The Ice Cage — A Scandinavian Crime Thriller set in the Nordic Winter (The Baltic Trilogy) (14 page)

‘
He was having his nap. He’ll be down in a sec.
Sven thinks he lives in
Spain
.
It’s all mañana with him.
’

I waited outside the camera shop
for a good 10
minutes before there was any movement. The bike shop owner stoo
d in his doorway watching me the
entire time. Sven obviously hadn’t moved onto digital processing yet. I was about to give up, when I heard the faint sound of someone coming down a set of stairs.
The next thing I knew, a
man riddled with sleep wrinkles materialised in the doo
r.

‘
What do you want?
’

And grumpy at that.

‘
My father bought a camera from you.
’

‘
Not the first father to do so.
’

‘
A GPS camera.
’

‘
Fathers buy all different kind
s of cameras.
’

The more I looked at him, the more familiar he seemed. Where had I seen him? At the yacht club?

‘
I’m looking for my father’s camera.
’

‘
Ask your father then.
’

‘
He’s dead.
’

‘
I need my sleep too.
’

He pulled the door
to,
but I
blocked it with my foot
and held up the receipt.

‘
Henrik Sandberg. I’m his son.
’

The wrinkles went and his face opened up.

‘
Henke! Why didn’t you say so?!
’

Suddenly energised, he opened the door and dragged me in. He’d finally snapped out of his siesta setting.

‘
You must be Magnus! Last time I saw you, you were…
’

He tried to show me with the palm of his
hand but couldn’t quite decide
on a height. From the look of it
I must have been small for a 10
-
year old.

‘
It’s been a while.
’

‘
You can say that. Henke missed you.
’

Did he really?
I
still couldn’t understand my father’s
passiveness. Look where it had got us.
It seemed such a waste that w
e’d n
ever met again and never would.

‘
What will you have?
’

‘
Oh… a glass of water.
’

‘
I’ve got some
of Henke’s
home
-
distilled. Top notch.
’

I couldn’t refuse. He took out a bottle and filled the glasses to the brim. Was he trying to blind me?

‘
To Henke.
’

He emptied his
glass in one go and refilled it before emptying it again and looking at me.
I tried to refocus the conversation.

‘
Do you know where my father kept his camera?
’

He lifted his glass.

‘Skål.’

I downed half the glass. I saw another hug coming
,
but
really
didn’t want it. Something about him reminded me of the
hugging
policeman
and the ferry terminal lady. Maybe it was a cultural thing. If it was
, I certainly hadn’t inherited it.

‘
Bottoms up. Say omelette!
’

‘
Omelette
’
was the Swedish
photographers’
version of ‘cheese’ and he probably had the magic Finnish word lined up for me too. I barely had time to slurp the rest before he gave me a refill. This was
Scandinavia
, where protests were
in
vain
as long as
there was still aquavit in the bottle.
Once opened, it had to be emptied.

‘
Like father like son.
’

Not sure what he meant
–
my father was dead. He gave me a slap on the shoulder, making me spill half of my glass. At least I wouldn’t have to drink that.

‘
How can I help?
’

‘
I
can’t find his camera. Thought it might be in for a service.
’

‘
Nope. It’s a work of art. Unbreakable. The death of the camera servicing industry.
’

‘
I can’t find any recent photos on his PC and the camera has vanished.
’

‘
I might be able to help.
’

‘
You know where the camera is?
’

‘
I can’t help you with the camera, but Henke was using an online backup system. I suggested it a
fter he’d lost all the photos from
one
of his yachting trips. The GPS tagging was ideal. He only needed to add some notes and he had an illustrated logbook. The uploading is wireless and can be done from
almost
anywhere on the planet.
’

Sven logged into
Henrik’s account.

