The Ice Child Page 13

  ‘They should have listened to you,’ said Erica, impulsively reaching out to touch her hand.

  Nettan flinched as if she’d been burned, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Tears began spilling down her cheeks.

  ‘I’ve done so many stupid things. I … I don’t … and now it might be too late.’ Her voice broke as the tears poured down her cheeks.

  It was as if someone had turned on a tap. Erica sensed that Nettan must have been holding back her tears for far too long. Now she wept not only for her missing daughter, who most likely would never return, but also for all the bad decisions she’d made, which had given Minna a life that was very different from the one Nettan had no doubt once dreamed for her.

  ‘I wanted us so badly to be a real family. I wanted someone to take care of Minna and me. But nobody ever has.’ Nettan was shaking as she sobbed, and Erica moved closer to put her arm around the woman, letting her cry on her shoulder. She stroked Nettan’s hair and quietly murmured to her, just as she did with Maja and the twins whenever they needed consoling. She wondered if anyone had ever comforted Nettan this way before, or whether she had ever comforted Minna. It seemed as if the woman had suffered a long series of disappointments and her life had not turned out the way she had hoped.

  ‘Would you like to see some pictures?’ said Nettan suddenly, pulling away. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan and gave Erica an expectant look.

  ‘Of course.’

  Nettan got up to fetch several photo albums from a rickety IKEA bookshelf.

  The first album covered Minna’s early years. The pictures showed a young and smiling Nettan holding her daughter in her arms.

  ‘You look so happy,’ said Erica before she could stop herself.

  ‘I know. That was a wonderful time. The best. I was only seventeen when I had her, but I was so happy.’ Nettan ran her fingertip over one of the photos. ‘My God, look at those clothes.’ She laughed, and Erica had to smile too. Styles back in the 1980s were awful, but the 90s really weren’t much better.

  They leafed through the albums, seeing the years pass. Minna had been a sweet-looking child, but the older she got, the more closed her expression became, and the light in her eyes gradually faded. Erica could tell that Nettan had noticed the same thing.

  ‘I thought I was doing my best,’ she said quietly, ‘but I wasn’t. I shouldn’t have …’ She fixed her gaze on one of the men who appeared in the photographs. Erica saw that there were a lot of men. All those men who had come into Nettan’s life, bringing more disappointment, and then vanished.

  ‘This is Johan, by the way. Our last summer together.’ She pointed to a picture obviously taken in the heat of summer. A tall, fair-haired man had posed with his arm around Nettan as they stood in an arbour. Behind them was a red-painted house with white trim, surrounded by greenery. The only dissonant element in the idyllic setting was a sullen-looking Minna who sat nearby, glaring at Johan and her mother.

  Nettan abruptly closed the album.

  ‘I just want her to come home. Everything will be different, I promise. Everything.’

  Erica didn’t reply. For a while they sat in silence, neither of them knowing what else to say. But the silence was soothing rather than uncomfortable. Suddenly the doorbell rang, and they both gave a start. Nettan got up to open the door.

  When Erica saw who came in, she jumped up in surprise.

  ‘Hi, Patrik,’ she said, smiling sheepishly.

  Paula went into the station’s kitchen and found Gösta sitting there, just as she’d expected.

  ‘Paula? Hi!’ he exclaimed, giving her a big smile.

  She smiled back. Annika had also been overjoyed to see her and had leapt up to give her a bear hug, asking a hundred questions about little Lisa.

  Now Gösta got up to hug her, although a bit more cautiously than Annika. Then he held her at arm’s length as he studied her face.

  ‘You’re as white as a sheet and look like you haven’t slept in weeks.’

  ‘Thanks, Gösta. You certainly know how to pay a compliment,’ Paula teased him, but then she realized he wasn’t joking. ‘These past months have been rough,’ she admitted. ‘It’s not all sunshine and happiness being a mother.’

