CAMILLA LACKBERG
The Ice Child
Translated from the Swedish by Tiina Nunnally

Copyright

This is entirely a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Copyright © Camilla Lackberg 2014

Published by agreement with Nordin Agency, Sweden

Translation copyright © Tiina Nunnally 2016

Originally published in 2014 by

Bokförlaget Forum, Sweden, as Lejontämjaren

Camilla Lackberg asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Cover photographs © Richard Boll/Getty Images (girl); Paul Bucknall/Arcangel Images (trees); Shutterstock.com (path)

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Ebook Edition © MARCH 2016 ISBN: 9780007518357

Source ISBN: 9780007518333

Version: 2017-05-09

Dedication

For Simon

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Fjällbacka 1964

Chapter Two

Fjällbacka 1967

Chapter Three

Uddevalla 1967

Chapter Four

Uddevalla 1968

Chapter Five

Uddevalla 1971

Chapter Six

Uddevalla 1972

Chapter Seven

Uddevalla 1973

Chapter Eight

Uddevalla 1973

Chapter Nine

Uddevalla 1974

Chapter Ten

Fjällbacka 1975

Chapter Eleven

Fjällbacka 1975

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Fjällbacka 1975

Chapter Fourteen

Hamburgsund 1981

Chapter Fifteen

Fjällbacka 1983

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Camilla Lackberg

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The horse could smell the fear even before the girl emerged from the woods. The rider urged the horse on, digging her heels into the animal’s flanks, though it wasn’t really necessary. They were so in tune that her mount sensed her wishes almost before she did.

The muted, rhythmic sound of the horse’s hooves broke the silence. During the night a thin layer of snow had fallen, and the stallion now ploughed new tracks, making the powdery snow spray up around his hooves.

The girl didn’t run. She moved unsteadily, in an irregular pattern with her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

The rider shouted. A loud cry, and the horse understood that something wasn’t right. The girl didn’t reply, merely staggered onward.

As they approached her, the horse picked up the pace. The strong, rank smell of fear was mixed with something else, something indefinable and so terrifying that he pressed his ears back. He wanted to stop, turn around, and gallop back to the secure confines of his stall. This was not a safe place to be.

The road was between them. Deserted now, with new snow blowing across the asphalt like a silent mist.

The girl continued towards them. Her feet were bare, and the pink of her naked arms and legs contrasted sharply with all the white surrounding her, with the snow-covered spruces forming a white backdrop. They were close now, on either side of the road, and the horse heard the rider shout again. Her voice was so familiar, yet it had a strange ring to it.

Suddenly the girl stopped. She stood in the middle of the road with snow whirling about her feet. There was something odd about her eyes. They were like black holes in her white face.

The car seemed to come out of nowhere. The sound of squealing brakes sliced through the stillness, followed by the thump of a body landing on the ground. The rider yanked so hard on the reins that the bit cut into the stallion’s mouth. He obeyed and stopped abruptly. She was him, and he was her. That was what he’d been taught.

On the ground the girl lay motionless. With those peculiar eyes of hers staring up at the sky.

Erica Falck paused in front of the prison and for the first time studied it closely. On her previous visits she had been so busy thinking about who she was going to meet that she hadn’t given the building or its setting more than a cursory glance. But she would need to give readers a sense of the place when she wrote her book about Laila Kowalski, the woman who had so brutally murdered her husband Vladek many years ago.

She pondered how to convey the atmosphere that pervaded the bunker-like building, how she could capture the air of confinement and hopelessness. The prison was located about a thirty-minute drive from Fjällbacka, in a remote and isolated spot surrounded by fences and barbed wire, though it had none of those towers manned by armed guards that always featured in American films. It had been constructed with only one purpose in mind, and that was to keep people inside.

From the outside the prison looked unoccupied, but she knew the reverse was true. Funding cuts and a tight budget meant that as many people as possible were crowded into every space. No local politician was about to risk losing votes by proposing that money should be invested in a new prison. The county would just have to make do with the present structure.

