Stallo (43 page)

That made Torbjörn look up.

‘And he is?’ said Susso, taking a mouthful of coffee.

‘Honestly, Susso,’ Gudrun said. ‘Don’t you know who Sven Jerring is?’

Susso shook her head.

Then Gudrun turned to Torbjörn.

‘Torbjörn, surely you know who Sven Jerring was?’

‘He got some kind of prize,’ he began doubtfully. ‘Didn’t he?’

Gudrun was amazed and she gaped at them.

‘He’s only one of the most famous people in Sweden!’

‘Obviously not,’ Susso said, ‘because otherwise we would have heard of him.’

‘Before that! When I was young. Uncle Sven! Have you never heard anyone talk about Uncle Sven and his
Children’s Letterbox
programme?’

Susso shook her head and Torbjörn kept quiet.

‘That’s absolutely shocking,’ Gudrun said. ‘Cecilia was on
Children’s Letterbox
. Not on the actual programme, of course, but she was invited to Stockholm. Susso, you must have heard about the invitation?’

‘I know there was something about a radio programme, but that’s all.’

Gudrun stared at them, astonished.

‘Fancy not knowing who Sven Jerring is …’

The phone had started ringing as soon as I had put the tray on the table and taken a bite of my bread roll. It was a mobile number I did not recognise. I swallowed the mouthful before answering. At the other end was a woman speaking very fast in a southern Swedish accent.

‘You phoned yesterday and spoke to my father.’

I considered the situation for a moment. I was about to be on the receiving end of a slap on the wrist and I wondered whether it would be simpler to deny that it was me who had phoned. But then I felt a sudden surge of irritation that someone wanted to tick me off for making a phone call about a kidnapped child – and at the fact that my own daughter had been attacked and her life had actually been in real danger.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said.

‘Dad doesn’t want to talk to you, but I think you ought to know that you are not the first person to ask about that boy Magnus.’

‘Don’t you mean Mattias?’

‘No, Magnus. Magnus Brodin.’

I tried to explain to her that there must have been some kind of misunderstanding, but she interrupted me.

‘In 1979,’ she said, ‘Sven Jerring came to see us at Björkudden and he talked about that boy, the one who disappeared.’

I said nothing. Had I heard correctly?

‘
Children’s Letterbox
,’ the woman said. ‘Uncle Sven!’

‘Yes, I know who it is. But the boy we are looking for went missing this Christmas just gone. Mattias, he’s called. Which boy are you talking about?’

‘Oh, I see. I thought you were asking about Magnus Brodin …’

‘Magnus Brodin,’ I said. ‘I recognise that name. He was kidnapped, wasn’t he? In the seventies?’

‘Seventy-eight. The summer of ’78.’

‘And you’re saying Sven Jerring came to your house on Björkudden and asked about him? What did he ask?’

‘He said he had come because of Magnus. He had an idea that the boy had been abducted by trolls. Dad didn’t know what to believe. He thought it was all a joke because the house had belonged to John Bauer and that perhaps it was going to be part of a radio programme, but he’s realised since that it was no joke.’

‘But did he say anything about a very small man? Did Sven Jerring say anything about a dwarf?’

‘A dwarf? I was only little then, I don’t really remember …’

It was starting to sound vague. I cleared my throat.

‘You’ve probably read in the papers that the police are looking for a person known as the Vaikijaur man,’ I said. ‘We drove to Björkudden because we had heard that he had been there. In 1980.’

‘The little old man who was in the papers?’

‘Exactly. The Vaikijaur man.’

‘And he was supposed to have been living at Björkudden in 1980? Well, I can tell you he wasn’t, most definitely.’

‘I don’t know about living there as such. We only know he visited the place. That he had some kind of business there.’

‘It sounds strange. No, I don’t believe that’s right.’

‘And you’re completely sure about that?’

‘Yes, of course. What is all this, for God’s sake?’

‘What did your parents say to Sven Jerring?’

‘Nothing! They hardly believed him! And I don’t think his wife did either.’

‘So she was with him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is she still alive?’

‘How would I know?’

I sat for a while wondering what to do next, before calling directory enquiries and asking for Barbro Jerring.

‘I believe she’s living in Stockholm,’ I said. ‘If she’s still alive.’

She was. Or at least, she had a phone number.

*

I looked around. The dining room had started to fill, with people gathering around the breakfast buffet, so I got up and went over to a small group of sofas where I could sit hidden behind a pillar and a palm.

There were seven or eight rings and then a rustling noise.

‘Jerring.’

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Is that Barbro Jerring speaking?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I ask if you were married to Sven Jerring?’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘Then I have the right number. My name is Gudrun Myrén and it so happens that I’ve just been speaking to Fredrik Dahllöf’s daughter. I don’t know her name, but anyway she said you and Sven visited Björkudden in 1979 in relation to Magnus Brodin and the fact that Sven thought he had been taken by trolls. Is that correct?’

‘Are you a journalist?’

‘No, we’re trying to track down the so-called Vaikijaur man. The police suspect he is involved in the kidnapping of Mattias Mickelsson. Have you heard about that?’

‘I’ve read about it in the newspaper, yes.’

‘We’re lending a hand, you might say. It was my daughter who took the photograph of this person. The Vaikijaur man, that is. So we’re trying to find out who he is. And it seems as if there could be a connection between the disappearance of Magnus and Mattias. You see, the Vaikijaur man visited Björkudden in 1980.’

