The Ice Child Read online

  ‘Yes. I’ve brought home copies of the investigative materials. Even Mellberg said he was planning to read up on the case.’

  ‘So it’s the two of you who are going?’ She cautiously tasted the soup.

  ‘Yes. We need to leave very early in the morning. The meeting starts at ten o’clock.’

  ‘I hope it turns out to be productive.’ She studied his face for a moment. ‘You look tired. I know it’s important for you to solve this case, but you need to take care of yourself.’

  ‘I am. I know what my limits are. Apropos looking tired, how was Anna today?’

  Erica paused before replying.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m connecting with her these days. She seems to be wallowing in guilt, and I don’t know how to bring her back to reality.’

  ‘Maybe that’s not your job,’ he said, but he knew his words would fall on deaf ears.

  ‘I’m going to have a talk with Dan,’ said Erica. Her tone of voice indicated that the discussion about Anna was now closed.

  Patrik understood and didn’t ask any more questions. Erica was clearly worried about her sister, and he was ready to listen if she wanted to talk about it. Until that time, she would keep her thoughts to herself.

  ‘I think I need to see a crisis therapist.’ She served both of them more soup.

  ‘Really? Why? What did my mother say now?’

  ‘For once it has nothing to do with Kristina. And I’m not sure crisis therapy is going to be enough. I may need to have my memory erased too after seeing Mellberg almost naked this morning.’

  Patrik couldn’t help himself. He let loose such a howl of laughter that he got fish soup up his nose.

  ‘I don’t think any of us will ever forget that sight. But we’re supposed to share both the good times and the bad. Just try not to picture him when we’re having sex.’

  Erica gave her husband an astonished look.

  UDDEVALLA 1974

  The border began to blur between what was normal and what was not. Laila saw it happening but every once in a while she couldn’t resist the temptation to bow to Vladek’s will. She knew it wasn’t right, but sometimes she just wanted to pretend for a while that they were living an ordinary life.

  They continued to be spellbound by Vladek’s stories, which blended the commonplace with the extraordinary, the horrifying with the amazing. They would often gather around the kitchen table with only a small lamp turned on in the room. Sitting in the dim light they would all be drawn into his tales. They could hear the sound of the audience applauding; they saw the tightrope walkers swaying high overhead; they laughed at the clowns and their antics; and they were captivated by the circus princess who, with grace and strength, balanced on the back of the horse racing around the ring, adorned with plumes and spangles. But most of all they saw Vladek and the lions in the circus ring. The way he stood there, strong and proud, wielding power over the wild beasts. Not because of the whip in his hand, as the audience thought, but because the lions respected and loved him. They trusted him and so they obeyed.

  His best trick, his grand finale, was when he seemed to defy death by putting his head inside the maw of one of the lions. At that moment a hush came over the audience. They could hardly believe what they were seeing. The trick with the dimming of the lights was also very effective. When the lights went out in the circus ring, the spectators grew uneasy as they imagined the wild animals somewhere in front of them, animals that could see in the dark and might be eyeing them as prey. Then all the audience members would fearfully grab the hand of the person seated next to them. Suddenly, out of the darkness, fiery rings would appear, with flames shooting out hypnotically. And the lions would ignore their fear of fire and gracefully jump through the hoops because they put such trust in the person who had tamed them and who was now asking them to perform this trick.

  As Laila sat there listening, she longed for something that might dispel her own darkness. She yearned to trust in someone again.

  Chapter Ten

  The streets were deserted as Helga walked through Fjällbacka on this chilly morning. In the summer the small town hummed with life. The shops were open, the restaurants were packed, and out in the harbour scores of boats would be moored close together as crowds of people strolled past. Now in the winter it was utterly quiet. Everything had been shuttered for the season. Fjällbacka seemed to be in a state of hibernation, waiting for another summer. But Helga had always preferred the calmer times of year. That was when her home was also more peaceful. In the summers Einar used to come home drunk more often and in a worse frame of mind.