  ‘I’ve heard the baby has really been putting you through your paces. So I hope this is just a courtesy call, and you’re not thinking of wearing yourself out by doing any work here.’

  He took her arm to usher her over to the chair next to the window.

  ‘Sit down. Have some coffee.’ He poured her a cup and set it on the kitchen table. Then he filled his own cup and sat down across from her.

  ‘Both work and pleasure, you might say,’ she told him, sipping her coffee. ‘It seems strange to be out on my own, but it’s also great to feel like my old self, at least for a little while.’

  Gösta frowned. ‘We’re doing okay holding down the fort here.’

  ‘I know that. But Bertil was telling me about the case, and it made me remember something. Or rather, it made me think there was something I ought to remember.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was talking about the autopsy report. And the fact that the girl’s tongue had been cut out. That sounded familiar, but I can’t recall why, so I thought I’d take a look in the archives to see if that might spark my memory. My brain isn’t what it used to be, unfortunately. It’s no myth that a woman’s brain turns to mush when she’s nursing. These days I can hardly even figure out how to use the remote control.’

  ‘God, yes. I know what you mean about hormones. I remember when Maj-Britt …’ He turned away to look out of the window. Paula realized that he was thinking about the child he and his wife had had but then lost. And he knew that she knew. She let him sit in silence for a moment, remembering.

  ‘So you have no idea what the autopsy results remind you of?’ he asked at last, turning to face her again.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It would be a lot easier if only I knew where to begin looking. It could take quite a while to go through the archives.’

  ‘It does sound like a big job to do a random search like that,’ Gösta agreed.

  She grimaced. ‘I know. So I might as well get started.’

  ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t go home and rest instead? And take care of yourself and Lisa?’ He was still looking at her with concern.

  ‘Believe it or not, it’s actually more restful here than at home. And it feels great to wear something besides pyjamas for a change. Thanks for the coffee.’

  Paula stood up. Nowadays almost everything was archived digitally, but all of the older investigative materials were still stored on paper. If they’d had the resources, they could have scanned all the information on a single hard drive instead of filling an entire room in the basement. But they currently didn’t have the funding, and it was possible they never would.

  She went downstairs, opened the door, and paused for a moment on the threshold. Good Lord, what a lot of paper. Even more than she remembered. The investigations were filed by year, and in order to give her search some sort of strategy, she decided simply to start with the oldest and proceed from there. With an air of determination she lifted down the first file box and sat down on the floor.

  An hour later she’d made it only halfway through the box, and she realized the search could turn out to be both time-consuming and fruitless. Not only was she unsure exactly what she was looking for, she didn’t even know whether it could be found here in this room. But ever since she started work at the police station, she’d spent a good deal of time reading through old cases. Partly out of personal interest and partly because she wanted to know about the crime history of the area. So it did seem logical that she would find what she was looking for here in the archives.

  A knock on the door interrupted her. Mellberg peeked in.

  ‘How’s it going? Rita rang to say that I should come down here and find out how you’re doing. Plus she wanted me to tell you th
at everything is fine with Lisa.’

  ‘Oh, good. And I’m doing great here. But I assume that’s not the real reason you’re here.’

  ‘Er, well …’

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got very far, and I haven’t found what I’m looking for. I’m starting to wonder whether my poor brain is just overtired and playing tricks on me.’ Frustrated, Paula pulled her dark hair back into a loose ponytail, fastening it with an elastic band she had around her wrist.

  ‘No, no. Don’t start having doubts,’ said Mellberg. ‘You have a great intuition, and you need to trust your gut feeling.’

  Paula looked at him in surprise. Encouraging words from Bertil? Maybe she ought to go out and buy a lottery ticket today.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ she said, making a neat stack of the papers in front of her. ‘I know it reminded me of something, so I’ll just keep looking.’

