Åke Edwardson - Frozen Tracks

There was a light in one of the upstairs windows.

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

“A car was parked here not long ago,” he said, and he wasn’t referring to Smedsberg’s Toyota that 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 turn a light off?” wondered Ringmar.

“I don’t think so,” said Winter.

There was a packet of butter on the drain 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?”

“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 around the kitchen that 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.

“Fucking hell!” exclaimed Winter, whipping out his mobile and barking Gustav Smedsberg’s address to a colleague at Police Operations Center: Chalmers student dorm, room number, “but stay outside, unmarked 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 alright,” 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 center 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 lining up outside the Panorama. The glass wall of the hotel was decorated with a star pattern.

Winter parked outside the student dorm, where most of the windows were just as dark as the facade.

Bergenhem slipped into the backseat.

“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 that looked out over Mossen. The high-rise buildings on the hill opposite towered up toward 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. Early.”

“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 sure?”

“Yes. We’ve been in his apartment.”

“Oh, shit.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was going away. Far away.”

“On his own?”

“He didn’t mention anybody else. No boy, nobody at all.”

“Far away? Did you tell him about me?” Ringmar asked. “About what happened at your father’s place? And about Georg? Last night?”

“Yes.”

“He cried. He said he was pleased.”

“Where might he be, Gustav? Where could he have gone?”

“He could have gone there, I suppose.”

“He was there, but he isn’t now,” said Ringmar. “We just came 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 help you,” he said. “We can keep 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 Gustav’s 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.”