Frozen Tracks (42 page)

'What . . . How much did Gerd know?' asked Winter.

Carlström didn't answer.

'What did she know?' said Winter again.

'They'd already had the other boy by then,' said
Carlström, as if he hadn't heard the question.

'The other boy? Do you mean Gustav?'

'She was already getting on a bit by then,' said
Carlström. 'One came early, the other one late.' He
squirmed on the chair again, and it creaked. 'And then
. . . and then . . . she vanished.'

'What happened?'

'There's a lake in the next parish,' said Carlström.
'She knew. She
knew
. She wasn't . . . wasn't healthy. Not
before either.'

Carlström bowed his head, as if in prayer. Our father
. . . thy kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven;
Carlström's head dipped further. 'I got to look after him,
Mats. When she couldn't cope. He came here.' Carlström
stood up slowly. 'You know about that.'

How much did the social services know? Winter
thought. It was unusual for a lone man to be allowed
to take charge of a child. He'd wondered about that
before. But Carlström had been regarded as safe. Had
he been safe?

'I'd tell you where Mats was if only I knew,' said
Carlström.

'There's one other place,' said Ringmar.

They didn't speak as they drove through the fields.
The distance seemed shorter this time. Smedsberg's
house was hidden by the barn as they approached
from this direction. The mixture of dusk and snowfall
made it difficult to see. The road was a part of
the field that stretched as far as the horizon that
couldn't be seen. There were no tracks on the road
in front of them. There were no tracks outside the
house when Winter turned in and parked some twenty
metres away. If there had been any tracks, they'd been
covered up by the snow.

There was a light in one of the upstairs windows.

Ringmar opened one of the barn doors and examined
the floor, which was covered in bark and sawdust.

'A car was parked here not so long ago,' he said,
and he wasn't referring to Smedsberg's Toyota, which
was standing to the right.

Winter picked the lock on the front door of the farmhouse.
The light from the floor above lit up the stairs
at the far end of the hall.

'Did the Skövde boys forget to switch off?' wondered
Ringmar.

'I don't think so,' said Winter.

There was a packet of butter on the draining board,
and a glass that seemed to have contained milk.

'Only one glass,' said Ringmar.

'Let's hope it was the boy who used it,' said Winter.

'They've been here today,' said Ringmar.

Winter said nothing.

'He managed to get out of Gothenburg,' said Ringmar.
'We didn't have time to seal the place off. How could
we have done?'

'There was nothing for him here,' said Winter. 'This
was just a temporary refuge.'

'Why not Carlström's place?'

'He knew we'd go there.' Winter looked round the
kitchen, which smelled cold and damp. 'He assumed
this house would be boarded up and forgotten about.'

'How could he be sure of that?' said Ringmar, and
stiffened, just as Winter had stiffened as he spoke.

'Hell and damnation!' exclaimed Winter, whipping
out his mobile and barking Gustav Smedsberg's address
to a colleague at Police Operations Centre: Chalmers
student halls, room number, 'But stay outside, private
cars only, he might be there already or he could turn
up at any time, he might be on his way there right now.
Don't scare him off. OK? DON'T SCARE HIM OFF.
We're on our way.'

'I was blind, BLIND,' said Ringmar as Winter drove
quickly south. Darkness was falling fast. 'I was
distracted by my own problems. When I was out here
last night.'

'Old man Smedsberg attacked those boys,' said
Winter.

'My God, Erik. I gave Gustav a lift back home! I
presented Jerner with somewhere to hide. Two places
in fact! Gustav must have told him that the old man
was in jail and the house was empty.' Ringmar shook
his head. 'I gave him time. That's time he has taken
from us.'

'We don't know if he's been at Gustav's place,' said
Winter.

'He's been there all right,' said Ringmar. 'He's his
brother.'

The information had hit home like a punch to the
solar plexus when Natanael Carlström told them. The
truth. Winter was convinced that he'd been told the
truth. Gustav Smedsberg and Mats Jerner were brothers,
or half-brothers. They hadn't grown up together, but
they had the same mother and the same man had
destroyed their lives. One of their lives, at least.

Why hadn't Carlström reported Georg Smedsberg to
the police long ago? How long had he known? Had
Mats told him recently? As recently as Christmas Eve
night? Was that why Carlström had telephoned Winter?
Was he incapable of saying that over the telephone? He
was that sort of man, an odd man.

