The Ice Child Read online

  The picture was getting clearer and clearer. And if Erica explained what she’d discovered yesterday, Laila wouldn’t be able to keep silent any longer. This time she would have to tell the whole story.

  Filled with new hope, Erica left the house and got into her car. Before she drove off she made sure she had the postcards with her. She would need them in order to get Laila to reveal the secrets she’d been holding on to for so many years.

  When Erica reached the prison, she spoke to the guard on duty.

  ‘I’d like to see Laila Kowalski. I didn’t call in advance to say I was coming, but could you ask her if she’d be willing to see me? Tell her I want to talk about the postcards.’

  Erica held her breath as she waited outside the gate. Soon it buzzed to let her in, and with a pounding heart she walked towards the main building. Adrenaline was racing through her blood, making her breathing too fast and shallow. She stopped to take a few deep breaths to calm down. It was no longer just a matter of an old homicide case; now it was about five missing girls.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Laila the minute Erica entered the visitor’s room. She was standing with her back turned, looking out of the window.

  ‘I’ve seen the postcards,’ said Erica, sitting down. She took them out of her bag and placed them on the table.

  Laila didn’t move. The sun shone on her hair, which was cropped so close that in places her scalp was clearly visible.

  ‘They shouldn’t have saved them. I expressly told them to throw those cards out.’ She sounded more resigned than angry, and Erica also thought she heard a hint of relief in her voice.

  ‘Well, they weren’t thrown out. And I think you know who sent them. And why.’

  ‘I had a feeling that sooner or later you’d work it out. I suppose that in my heart I was hoping you would.’ Laila turned around and sank on to the chair across from Erica. She kept her eyes lowered, staring at her clasped hands resting on the table.

  ‘You didn’t dare say anything because the postcards represented a veiled threat. A message that only you would understand. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes. And who would ever believe me?’ Laila shrugged and her hands trembled. ‘I was forced to protect the only thing I have left. The only thing that is still important to me.’

  She raised her head and stared at Erica with her icy blue eyes.

  ‘You know what I mean, don’t you?’ she added.

  ‘That Peter is alive and you think he might be in danger? That he’s the one you’ve been protecting? Yes, that’s what I guessed. And I think you and your sister have been in much closer contact than you’ve wanted to let on. I think the discord between the two of you was a smokescreen to hide the fact that she took Peter in when your mother died.’

  ‘How did you find out?’ asked Laila.

  Erica smiled. ‘During one of our conversations you mentioned that Peter lisped, and when I rang your sister, a man answered. He said he was her son. He lisped too. At first I thought it was because he had a slight Spanish accent. It took a while before I made the connection, and it was still a long shot.’

  ‘How did he sound?’

  Erica felt heartsick when she realized that Laila hadn’t seen or spoken to her son in all these years. Impulsively she placed her hand on top of Laila’s.

  ‘He sounded very pleasant, very nice. I could hear his children in the background.’

  Laila nodded but didn’t remove her hand. Her eyes filled with tears, and Erica could see she was struggling not to cry.

  ‘What happened? Why did he have to flee?’

  ‘He came home and found my mother – his grandmother – dead. He knew who did it, and he realized that his own life was in danger. So he contacted my sister, who helped him get to Spain. She took care of him as if he were her own son.’

  ‘But how did he manage without the proper ID and that sort of thing?’ asked Erica.

  ‘Agneta’s husband is a high-powered politician. He was somehow able to ensure that Peter got new papers, and that he was acknowledged as their son.’

  ‘Did you work out the connection between the postmarks on the cards?’ asked Erica.

  Laila looked at her in surprise and pulled her hand away. ‘No, it never occurred to me to look at them. I know only that I got a postcard every time someone disappeared, because a few days later a letter would arrive with newspaper clippings.’

  ‘Really? Where were the letters sent from?’ Erica couldn’t hide her surprise. She hadn’t known anything about this.