  ‘We need all the help we can get. Right now we have no leads at all. Patrik and Martin are in Göteborg talking to some guy who thinks he can work out who the perpetrator is by looking into a psychological crystal ball.’ Mellberg put on a pompous expression and continued in an affected manner: ‘I see the murderer is between twenty and seventy years old, either a man or a woman, who lives in a flat or perhaps a small house. The individual has taken one or more trips abroad, usually shops for groceries at ICA or Konsum, eats tacos on Fridays and always watches Let’s Dance on TV. Plus Allsång på Skansen in the summertime.’

  Paula couldn’t help laughing at his play-acting. ‘You’re the very model of an open-minded person, Bertil. I have to say that I don’t share your opinion. I think getting assistance from a profiler might be productive, especially given the special circumstances of this case.’

  ‘Well, I suppose we’ll eventually see who’s right. Just keep searching. But don’t wear yourself out, or Rita will kill me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ said Paula with a smile. Then she turned back to the files and went on reading.

  Patrik was boiling with fury. His surprise at finding his wife in the living room belonging to Minna’s mother had swiftly changed to anger. Erica had an annoying tendency to get involved in things that were none of her business, and on several occasions it had led to dire consequences. But he couldn’t allow his emotions to show in front of Nettan. Instead, he kept his expression impassive the whole time he conducted the interview while Erica sat nearby, listening wide-eyed and with a Mona Lisa smile on her lips.

  As soon as they left the building and were out of Nettan’s earshot, Patrik exploded.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ It was rare for him to lose his temper, and he felt the onset of a headache as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

  ‘I just thought that …’ Erica began, trying to keep up with Patrik and Martin as they headed for the car park. Martin didn’t say a word and looked as though he’d prefer to be somewhere else.

  ‘No, you didn’t! I can’t imagine you were doing any thinking at all.’ Patrik coughed. His outburst had made him draw in several hasty breaths of the cold winter air.

  ‘You’re so short on manpower that you can’t do everything, so I just thought that …’ Erica ventured again.

  ‘Couldn’t you have at least checked with me first? I would never have allowed you to talk to a family member about an ongoing investigation, and I suspect that’s why you didn’t ask me.’

  Erica nodded. ‘You’re probably right. But I also needed to take a break from my book. I’m feeling stuck, and I thought that if I focused on something else for a while, then maybe …’

  ‘As if this case was some sort of work therapy?’ Patrik shouted so loudly that several birds perched on a nearby telephone wire flew off in fright. ‘If you’ve got writer’s block, you need to find a better solution than sticking your nose in a police investigation. Are you off your rocker?’

  ‘Sounds like the slang from the forties is making a comeback,’ said Erica in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it only made Patrik even angrier.

  ‘This is ridiculous. Straight out of a bad English detective novel, with some nosy old woman running around interviewing everybody.’

  ‘Okay, but when I write my books, I sort of do the same thing you do. I talk to people, gather the facts, fill in the holes in the investigation, check the statements from witnesses …’

  ‘Right. And you’re a great writer. But this is a police investigation, and by definition it’s the police who should be doing the work.’

  They had now reached the police car. Martin stood next to the passenger side, not sure what to do as he seemed directly in their line of fire.

  ‘But I’ve helped you out in the past,’ said Erica. ‘You have to admit it.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ said Patrik reluctantly. In fact, she had done more than help. She had actively contributed to solving several homicide cases, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

  ‘Are you driving back home now? It seems like a long way to come just to talk to Nettan.’

  ‘You drove all the way here just to talk to her,’ Patrik countered.

  ‘Touché.’ Erica smiled, and Patrik felt his fury starting to subside. He could never stay angry with his wife for long, and unfortunately, she knew it.

  ‘But I don’t have to worry about wasting police resources,’ she went on. ‘What else are you planning to do here?’

  Patrik cursed silently. Sometimes she was a little too clever for her own good. He glanced at Martin for support, but his colleague merely shook his head. Coward, thought Patrik.

  ‘There’s someone else we need to talk to.’

  ‘Like who?’ asked Erica, making Patrik grit his teeth. He was well aware how stubborn she could be, and how curious. And that combination could be extremely annoying.

