Frozen Tracks (37 page)

'We live in a big country,' said Winter.

'How many people do we have on the case?' said
Djanali.

'Not nearly enough,' said Ringmar. 'The Christmas
holiday presents problems with regard to overtime, not
to mention law and order and neighbourhood policing.'

'But for Christ's sake, this is more important than
Christmas dinner!' said Djanali. 'A boy has gone missing,
kidnapped, but no kidnapper has announced himself.
We could be looking at a matter of hours.'

Kidnapping, Winter thought. A kid napping. A little
snooze. Fast asleep when Father Christmas arrived with
his presents. If only.

Ringmar had received a telephone call that he wanted
to take in his own office. Winter could see how
nervous he was when he left, and the shadows under
his eyes. What was he going to hear now? What would
he say?

'I'll pay a visit to Ellen Sköld again,' said Aneta
Djanali. 'I know what I'm going to say, and how to say
it.'

Winter looked at the clock. The traditional Donald
Duck cartoon on the box would be over. The long night
had fallen outside the window. It was too late to drive
through the streets with Simon Waggoner to follow
tramlines.

'Ellen has probably already said what we need to
know,' said Winter.

'I want to be certain.'

'Go home to your family,' said Winter. 'Celebrate
Christmas.'

'That will be at Fredrik's,' she said.

Winter nodded and started gathering together some
papers.

'Are you surprised?' asked Djanali.

'Why should I be surprised?'

'Well . . . Fredrik and I.'

'The odd couple?' he said with a smile. 'Oh, come
on, Aneta.'

She hesitated in the doorway.

'You're welcome as well,' she said.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You can come round for a bit if you like. We'll be
eating later on, so the Christmas buffet is still waiting.'
She smiled and looked up at the heavens. 'Fredrik has
made something based on polenta. He said it was the
nearest he could manage to yam porridge.'

'Fredrik Halders, always keen to build bridges
between cultures,' said Winter.

Aneta Djanali burst out laughing.

'Unfortunately, I'll have to work,' said Winter.

'Where?'

'Here. And at home.'

'Erik, it's Christmas Eve and you're on your own. A
bit of company won't hurt you.'

'I'll see,' he said.

'You can call us late this evening, no matter what.'

'I'll ring,' he said. 'Say hello to Fredrik. No matter
what.'

She smiled again, and left. He went over to the CD
player and switched it on. He stood by the window, lit
a Corps, and opened the window slightly. The smoke was
whisked away by a wind he hadn't noticed until now.

The room behind him was filled with 'Trane's Slo
Blues', Earl May's bass and Arthur Taylor's drums, doom
doom doom doom doom doom, then Coltrane's tenor
saxophone creating calm and restlessness at the same
time, the difficult simplicity he still hadn't found
anywhere else in jazz, even if he had discovered different
music that he liked and that he could make use of in
his life.

'Lush Life' now, the beautiful introduction, like a
soundtrack to the smoke wafting in a shiny silver cloud
from his cigarillo and out into the evening glowing in
gold from all the Christmas lights. It was music to dream
to, but he wasn't dreaming.

His mobile rang on the desk. He turned down the
volume of the music and picked up the mobile with his
free hand.

'Merry Christmas, Daddy!'

'Merry Christmas, my lovely!'

'What are you doing, Daddy?'

'I was standing here thinking it was time to phone
Elsa,' he said, letting a little column of ash fall into the
tray.

'I was first!'

'You are always first, my lovely,' he said, and was
glad that Angela couldn't hear him saying that. What
was he doing here when they were there? 'Have you
opened your parcels yet?'

'Father Christmas hasn't been yet,' she said.

'He'll turn up at any moment, I'm sure.'

'Did you find the Christmas present?'

My God, he thought. The Christmas present.

'I'll open it later tonight,' he said.

'When are you coming, Daddy?'

'Soon, my lovely.'

'You must come NOW,' she said and he could hear
other voices on the line. Perhaps they all had the same
message tonight.

'I'll be there before Christmas is over,' he said.

'I want Christmas to go on for ever,' she said.

'Oh, I'll be there long before that. We'll be able to
go swimming.'

'It's cold,' she said. 'It's
freezing cold
.'

'What have you been doing?'

Open questions, he thought.

'Played with a pussy cat,' she said. 'She's called
Miaow.'

'That's a good name for a cat.'

'She's black.'

Winter heard an echo and her voice disappeared, then
came a different voice:

'Hello?'

'Hello,' he said.

'It's Angela. Where are you?'

'In my office at police headquarters,' he said.

'Lucky for you,' she said.

'Merry Christmas,' he said.

'How's it going?'

'Progressing, I think.'

'How are you?'

'It's . . . a bit difficult. It's a difficult case.'

'No news about the boy?'

'I don't know. We might be getting closer. But we
haven't found him.'

'Be careful, Erik.'

'We're close. I can feel it.'

'Be careful,' she said again. 'You have to be careful
with this case.'

'I know.'

'You must think about it all the time, Erik. Being
careful.'

'I promise. I heard from Elsa that—'

His office phone rang on the desk.

'Excuse me a moment, Angela.'

He picked up the other phone.

'Hello, Winter, it's Björck in the front office. You
have a visitor. A Mr Jerner, Mats Jerner.'

Winter looked at his watch. Jerner was an hour late.
He'd forgotten about him, forgotten about him altogether.
Had anything of the sort ever happened before?
Not as far as he could remember. All that flashed through
his mind before he said:

'I'll be right down.'

He spoke into his mobile again. 'I'll ring you back
a bit later, Angela. Say hello to Mother in the mean
time.'

