The Ice Child Read online

  ‘I’m absolutely starving,’ Patrik said, and it was true. His stomach was growling loudly, and he realized that he hadn’t eaten anything all day. ‘What about the kids?’

  He nodded towards the table, which was set for two, with their best china and candles. A bottle of Amarone had already been opened. He realized this was going to be a great Saturday night after several exhausting days at work.

  ‘They’ve already eaten. They’re in the living room watching Cars. I thought for once you and I could have dinner together in peace and quiet. Unless you insist they sit at the table with us,’ said Erica, giving him a wink.

  ‘No, no. Let’s keep the kids as far away from the kitchen as possible. Threats, bribes, I don’t care what it takes. Tonight I want to have dinner with my beautiful wife.’

  He leaned forward to kiss her on the lips.

  ‘I’ll just go in and say hi to them. Then I’ll be right back. You can put me to work, if there’s anything you need help with.’

  ‘Everything’s under control,’ said Erica. ‘Go in and give them all a kiss, and then the two of us will sit down and eat.’

  Smiling, Patrik went into the living room. The lights were turned off, but in the glow from the TV he saw that the kids were mesmerized by Flash McQueen racing around the track.

  ‘Look how fast he is,’ said Noel. He was hugging his special blanket, as he always did when they sat on the sofa.

  ‘But not as fast as Pappa!’ shouted Patrik, throwing himself on the sofa and tickling the kids until they howled.

  ‘Stopppp! Stopppp!’ they all cried, even though their body language and expressions pleaded ‘More, more!’

  He kept on tussling with them a little longer. Their energy never seemed to run out. He felt their warm breath on his cheek as their laughter and shouts rose to the ceiling. At that instant he forgot about everything else. The only thing that existed was this moment with his children. Then he heard the sound of someone clearing her throat.

  ‘Sweetheart, the food is ready.’

  Patrik stopped at once. ‘Okay, kids. Pappa has to go and have dinner with Mamma. Snuggle down on the sofa again. We’ll come to put you to bed later.’

  After tucking the blankets around them, he followed Erica back to the kitchen where the food was now on the table, and the wine was poured.

  ‘Wow, everything looks great.’ He began filling his plate. Then he raised his glass towards Erica.

  ‘Skål, my dear.’

  ‘Skål,’ she said, and they both took several sips in silence. He closed his eyes to savour the taste.

  They chatted for a while, and Patrik gave her a brief report on the day’s developments. He told her that none of the neighbours had noticed anyone watching the Hallberg house. He also said that after the memorial service Gösta and Martin had talked to some of the stable girls, but none of them had anything to say about the break-in at Jonas’s clinic. On the other hand, his colleagues had learned something far more interesting.

  ‘You have to promise not to say anything to anybody about this,’ Patrik said. ‘Not even Anna.’

  ‘Sure. I promise.’

  ‘Okay. Well, according to Victoria’s brother Ricky, she was having an affair with Jonas Persson.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ said Erica.

  ‘I know. It sounds strange. He and Marta have always seemed like the perfect couple. Apparently he denies the whole thing, but if it’s true, then we have to wonder if it had anything to do with her disappearance.’

  ‘Maybe Ricky misinterpreted the situation. It could be she was having an affair with someone else, someone she was going to see when she disappeared. Or maybe it was that person who kidnapped her.’

  Patrik didn’t speak as he pondered what she’d just said. Could Erica be right?

  After a moment he saw that she had something else on her mind.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to discuss something with you,’ she said. ‘It’s a long shot and still very hazy, and maybe I’m way off base here, but I want to hear your opinion, anyway.’

  ‘Okay. I’m listening,’ said Patrik, putting down his knife and fork. The urgency in Erica’s voice made him curious.

  She began by telling him about the work she’d done on her book, about her conversations with Laila, about her visit to the house, and about her research so far. As she talked, Patrik realized that he’d paid little attention to her latest project. His only excuse was that Victoria’s disappearance had demanded so much of him that he’d had no energy or time for anything else.

  When Erica began telling him about the box containing the newspaper clippings, he was intrigued but still didn’t think it was especially significant. It wasn’t unusual for people to get fixated on certain cases and collect related materials. But then Erica recounted the other visit she’d made that day, to Wilhelm Mosander.

  ‘Wilhelm took a great interest in the case back when he was covering it for Bohusläningen, and over the years he has tried to get in touch with Laila. He’s not the only one, and I know it was a big deal when she suddenly agreed to see me. But it wasn’t just a coincidence.’ Erica paused to take a sip of her wine.

  ‘What do you mean it wasn’t a coincidence?’ asked Patrik.

  His wife fixed her gaze on him.

  ‘Laila agreed to meet with me on the same day that the first report about Victoria’s disappearance was published in the papers.’

  At that second Patrik’s mobile rang. With the instinct of an experienced police officer, he knew the phone call was not going to be good news.

  Einar was sitting alone in the dark. A few lights illuminated the yard and the buildings outside his window. A short distance away he could hear some of the horses neighing in their stalls. They were uneasy tonight. Einar smiled. He had always felt most alive when things were not in harmony. He’d inherited that trait from his father.

