Frozen Tracks (4 page)

Ellen? Is your name Ellen? That's a lovely name. A
splendid name. Do you know what my mum was called?
No, you can't possibly know.

What do you reckon, wasn't it a marvellous name,
my mum's?

Have some more. Take the whole bag.

He-he-here it co-co-co-co-comes . . .

He stroked his hand over the girl's head. Her hair was
like the down on a baby bird, a little fledgling whose
heart you could feel beating when you touched it. He'd
felt that once on a bird that was even smaller than Bill.
He was just as small as a bird too in those days.

He touched her again. The man on the radio was
saying something. He found it difficult to breathe, wound
down the window and discovered some air he could use
for breathing. He touched the girl again, that down, all
those tiny bones. She said something.

Evening was closing in. Clear outlines. The sun was
hanging in there between the houses, like a memory
Winter was keen to breathe in. He was sneaking a smoke
on the balcony, and sampling the late autumnal air in
between drags. Winter was closing in. He looked down
on Vasaplatsen, and watched people moving off and
leaving the square deserted. Everybody was going home,
by bus, tram or car, and leaving him and his family to
their own devices in their own territory.

Angela hadn't said anything about buying a house
for ages, and he knew her view was the same as his,
always had been. They were city-dwellers, and the city
was for them. The city of stone, the heart of the city.
The heart of stone, he thought, taking another pull on
his ciga rillo. A beautiful heart of stone. It was better to
live here. In the classy suburbs sloping down to the sea,
it was so easy to become a clapped-out citizen, past it,
on the way out. For God's sake! He'd turned the corner
already. Forty-two. Or forty-three. He couldn't
remember, and anyway, who cared?

He shivered, standing on the balcony in his shirt
sleeves, the cigarillo in his hand fading away just as
definitively as the evening out there. A few young people
sauntered past down below, full of self-confidence. He
could hear them laughing even at this distance. They
were all set for a good time.

He went back in. Elsa saw him coming and presented
him with the drawing she'd made. A bird flying in a
blue sky. These last few weeks all her drawings had
been of blue skies and yellow sands, green fields and
then lots of flowers in every colour available from her
pencil box. Nonstop summer. She hadn't caught on to
autumn just yet. He'd taken her down to the park and
helped her to collect fallen leaves, carried them back
home, dried them. But she'd put off pinning down
autumn. Just as well.

'A bird!' she said.

'What kind of a bird?' he asked.

She seemed to be thinking it over.

'A gull,' she said.

'Let's let the bird have a bit of a laugh,' he said to
Elsa, and burst out laughing himself. 'Ha-ha-HA-HA.'
She looked a bit frightened at first, but then she couldn't
stop herself from giggling.

Winter picked up a pencil and a blank sheet of paper,
and drew something that could just possibly be construed
as a seagull laughing. There was even a name for this
gull, and he announced it in the top right-hand corner
of the picture. 'Blackie the Blackhead'. His bequest to
posterity. The first drawing he'd made for thirty years.

'It looks like a flying piglet,' said Angela.

'Yes, isn't it amazing? A pig that can laugh and fly
as well.'

'But pigs
can
fly,' Elsa said.

They were sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of
red wine each. Elsa was asleep. Winter had made some
anchovy sandwiches, which they'd just finished eating.

'Those things make you thirsty,' he said, getting up
to fetch some more water.

'I bumped into Bertil on our ward today,' said Angela.

'Yes, he was there.'

Angela rubbed the base of her nose with her finger.
He could see a faint shadow under one of her eyes, only
the one. She was tired, and so was he. Not excessively
so, but the way you feel after a day's work. She couldn't
always relax at home and forget about her job as a
hospital doctor, but she was better at it than he was.
Mind you, he was better than he used to be – not good,
but better. He often used to sit with his PowerBook,
working on a case until he fell asleep in his chair. He
was no longer as solitary as that, and he didn't miss the
old ways.

