Åke Edwardson - Frozen Tracks

“What do you mean? Who’s ‘he’?”

“Aryan, of course. Isn’t he the one we’ve been talking about all the time?”

“There are others involved as well,” said Ringmar.

“I don’t know them, like I said.”

“Jakob Stillman lived in the same building as you.”

“So did a hundred others. A thousand.”

“You said before that you didn’t know Aryan Kaite.”

“Yes, yes.” Smedsberg shook his head dismissively.

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“Yes, yes. What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Snap out of it,” said Ringmar, sternly.

“What’s the matter?” said Smedsberg, more alert now, but still with a remote, bored expression that wouldn’t disappear that easily.

“We are investigating serious violent crimes, and we need help,” said Ringmar. “People who lie to us are not being helpful.”

“Have I committed a crime?” Smedsberg asked.

“Why did you tell us you didn’t know Aryan Kaite?”

“I didn’t think it was significant.” He looked at Ringmar, who could see a sort of cold intelligence in his eyes.

“What do you think now, then?” asked Ringmar.

Smedsberg shrugged.

“Why didn’t you want to tell us that you knew somebody who’d been assaulted the same way you almost were?”

“I didn’t think it was all that important. And I still think it was just coincidence.”

“Really?”

“The argument I had with Aryan had nothing to do with anything… anything like this.”

“What did it have to do with?”

“Like I said before. He misunderstood something.”

“What did he misunderstand?”

“Look, why should I answer that question?”

“What did he misunderstand?” said Ringmar again.

“Er, that he had something going with Josefin.” Gustav Smedsberg seemed to smile, or at least give a little grin. “But he hadn’t checked with her.”

“Where do you fit in, then?”

“She wanted to be with me.”

“And what did you want?”

“I wanted to be free.”

“So why did you have an argument with Kaite, then?” Ringmar asked.

“No idea. You’d better ask him.”

“We can’t do that, can we? He disappeared.”

“Oh yes, that’s true.”

“The girl vanished as well. Josefin Stenvång.”

“Yes, that’s odd.”

“You don’t seem to be particularly worried.”

Smedsberg didn’t answer. His face gave nothing away. Ringmar could hear a voice outside in the hall, a voice he didn’t recognize.

“You and Kaite were such good friends that you both went to your home to help out with the potato picking,” said Ringmar.

Smedsberg still didn’t answer.

“Didn’t you?” said Ringmar.

“So you’ve been to my dad’s, have you?” said Smedsberg. All I need to do is to mention die heimat, Ringmar thought, and the boy’s back home again on that godforsaken plain.

“Didn’t you?” said Ringmar again.

“If you say so,” said Smedsberg.

“Why didn’t you tell us about your friendship with Aryan Kaite?” Ringmar asked.

Smedsberg didn’t answer.

“What did your dad think of him?” Ringmar asked.

“Leave the old man out of this.”

“Why?”

“Just leave him out.”

“He’s already in,” said Ringmar. “And I have to ask you about another matter that is linked to this business.”

Ringmar asked about Natanael Carlström’s foster son.

“Yes, there was one, I guess,” said Smedsberg.

“Do you know him?”

“No. He moved out before I-well, before I grew up.”

“Have you seen him?”

“No. What are you getting at?”

Ringmar could see that the boy no longer looked bored stiff. His body language had changed. He was more tense.

“Do you know his name?”

“No. You’ll have to ask old man Carlström.”

Ringmar paused for a few moments.

“You were the one who mentioned that branding iron. Marking iron. We’ve looked into it but didn’t get anywhere until we paid a visit to Carlström.”

“Why did you go there?”

“It was your dad who thought that Carlström might have owned an iron like that.”

“Oh.”

“Which he had.”

“Oh.”

“Did you use to have one on your farm?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“You said you did before.”

“Did I?”

“Were you making it up?” Ringmar asked.

“No. What do you mean?”

“You said you used to have irons like that.”

“I must have gotten it wrong,” said Smedsberg.

“How could you have done that?”

“I must have phrased it wrong. I must have meant that I’d heard about irons like that.”

We’ll come back to that, Ringmar thought. I don’t know what to think, and I don’t think the boy does either. We’ll have to come back to it.

“Carlström had one,” said Ringmar. “Or maybe two.”

“Really?”

“You seem to be interested.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

Ringmar leaned forward.

“It’s been stolen.”

Smedsberg was about to come out with another “really” but controlled himself.

“It’s vanished,” said Ringmar. “Just like Aryan Kaite has vanished. And he has a wound that looks as if it might have been caused by a weapon like that. And that wound might be able to tell us something.”

“Isn’t it a bit far-fetched for you to meet an old man who’s just had an iron like that stolen, and that it should turn out to be precisely the one that was used?” said Smedsberg.

“That’s what we’re wondering as well,” said Ringmar. “And that’s where you come in, Gustav.” Ringmar stood up and Smedsberg remained seated. “If it hadn’t been for you, we’d never have made that journey to the flats.”

“I didn’t need to say anything at all about a branding iron,” said Smedsberg.

“But you did.”

“Am I going to get fucked over for that, then?”

Ringmar didn’t respond.

“I’ll be happy to join in a search party for Aryan if that’s what you need help with,” said Smedsberg.

“Why a search party?”

“Eh?”

“Why should we send a search party out to look for Aryan?”

“I have no idea.”

“But that’s what you said.”

“Come on, that’s just something you say. I mean, a search party, for Christ’s sake, call it what the hell you like when you’re looking for somebody.”

“Search parties don’t work in big cities,” said Ringmar.

“Oh.”

“They work better in the countryside,” said Ringmar.

“Really?”

“Is he somewhere out there in the flats, Gustav?”

“I have no idea.”

“Where is he, Gustav?”

“For Christ’s… I don’t know.”

“What’s happened to him?”

Smedsberg stood up.

“I want to leave now. This is ridiculous.”

Ringmar looked at the boy, who still seemed to be freezing cold in his thin clothes. Ringmar could lock him up for the night, but it was too soon for that. Or perhaps too late. But the evidence was too thin.

“I’ll show you out, Gustav.”

WINTER CALLED ANETTE RIGHT AWAY, FROM THE NURSERY-SCHOOL manager’s office. She was at home and Winter could hear the humming of the exhaust fan in the background. Or perhaps it was a hair dryer. It stopped.

Camera? Yes, what about it? Yes, she had it on hand. The film wasn’t finished. Yes, he could come and get it.

Winter sent a car to Anette’s flat. The camera really was a very simple one. One of the technical division’s labs had the film developed and copied after Winter had returned to his office.