Åke Edwardson - Frozen Tracks

“Can I speak to Elsa now?”

He heard her voice, she was halfway into a dream. He recognized Angela in her. It was the same voice.

“Thank you for the doll,” she said. “It was lovely.”

“Thank you for the wonderful drawings.”

“You found them!”

“The snowman seemed to be having a good time on the beach.”

“He’s on vacation,” she said.

“Good for him.”

“When are you coming, Daddy?”

“Soon. When I get there we’ll have another Christmas Eve!” he said.

She giggled, but as if in slow motion.

“Are you tired, Elsa?”

“Nooo,” she said. “Grandma said I could stay up as long as I want.”

“Is that what she said?”

“As looong as I want,” said Elsa, sounding as if she might drop the receiver at any moment and lie down to sleep on the marble floor.

“Have a nice evening, sweetie,” said Winter. “Daddy loves you.”

“Love and kisses, Daddy.”

“Can you ask your mommy to come to the telephone, sweetie?”

He heard Mooommy in the half distance, and then Angela’s voice.

“Are you still at work?”

“No. I’m still working, but not at work.”

“You sound tired.”

“Drowsy, more like it, but I’m waking up again. I took a bath.”

“Good thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking much at all at the time.”

“Any news since we last spoke?”

“I found the book and called right away.”

He heard a giggle, just like Elsa’s.

“I’ve got a question for you,” he said. “Do you know anybody at the nursery school who stutters? An adult. Staff or parents.”

“Stutters? As in st-st-stutters?”

“Yes.”

“No. I can’t say I do. Why do you ask?”

“Or Lena Sköld. When you spoke to her. Did she say anything about somebody stuttering then?”

“No, not as far as I recall. What are you getting at, Erik?”

“We think the person Ellen met stuttered. I think she is trying to tell us that. Or, has told us already.”

“What’s that got to do with the nursery school?”

“You know that we are checking up on everybody connected with the place.”

“I was thinking about all this earlier today,” said Angela. “What if the things the children have been saying were just figments of their imagination after all?”

“It wasn’t a figment of the imagination for Simon Waggoner.”

“No. But the others.”

“Three parents have reported the same thing,” said Winter.

“Have you spoken to them?” she asked. “About the stuttering?”

“No. We didn’t get this lead until late this afternoon. I’ll speak to them.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“It’s starting to get late,” she said.

“Everybody understands how serious this is,” he said. “Christmas Eve or no Christmas Eve.”

“Any new tips on the boy? Micke Johansson?”

“All the time. We have extra staff on the switchboard throughout the holiday period.”

“Are you sending out a search party?”

Winter thought of Natanael Carlström when she said “search party.” That had been one of the first things he’d said.

“There are a lot of people out looking,” he said. “As many as we can possibly muster. But Gothenburg is a big city.”

“What do your local stations have to say?”

“What do you mean?”

“The officers who took the phone calls in the first place. Do they have anything to say about a stutter, or any other details?”

“Am I talking to DCI Angela Winter?”

“What do they have to say?” she repeated. “And it’s DCI Angela Hoffman.”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve tried to contact the ones at Härlanda and Linnéstaden, but they’re off duty and not at home.”

He called the Bergorts, who were still a man short. When Magnus Bergort vanished Winter had called Larissa Serimov and asked her point-blank if she could go be with the mother and daughter. He had no right to do that, and she was under no obligation. She was off duty.

“I’m not doing anything special tonight anyway,” she’d said, and he thought he could hear her smiling.

“It’s a lonely family,” Winter had said. “Kristina Bergort has nobody who can be with her and the girl tonight.”

“What if he comes home?” she’d asked. “He might be violent.”

What could he say? Use your SigSauer?

“I could always shoot him,” she’d said.

“He won’t come home,” Winter had said. “Be careful, but he won’t come home.”

“Do you think he’s offed himself?”

“Yes.”

He’d been waiting for news that somebody had driven into a cliff or a tree on one of the roads heading east. Nothing yet. But he thought that Magnus Bergort was no longer of this world, or soon wouldn’t be.

Serimov answered:

“Bergort residence, Serimov speaking.”

“Erik Winter here.”

“Hello, and Merry Christmas,” said Serimov.

“Is Maja in bed?”

“She’s just gone to sleep.”

“Can I speak to her mother?”

Kristina Bergort sounded tired but calm. Maybe it’s a relief for her. Regardless of what happens next.

“Has anything happened to Magnus?” she asked.

“We still don’t know where he is,” said Winter.

“Maja is asking for him,” said Kristina Bergort.

Winter could see the girl in front of him, when she didn’t want to enter her father’s study.

“Has she said anything about the man she sat with in the car stuttering?” Winter asked.

“No, she’s never said anything about that.”

“OK.”

“Do you want to ask her about that?”

“I think so, yes.”

“When? Now?”

“Maybe tomorrow. If that’s all right?”

“Yes, that should be OK. Everything is so…” and he could hear that she was losing her grip on her voice, not much, but enough for him to be clear that the call must come to an end now.

His mobile rang. For a moment he wasn’t sure where it was. He found it in the inside pocket of his jacket, hanging in the hall.

“You didn’t call.”

“I haven’t had time, Bülow.”

“You never do.”

“I’m up to my neck in it at the moment,” said Winter.

“So am I. I’m staring at an empty computer screen.”

Winter had gone to his study. His laptop was gleaming vacantly on his desk.

“The situation is very sensitive at the moment,” said Winter.

“The night editor has sent reporters out to Önnered,” said Bülow.

“What the hell did you say?”

“To the Bergorts’. Since you put an APB on-”

Winter pressed as hard as he could on the red key. The problem with mobile phones was that there was no receiver to slam down. You would need to hurl the whole thing.

It rang again. Winter recognized the number.

“We ha-”

“It’s not my fault,” said Bülow. “I don’t like it either.” Winter could hear voices in the background, a snatch of music that could have been a Christmas carol or some such stuff being played for the lowlifes in the newsroom. “Are you always happy with your job, Winter?”

“If I’m allowed to do it,” he said.

“Carolin Johansson is interviewed in tomorrow’s edition,” said Bülow.

“Words fail me,” said Winter.

“You see? It only gets worse.”

“Who’s next? Simon?”

“Who’s that?” asked Bülow. “What’s happened to him?”

“That was only an example.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Are you sending out the reporters now?” asked Winter.

“I’m not the night editor,” said Bülow.

“How long are you working tonight?”

“I’m on until four in the morning. So much for my Christmas.”