  ‘We’re going to consult an expert,’ he replied. ‘By the way, who’s going to fetch the children? My mother?’ He was trying to steer the conversation on to a different topic.

  ‘Yes. Kristina and her new boyfriend,’ said Erica, looking like a cat who’d swallowed a canary.

  ‘Her what?’ Patrik could feel a migraine coming on. This day was getting worse and worse.

  ‘I’m sure he’s very nice. So, what sort of expert are you going to see?’

  Patrik slumped against the car. He gave up.

  ‘We’re going to talk to someone who does psychological profiling.’

  ‘A profiler?’ said Erica, her face lighting up. ‘Okay, I’ll go with you.’ And she started towards her own car.

  ‘Now, wait a minute …’ Patrik called after her, but Martin stopped him.

  ‘You might as well call it quits. You haven’t got a chance. Let her come along. As she said, she’s helped us out before, and if we’re there, we can keep her in line. Three pairs of ears are probably better than two.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ muttered Patrik, getting into the driver’s seat. ‘And after all this, we didn’t find out anything useful from Minna’s mother.’

  ‘No, but if we’re lucky, Erica did,’ said Martin.

  Patrik glared at him. Then he turned on the ignition, and they sped off.

  ‘What clothes do you think we should bury her in?’ His mother’s question felt like the stab of a knife. Ricky hadn’t imagined the pain could get any worse, but the thought of Victoria being lowered into eternal darkness was so horrible that he wanted to scream out loud.

  ‘Let’s choose something pretty,’ said Markus. ‘Maybe that red dress she always liked so much.’

  ‘She was ten when she wore that dress,’ said Ricky. In spite of his grief he couldn’t help smiling at his father’s faulty memory.

  ‘Really? Was it that long ago?’ Markus got up and started washing dishes but then abruptly stopped and went back to the table to sit down. It was like that for all of them. They tried to do ordinary things, routine tasks, only to discover they just didn’t have the energy. They couldn’t do anything. Yet now they had to make a lot of decisions about t
he funeral service and burial even though they were incapable of deciding what to have for breakfast.

  ‘Choose the black one. From Filippa K,’ said Ricky.

  ‘Which one?’ asked Helena.

  ‘The one you and Pappa always thought was too short for her to wear in public. Victoria loved that dress. And it didn’t make her look like a slut. Not at all. She looked terrific.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ said Markus. ‘A black dress? Isn’t that a little depressing?’

  ‘Choose that one,’ Ricky insisted. ‘She loved wearing that dress. Don’t you remember? She saved her money for six months before she could afford to buy it.’

  ‘You’re right. Of course she should wear the black dress.’ Helena gave her son a pleading look. ‘What about music? What kind of music should we have? I have no idea what she liked.’ And she burst into tears. Markus clumsily patted her arm.

  ‘We should have “Some Die Young” by Laleh,’ said Ricky. ‘And then “Beneath Your Beautiful” by Labrinth. Those were two of her favourites. And they’re appropriate.’

  Having to make all the decisions was wearing him down, and he felt a sob lodge in his throat. He was always on the verge of tears.

  ‘What about afterwards? What should we serve?’ Yet another quandary. His mother’s hands moved restlessly on the kitchen table. Her fingers were so pale and thin.

  ‘Smörgåstårta. She loved that traditional savoury dish. Don’t you remember it was her favourite?’

  Ricky’s voice broke, and he knew that he was being unfair. Of course they remembered. They remembered far more than he did, and their memories stretched back further than his own. But at the moment all the memories were so overwhelming that they couldn’t sort them out. He needed to help them.

  ‘And julmust. She could drink litres of that Christmas soda. We should still be able to find it in the shops. Don’t you think so?’ As he tried to recall if he’d seen any on the shelves lately, he was instantly seized with panic. It suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world. They had to find julmust so they could serve it after the funeral.