Åke Edwardson - Frozen Tracks

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, sweetie!”

“What are you doing, Daddy?”

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

“I was first!”

“You are always first, sweetie,” he said, and was glad that Angela couldn’t hear him saying that. What was he doing here when they were there? “Did you open your presents yet?”

“Santa Claus hasn’t come yet,” she said.

“He’ll show up any minute, 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, sweetie.”

“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 forever,” 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,” he said.

“Lucky 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. “I know you have to be careful with this case.”

“Hmm.”

“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 like this 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 call you back a little later, Angela. Say hello to Mother in the meantime.”

“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 around in order to see what the man was looking at straight through his head.

“We’ll take the elevator 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 elevator.

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 toward 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.

How can I put this? Winter thought. You haven’t by any chance stolen 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 arriving 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 recrossed 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. Maybe a hat of some kind.

Maybe 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 streetcars, sullen men and women who had a lot to put up with as they rode the streetcars 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 absentmindedness, police business-no, not that-taking the kids to nursery school, taking his car to Mölndal for repairs, or whatever. But he had failed. Halders had never set foot on a Gothenburg streetcar 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 retrieved a folder, returned to his desk, and took out the photographs.

“Do you recognize this person?” he asked, holding out a photograph of Aryan Kaite.

Jerner shook his head.

“He’s one of the young men who was 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.