‘
How do you know his password?
’

‘
I set it up for him. Henke didn’t believe in building fences. He s
aid real
-
life fences
become
rabbit hutches in our heads. They’re against nature. We think they make things easier
,
but
end up
spend
ing
our lives trying to untangle them.
’

‘
Wasn’t he worried about his work being stolen?
’

‘
He would have loved people to steal his photos and see
what he’d seen, because then
he wouldn’t have needed a camera. He had it all in his head. The camera was
only there to share
.
’

There were thousands of photos, mainly nature pics. I didn’t know what exactly I was looking for. I just wanted to see the last things my father had seen by focusing on the last few days from the moment of Anna’s disappearance. It was hard to tell my father’s mood from the photos or
if
they had any s
ignificance in relation to Anna.
He
practically lived
in the archipelago and its manifestations probably h
ad other meanings to him
. The m
ost banal things can be special
to lovers, whereas they look like rubbish to outsiders. What was it that the photos didn’t show? What had he seen that I couldn’t spot? Even when limiting myself to his last couple of days, th
e number of photos was endless.

I asked Sven for a map and
most of
the photos appeared to have been taken in a five
-
kilometre radius around
the
boathouse bay. I didn’t know for sure
, but I assumed he’
d been searching for Anna.
These were his last movements and they
were
all I had to go on for the moment. I needed to take a system
atic approach. W
orking my way backwards
,
starting from the last photos
seemed to make most sense. Sven offered to lend me a GPS camera with a direct link to the backup system to facilitate my search.

27

Knowing that she always stayed on for some extra laps, he
’d
waited in the girls’ changing room. The benches along the walls were empty except for her clothes. Her leather boots were standing neatly under her spot and her puffer was hanging on the hook. He picked up her blouse and was inhaling her scent as she came in. Sh
e snatched
it
from him.

‘
Get out!
’

‘
I
just
...
’

‘
Piss off
.
’

‘
Give me a chance to finish my…
’

‘
PISS OFF!
’

He
walked up to her and pleaded.

‘
Marja.
’

She
slapped him.

‘
Bloody perv.
’

He realised she would never let him near and this made him even more determined to have her. She was a better swimmer, but he was stronger and h
e’d brought a hunting
knife. He held it against her throat
, determined to
own her, but she’d glared at him with the same contempt as the others.
She knew he’d never dare to
use it.
She
made him feel self
-
conscious
and
childlike. She despised him
and h
e was unable to change that. H
e’d
had no choice but to suffocate her with her own towel. He pulled
her
down on the floor and sat on top o
f her until she stopped moving.

He’d acted on an impulse and dumped her in the steaming sauna. Afterwards his whole body was shaking, terrified but also excited. It empowered him and
made him feel
stronger.
He’d snipped
of
f some of her hair to add
to
his hunting trophies. He’d turned on the cold shower and left it running.
No one was surprised when t
he police
concluded
it was
a
case of heart attack
. T
hese were frequent in
Finland
with its tradition of combining steaming saunas and freezing water.

28

I returned to the yacht club to ask Thor
for the
best way to travel betw
ee
n the different GPS points. H
e
suggested
I use his
snowmobile. He talked me through the
routes
likely to have the best ice and
taught me
how
to drive
it
,
encouraging me to
read the terrain and work the throttle rather than the brakes
in the bends. I should see the s
now as water on a river
–
use it and
let i
t carry me like a
kayak;
o
therw
ise it would only drag me down.

The
throttle
was
a lever on the
right
-
hand side of the handlebar
controlled
with
the thumb
.
I
n soft snow the braking was done by letting off the throttle. In case of hard
-
packed snow, I simply had to pump the brakes
–
a lever
on the other
side
of the handlebar
. Apart from these points, balance
was the main
issue. I would be fine as long as kept
my
feet well tuck
ed under the stirrups and
leaned
into
the turns.
Thor made it all pretty clear
.
My only problem was the throttle, as the
pain in the stump left after my pinkie
became unbearable whenever I pushed the acceleration. I would just have to take it easy.

I
spun round on the ice for a good half hour until I got the hang of it.
He was right, i
t was about r
eading and feeling the terrain
,
and t
he snow was my best ally
as long as I went with it. If not, I wouldn’t stand a chance
.
When Thor finally let me go,
he told
me to be careful with the snowmobile. He’d had it for over 15
years and was attached to it, especially as t
hey didn’t make them like this any more. On newer models everything was electronic and you needed a space lab to fix them. Thor’s machine was straightforward mechanics without nerdy input.
Leaving him
behind
,
I drove in slow
-
motion for the first half hour, but soon started relaxing in the never
-
ending icescape.
The missing finger was still hurting but the excitement of
the
driving outweighed the pain.