  ‘I have no clue. There was no return address, and I threw out the envelopes. But the address was stamped, not handwritten, just like on the postcards. And of course I was terrified. I knew that Peter’s whereabouts had been discovered, and he might be the next victim. I thought that was the only way to interpret the pictures on the postcards.’

  ‘I understand. But what about the newspaper clippings? How did you interpret them?’ Erica gave her an inquisitive look.

  ‘As I said, there was only one option. The Girl was alive and wanted to get revenge by taking Peter away from me. The newspaper clippings were her way of telling me what she was capable of doing.’

  ‘How long have you known that she was alive?’ asked Erica. She spoke the words quietly, but even so they seemed to echo in the room.

  In those icy blue eyes staring at her, Erica saw all the secrets, sorrow, loss, and anger that had accumulated over the years.

  ‘Ever since she murdered my mother,’ said Laila.

  ‘But why did she do that?’ Erica was not taking notes as she listened. The important thing right now was not to gather material for her book. She wasn’t even sure whether she’d ever finish writing it.

  ‘Who knows?’ Laila shrugged. ‘Revenge? Because she wanted to? Because she took pleasure in killing her? I never understood what went on in her mind. She was a stranger, a creature who didn’t function like the rest of us.’

  ‘When did you notice that things weren’t right with her?’

  ‘Early on. Almost right from the beginning. Mothers can tell when things aren’t as they should be. But I’d never …’ She turned away, but Erica caught a glimpse of the pain in her eyes.

  ‘Why …?’ Erica wasn’t sure what to say. These were difficult questions to ask, and no matter what the answers, she knew it would be hard for her to understand.

  ‘We made a mistake. I know that. But we had no idea how to deal with the situation. And Vladek came from a world with different customs and ideas.’ She gave Erica a pleading look. ‘He was a good person, but he was confronted with something he couldn’t handle. And I did nothing to stop him. Everything just got worse and worse. Our ignorance and fear took over, and I admit that in the end I hated her. I hated my own child.’ Laila stifled a sob.

  ‘How did you feel when you realized she was still alive?’ asked Erica cautiously.

  ‘I mourned when I heard that she’d died. Believe me, I really did, even though I might have been grieving for the daughter I never had.’ She met Erica’s eyes and took a deep breath. ‘But I mourned even more when I realized that in spite of everything she was still alive, and that she had killed my mother. The only thing I prayed for was that she wouldn’t take Peter away from me too.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  Laila shook her head. ‘No. For me, she’s just an evil shadow moving about out there.’ Then her eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions.’

  Erica placed the postcards on the table with the picture side down. ‘Take a look at this. These cards were all postmarked at places between the town where a girl disappeared and Fjällbacka. I noticed it when I marked all the locations on a map of Sweden.’

  Laila looked at the postcards and nodded.

  ‘Okay. But what does it mean?’

  Erica realized that she’d started at the wrong end. ‘Well, the police recently discovered that each time a girl was kidnapped, a jump-racing competition was
being held in the town where she disappeared. Since Victoria disappeared on her way home from Jonas and Marta’s stable, they have always been a focus of the investigation. Now it turns out that riding competitions are the common denominator. And now that I’ve also discovered a link between the postmarks, I’ve started to wonder whether …’

  ‘What?’ said Laila tonelessly.

  ‘I’ll tell you, but before I do, I want to hear what happened on the day Vladek died.’

  A long silence followed. But then Laila began to tell her story.

  FJÄLLBACKA 1975

  It was a day like all the others, just as dark and filled with hopelessness. Laila had spent another sleepless night, with the minutes slowly plodding towards morning.

  The Girl had spent the night in the cellar. Laila no longer felt sad about putting her down there. She had abandoned all thought of trying to protect her. She had given up any notion that it was a mother’s duty to do everything for her child. Instead, she felt only relief that she no longer had to be afraid. Peter was the one that Laila needed to protect.