‘He was at Björkudden?’

‘Yes. We know he was there, but not why.’

‘What has Dahllöf told you?’

‘He doesn’t know this person at all. Or so he says. But we definitely know he was there, so we think perhaps Dahllöf is keeping something from us.’

‘No, I don’t think he’s doing that.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No.’

‘What do you think then?’

There followed a moment’s silence, and just as I was about to say ‘Hello?’ Barbro added:

‘I think I have an idea who he was looking for.’

The dark-red mobile swivelled and buzzed on the table.

‘MUM,’ it said in the oblong window.

And below: ‘Answer?’

Seved picked up the phone and held it uncertainly for a moment before pressing the key.

‘Hello! Can you hear me?’

It was a woman’s voice. It was loud.

Seved waited quietly, not even daring to breathe in case it would be heard.

‘Hello? Cecilia?’

He cleared his throat.

‘I can hardly hear you. Listen, we’re in Stockholm.’

Seved kept silent. Stockholm. He had been expecting an address in Gränna. This was better, but Lennart would not be happy with the news. There was a risk the woman would hang up, so he made a humming sound.

‘Do you know where we’re going? You’ll never guess!’

‘No,’ he whispered.

‘We’re going to Sven Jerring’s home. To see his widow, Barbro Jerring.’

Seved hung on. Was she going to say anything else?

‘I’ll have to tell you about it later. Hello? Can you hear me?’

*

Oh yes. He had heard all right.

He dug about in his bag and brought out the phone Börje had given him, followed by the slip of paper with Lennart’s number on it.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me. Seved.’

‘Yes?’

‘I know where they’re going now. Where they’re heading.’

‘Right.’

‘To someone called Barbro Jerring, I think.’

‘You think?’

‘Yes, that’s what she said.’

‘Barbro Jerring? Jerring? As in Sven Jerring?’

‘Yes. It’s his widow, that’s where they’re going. She lives in Stockholm.’

‘So what was all that crap about them going to Gränna then?’

‘Don’t know.’

It was clear from Lennart’s voice that he was unsure whether to be satisfied or annoyed.

‘Can … can I drive home now?’

‘No, you stay where you are! Until I’ve got hold of them.’

*

When the conversation ended he sat staring at the mess on the table in front of him. He had left a few stumps of hard, overcooked fries and some onion and the remains of the dressing in the sticky hamburger wrapper, but now it was all gone, every last scrap, and the polystyrene container that had held his burger had been shredded into pieces the size of rice grains.

The feeling of disgust that welled up inside him was so strong he gagged.

To think it had been sitting there, eating in the darkness, while he had been sleeping.

He looked around the room because he had no idea where the little shapeshifter could be. Not in the cage. That was shut.

It was probably on the bed. He looked up at the top bunk, then walked over and gently lifted the duvet that was folded next to the pillow, but it was not there. He looked under the duvet on the lower bunk as well and then kneeled down and looked underneath the bunk bed, but saw only his empty can of cola, which the lemmingshifter had presumably knocked from the table.

Where the hell had it gone?

Could it have escaped somehow?

His eyes scanned the room to check for any openings, and there, right above the door, was a round hole that had probably once had a cover. Could it have climbed all the way up there? The wall was covered with shiny textured wallpaper, so that seemed unlikely. But perhaps there were other gaps? A few millimetres would be enough for it to force its way out.

The thought that the creature had taken itself off filled him with an overpowering sense of relief. Now there would be absolutely no reason for him to stay in Kiruna. He could set off for home immediately. It was not his fault the little being had decided to run away. It probably did exactly as it chose. Lennart had to know that.

Seved put on his jeans, sank into the chair and quickly pulled on his socks. He was in a hurry now. It might have just slipped outside for a while to have a look around. If he hurried, he would be away before it came back.

He picked up his shirt and pushed his arms into the sleeves, glancing at his watch as his left wrist appeared through the cuff.
It had just turned ten. Quickly he fastened the buttons. Then he put on his down jacket, pushed both mobiles into a pocket and zipped it closed. He tied his boots, hurried over to the bed and began rolling up the sleeping bag. He knew he would not be able to get it into its case unless he rolled it up properly, getting out all of the air, so he dragged it to the floor and knelt down beside it.

Then he felt something inside.

A small lump.

He straightened up immediately, staring at it.

The creature had crept into the sleeping bag and had slept by his feet. All night it had been curled up there, enjoying the warmth from his body. He stood up and noticed a small movement making a crease in the dark-green synthetic fabric. It had woken up and was on its way out.

Now, he thought. I’ve got to do it now.

And he lifted his foot and stamped as hard as he could.

Tessin Park was ringed by tall chestnut trees with spreading black branches. A woman was pushing a pram on the gravel path bisecting the park, but otherwise there was no one in sight, which Susso thought was odd. To think it could be so deserted in the middle of Stockholm, in the middle of the day, and in such a large and lovely park.

They followed the pavement along De Geersgatan, nobody saying a word. Gudrun’s hand gripped the metal ring linking her handbag to its plaited shoulder strap. Her other arm swung up and down as she walked ahead, fast. She had taken a pair of brown leather shoes from her suitcase and their heels were clicking and scraping against the gritted paving stones. The smudges of blusher on her cheeks looked like bruises.