The cold had begun to seep through Erica’s clothes, so she headed towards the entrance. When she entered the reception area, the guard listlessly glanced at her ID and nodded without raising his eyes. He stood up, and she followed him down a corridor as she thought about how hectic her morning had been. Every morning was a trial these days. To say that the twins had entered an obstinate stage was an understatement. For the life of her she couldn’t recall Maja ever being so difficult when she was two, or at any age. Noel was the worst. He had always been the more energetic one, but Anton was all too happy to follow his lead. If Noel screamed, he screamed too. It was a miracle that her eardrums – and Patrik’s, for that matter – were still intact, given the decibel level at home.

And what a pain it was to get them into their winter clothes. She gave her armpit a discreet sniff. She smelled faintly of sweat. It had taken her so long to wrestle the twins into their clothes so she could take them and Maja to the day-care centre, she hadn’t had time to change. Oh well. She wasn’t exactly going to a social gathering.

The guard’s key ring clanked as he unlocked the door and showed Erica into the visitor’s room. It seemed so old-fashioned that they still made use of keys in this place. But of course it would be easier to get hold of the combination to a coded lock than to steal a key. Maybe it wasn’t so strange that old measures often prevailed over more modern solutions.

Laila was sitting at the only table in the room. Her face was turned towards the window, and the winter sun streaming through the pane formed a halo around her blond hair. The bars on the window made squares of light on the floor, and dust motes floated in the air, revealing that the room hadn’t been cleaned as thoroughly as it should have been.

‘Hi,’ said Erica as she sat down.

She wondered why Laila had agreed to see her again. This was their third meeting, and Erica had made no progress at all. Initially Laila had refused to meet with her, no matter how many imploring letters Erica had sent or how many phone calls she’d made. Then a few months ago Laila had suddenly acquiesced. Perhaps the visits were a welcome break from the monotony of prison life. Erica planned to keep visiting if Laila continued to agree to see her. It had been a long time since she’d felt such a strong urge to tell a story, and she couldn’t do it without Laila’s help.

‘Hi, Erica.’ Laila turned and fixed her unusual blue eyes on her visitor. At their first meeting, Erica had been reminded of those dogs they used to pull sleds. Huskies. Laila had eyes like a Siberian husky.

‘Why do you want to see me if you don’t want to talk about the case?’ asked Erica, getting right to the point. She immediately regretted her choice of words. For Laila, what had happened was not a ‘case’. It was a tragedy and something that still tormented her.

Laila shrugged.

‘I don’t get any other visitors,’ she said, confirming Erica’s suspicions.

Erica opened her bag and took out a folder containing newspaper articles, photos, and notes.

‘Well, I’m not giving up,’ she said, tapping on the folder.

‘I suppose that’s the price I have to pay if I want company,’ said Laila, revealing the unexpected sense of humour that Erica had occasionally glimpsed. She had seen pictures of Laila before it all happened. She hadn’t been conventionally beautiful, but she was attractive in a different and compelling way. Back then her blond hair had been long, and in most of the photos she wore it loose and straight. Now it was cropped short, and cut the same length all over. Not exactly what you would call a hairstyle. Just cut in a way that showed it had been a long time since Laila had cared about her appearance. And why should she? She hadn’t been out in the real world for years. Who would she put on make-up for in here? The nonexistent visitors? The other prisoners? The guards?

‘You look tired today.’ Laila studied Erica’s face. ‘Was it a rough morning?’

‘Rough morning, rough night, and presumably just as rough this afternoon. But that’s the way it is when you have young children.’ Erica sighed heavily and tried to relax. She noticed how tense she was after the stress of the morning.

‘Peter was always so sweet,’ said Laila as a veil lowered over those blue eyes of hers. ‘Not even a trace of stubbornness that I remember.’

‘You told me the first time we met that he was a very quiet child.’

