course.'

'What do you think happened?'

'Well, if what Ellen says is true, then it could be that
the man in the car took it.'

'Have you asked Ellen about him again?'

'Yes.'

'And?'

'She says more or less the same as before. Odd that
she should remember, don't you think?'

I have a file with notes of what was said before, to
check against what she's saying now, Alinder thought.
I might as well add a few sentences.

'Can you describe that charm for me,' he said, picking
up his pen.

'It's a little bird, in silver,' she replied.

* * *

Just a little thing. A souvenir. He'd be able to take it
out and look at it, and that would be enough.

For now at least. No. No! That would be enough.
Enough!

He knew that it wouldn't be enough. He would have
to make use of it.

He closed his eyes and looked towards the wall and
the bureau that stood next to the bookcase with the
videos. He had that drawer in his bureau, with the boy's
car and the girl's bird in silver. The car was blue and
black, and the bird glistened and showed off a colour
of its own that wasn't like anything else.

He had in his hand the little ball that was in the other
girl's pocket. It was green, like a lawn at the height of
summer. Maja, her name was. That was a name that also
suggested summer. Maja. It wasn't a name for this time
of year. He didn't like the autumn. He felt calmer in the
summer, but now – now he wasn't so calm any longer.

He would go out driving, driving around. He drove
around, didn't want to, but he couldn't help it.
Playgrounds. Day nurseries.

Being there and joining in the fun.

He dropped the ball and it bounced up as high as
the top drawer in the bureau, then down again, and he
leaned to one side and caught it in one hand. A onehanded
catch!

When it was so dark outside that he didn't need to draw
the curtains in order to watch the video recording, he
switched on the television.

Maja said something funny. He could hear himself
laughing on the film. He smiled. He could see the rain
on the car window behind her. The bare trees. The sky,
empty. It looked so miserable out there, on the other
side of the car windows. Grey. Black. Damp. Rotten. A
sky that was grey or black or red like . . . like blood.
No. Nasty. The sky is a nasty hole that's bigger than
anything else, he thought, and he squeezed the ball hard
in his hand. Things fall from the heavens that we are
afraid of, run away from, hide from. The heavens are
empty, but rain comes down from there and we can't
get away from that and so heaven is here on earth, he
thought again. He used to think about that when he
was a child. Uncle had come to him when he'd been
crying. The light had been out, and Uncle had asked
him various things and then gone away. But later, he'd
come back again.

It had hurt so much. Who had it been? Uncle had
comforted him afterwards.

Comforted him so often.

He turned to the television again. It had been warm
and cosy in the car. He'd felt warm as he shot the film.
He could hear the radio as well. Then came the voice,
and a swear word. The child had heard it. Maja. Maja
said that the man on the radio has used a rude word.

Yes indeed. It was a very rude word.

What a nice ball you have, Maja. Show it to me.

Winter was sitting on the floor by the door in the long,
narrow hall with his legs spread out, and he was rolling
the ball to Elsa, who was sitting at the other end of the
corridor. He managed to roll it all the way to her, but
she couldn't roll it all the way back again. He stood up
and settled down again a bit nearer.

'Ball stupid,' Elsa said.

'It's easier now,' he said, and rolled it to her again.

'The ball, the ball!' she shouted as she succeeded in
rolling it all the way to him. 'The ball, Daddy!'

'Here it comes,' he said, rolling it back to her.

Elsa was asleep when Angela got home after her evening
shift. A long day on the ward. Morning shift. A short
rest. Evening shift. He heard the lift clattering up to the
landing outside, and opened the door before she had
even reached it.

'I heard the lift.'

'So did everybody else for miles.' She took off her
raincoat and put it on a hanger ready for transportation
to the bathroom. 'That lift ought to have been
pensioned off thirty years ago.' She took off her boots.
'It's scandalous that the poor thing has to keep on
working.'

'But Elsa likes Lofty being here and working for us,'
said Winter.

Lofty Lift was Elsa's name. Just think, all these years
I've lived here and travelled up and down in this lift
without knowing its name, Winter had thought when
Elsa christened the old contraption. Lofty Lift. Old but
cool: dressed in leather and chains.

'How did it go today?' asked Angela, heading for the
kitchen.

'Another incident at the day nursery,' he said,
following her.

'What this time?'

'I think it was the same little boy as before who ran
off through the bushes, but this time he got out.'

'Got out? Where? Who?'

'August, I think his name is. Do you know who that
is?'