'I can hear that you're working.'

'It's not in vain,' he said. 'I love you.'

The visitor was still standing in the waiting room. He
could be around Winter's age, possibly a bit older. I
know roughly how old he is. Carlström told us.

Winter opened the glass door.

'Mats Jerner? Erik Winter.'

Jerner nodded and they shook hands in the doorway.
His hair was blond and his eyes blue. He was wearing
a brown Tenson jacket and blue jeans, and heavy shoes
suitable for the current weather. He was carrying a briefcase
under his left arm. His hand was cold. Winter saw
that he was carrying his gloves in his left hand. Jerner's
eyes had a transparent intensity that almost made Winter
want to turn round in order to see what the man was
looking at straight through his head.

'We'll take the lift up,' said Winter.

Jerner stood beside him without speaking. He avoided
looking in the mirror.

'Are there any passengers at all at this time on
Christmas Eve?' Winter asked as they stepped out of
the lift.

Jerner nodded again, straight ahead.

'No problems with snow on the lines?' Winter
asked.

'No.'

They entered Winter's office.

'Would you like coffee or something?' asked Winter.

Jerner shook his head.

Winter walked to his desk chair and gestured towards
the visitor's chair opposite. He had recently had a sofa
and armchairs installed in one corner, but this was better
for the moment.

'Well,' said Winter, 'we're trying to solve a series of
attacks on young men here in Gothenburg, as I explained
on the telephone.'

Jerner nodded again.

How shall I put this, Winter thought. You haven't
by any chance nicked a branding iron from your foster
father's farm, have you? Or two?

'The fact is, weapons that could have been used in
these assaults have been stolen from your foster father's
farm. Natanael Carlström.' Winter looked at Jerner. 'He
is your foster father, is that right?'

Jerner nodded and said, 'One of them.'

'Did you have several?' Winter asked.

Jerner nodded.

'Living in that area?'

Jerner shook his head.

He's the silent type, Winter thought. But you've met
your match.

He hasn't said a word about turning up over an hour
late for an interview at police headquarters. Doesn't
even seem to be aware of the fact. Some people are like
that. Lucky them.

'Have you heard your foster father say anything about
a robbery?'

'No.'

Jerner crossed his legs, then re-crossed them in the
other direction. He had put his gloves on the table in
front of him. Something was bulging in the left-hand
pocket of his jacket. Perhaps a hat of some kind.

Perhaps he gets a discount on Tenson jackets, Winter
thought. The Tenson League has threatened its way to
a deal.

The Tenson League was the popular name for the
inspectors working on Gothenburg's trams, sullen men
and women who had a lot to put up with as they rode
the trams looking for fare dodgers. Halders had once
been caught, and spent the whole afternoon on the
telephone trying to convince the man in charge of his
innocence, pleading absent-mindedness, police business
– no, not that – taking the kids to day nursery,
taking his car to Mölndal for repairs or whatever. But
he failed. He had never set foot on a Gothenburg tram
after that.

'Did you ever see one of those branding irons?' Winter
asked.

Jerner shook his head.

'But you knew about them?'

Jerner nodded.

We'll have to put a stop to this, Winter thought. He
doesn't
want
to speak.

'When were you last at home?'

Jerner looked confused.

'I mean at Carlström's.'

'I d-don't know,' said Jerner.

'What month?'

'No-November, I think.'

'What did he say about the theft?'

Jerner shrugged.

'He told me he mentioned it to you.'

'Possibly,' said Jerner. Nothing else.

Winter stood up and went to the ugly filing cabinet
he tried to hide behind the door. He collected a folder,
returned to his desk and took out the photographs.

'Do you recognise this person?' he asked, holding out
a photograph of Aryan Kaite.

Jerner shook his head.

'He's one of the young men who were attacked.'

Jerner seemed uninterested, as if he were looking at
a stranger.

'He's also visited your home village,' said Winter. 'He
knows Gustav Smedsberg.' Winter looked at Jerner. 'Do
you know anybody called Smedsberg?'

The man seemed to be thinking that over. He brushed
his thin blond hair to the side. It was long.

He looks as if I'd asked him a perfectly normal
follow-up question, Winter thought. No 'Who's Gustav
Smedsberg?' He recognises the name, or he's trying to
look uninterested. It's been a long day. For him, for
me. This conversation is getting nowhere. He can go
home, I can go home. He has nothing to do with this.
Or maybe he did steal the irons, maybe even used
them. No. Not him. The only odd thing is that he
seems to be able to sit here for as long as you like
without getting annoyed. He was annoyed before, irritated,
on the telephone. But now. Now he's shaking
his head.

'Georg Smedsberg?' said Winter.

'No.'

'A neighbour.'

Jerner's calm face moved slightly to one side, perhaps
as a protest: Smedsberg isn't a neighbour. Too far away.

'Gerd,' said Winter.

The man gave a start. He looked at Winter, raised his
head slightly. His eyes still had that same transparency.

'When did you meet Gerd?' Winter asked.

'Wh-what Gerd?'

'The Gerd who was one of your neighbours.'

What has she got to do with this business? He doesn't
ask that. He doesn't say: Who's Gerd? His face is exactly
like it was before again. I'll put a stop to this now. I
have to devote my energies to Micke Johansson.

'I won't take up any more of your time on Christmas
Eve,' said Winter. 'But I might be in touch again if I
need some more details.'

Jerner stood up and nodded.

'When do you have to work again?' Winter asked.

Jerner opened his mouth and looked as if he were
swallowing air, then he closed it again.

'When's your next shift?' Winter asked.

'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.