‘Yes. In the beginning we thought there was something wrong with him. He didn’t make a sound until he was three. I wanted to take him to a specialist, but Vladek refused.’ She shivered and her hands abruptly curled into fists as they lay on the table, though she didn’t seem aware of it.

‘What happened when Peter was three?’

‘One day he just started talking. In complete sentences. With a huge vocabulary. He lisped a bit, but otherwise it was as if he had always talked. As if those years of silence had never existed.’

‘And you were never given any explanation?’

‘No. Who would have explained it to us? Vladek didn’t want to ask anyone for help. He always said that strangers shouldn’t get mixed up in family matters.’

‘Why do you think Peter was silent for so long?’

Laila turned to look out of the window, and the sun once again formed a halo around her cropped blond hair. The furrows that the years had etched into her face were mercilessly evident in the light. As if forming a map of all the suffering she had endured.

‘He probably realized it was best to make himself as invisible as possible. Not to draw attention to himself. Peter was a clever boy.’

‘What about Louise? How old was she when she started to talk?’ Erica held her breath. So far Laila had pretended not to hear any of the questions that pertained to her daughter.

It was no different today.

‘Peter loved arranging things. He wanted everything to be nice and orderly. When he was a baby he would stack up blocks in perfect, even towers, and he was always so sad when …’ Laila stopped abruptly.

Erica noticed how Laila had clenched her jaws shut, and she tried to use sheer willpower to coax Laila to go on, to let out what she had so carefully locked up inside. But the moment had passed. The same thing had happened during Erica’s previous visits. Sometimes it felt as though Laila were standing on the edge of an abyss, wishing deep in her heart that she could throw herself into the chasm. As if she wanted to pitch forward but was stopped by stronger forces, which made her once again retreat into the safety of shadows.

It was no accident that Erica was thinking about shadows. The first time they’d met, she had a feeling that Laila was living a shadow existence. A life running parallel to the life she should have had, the life that had vanished into a bottomless pit on that day so many years ago.

‘Do you ever feel like you’re going to lose patience with your sons? That you’re about to cross that invisible boundary?’ Laila sounded genuinely interested, but her voice also had a pleading undertone.

It was not an easy question to answer. All parents have probably felt a moment when they approached that borderline between what is permitted and what isn’t, standing there and silently counting to ten as they think about what they could do to put an end to the commotion and upheaval exploding in their heads. But there was a big difference between acknowledging that feeling and acting on it. So Erica shook her head.

‘I could never do anything to hurt them.’

At first Laila didn’t answer as she continued to stare at Erica with those bright blue eyes of hers. But when the guard knocked on the door to say that visiting time was over, Laila said quietly, her gaze still fixed on Erica:

‘That’s what you think.’

Erica recalled the photographs in the folder and shuddered.

Tyra was grooming Fanta with steady strokes of the brush. She always felt better when she was around the horses. She would have much preferred to be grooming Scirocco, but Molly wouldn’t let anyone else take care of him. It was so unfair. Just because Molly’s parents owned the stable, she was allowed to do anything she wanted.

Tyra loved Scirocco. She had loved him from the first moment she saw him. And the horse had looked at her as if he understood her. It was a wordless form of communication that she’d never experienced with any other animal. Or even with any person. Not with her mother. And not with Lasse. The mere thought of Lasse made her brush Fanta harder, but the big white mare didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying the strokes of the brush, snorting and moving her head up and down as if bowing. For a moment Tyra thought it looked like the mare were inviting her to dance. She smiled and stroked Fanta’s grey muzzle.

‘You’re great too,’ she said, as if the horse had been able to hear her thoughts about Scirocco.

Then she felt a pang of guilt. She looked at her hand on Fanta’s muzzle and realized how trivial her jealousy was.

‘You miss Victoria, don’t you?’ she whispered, leaning her head against the horse’s neck.

Victoria, who had been Fanta’s groom. Victoria, who had been missing for several months. Victoria, who had been – who was – Tyra’s best friend.