  Sometimes he actually missed him. His father was a strange man, but they had understood each other, just as he and Jonas did. Helga, on the other hand, would never be a part of what they shared. She was too stupid and naive.

  He had always thought that women were silly creatures, but he had to admit that Marta was different. Over the years he’d even come to admire her. She was nothing like that frightened mouse named Terese who had started shaking if he so much as looked at her. He had detested her, but for a time there had been talk of an engagement between her and Jonas. Helga had always loved Terese, of course. She was exactly the sort of girl she would have taken under her wing. Helga had probably pictured herself having some nice girl to talk with, sharing household tips and wiping the snot off the faces of a bunch of snivelling grandchildren.

  Thank God nothing ever came of it. One day Terese was gone, and in her place Jonas had brought home Marta. He had explained that she was going to live with them, that they were going to stay together for ever, and Einar had believed him. He and Marta had exchanged a glance and immediately understood each other. With a curt nod Einar had given them his blessing. For several nights Helga had wept quietly into her pillow, though she realized it would do no good to say anything. The decision had already been made.

  He had never talked to Helga about their differing views of Marta. They didn’t discuss those sorts of things. For a brief period, when he was courting Helga before their wedding, he had made a genuine effort and chatted about life, since he knew that was expected of him. But that ended as soon as their wedding night was over and he’d taken her by force, which was what he’d been looking forward to doing. After that there was no reason to continue with the ridiculous playacting.

  As he sat in the wheelchair he could feel his stomach getting damp. He looked down. The colostomy bag, which he’d loosened a while ago, was now leaking badly. With a pleased expression he filled his lungs with air and bellowed:

  ‘Helgaaa!’

  UDDEVALLA 1973

  Laila had never believed in the existence of evil, but she did now. Every day she saw it in the girl’s eyes, staring b
ack at her. Laila was scared and bone tired. How could she sleep with evil in the house? How could she rest even for a second? It was in the walls, present in every little nook and cranny.

  She was the one who had let it in. She had even created it. She had nourished it, fed it, allowing it to grow until it could no longer be controlled.

  She looked down at her hands. The scratches ran like red bolts of lightning over the back of her hands, and the little finger of her right hand pointed in a peculiar direction. She would have to go see the doctor and once again face the suspicious looks and listen to the questions she couldn’t answer. Because how could she tell anyone the truth? How could she share the fear she felt? There were no words for it. And nothing would do any good.

  She couldn’t say anything. She had to keep lying, even though she could see from their expressions that they didn’t believe her.

  Her finger throbbed and ached. It was going to be difficult to take care of Peter and tend to her chores, but by now she’d learned how strong she was. How much she could bear, how much fear and terror she could live with, how close she could be to evil without recoiling. Somehow she would manage.

  Chapter Eight

  Terese had phoned everyone she could think of: the few relatives that Lasse had, though most of them were far away; his old drinking buddies; some of his newer friends; several former co-workers; and members of the church that he’d mentioned.

  She was feeling guilty. Yesterday she’d stood in the kitchen, baking cinnamon buns and feeling something akin to joy because she’d decided to leave him. She hadn’t started to worry until close to seven thirty in the evening when he hadn’t come home for dinner and wasn’t answering his phone. Usually Lasse came and went as he pleased, and lately he’d been at the church if he wasn’t at home. But not this time. They hadn’t seen him at church all day, which made her even more anxious. He had nowhere else to go.

  The car was also missing. She’d borrowed her neighbour’s car to drive around and look for him half the night, even though the police had told her they’d look into the matter in the morning. Lasse was a grown man, after all, and he might have just decided to go off on his own for a while. But she couldn’t simply sit at home and worry. While Tyra stayed with the boys, Terese drove all over Fjällbacka and then out to Kville, where the church was located. Nowhere did she see their red Volvo estate car. She was grateful the police had at least taken her seriously when she reported Lasse missing. Maybe they’d heard the panic in her voice. Even during the periods when Lasse’s drinking was at its worst, he had always come home at night. And he hadn’t had a drink in ages.

  Naturally the police officer who came to the house to talk with her had asked whether Lasse might have started drinking again. This was a small town, and he knew about her husband’s past. She had explained in no uncertain terms that Lasse didn’t drink any more. But when she thought about it, she realized that he’d been acting differently over the last few months. And it wasn’t just his fanatical religious ranting; there was something else. Every once in a while she’d caught him smiling to himself, as if he were thinking about some big secret, something he didn’t want to tell her.

  Terese didn’t know how to explain something so vague to the police. She could hear how crazy it would sound. Yet she was suddenly convinced that Lasse did have some sort of secret. And as Terese sat in the kitchen with the morning light slowly driving away the dark, what scared her most was that this secret might have got Lasse in terrible trouble.

  Marta rode Valiant along the forest path, startling a flock of birds that flew up as she rode past. Valiant reacted nervously by setting off at a trot. She knew he wanted to run, but she reined him in and they continued at a slow pace on this quiet morning. Even though the temperature had dropped, she wasn’t cold. She was warmed by the horse’s body, and she also knew how to dress properly, wearing several layers. With the right clothing she could stay out riding for hours, even in winter.