  After he fell ill, things had changed, of course. His words became his only weapon, but they could no longer hurt her. No one could hurt her any more except for Jonas. He knew where she was most vulnerable and fragile. The absurd thing was that she continued to try and protect him. It made no difference that he was now a grown man, tall and strong. He still needed her, and she would defend him against all evil.

  She passed Ingrid Bergman Square and went over to look at the frozen water. She loved the archipelago. Her father had been a fisherman, and she would often go out in the boat with him. But all that had ended when she married Einar. He was from inland, and he’d never grown accustomed to the capriciousness of the sea. He would mutter that if people were meant to go out on the water, they would have been born with gills. Jonas had never been keen on boating either, so she hadn’t ventured out since she was seventeen, even though she lived in the most beautiful archipelago region in Sweden.

  For the first time in years she felt a desperate longing to go out in a boat. But even if she’d had one, that would have been impossible. The ice was so thick, and the few boats that had not been pulled up on land were now frozen solid in the harbour. In that sense, they were much like her. This was how she’d felt all these years: so close to where she truly belonged and yet unable to free herself from her prison.

  It was because of Jonas that she had survived. Her love for him had always been so strong that everything else paled in comparison. All his life she had prepared herself to step forward and block the path of the rapidly advancing train that was now about to crush him. She was ready and had no doubts whatsoever. Everything she did for Jonas she did gladly.

  She stopped to look at the bronze bust of Ingrid Bergman. She and Jonas had come to the square when the unveiling ceremony took place. Roses had also been presented, cultivated in honour of the famous actress. Jonas had been so excited. Ingrid’s children were supposed to be there, as well as the son’s girlfriend, Caroline of Monaco. At that time Jonas was at an age when his world was filled with knights and dragons, princes and princesses. He probably would have preferred to see a knight, but a princess would have to do. It was touching to see him looking so eager as they got ready for the big event. He carefully put water on his hair and then combed it smooth. And he picked flowers from their garden, bluebells and bleeding-hearts, which he nearly squeezed to death in his sweaty hand before they even reached the square. Einar teased him mercilessly, of course, but for once Jonas had ignored his father. He was going to see a real princess.

  Helga still remembered the look of surprised disappointment on her son’s face when she pointed out Caroline. He had looked up at her with his lip quivering and said, ‘But, Mamma, she looks like a perfectly ordinary person.’

  In the afternoon, after they got home, she’d found all his fairy tale books in a big heap behind the house. Tossed out like rubbish. Jonas had never been good at handling disappointment.

  Now Helga took a deep breath, turned around, and began walking back home. It was her responsibility to spare him from disappointments. Both big and small.

  Detective Inspector Palle Viking, who had been appointed chairman of the meeting, cleared his throat.

  ‘I want to welcome all of you here on behalf of the Göteborg police. Thank you for your cooperation with these investigations so far. I think we ought to have met earlier, but you all
know how difficult and complicated collaboration across districts can be, so maybe it will turn out that this is actually the perfect time for us to meet.’ He looked down and added, ‘The fact that Victoria Hallberg reappeared, and in such a terrible state, is a tragedy of course. Yet it gives us an idea of what may have happened to the other girls, and this information could move our investigations forward.’

  ‘Does he always talk like this?’ whispered Mellberg.

  Patrik nodded. ‘He joined the police force relatively late in life, but he’s had a meteoric career. I’ve heard he’s extremely good at his job. Before becoming a police officer he did research in the field of philosophy.’

  Mellberg’s mouth fell open. ‘No kidding? But Palle Viking must be a made-up name.’

  ‘No, it’s not. But it certainly matches his appearance.’

  ‘Right. Good Lord. He looks like that guy … what’s his name? The Swede who boxed against Rocky.’

  ‘Now that you mention it …’ Patrik smiled. Mellberg was right. Palle Viking was a dead ringer for Dolph Lundgren.