‘I miss her too.’ Tyra felt the mare nudging her cheek, but it didn’t comfort her as much as she’d hoped.

She should have been in maths class right now, but on this particular morning she hadn’t felt able to put on a cheerful face and fend off her worry. She had gone over to the school bus stop but instead sought solace in the stable, the only place where she could find any respite. The grown-ups didn’t understand. They saw only their own anxiety, their own sorrow.

Victoria was more than a best friend. She was like a sister. They had been friends from the first day of school and had remained inseparable ever since. There was nothing they hadn’t shared. Or was there? Tyra no longer knew for sure. During those last months before Victoria disappeared, something had changed. It felt like a wall had popped up between them. Tyra hadn’t wanted to nag. She thought that when the time was right, Victoria would tell her what was going on. But time had run out, and Victoria was gone.

‘I’m sure she’ll come back,’ she now told Fanta, but deep inside she had her doubts. Though no one would admit it, they all knew that something bad must have happened. Victoria was not the kind of girl to disappear voluntarily, if such a person existed. She was too content with her life, and she didn’t have an adventurous nature. She preferred to stay home or in the stable; she didn’t even want to go into Strömstad on the weekends. And her family was nothing like Tyra’s. They were super nice, even Victoria’s older brother. He had often given his sister a lift to the stable early in the morning. Tyra used to love visiting their home. She’d felt like one of the family. Sometimes she’d even wished that Victoria’s family was hers. An ordinary, normal family.

Fanta gave her a gentle nudge. A few tears landed on the mare’s muzzle, and Tyra quickly wiped her eyes with her hand.

Suddenly she heard a sound outside the stable. Fanta heard it too. The mare pushed her ears forward and raised her head so swiftly that she rammed into Tyra’s chin. The sharp taste of blood filled the girl’s mouth. She swore, pressed her hand to her lips, and went outside to see what was going on.

When she opened the stable door she was dazzled by the sun, but her eyes quickly adjusted to the light and she saw Valiant coming across the forecourt at full gallop with Marta on his back. Marta pulled up so abruptly that the stallion almost reared. She was shouting something. At first Tyra didn’t understand what she was saying, but Marta kept on yelling. And finally the words made sense:

‘Victoria! We’ve found Victoria!’

Patrik Hedström was sitting at his desk in the Tanumshede police station, enjoying the peace and quiet. He’d come to work early, so he’d missed having to get the kids dressed and take them to the day-care centre. Lately that whole process had become a form of torture, thanks to the twins’ transformation from sweet babies into mini versions of Damien in the film Omen. He couldn’t comprehend how two such tiny people could require so much energy. Nowadays his favourite time with them was when he sat next to their beds in the evening and watched them sleep. At those moments he was able to enjoy the immense, pure love he felt for his sons without any trace of the tremendous frustration he felt when they howled: ‘NO, I WON’T!’

Everything was so much easier with Maja. In fact, sometimes he felt guilty that, with all the attention he and Erica devoted to her little brothers, Maja often ended up neglected. She was so good at keeping herself busy that they simply assumed she was happy. And as young as she was, she seemed to possess a magical ability to calm her brothers down even during their worst outbursts. But it wasn’t fair, and Patrik decided that tonight he and Maja would spend time together, just the two of them, snuggling and reading a story.

At that moment the phone rang. He picked it up distractedly, still thinking about Maja. But the caller quickly grabbed his attention, and he sat up straight in his chair.

‘Could you repeat that?’ He listened. ‘Okay, we’ll be right there.’

He threw on his jacket and shouted into the corridor, ‘Gösta! Mellberg! Martin!’

‘What is it? Where’s the fire?’ grunted Bertil Mellberg, who unexpectedly showed up first. But he was soon followed by Martin Molin, Gösta Flygare, and the station secretary, Annika, who had been at her desk in the reception area, which was the furthest away from Patrik’s office.

‘Somebody found Victoria Hallberg. She was hit by a car near the eastern entrance to Fjällbacka, and she’s been taken by ambulance to Uddevalla. That’s where you and I are headed, Gösta.’