'I wonder when they discovered that they were
brothers,' said Ringmar.

'We'll ask Gustav,' said Winter.

They drove past Pellerin's Margarine factory. There
was more traffic now than when they'd left Gothenburg.

People were roaming the streets in the city centre as
if it were a normal Saturday night, more than on a
normal Saturday night.

'Christmas Day is when everybody goes out nowadays,'
said Ringmar in a monotonous tone of voice.

Taxis were queuing up outside Panorama. The glass
wall of the hotel was decorated with a star pattern.

Winter parked outside the student halls, where most
of the windows were just as dark as the façade.

Bergenhem slipped into the back seat.

'Nobody has come out or gone in through this door,'
said Bergenhem.

'Nobody at all?'

'No.'

'OK, let's go in,' said Winter.

Winter knocked on Gustav Smedsberg's door. The boy
opened it after the second knock. He let go of the handle
and went back in without greeting them or saying
anything at all.

Why had he been left alone? Ringmar wondered. It
wasn't the intention that he should be on his own.

They followed Gustav into his room, which looked
out over Mossen. The high-rise buildings on the hill
opposite towered up towards the heavens. The field in
between was deserted and flecked here and there with
black snow.

Gustav Smedsberg remained standing without speaking.

'Where's Mats?' Winter asked.

Smedsberg gave a start.

'It's urgent,' said Winter. 'A little boy's life is at stake.'

'How do you know about Mats?' asked Smedsberg.

'We'll tell you,' said Winter. 'But just now this is
URGENT.'

'What's all this about – a boy?'

'Has Mats been here?' asked Ringmar.

Smedsberg nodded.

'When?'

'I don't kn . . . This morning some time. In the early
hours.'

'Was he alone?'

'Yes. What's all this about a boy?'

'Haven't you read the newspapers or watched television
or listened to the radio?'

'No.'

Winter could see that his ignorance was genuine.

'Didn't Mats say anything?'

'About WHAT?'

Winter explained, briefly.

'Are you absolutely certain?'

'Yes. We've been in his flat.'

'Oh, shit.'

'What did he say?'

'That he was going away. A long way away.'

'On his own?'

'He didn't mention anybody else. No boy, nobody at
all.'

'A long way away? Did you tell him about me?'

Ringmar asked. 'About what happened at your father's
place? Last night?'

'Yes. He cried. He said he was pleased.'

'Where might he be, Gustav? Where can he have
gone?'

'He could have gone there, I suppose.'

'He has been there, but he isn't there now,' said
Ringmar. 'We've just come from there.'

Smedsberg looked weary, or worse.

'I don't know,' he said. 'I don't know where he is. You
have to believe me. I don't want anything to happen either.'

'Could something happen?' Winter asked. 'What
could happen? You've seen him recently. You know him.'

'I don't know him,' said Smedsberg, 'I don't kn—'
Then he looked at Winter and said: 'He . . . he said
something about flying.'

'Flying? Flying to where?'

'I don't know.'

'Where from?'

'He didn't say.'

'Where might it be? You know him.'

'No, no.'

'You've met him more often than I have,' said Winter.

'He's never said anything about this to me,' said
Smedsberg, looking up. 'Nothing at all. But . . .'

'Yes?'

'He has seemed, I don't know, creepy. I don't know
how to put it. As if everything was coming back to him.
I can't explain it.'

You don't need to explain, Winter thought.

'We have to leave now, but one of our officers will
stay here, and then somebody else will come to help
you,' he said. 'We can continue talking later.'

Gustav didn't seem to hear. He was still standing there
in his room when they left. The lights on the staircase
went out as they were walking down it. From the outside
Winter could see his silhouette through the window.

'This is the country we have built, the New Jerusalem,'
said Ringmar.

Winter made no comment.

'He told me about something in the car,' said Ringmar.
'Gustav.'

'What?'

'That fake newspaper boy was Aryan Kaite. Aryan
was following him.'

'Why?'

'He suspected it was Gustav who had attacked him.'

'He was wrong.'

'And he had confirmation of that,' said Ringmar. 'He
saw the old man trying to club down his own son.'

'Have you had time to check this with Kaite?'

'Yes.'

'Good God. Did Gustav know?'

'He didn't see who it was. But Kaite did.'

'And Gustav saw Kaite?'

'Yes, but he didn't recognise him.'

'So it was Kaite who told Gustav?'

