Åke Edwardson: Frozen Tracks

“And he had confirmation of that,” said Ringmar. “He saw the old man trying to club down his own son.”

“Have you had time to check this with Kaite?”

“Yes.”

“Good God. Did Gustav know?”

“He didn’t see who it was. But Kaite did.”

“And Gustav saw Kaite?”

“Yes, but he didn’t recognize him.”

“So it was Kaite who told Gustav?”

“Yes.”

“And Gustav didn’t want to believe him,” said Winter.

“It’s complicated,” said Ringmar.

“This is the country we have built, the New Jerusalem,” said Winter.

They walked to the car.

“Let’s go to my place and have something to eat,” said Winter, thinking about Angela.

“Am I hungry?” said Ringmar.

“You can do the cooking.”

“Basque omelette?” Ringmar asked.

“Why not?”

Winter spoke to Bengt Johansson on the phone again. He could hear the busy traffic in the street below, a stark contrast with the previous day.

“I can check in on you for a while later this evening, if you like,” said Winter.

“I spoke to Carolin earlier,” said Johansson. “It felt good.”

Aneta Djanali had continued to interrogate Carolin Johansson, but she was unable to add any further details. They might have seen the video film by now. Aneta hadn’t called Winter yet.

They ate. Ringmar had cut the tomatoes for the omelette the opposite way this time.

“We need meat,” said Winter.

“We need a housekeeper,” said Ringmar. “We need women.”

Cooking isn’t our first priority right now, Winter thought.

“Are you tired, Bertil?”

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

“He might have driven to the seaside,” said Ringmar. “Could be on a beach somewhere.”

Winter had sent all the officers available to scour the coastline.

They tried to set up checks at Landvetter and other smaller airports. But Winter didn’t believe Jerner would be taking a flight to anywhere. He thought his own flight would be more likely.

“How many people do we have at Nordstan?” he asked.

“Now? Not many. It’s empty. None of the shops are open today. But they are supposed to have scoured the place pretty thoroughly.”

“That was where he grabbed Micke,” said Winter. “Is he intending to take him back there?”

“He’s not there, Erik. The place is empty.”

“He used to go there a lot. You’ve seen a few of the other films. He seemed to like going there.”

“He’s not there,” said Ringmar again.

“Maybe there’s something special that draws him there?” said Winter.

Ringmar made no comment.

“Something we don’t see,” said Winter. “Something he sees but we don’t?”

“I think I know what you mean,” said Ringmar.

“When do they open again?” Winter asked.

“Tomorrow at ten o’clock. The Boxing Day sales.”

“Is it Boxing Day tomorrow? The second day of Christmas?”

“Christmas will soon be over,” said Ringmar.

“And I haven’t bought you a Christmas present, Bertil.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t bought one for you either.”

Winter stood up.

“I didn’t call Moa either. I promised I would.”

“Don’t even think about it,” said Ringmar. “No doubt you would have only made things worse.”

“I agree,” said Winter. “Are you coming with me?”

“Where to?”

“To Nordstan.”

“It’s empty, Erik.”

“I know, I know. But it’s better than sitting here. Bengt Johansson lives on the other side of the station as well.”

There was snow in the air again, a light snow shower. Some people out in the streets had their umbrellas open. Winter drove slowly.

“People shouldn’t use umbrellas when it’s snowing,” said Ringmar. “It doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“It was old man Smedsberg who told us that Carlström had a foster son,” said Winter.

“Do you think that I haven’t thought of that?” said Ringmar.

“If he hadn’t said anything, we probably would have never spoken to Carlström.”

‘No.”

“And still wouldn’t have gotten Jerner’s identity.”

“No.”

“So the question is why?” said Winter, turning to look at Ringmar. “Why?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, give me an answer. You’ve spoken to old man Smedsberg.”

“Not about that.”

“But you must have an idea?”

“Everything will be revealed by forensic psychology,” said Ringmar.

“I think we’ve uncovered quite a lot already,” said Winter.

“That’s true.”

“The father did exactly the same thing as the son did,” said Winter. “He gave us clues.”

“Yes.”

“It all has to do with guilt,” said Winter.

“Gustav’s guilt? What guilt?”

“Don’t you think the son feels guilty?” Winter looked at Ringmar again. “Don’t you think he’s been feeling guilty for ages?”

“Yes.”

“Just like the other boys. Their silence is due to the fact that they were afraid their friend would be beaten again by his father, or even worse. Fear makes you keep quiet.” Winter changed gear. “And shame also makes you keep quiet. The boys were ashamed of having been attacked. Ashamed, and shocked. That’s the way it is with rape victims.”

“Yes,” said Ringmar again.

“Gustav led us to his father,” said Winter.

“And maybe the father intentionally put us onto Carlström and hoped we would change direction and understand who it was really all about. Who the guilty one really was.”

Winter nodded.

“Guilty of everything,” said Ringmar, thinking of Mats Jerner and Micke Johansson.

“Do you think Gustav knew?” Winter asked. “Did he know about Mats? Mats and the children?”

“No,” said Ringmar. “We’ll find out eventually, but I don’t think so. As far as Gustav was concerned, it was all about his father. The old man.”

“And for old man Smedsberg it was all about himself,” said Winter. “He turned himself in indirectly the moment he told us about Natanael Carlström and the foster son.”

His mobile rang.

“We’ve found Magnus Heydrich,” said Halders.

“Eh? Come again?”

“Bergort. We’ve got him.”

“Where is he?”

“Safe and sound, locked up in a cell.”

“Has he said anything?”

“No. But who cares? He’s guilty. There’s no doubt about that, is there?”

“No,” said Winter.

“Chicken shit,” said Halders.

“What did you say, Fredrik?”

“The bastard didn’t even have the guts to drive into a tree.”

The square in the center of the Nordstan shopping mall was illuminated by every kind of light you could think of. The area around the square was silent and glittering. The display windows of the shops and department stores cast shadows onto the stone floor.

Nordstan was a training area for all rookies joining the Gothenburg police force. Winter had patroled there. A fair number of those he’d kept an eye on in those days were still around, sometimes inside the mall, sometimes outside in Brunnsparken; they had also been rookies in their own way, alcoholics and junkies who had once been young just like him.

He stood in the middle of the square, with his back to the travel agency. From there the lights from KappAhl and Åhléns and H &M and the Academy Book Shop looked warm and inviting. He couldn’t see any security guards or police officers just now. He could have been the only person in the world. Ulf Silén’s sculptures from 1992 were hanging down above his head-the work of art known as

Two Dimensions comprised figures diving and jumping into the water, flying through the air, changing under the surface of the water from white to sea green, and turning into other shapes that became a part of the water. He had never really looked at the hanging sculptures in this way before, never given them a thought, just as none of the other passersby ever did, no doubt, thousands of them every day, going to and from the shops, to and from Central Station via the pedestrian subway. The work of art became a part of the square, and that was doubtless the intention.