‘Oh, shit,’ said Gösta, and he dashed back to his office to grab his jacket. No one dared venture outdoors without the proper warm clothing this winter, no matter how big an emergency it was.

‘Martin, you and Bertil need to go out to the accident site and talk to the driver,’ Patrik went on. ‘Call the tech team and ask them to meet you there.’

‘You’re in a bossy mood today,’ muttered Mellberg. ‘As the chief of this station, of course I’m the one who should go out to the scene of the accident. The right man in the right place.’

Patrik sighed to himself but didn’t comment. With Gösta in tow, he hurried outside, jumped into one of the two police vehicles and turned on the ignition.

Bloody awful road, he thought as the car skidded into the first curve. He didn’t dare drive as fast as usual. It had started snowing again, and he didn’t want to risk sliding off the road. Impatiently he slammed his fist on the steering wheel. It was only January and, given how long Swedish winters lasted, they could expect at least two more months of this misery.

‘Take it easy,’ said Gösta, clutching the strap hanging from the ceiling. ‘What did they say on the phone?’ He gasped as the car skidded again.

‘Not much. Just that there had been a traffic accident and the girl who’d been struck was Victoria. Unfortunately, it sounds as though she’s in bad shape, and apparently she has other injuries, which have nothing to do with being hit by a car.’

‘What kind of injuries?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll find out when we get there.’

Less than an hour later they arrived at Uddevalla hospital and parked at the front entrance. They hurried to the ER and accosted a doctor named Strandberg, according to his name badge.

‘I’m glad you’re here. The girl is just going into surgery, but it’s not certain she’ll make it. We heard from the police that she has been missing and, in the circumstances, we thought it best if you were the ones to notify her family. I assume you’ve already had a great deal of contact with them. Am I right?’

Gösta nodded. ‘I’ll phone them.’

‘Do you have any information about what happened?’ asked Patrik.

‘Only that she was hit by a car. She has severe internal bleeding, as well as a head injury, though we don’t yet know the extent of that injury. We’ll keep her sedated for a while after the operation in order to minimize any brain damage. If she survives, that is.’

‘We heard that she had suffered some sort of injuries prior to the accident.’

‘Yes,’ said Strandberg, hesitating. ‘We don’t know exactly which injuries are the result of the accident and which occurred previously. But …’ He seemed to be struggling for the right words. ‘Both of her eyes are gone. And her tongue.’

‘Gone?’ Patrik looked at the doctor in disbelief. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gösta’s equally astonished expression.

‘Yes. Her tongue has been severed, and her eyes have somehow been … removed.’

Gösta covered his mouth with his hand. His face had taken on a slightly greenish tinge.

Patrik swallowed hard. For a moment he wondered whether he was having a nightmare, and hoped he would soon wake up. Then he would be relieved to find it was all a dream and could turn over and go back to sleep. But this was real. Disgustingly real.

‘How long do you think the surgery will take?’

Strandberg shook his head. ‘It’s hard to say. As I mentioned, she has massive internal bleeding. Maybe two or three hours. At the least. You can wait here.’ He gestured towards the large waiting room.

‘I’ll go and ring the family,’ said Gösta, moving away down the corridor.

Patrik didn’t envy him the task. The Hallberg family’s initial joy and relief at hearing that Victoria had been found would swiftly be replaced with the same despair and dread they’d been living with for the past four months.

He sat down on one of the hard chairs. Images of Victoria’s injuries whirled through his mind. But his thoughts were interrupted when a frantic nurse stuck her head in the door and shouted for Strandberg. Patrik hardly had time to react before the doctor dashed from the waiting room. Out in the corridor Patrik could hear Gösta talking on the phone with one of Victoria’s relations. The question was, what news would they hear next?