  She had stopped worrying about her own injuries. The Girl could do whatever she liked to her. But the darkness in her daughter’s eyes when she succeeded in causing pain was far too frightening to ignore, and several times the Girl had injured Peter when she unexpectedly exploded in rage. He hadn’t known how to defend himself, and on one occasion she had pulled his arm out of the socket. Whimpering and terrified, he had hugged his arm to his body, and they’d been forced to take him to the hospital. On the following day Laila had found knives under his bed.

  It was then that Vladek had finally crossed the boundary. Suddenly the chain and shackles appeared in the cellar. She hadn’t heard him working down there, hadn’t realized that he’d found a way for them to sleep securely at night and have some peace during the day. He said it was the only solution. It wasn’t good enough to lock the Girl in her bedroom, and she needed to understand that what she did was wrong. They couldn’t handle her fury, those unpredictable outbursts, and the bigger and stronger she got, the worse the injuries she’d be able to inflict. Even though Laila knew it was madness, she hadn’t felt able to object.

  The Girl had protested at first. She screamed and hit her father, scratching his face as he stoically carried her down to the cellar and put on the shackles fastened to the chain. Vladek had treated his wounds with antiseptic cream and bandaged them as best he could. To his customers he’d said that the cat had scratched him. No one questioned his explanation.

  Finally the Girl had resigned herself to the situation and stopped resisting. Listlessly she submitted to being chained. If they had to leave her there for a long time, they would put food and water in bowls, as if feeding an animal. And that was how they had to treat her as long as she continued to enjoy causing pain and was fascinated by blood and screams. When she wasn’t in the cellar or in her bedroom, she had to be constantly watched. And most often it was Vladek who did that. Even though the Girl was small, she was already very strong and quick, and he didn’t trust that Laila would be able to control her. Nor did she. So Vladek would watch the Girl while she took care of Peter.

  On that morning everything went wrong. Vladek had also found it hard to sleep in the night. The moon had been full, and hour after hour he had lain awake beside Laila, staring up at the ceiling. When they finally got up, he was feeling cross and exhausted. It turned out there was no milk left, and since Peter refused to eat anything but oatmeal and milk for breakfast, Laila put him in the car and drove over to the Konsum supermarket.

  Half an hour later they were back home. Carrying Peter in her arms, Laila got out of the car and hurried to the house. He was hungry, and he’d already had to wait too long for his breakfast.

  As soon as she stepped into the front hall, she knew that something was wrong. There was an eerie silence in the house, and Vladek didn’t answer when she called his name. She put Peter down and held her finger to her lips to tell him to keep quiet. He gave her a worried look but obeyed.

  Cautiously Laila went into the kitchen. It was empty, but she saw the remains of breakfast on the table. One cup for Vladek and one for the Girl.

  Then she heard a voice in the living room. A shrill girl’s voice monotonously rattling off one sentence after another. Laila tried to decipher the words. Horses, lions, fire – words from all the enchanting stories about the circus that Vladek had told them.

  Slowly Laila moved towards the sound. She had a bad feeling inside, and she was reluctant to take the last few steps. She didn’t want to see what she suspected she would find, but there was no turning back.

  ‘Vladek?’ she whispered, but she knew it was in vain.

  She went over to the sofa, and then she couldn’t hold back the scream. It rose up from her stomach, from her heart and her lungs, and it filled the whole room.

  The Girl was smiling, looking almost proud. She didn’t react to the sound except to tilt her head to look at Laila, seeming to savour her mother’s pain. She was happy. For the first time Laila saw happiness in her daughter’s eyes.

  ‘What have you done?’ She could hardly form the words as she staggered forward and tenderly pressed her hands to Vladek’s cheeks. His eyes were open wide, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. And she remembered that day at the circus when their eyes met and they both knew that from then on, their lives were about to change. If they had known what would happen later, they probably would have gone separate ways and continued to live the lives that were expected of them. That would have been best. Then the two of them would not have created this monster.

  ‘This is what I’ve done,’ said the Girl.