'That boy got a nasty blow,' she said. 'He could have
died.'

'Like the other two.'

She nodded. He could see the shadow under her eye
deepen when she bent forward. When she leant back it
almost disappeared.

Their . . . everyday work overlapped. He wasn't sure
what to call it. Their professional activities, perhaps.
Was that preordained? He'd sometimes thought so.
When they'd first met, Angela had just decided to read
medicine. He'd recently joined the CID as a raw recruit.

Nowadays she had direct insight into his world, and
he into hers. The injured and the dying and sometimes
even the dead came from his world into hers, and he
would follow them, and then everybody would move
back and forth between the two worlds, just like Bertil
earlier that day, who'd bumped into Angela when he'd
been trying to extract some words from a battered body
that Angela was simultaneously trying to heal. Fucking
hell. He drank the remains of his red wine. She poured
some water into his glass. The radio was mumbling
away on the work surface. It was almost night.

'They seem to be in a bit of a mess at the day nursery,'
he said.

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, I don't know. Lots of children and not many
staff.'

'More and more of one, and fewer and fewer of the
other.'

'Yes.'

'Is there something in particular that made you think
of that just now?'

'Well, this morning, I suppose, when I took Elsa there.
They didn't seem to be able to keep a proper watch
over all the children.'

'Is that the police officer in you talking?'

'If it is, doesn't that make it all the more important?
All the more serious? The police officer in me sees the
shortcomings in the security.'

'Shortcomings in the security? You sound as though
you're responsible for President Bush's safety.'

'Bush? He can look after himself. It's his environment
that needs protecting.'

'You know what I mean.'

'And what I mean is that you can't risk a child
wandering off. There was a little boy who went through
a gap in a hedge or something similar and would have
disappeared if it hadn't been for the fence on the other
side.'

'But Erik, that's why the fence is there. So that the
children can't get out. Can't disappear.'

'But nobody noticed him wandering off through the
bushes.'

'They don't need to worry about that. The staff know
there's a fence on the other side.'

'So there's no problem, is that it?'

'I didn't say that. I seem to remember saying a couple
of minutes ago that there are more and more children
and fewer and fewer staff. Of course that's a problem,
for heaven's sake.' She took a sip of water. 'A big
problem. In lots of ways.'

'And that brings us back, well, to security again,' he
said. 'What a responsibility it is for the ridiculously few
staff. Keeping an eye on all those kids as they go toddling
off in all directions.'

'Hmm.'

'When they go out on an excursion. If they dare to
go on outings at all. They don't seem to want to risk
it any more.' He stroked his chin, making a rasping
noise. 'And they have good reason not to.'

He fingered the wine bottle, but resisted the temptation
to pour himself another glass. She looked at
him.

'You know too much about all the dangers lying in
wait,' she said.

'Just as you do yourself, Angela. You know all the
things that can make people ill.'

'Is it anything special, this business of security at the
day nursery?' she wondered.

'It's really a matter of children and their safety in
general,' he said. 'OK, maybe I do know too much about
the potential dangers. So would you if you stood outside
a children's playground and took a careful look at what
was going on. Maybe you'd notice somebody walking
about and devoting an unusual amount of attention to
the kids. Types like that often hang around a day nursery
as well. Or outside a school at leaving time. Or they
might be sitting in their cars watching the girls play
handball or volleyball. Businessmen who get into their
posh cars after work or the latest board meeting and
park outside the schoolyard with the morning paper
over their knee and their hand round their cock when
the girls jump up under the basket.'

'You sound cynical, Erik.'

'Cynical? Because I'm telling it like it is?'

'What do you do, then?'

'Eh?'

'What do you do about these posh gents in their posh
cars? And the others who loiter around these locations?'

'Try to keep an eye on them in the first place. You
can't arrest someone for sitting in his car reading a newspaper,
can you? That's not a crime in a democracy.'