'Yes.'

'And Gustav didn't want to believe him,' said Winter.

'It's complicated,' said Ringmar.

'This is the country we have built, the New Jerusalem,'
said Winter.

They walked to the car.

'Let's go to my place and have something to eat,'
said Winter, thinking about Angela.

'Am I hungry?' said Ringmar.

'You can do the cooking.'

'Basque omelette?' Ringmar asked.

'Why not?'

Winter spoke to Bengt Johansson on the phone again.
He could hear the busy traffic in the street below, a
stark contrast with the previous day.

'I can call in on you for a while later this evening,
if you like,' said Winter.

'I spoke to Carolin earlier,' said Johansson. 'It felt
good.'

Aneta Djanali had continued to interrogate Carolin
Johansson, but she was unable to add any further details.
They might have seen the video by now. Aneta hadn't
phoned Winter yet.

They ate. Ringmar had cut the tomatoes for the
omelette the opposite way this time.

'We need meat,' said Winter.

'We need a housekeeper,' said Ringmar. 'We need
women.'

Cooking isn't our first priority just now, Winter
thought.

'Are you tired, Bertil?'

'No. Are you?'

'No.'

'He might have driven to the seaside,' said Ringmar.
'Could be on a beach somewhere.'

Winter had sent all the officers available to scour the
coastline.

They tried to set up checks at Landvetter and other
smaller airports. But Winter didn't believe Jerner would
be taking a flight anywhere. He thought his own flight
would be more likely.

'How many people do we have at Nordstan?' he
asked.

'Now? Not many. It's empty. None of the shops are
open today. But they are supposed to have scoured the
place pretty thoroughly.'

'That was where he collected Micke,' said Winter. 'Is
he intending to take him back there?'

'He's not there, Erik. The place is empty.'

'He used to go there a lot. You've seen a few of the
other films. He seemed to like going there.'

'He's not there,' said Ringmar again.

'Perhaps there's something special that draws him
there?' said Winter.

Ringmar made no comment.

'Something we don't see,' said Winter. 'Something he
sees but we don't?'

'I think I know what you mean,' said Ringmar.

'When do they open again?' Winter asked.

'Tomorrow at ten o'clock. The Boxing Day sales.'

'Is it Boxing Day tomorrow? The second day of
Christmas?'

'Christmas will soon be over,' said Ringmar.

'And I haven't bought you a Christmas present, Bertil.'

'I'm afraid I haven't bought one for you either.'

Winter stood up.

'I didn't phone Moa either. I promised I would.'

'Don't even think about it,' said Ringmar. 'No doubt
you'd only have made things worse.'

'I agree,' said Winter. 'Are you coming with me?'

'Where to?'

'To Nordstan.'

'It's EMPTY, Erik.'

'I know, I know. But it's better than sitting here.
Bengt Johansson lives on the other side of the station
as well.'

There was snow in the air again, a light snow shower.
Some people out in the streets had their umbrellas up.
Winter drove slowly.

'People shouldn't use umbrellas when it's snowing,'
said Ringmar. 'It doesn't seem appropriate.'

'It was old man Smedsberg who told us that Carlström
had a foster son,' said Winter.

'Do you imagine that I haven't thought of that?' said
Ringmar.

'If he hadn't said anything, we'd never have spoken
to Carlström, in all probability.'

'No.'

'And we still wouldn't have got Jerner's identity.'

'No.'

'So the question is why?' said Winter, turning to look
at Ringmar. 'Why?'

'Yes.'

'Come on, give me an answer. You've spoken to old
man Smedsberg.'

'Not about that.'

'But you must have an idea?'

'Everything will be revealed by forensic psychology,'
said Ringmar.

'I think we've uncovered quite a lot already,' said
Winter.

'That's true.'

'The father did exactly the same thing as the son did,'
said Winter. 'He gave us clues.'

'Yes.'

'It's all to do with guilt,' said Winter.

'Gustav's guilt? What guilt?'

'Don't you think the son feels guilty?' Winter looked
at Ringmar again. 'Don't you think he's been feeling
guilty for ages?'

'Yes.'

'Just like the other boys. Their silence is due to the
fact that they were afraid Gustav would be beaten again
by his father, or even worse than that. Fear makes you
keep quiet.' Winter changed gear. 'And shame also makes
you keep quiet. The boys were ashamed of having been
attacked. Ashamed, and shocked. That's the way it is
with rape victims.'