  Molly’s training had gone well yesterday. Her daughter was developing into an excellent rider, and Marta was actually quite proud of her. Usually it was Jonas who bragged about Molly, but when it came to horseback riding it was clear where the girl got her talent. It was a skill she shared with her mother.

  Marta urged Valiant forward, enjoying the sensation when he started moving faster. She never felt as free as when she was riding a horse. It was as if she were always playing a role, and only in her interaction with a horse did she become her true self.

  Victoria’s death had changed everything. She noticed it in the mood at the stable, and at home. Even at Einar and Helga’s house. The girls were subdued and scared. Some of them had come straight to the stable after the memorial service yesterday. She and Jonas had given a couple of them a lift in their car. The girls had sat in the back seat, not saying a word. No trace of their usual laughter and noise. And strangely enough the rivalry between the stable girls now seemed even fiercer than before. They squabbled over the horses, competed for Marta’s attention, and glared with envy at Molly, since they knew she held a position that could never be threatened.

  It was a fascinating dynamic. Sometimes she couldn’t resist stoking the fire. She would let one girl ride a favourite horse more often than she should have been allowed. She would give a girl extra attention during several lessons while she ignored someone else. It worked every time, instantly heightening the intrigues and spreading discontent. She saw the envious looks and the cliques that formed. She found it all very amusing. It was so easy to play off the girls’ insecurity, so easy to predict their reactions.

  She’d always had a talent for such things, and maybe that was why she’d found it so difficult when her daughter was small. Young children were unpredictable. She couldn’t make her daughter go along with her wishes in the same way. Instead she’d been forced to comply with Molly’s needs. It was the child who decided when she would sleep and eat, and sometimes she would suddenly start crying for no reason. If Marta was honest with herself, she no longer found it as wearisome to be a mother. As Molly got older, it had become easier to deal with her, to foresee how she would act and respond. And once Marta discovered Molly’s talent for horseback riding, she’d begun to feel closer to her daughter. As if they actually belonged together, and Molly wasn’t just some strange creature who had come from her body.

  Valiant now took off at a gallop, clearly glad to be racing along. Marta knew the route so well that she let him run as fast as he liked. Occasionally she had to duck under a branch, and snow fell on her from the trees as they thundered past. The snow also whirled up from the horse’s hooves, so it was like racing through clouds. She was breathing hard, feeling her whole body working. People who didn’t ride horses thought it was just a matter of sitting passively in the saddle. They didn’t understand that every muscle was active. After a good ride, her whole body ached so wonderfully.

  Jonas had rushed off to take care of an emergency early this morning. He was always on call, 24/7, and just before five his phone had rung: a cow had fallen ill on one of the nearby farms. In minutes Jonas was dressed and in his car. Having been woken by his mobile, Marta lay in bed, watching him get dressed in the dark. After all these years together, the situation was so familiar and yet it was never entirely pleasant. Living together hadn’t always been easy. They’d had their quarrels, and there were times when she wanted to scream and punch him from sheer frustration. But the certainty that they belonged together had never faded.

  Only once had she been afraid. She usually refused to admit it, didn’t even want to think about it, but when she was out riding, when freedom took over her body and she was able to relax, the thoughts would surface. They had almost lost everything: each other, their life together, the loyalty and intimacy that they’d known from the first time they met.

  There was a measure of insanity to their love. It was scorched at the edges by the fire that constantly burned, and they knew how to keep it going. They had explored their love in every
way imaginable, testing the boundaries to see if it would hold. And it had. Only once had their love been close to breaking, but at the last second everything had settled down and returned to the way it ought to be. The danger was over, and she had chosen to give it as little thought as possible. That was best.

  Marta urged Valiant to go even faster, and almost soundlessly they flew through the woods. Heading towards nothing, towards everything.

  Patrik sat down at the kitchen table and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that Erica handed to him. Their romantic dinner last night had been cut short when Terese Hansson phoned to say she was worried about her husband Lasse. Patrik had gone over to talk with her, and when he came back home Erica had cleared everything away. This morning no trace remained of their dinner. She had cleaned the kitchen so it sparkled, no doubt out of sheer spite since Kristina and Gunnar were supposed to come over in the afternoon for Sunday coffee.

  He glanced at the painting propped against the wall. It had been there for a year because he’d never got around to hanging it up. If he didn’t watch out, Mr Fix-it would show up with a hammer when he came to visit. Patrik knew he was being childish, but he wasn’t exactly happy about another man fixing things in his home. That was something he ought to do himself – or at least pay somebody to do it, he hurried to add since he was fully aware that his handyman skills were limited.

  ‘Forget about the painting,’ said Erica with a smile when she saw what he was looking at. ‘I’ll put it away before they get here if you don’t want Gunnar to hang it up.’

  For a moment Patrik considered accepting her offer, but then he felt foolish.

  ‘No, leave it there. I’ve had plenty of time to deal with it, but I just never have. The same is true for a lot of other things I should have done. I’ve only got myself to blame, and I should be grateful for his help.’