'For God's sake!'

'But don't you see? We have to wait until a crime is
committed. That's the bloody frustrating thing about it.
We know, but we can't do anything.'

'Why can't you . . . caution them?'

'How?'

'Erik, it's not—'

'No, but I'm being honest and serious now. I'd love
to hand out loads of cautions, but I also want to keep
my job. You can't just march up and fling a car door
open. Or arrest somebody for looking shady and
standing under a tree next to a children's playground.'

'But you think about it.'

'It struck me this morning at the day nursery just
how vulnerable little kids are, and older ones as well
come to that. All that watching, and all that goes with
it. And what it leads to. But the danger as well. Real
danger.'

'Yes.'

'I'd love to hand out no end of cautions, but it's difficult.

And we need more police.' He poured himself some
more wine after all. 'In that respect we're in the same
position as the staff at the day nursery,' he said with a
smile.

She gave a shiver, as if the window looking out over
the courtyard was wide open instead of just a narrow
crack letting in a little wisp of night air.

'You know, Erik, you give me the creeps with all
this.'

He didn't reply.

'Elsa goes to a day nursery,' she said. 'Elsa's one of
a group of children with too few staff to look after them
properly. I can't get that out of my mind now.'

'I'm sorry.'

'No, no. It's just as bad for you as well.' She suddenly
burst out laughing, short but loud. 'By God, I must say
it's dead easy to be worried when you are a parent.'
She looked at him. 'What shall we do? Send her to a
different day nursery? Employ a nanny? Hire a bodyguard?'

He smiled again.

'There is a fence round the place, as you pointed out
a few minutes ago. And Elsa loves her day nursery.'

She drank up the rest of the water in her glass. 'You've
certainly set me thinking, Erik.'

'Oh hell, it was stupid of me to go on about all the
dangers.'

'At least about all those sick weirdos hanging around
outside schools,' said Angela. 'What's going to happen
when she starts school?' She stood up. 'No, that's enough
for one night. I'm going for a shower.'

Inspector Janne Alinder answered the first call of his
evening shift three seconds after it had started. He hadn't
even sat down.

'Police, Majorna-Linnéstaden, Alinder,' he said, flopping
down on to his swivel chair. It creaked under his
weight.

'Hello, is that the police for Linnéstaden?'

Come on, what have I just said? he thought. It was
always the same. Nobody ever listened. Was it his fault,
or the caller's? What did they want confirming? It would
be better just to say 'hello', as the question was bound
to come anyway.

'This is the police station in Tredje Långgatan,' he
said, spelling it out in detail.

'It's my little girl,' said the voice: it could belong
to a young woman, or a middle-aged one. He was
not very good with voices. Especially women's voices.
He'd often listened to somebody on the phone who
sounded like what's-her-name, that sexy newsreader
on TV 4, only to find out when he met her, the caller
that is, that she looked like Old Mother Hubbard
and had been using a free bus pass for years. And
vice versa. A voice like gravel and a body like Marilyn
Monroe.

'Who am I speaking to?' he asked, pen poised. She
introduced herself as Lena Sköld.

'Something odd has happened,' said Lena Sköld.

'Start from the beginning and let's hear all about it,'
said Alinder, the usual routine.

'I can't understand it.'

'What's happened?'

'It's my little daughter . . . Ellen . . . She told me she'd
met somebody this afternoon.'

'Go on.'

'When she was out in the woods, a day nursery
outing. At Plikta. The children's playground. It's just at
the cross—'

'I know where it is,' said Alinder.

Only too well, he thought. He'd spent years there
when the children were little. He'd stood there, usually
frozen stiff, sometimes hungover, but he'd gone there
with the kids even so because Plikta was nearest to their
flat in Olivedalsgatan and he couldn't think up
any reason to say no. He was glad he hadn't said
no. Those who don't say no get their reward in due
course. Those who do say no get their punishment from
the children later on when they flee the nest without so
much as a backward glance.