'Yes, I think so.'

'There was a hole in the wire fence, and he got out
into the street.'

'Oh my God.'

'I managed to catch up with him before anything
happened.'

'How the hell could there be a hole in the fence?'

'Rusted away.'

'Oh my God,' she said again. 'What are we going to
do?'

'What do you mean?'

'Where are we going to place Elsa? You don't think
I'm going to leave her there when there's a hole in the
fence leading out on to one of northern Europe's busiest
roads?' She looked at him and raised a hand. 'It sounds
like a hole leading from a protected haven into the cruel
world outside.'

'They've fixed it.'

'How do you know?'

'I checked.' He smiled. 'This afternoon.'

'Have they replaced the whole fence?'

'It looks like it.'

'Looks? Aren't you any more worried than that?'

'I rang the lady in charge, but I couldn't get through.'

'Well I'm going to get through.'

She marched over to the telephone and rang one of
the numbers on a Post-it note stuck to the refrigerator.

Angela bit his knuckle when she felt that he was as
close as she was. He heard a spring complaining in the
mattress underneath them, a noise that could in fact
have come from Lofty on the landing, but he didn't
think of that until afterwards.

They lay still in the silence.

'Could you get me some water, please?' she asked
eventually.

He got up and went to the kitchen. Rain was pattering
on the window overlooking the courtyard. The wall
clock showed a quarter past midnight. He poured out
a glass of water for Angela, and opened a Hof for himself.

'You won't be able to sleep now,' she said as he drank
the beer on the edge of the bed.

'Who said anything about sleeping?'

'I can't come and go as I please like you,' she said.
'I have strict working hours.'

'I can be creative any time of day or night,' he said.

She took a drink of water and put the glass down
on the wooden floor, which seemed to gleam in the glow
coming in from the street lighting outside. A bus could
be heard driving past, tyres on water. Then another
vehicle. No ambulance at the moment, thank the Lord.
A voice perhaps, but it could also have been a bird,
hoarse from having stayed too long in the north.

That thought triggered another: have we stayed here
for too long? Isn't it time we moved out of this stone
city?

She looked at him. I haven't taken it up with him
again. Perhaps that's because I no longer want to move
away myself. You can lead a good life in Gothenburg.
We are not country-dwellers. Elsa isn't complaining.
She's even made friends with somebody on the same
landing. The fence round the day nursery has been
mended. We can always rent a house in the country for
the summer.

She looked again at Erik, who seemed to be lost in
thought. Things between us are better now than they
used to be, a year or so ago. I didn't know for certain
then. I didn't know for certain for some time. I don't
think he knew for certain either.

We could have been in different worlds, or however
you put it. I could have been in heaven, and Erik here
on earth. I think I'd have gone to heaven. I'm not sure
about him. Ha!

I've forgotten about most of the experience. It was
bad luck.

She thought about what had happened during the
months before Elsa was born. When she had been
kidnapped by a murderer. How she had been kept in
his flat. What thoughts had gone through her mind.

I don't think he ever intended to hurt me.

Things are different now. It's good. This is a good
time to be on earth. A good place.

She heard another noise from the street down below,
a brittle sort of noise.

'A penny for your thoughts,' she said to Erik, who
was still sitting in the same position with an introspective
look on his face, which she could make out even
in the half-light.

He looked at her.

'Nothing,' he said.

'I was thinking that we have it pretty good, you and
me,' she said.

'Hmm.'

'Is that all you have to say?'

'Hmm.'

She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, and he
ducked.

'Elsa will wake up if we start a fight,' he said, putting
down his bottle of beer and throwing his pillow, which
thudded into the wall behind her and knocked a magazine
off her bedside table.

'Try this for size,' she said, hurling his pillow back
at him. He saw it coming.

'We actually found a little decomposing pile of newspapers
outside the entrance,' said Bergenhem, the first
time he'd spoken at the day's morning prayers. 'It was
underneath an even more unpleasant pile of leaves.'

'How come you didn't find it earlier?' asked Halders.

'We weren't looking, of course,' said Ringmar. 'We
didn't know we should be looking for newspapers.'

'Have we found any fingerprints?' asked Halders.

He rubbed at the back of his head, which was feeling
stiff again. Stiffer than usual, if you could call this bloody
stiffness usual. He'd been cold out in the square the
previous day.

'Beier's team are looking into it now,' said Ringmar.
'They're also trying to see if they can make out the date
on the newspapers. It ought to be possible.'