  When Mellberg leaned forward to whisper something more, Patrik shushed him. ‘I think we’d better listen.’

  In the meantime, Palle was continuing with his introductory remarks. ‘I thought we’d each take a turn to report on our respective investigations. We’ve already shared most of the information, but I’ve seen to it that you’ve all received folders with the most current reports from each team. You will also be given copies of the videotaped interviews we’ve done with family members. That was an excellent idea, by the way. Thanks for suggesting it, Tage.’ He nodded to a short, stocky man with a big moustache who was responsible for investigating the disappearance of Sandra Andersson.

  When Jennifer Backlin went missing six months after Sandra, the police already suspected there might be a connection between the two cases. Tage had advised the Falsterbo police to follow their example and videotape their interviews with family members. The idea was to allow the families to have peace and quiet to report any observations they’d made in connection with the disappearances. By going to the family’s home, the investigators could also get a better idea of what the missing girl was like. Since then, all of the police departments had followed suit, and now they would get to see each other’s videos.

  On the wall hung a big map of Sweden marked with the places where the girls had disappeared. Even though he’d done the same thing back at the station, Patrik squinted his eyes and tried again to see if there was any sort of pattern. But he couldn’t see anything linking the sites, except that they were all either in the southwest or middle of Sweden. There were no pins marking locations in the east, and none north of Västerås.

  ‘Shall we start with you, Tage?’ Palle motioned to the detective from Strömsholm who stood up to go to the front of the room.

  One by one the officers took the floor to report on all aspects of their investigations. Patrik was disappointed that no new insights or leads emerged. They were merely hearing a repeat of the same meagre information available in the investigative materials they’d already shared. He could tell he was not the only one who felt discouraged, and the mood in the room began to sink.

  Mellberg was the last to speak, since Victoria was the last of the girls to disappear. Out of the corner of his eye Patrik saw that his boss was bursting with pride at having his moment in the spotlight. He sincerely hoped that Mellberg was up to the task and had at least done a minimum of homework.

  ‘So, how’s it going everybody!’ said Mellberg, as usual incapable of judging the mood of a situation or dealing with it in an appropriate manner.

  His greeting was met with a few murmured remarks. Good Lord, thought Patrik, this does not bode well. But much to his surprise, Mellberg gave a concise presentation of their investigation. He also reported on Gerhard Struwer’s theories about the perpetrator. For a short time Mellberg even came across as a competent detective. Patrik held his breath as his boss approached the topic that would be new material for the other officers.

  ‘We have a reputation for carrying out highly efficient police work in Tanumshede,’ Mellberg began, and Patrik had to suppress a snort. The others seated at the table were not as restrained, and one person actually sniggered.

  ‘One of our officers has discovered a connection between Victoria Hallberg and a significantly older homicide case.’ He paused and waited for a reaction, which he got. Everyone fell silent and gave him their full attention. ‘Does anyone recall the murder of Ingela Eriksson? In Hultsfred?’

  Several officers nodded, and the detective from Västerås said, ‘Yes, she was found tortured to death in the woods behind her house. Her husband was convicted, even though he denied killing her.’

  Mellberg nodded. ‘He later died in prison. The case was built on circumstantial evidence, and there is reason to believe that the husband was in fact innocent. He claimed that he was home alone on the evening when his wife disappeared. She had told him she was going to visit a female friend, but the woman denied that was true. At any rate, he had no alibi and there was no witness to support his claim that his wife had been home earlier in the day. The husband stated that they’d received a visit from a man in response to an advert they’d posted, but the police were unable to locate this person. Since the husband was known to have abused women in the past, including his wife, the police immediately turned their attention to him. They don’t seem to have been especially interested in investigating other avenues.’

  ‘But how is that case related to the missing girls?’ asked the Västerås officer. ‘That must have been nearly thirty years ago.’

  ‘Twenty-seven. Well, the thing is …’ said Mellberg, again pausing for dramatic effect. ‘The thing is that Ingela Eriksson had suffered the exact same injuries as Victoria.’