'She evidently met a man there. A mister as she put
it. She sat in his car.'

'What do the staff say?'

'The day nursery staff? Well, I phoned one of the
girls who was with them but she hadn't noticed
anything.'

Alinder waited.

'Is it usual for them not to notice anything?' asked
Lena Sköld.

It depends if anything has happened, thought Alinder.

'Where is your daughter now?' he asked.

'She's sitting at the table here in front of me, drawing.'

'And she's told you she's been in a car with a man.
Have I understood that correctly?'

'That's how I understand it anyway,' said Lena Sköld.

'So she went off with somebody? Without the staff
noticing?'

'Yes.'

'Is she injured?'

Straight to the point. It's better to come straight to
the point.

'No, not as far as I can see. I have actually looked.
Just now. It was only an hour ago that she mentioned
it.'

'An hour?'

'Well, two maybe.'

'How does she seem?'

'Well, happy, I suppose. As usual.'

'I see,' said Alinder.

'I didn't have anybody to ask about what I should
do,' said Lena Sköld. 'I'm a single parent and my
husb . . . er, my ex is not somebody I'd turn to about
anything at all.'

I'll take your word for it, Alinder thought. This town
was full of real swine and their ex-wives were better off
keeping as many miles away from them as possible. The
children as well.

'Do you yourself believe what Ellen says?' he asked.

'Well I don't really know. She has a fertile imagination.'

'Children do. So do a lot of adults.'

'Are you referring to me?'

'No, no, it was just something that slipped out. A
throwaway comment.'

'I see.'

'What did you say about Ellen's imagination?'

He could hear the girl now. She must be sitting right
next to her mother at the table. He heard the word
'imagination' and heard Lena Sköld explaining what it
meant and then the girl asked another question he
couldn't catch. Then the mother's voice back on the line.

'Sorry about that, but Ellen was listening to what I
said. She's gone to her room now to fetch some more
paper.'

'Her imagination,' said Alinder again.

'She makes up quite a lot, to be honest. Imaginary
things, or imaginary people. People she says she's been
talking to. Even here, at home. In her room. It's not
unusual for children, I suppose.'

'But you decided to phone the police.'

'Yes, I suppose that does sound a bit odd. But it was
different somehow. As if she hadn't made it up this time.
I don't really know how to explain it. But I sort of
believed it. Not that she said much, I should add.'

'And the "it" you say you believed was that she'd
been in a car with a strange man, is that right?'

'Basically, yes.'

'Anything else?'

'Sweets, I think. I think she was given some sweets.'

'How old is Ellen?'

'Four.'

'Does she speak well?'

'Pretty well.'

'Has she said any more about the car? Or about the
man?'

'No. But then we haven't spent the whole evening
talking about it. She said something when she came
home, when I'd been to collect her, and then I asked
her something and I started thinking and then I rang
the woman from the day nursery and then I phoned the
police and . . . well . . .'

Alinder looked at the sheet of paper in front of him.
He'd noted her name and address and her phone number
during the day and in the evening, and a summary of
what she'd said. There was nothing else he could do
now. But he took it seriously, as far as it went. The girl
might well have been with somebody, in a real car. That
was possible. Or she might just have been in a big
wooden car. There was one like that at Plikta. Perhaps
she'd suddenly enlarged one of her friends at the day
nursery ten times over. Perhaps she'd been dreaming
about sweets, millions of bags of sweets, just like he
could dream about marvellous meals and dishes, now
that eating was more important to him than sex.

'If she says anything else about, er, about the meeting,
write it down and let us know,' he said.

'What happens now, then?'

'I've noted down everything you've said and I'll write
a report on our conversation and file it.'

'Is that all?'

'What do you think we ought to do, Mrs Sköld?'

'I'm not Mrs any longer.'

'What should we do?'

'I don't know. I'll talk to the staff at the day nursery
again, and I might get back to you.'