Ricky tensely studied his mother’s face as she talked on the phone. He strained to read every expression, hear every word. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he could hardly breathe. His father sat next to him, and Ricky sensed that his heart was hammering just as hard. It felt like time was standing still, as if it had stopped at that exact moment. All his senses were somehow heightened. Even as he focused his full attention on the phone conversation, he could clearly hear every other sound. He could also feel the wax tablecloth under his clenched fists, the wisp of hair that was tickling the back of his neck under his collar, and the linoleum floor under his feet.

The police had found Victoria. That was the first thing they heard. His mother had recognized the number and grabbed the phone. Ricky and his father had instantly stopped eating their food when they heard her say, ‘What’s happened?’

No courteous greeting, no ‘hello’, no mention of anyone’s name, which was his mother’s usual way of answering the phone. Lately all such things – common courtesies, social rules, what one should or should not do – had ceased to matter. Those sorts of things belonged to their life before Victoria disappeared.

Neighbours and friends had arrived in a steady stream, bringing food and awkwardly offering well-intentioned words. But they never stayed long. Ricky’s parents couldn’t bear all the questions or the kindness, concern, and sympathy in everyone’s eyes. Or the relief, always the same hint of relief that they were not the ones in this situation. Their children were all at home, safe and sound.

‘We’ll leave right now.’

His mother ended the conversation and slowly placed her mobile on the worktop, which was the old-fashioned kind, made of steel. For years she had nagged his father to replace it with something more modern, but he had grumbled that there was no need to replace anything that was clean and in one piece and still fully functional. And his mother had never insisted. She simply brought up the topic on occasion, in the hope that her husband would suddenly change his mind.

Ricky didn’t think his mother cared any longer about what sort of kitchen worktop they had. It was strange how things like that quickly lost all importance. All that mattered was finding Victoria.

‘What did they say?’ asked Ricky’s father. He had stood up, but Ricky was still sitting at the table, staring down at his clenched fists. His mother’s expression told them they wouldn’t want to hear what she had to say.

‘They’ve found her. But she’s seriously injured and in hospital in Uddevalla. Gösta said we need to get there fast. That’s all I know.’

She burst into tears and then sank down as if her legs could no longer support her. Her husband just managed to catch her. He stroked her hair and hushed her, but tears were running down his face too.

‘We need to get going, sweetheart. Put on your jacket, and we’ll leave right away. Ricky, help your mother. I’ll go out and start the car.’

Ricky nodded and went over to his mother. Gently he put his arm around her shoulders and got her to move towards the front hall. There he grabbed her red down coat and helped her to put it on, the way a parent would help a child. One arm in, then the other, and he carefully zipped up the coat.

‘All right,’ he said, placing her boots in front of her. He squatted down and helped her to put them on too. Then he quickly put on his own jacket and opened the door. He could hear that his father had the car running. He was scraping off the windows so frantically that he’d created a cloud of frost, mixed with the vapour from his breath.

‘Bloody winter!’ he cried, scraping so hard that he was probably scratching the windscreen. ‘What a damn, sodding, bloody winter!’

‘Get in the car, Pappa,’ said Ricky. ‘I’ll do that.’ He took the scraper away from his father, after first settling his mother in the back seat. His father complied, offering no resistance. They had always let him believe that he was the one in charge in the family. The three of them – Ricky, his mother, and Victoria – had a secret agreement to allow Markus Hallberg to think that he ruled with an iron fist, even though they knew he was too nice to rule even with one finger. It had always been Helena Hallberg who had ensured that everything was done as it should be done – until Victoria disappeared. She had deflated so swiftly that Ricky sometimes wondered whether his mother had always been this shrivelled and dispirited person who was now sitting on the back seat, staring blankly into space, whether she had ever possessed a sense of purpose. Yet for the first time in months he saw something else in her eyes, a mixture of eagerness and panic prompted by the phone conversation with the police.

Ricky got in behind the wheel. It was strange how a gap in the family was filled, how instinctively he had stepped up to take his mother’s place. As if he possessed a strength he’d never known he had.