  Laila raised her eyes to look at her daughter as she perched on the arm of the sofa. Her nightgown was covered in blood, and her long dark hair was tangled, hanging loose down her back. She looked like a troll child. The anger she must have felt when she repeatedly stabbed her father had already faded, and she seemed calm and amenable. Even content.

  Laila turned back to look at Vladek, the man she loved. She saw stab wounds in his chest and a deep gash in his throat, as if he were wearing a red scarf.

  ‘He fell asleep.’ The Girl drew her legs up to her body and rested her head on her knees.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ asked Laila, but the Girl merely shrugged.

  A sound behind them made Laila turn around. Peter had come into the living room. His eyes were filled with terror as he stared at Vladek and then at the Girl.

  His sister looked at him. Then she said, ‘You have to save me.’

  Laila felt a chill race down her spine. The Girl was speaking to her, not to Peter. She looked at the slender girl and tried to remind herself that she was only a child. But she knew what the Girl was capable of doing. In truth, she had always known. That was why she understood the menace behind the words. She would have to do exactly that: save her.

  Laila stood up. ‘Come with me. Let’s wash off the blood. Then I’m going to have to chain you up, like Pappa used to do.’

  The Girl smiled. Then she nodded and followed after her mother.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mellberg was beaming as he came into the station kitchen.

  ‘Why does everybody look so tired?’

  Patrik glared at him. ‘We’ve been working all night.’

  He blinked his eyes, which felt gritty with fatigue. He could barely keep them open any more after a whole night with no sleep. Briefly he recounted what they’d found at the farm. Mellberg sat down on one of the hard kitchen chairs.

  ‘It sounds like you’ve solved the case. Wrapped up everything nice and tidy.’

  ‘Not quite. This isn’t the resolution we were hoping for.’ Patrik fidgeted with his coffee cup. ‘So much is still up in the air. Marta and Molly are missing, Helga seems to have disappeared, and God only knows where Jonas has gone. Even though we’re almost certain Jonas was the one who kidnapped four of the girls who disappeared over the past two years, he was only a child when I
ngela was murdered. And then we have the murder of Lasse Hansson. If Victoria was having an affair with Marta, was it Marta who killed him? And if so, how did she do it? Or did she tell Jonas about the blackmail, and then he took matters into his own hands?’

  Mellberg kept trying to say something, but Patrik refused to let him speak. Now the chief cleared his throat and said with a pleased expression, ‘I think I’ve found a link between the Ingela Eriksson case and Victoria’s disappearance, something besides their injuries. And Jonas is not the guilty party. Or rather, he might be partially guilty.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Patrik sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. Was it possible that Mellberg had actually managed to discover something relevant?

  ‘Last night I read through all the investigative materials again. Do you recall Ingela Eriksson’s husband saying that on the day she vanished they’d had a visit from someone in reply to an advert?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Patrik, wanting to lean forward and drag the words out of Mellberg.

  ‘Well, it was an advert for a car. The man was interested in buying an old car so he could restore it. You know who I’m thinking about, don’t you?’

  In his mind Patrik pictured the barn where they’d spent several hours last night.

  ‘Einar?’ he said in disbelief.

  He felt the gears slowly begin to turn as a theory started to take shape. A horrifying theory, but not entirely improbable. He stood up.

  ‘I’m going to tell the others. We need to drive out to the farm ASAP.’ He was no longer the least bit tired.

  Erica drove along the road that hadn’t yet been ploughed after the night time snowfall. She was undoubtedly going too fast, but she was having a hard time focusing on her driving. All she could think about was what Laila had told her. And the fact that Louise was alive.

  She had tried to ring Patrik to tell him what she’d found out, but he wasn’t answering his phone. Frustrated, she tried to sort through her impressions, but one thought kept taking precedence over all the others. Molly was in danger if she was with Louise, or Marta as she called herself now. Erica wondered how she’d happened to choose that name and how she had met Jonas. What were the odds that two such dysfunctional people would cross paths? There were several historical examples of fateful duos: Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, Fred and Rosemary West, Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo. But that didn’t make the whole situation any less terrifying.