'Yes,' said Ringmar again.

'Gustav led us to his father,' said Winter.

'And perhaps the father intentionally put us on to
Carlström and hoped we would change direction, and
understand who it was really all about. Who the guilty
one really was.'

Winter nodded.

'Guilty of everything,' said Ringmar, thinking of Mats
Jerner and Micke Johansson.

'Do you think Gustav knew?' Winter asked. 'Did he
know about Mats? Mats and the children?'

'No,' said Ringmar. 'We'll find out eventually, but I
don't think so. As far as Gustav was concerned, it was
all about his father. The old man.'

'And for old man Smedsberg it was all about himself,'
said Winter. 'He turned himself in indirectly the moment
he told us about Natanael Carlström and the foster
son.'

His mobile rang.

'We've found Magnus Heydrich,' said Halders.

'Eh? Come again?'

'Bergort. We've got him.'

'Where is he?'

'Safe and sound, locked up in a cell.'

'Has he said anything?'

'No. But who cares? He's guilty. There's no doubt
about that, is there?'

'No,' said Winter.

'Bloody chicken shit,' said Halders.

'What did you say, Fredrik?'

'The bastard didn't have the guts to drive into a tree.'

The square in the centre of the Nordstan shopping mall
was illuminated by every kind of lights you could think
of. The area round the square was silent and glittering.
The display windows of the shops and department stores
cast shadows on to the stone floor.

Nordstan was a training area for all rookies joining
the Gothenburg police force. Winter had patrolled there.
A fair number of those he'd kept an eye on in those
days were still around, sometimes inside the mall, sometimes
outside in Brunnsparken; they had also been
rookies in their own way, alcoholics and junkies who
had once been young just like him.

He stood in the middle of the square, with his back
to the travel agency. From there the lights from
KappAhl and Åhléns and H & M and the Academy
Book Shop looked warm and inviting. He couldn't
see any security guards or police officers just now.
He could have been the only person in the world. Ulf
Silén's sculptures from 1992 were hanging down
above his head – the work of art, known as
Two
Dimensions
, comprised figures diving and jumping
into the water, flying through the air, changing under
the surface of the water, from white to sea green, and
turning into other shapes that became a part of the
water. He had never really looked at the hanging
sculptures in this way before, never given them a
thought, just as none of the other passers-by ever did,
no doubt, thousands of them every day, going to
and from the shops, to and from Central Station via
the pedestrian subway. The work of art became a
part of the square, and that was doubtless the
intention.

He heard Ringmar's voice behind him:

'Twenty officers have been through all the basement
areas.'

'OK.'

'Have you finished here?' Ringmar asked.

'What time is it?'

'Just gone eleven.'

'I'll call in on Bengt Johansson,' said Winter.

'I'm going home,' said Ringmar.

Winter nodded. It was time for Ringmar to go
home.

'But I might turn up later tonight,' said Ringmar. 'If
I can't sleep.'

'You mean you've thought of sleeping?'

Bengt Johansson was calmer than before.

'It helped to talk to Carolin,' he said. 'I think it helped
her as well.' He was pacing up and down. 'You're not
going to persuade me to watch those films.' He held up
his hands in Winter's direction. 'Carolin said she was
obliged to because it was her fault, as she put it. But
I'm not going to watch that shit. Never.'

'You don't need to see Micke,' said Winter. 'But the
man doing the filming. You might see something that
strikes a chord.'

But what would that be? The only help they could
get from Bengt Johansson would be if he recognised
Jerner from some particular place.

'I don't want to,' said Johansson.

Winter noticed the photographs of Micke on the wall
and on the desk. There were more now than there had
been when he was here last.

'I'd like to tell you a bit about Micke,' said Johansson.
'About all the new words he's learnt recently. Would
you like to hear?'

Winter was poring over a map of Gothenburg and maps
showing the tram routes. It had been past two when he
got home from Bengt Johansson's. His car was parked
in the street outside, in a space reserved for the disabled
because that was how he felt.

In the morning they would cast the fine-meshed net
further afield, concentrating in the first place on the
number 3 tram route. It was an enormous task. He fell
asleep halfway through a stroke of the pen. He dreamt
about a child's voice shouting 'Daddy', and then again,
'Daddy', but further away now, faint, and toneless. He
woke up in the armchair, staggered into the bedroom
and collapsed into bed.