  For a few moments no one spoke.

  ‘Could it be a copycat?’ Tage from Strömshold finally asked.

  ‘That’s one possibility.’

  ‘Doesn’t that seem more likely? It would be unusual for the same perpetrator to be at work. Because why would he let so many years go by before striking again?’ Tage looked around at his colleagues. Several murmured their agreement.

  ‘Right,’ said Palle, turning in his seat so everyone could hear him. ‘Though there may have been some reason why the perpetrator didn’t commit any more crimes during those years. Maybe he was in prison, for example, or maybe he was living abroad. And there could have been other victims that we don’t know about. Every year six thousand people disappear in Sweden, so there could be other missing girls that no one has connected to the case. We need to consider the possibility that it might be the same perpetrator. But,’ and here he raised his finger, ‘we shouldn’t take for granted that there is a connection. Couldn’t it be a coincidence?’

  ‘The injuries are identical,’ Mellberg objected. ‘Down to the smallest detail. You can read about it in our report. We’ve brought copies for everyone.’

  ‘Why don’t we take a break so we can read the material?’ Palle suggested.

  Everyone stood up and took a copy from the pile on the table in front of Mellberg. They crowded around him to ask questions, and he beamed happily at all the attention.

  Patrik raised one eyebrow. Mellberg hadn’t taken credit for the discovery, which was surprising. Even Mellberg had his good moments. But it might not have hurt for him to remind himself why they were all gathered here. Four missing girls. And one of them was dead.

  Marta was up early, as usual, since the chores in the stable couldn’t wait. For his part, Jonas had risen even earlier to drive over to a nearby farm where a horse had come down with severe colic. Marta yawned. They’d stayed up late, which meant she’d had far too little sleep.

  Her mobile buzzed. She took it out of her pocket and looked at the display. Helga was inviting her and Molly over for coffee. She must have looked out the window and seen that Molly had stayed home from school, and now she wanted to know why. The truth was th
at Molly had said she had a stomach ache, and for once Marta chose to believe her.

  ‘Molly, your grandmother wants us to come over for coffee.’

  ‘Do we have to?’ Molly replied from one of the horse stalls.

  ‘Yes, we do. Come on.’

  ‘But I have a stomach ache,’ Molly whined.

  Marta sighed. ‘If you can work out here with a stomach ache, then I’m sure you can manage to have coffee with your grandmother too. Come on. Let’s get it over with. Jonas and Helga had an argument yesterday, and I’m sure he’ll be happy if we try to make peace with her.’

  ‘But I was planning to take Scirocco out for a ride.’ Molly was starting to sulk as she came out of the stall.

  ‘With a stomach ache?’ said Marta, an angry glint in her eye. ‘You’ll still have time for that later. We’ll have a quick visit with your grandmother, and then you can come back here and train in peace and quiet for the rest of the afternoon. I don’t have any lessons until five o’clock today.’

  ‘Okay,’ muttered Molly.

  As they crossed the yard, Marta clenched her fists in annoyance. Molly had always been handed everything on a platter. She had no idea what it was like to endure a wretched childhood and have to get by on her own. Sometimes Marta had the urge to show her what life was like for someone who wasn’t as pampered as she was.

  ‘We’re here!’ she called, going inside her mother-in-law’s house without knocking.

  ‘Come in and sit down. I’ve baked sponge cake, and there’s tea for both of you.’ Helga turned to greet them as they came into the kitchen. She looked like the archetypal grandmother, with a flour-covered apron around her waist and a cloud of grey hair framing her face.

  ‘Tea?’ said Molly, wrinkling her nose. ‘I’d rather have coffee.’

  ‘I’d prefer coffee too,’ said Marta, sitting down.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re all out of coffee. I haven’t had time to do any grocery shopping. Put in a spoonful of honey, and it’ll taste fine.’ She pointed to a tin on the table.