'Good.'

'But, well, I suppose it is possible she's made it all
up. I mean, she's not nervous or anything like that.
Doesn't seem to be frightened or worried or anything.'

Alinder didn't respond. He glanced at his watch. It
had been a long call, but not excessively long. He jotted
down another note.

'What did you say your name was? Did you say?'

'Alinder. Janne Alinder.'

'Oh yes, thank you.'

Something occurred to him. Might as well do this
properly, now that they'd started.

'Just one other thing. Check to see if there's anything
missing. If Ellen has lost anything.'

The city swished by on the other side of the big windows,
just as naked this evening as this morning and yesterday
and tomorrow. He was more or less in a dream, but he
was doing his job perfectly. Nobody could have grounds
for complaint about what he was doing.

Good afternoon, good afternoon.

Yes, I can open the centre doors again, no problem.

Of course I can wait for half a minute while you
come running from over there, even though we ought
to be on our way now if we're going to stick to the
timetable, but I'm not some kind of a monster who just
drives off.

There were drivers like that, but he wasn't one of
them, certainly not.

People like that ought to get themselves another job.
They certainly shouldn't be driving passengers around,
he thought as he increased the speed of the windscreen
wipers. The rain was getting worse.

He enjoyed this route. He'd been driving it for so
long, he knew every curve, every corner, every cranny.

He could drive buses as well. He also had his favourite
bus routes, but he wasn't going to tell anybody what
they were. Not that anybody ever asked, but he'd no
intention of telling them even so.

Maybe he'd told the girl what they were. It was funny,
but he couldn't remember. Oh yes, he remembered now.
He'd touched her, and it had felt like the down on a
little bird, with the tiny bones just underneath, and he'd
left his hand there, and he'd looked at his hand and it
was trembling and he knew, he knew at that very
moment, as if he'd had second sight, could see into the
future, what he could do with the g-g-g-g-g-girl if he
left his hand there, and he'd hidden it then, hidden it
inside his jacket and his pullover and his shirt, hidden
it from himself and from her and then he'd hidden his
face so that she couldn't see it. He'd opened the door
for her and helped her out and then he'd driven off.
When he got home he had—

'Are we ever going to move, or what?'

He gave a start, and in his rear-view mirror he could
see a man almost leaning into the tram driver's cab.
That wasn't allowed. The driver mus—

'It's been red and green and purple and white ten
times, so when are you going to move your fucking
arse?' said the man, and he could smell the stench of
alcohol through the protective glass shielding him from
the horrible creature on the other side.

'GET MOVING!' screamed the horrible creature.

Horns were sounding from behind.

Horns were sounding from the sides. He looked ahead
and the lights changed and he—

'GET MOVING FOR FUCK'S SAKE!' yelled the
horrible creature, grabbing hold of his cab door handle,
and he set off rather faster than intended and something
happened to the lights that shouldn't have
happened and he went along with the tram as it moved
forward, he wasn't the one driving any more, it was as
if the other man was at the controls, the horrible creature
smelling of booze, a smell seeping through into his
cab, and he was suddenly scared that the police would
come and stop them right here and smell the drink and
would think he was driving while under the influence,
that
he
of all people, but he never touched a drop, and
if they thought that, that he was driving while under
the influence, he'd never be allowed to drive again. That
would be disastrous.

He accelerated over the crossroads as if to get away
from the threat hanging on to his glass door, but the lights
had already changed for traffic coming from the east and
north and south and he ran straight into the back of a
Volvo V70 that had just turned off the main road and
the Volvo rammed into an Audi that had stopped for a
red light. Another Volvo drove into the right-hand side
of the tram. A BMW rammed into the Volvo. He let
the tram stop of its own accord. He couldn't touch the
controls, he couldn't move. He could hear the police
sirens in the distance, coming closer.

'GET MOVING!' screeched the horrible creature.