Victoria used to tell him that he was like Ferdinand the bull. Lazy and foolishly nice on the outside, but in moments of crisis he would always come through. He’d give her a playful nudge and pretend to be offended, but secretly he was happy to be compared to Ferdinand the bull. Although lately he no longer had time to sit and smell the flowers. He wouldn’t be able to do that again until Victoria came back.

Tears began running down his cheeks and he wiped them off on the sleeve of his jacket. He hadn’t allowed himself to think that she might never come home. If he’d done that, he would have fallen apart.

And now Victoria had been found. Though they didn’t yet know what awaited them at the hospital. He had a feeling they might not want to know.

Helga Persson peered out of the kitchen window. A short while ago she’d seen Marta come riding into the yard at full gallop, but now everything was quiet. She had lived here a long time, and the view was very familiar, even though it had changed a bit over the years. The old barn was still there, but the cowshed, where they’d kept the cows she’d taken care of, had been torn down. In its place was the stable Jonas and Marta had built for their riding school.

She had been happy that her son had decided to settle so close by, that they were neighbours. Their houses stood only a hundred metres apart, and since he ran his veterinary clinic at home, he frequently stopped in to see her. Every visit made her day a little brighter, which was what she needed.

‘Helga! Helgaaaa!’

She closed her eyes as she stood next to the worktop. Einar’s voice filled every nook and cranny of the house, enveloping her and making her clench her fists. But she no longer had the will to flee. He had beat it out of her years ago. Even though he was now helpless and completely dependent on her, she was incapable of leaving him. That wasn’t something she considered any more. Because where would she go?

‘HELGAAAA!’

His voice was the only thing left that still retained its former strength. The illnesses and then the amputation of both legs as a result of neglecting his diabetes had robbed him of his physical strength. But his voice was as commanding as ever. It continued to force her into submission just as effectively as his fists used to do. The memories of all those blows, the cracked ribs and throbbing bruises, were still so vivid that the mere sound of his voice could provoke terror and the fear that this time she might not survive.

She straightened up, took a deep breath, and called out:

‘I’m coming!’

Briskly she climbed the stairs. Einar didn’t like to be kept waiting, he never had, but she didn’t understand why there was always such a hurry. He had nothing else to do but sit and grumble, his complaints ranging from the weather to the government.

‘It’s leaking,’ he said when she came into the room.

She didn’t reply. Simply rolled up her sleeves and went over to him to find out how great the damage might be. She knew he enjoyed this sort of situation. He could no longer use force to hold her captive. Instead he relied on his need for care and attention, which she should have bestowed on the children she’d never had, the ones he had beaten out of her body. Only one had lived, and there were times when she thought it might have been best if that child had also been expelled in a rush of blood between her legs. Yet she didn’t know what she would have done if she hadn’t had him. Jonas was her life, her everything.

Einar was right. The colostomy bag was leaking. And not just a little bit. Half his shirt was soaked through.

‘Why didn’t you get here faster?’ he said. ‘Didn’t you hear me calling? I suppose you had something more important to do.’ He glared at her with his watery eyes.

‘I was in the bathroom. I came as quick as I could,’ she said, unbuttoning his shirt. Carefully she pulled his arms out of the sleeves, not wanting to get even more of his body wet.

‘I’m freezing.’

‘I’ll get you a clean shirt. I just need to wash you off first,’ she said with all the patience she could muster.

‘I’m going to catch pneumonia.’

‘I’ll be fast. I don’t think you’ll catch cold.’

‘Oh, so now you’re a nurse too, huh? I suppose you even know better than the doctors.’

She said nothing. He was just trying to throw her off balance. He liked it best when she cried, when she begged and pleaded with him to stop. Then he was filled with a great sense of calm and satisfaction that made his eyes shine. But today she wasn’t going to give him that pleasure. These days she usually managed to avoid such scenes. Most of her tears had been shed years ago.

Helga went into the bathroom to fill a basin with water. The whole procedure had become routine: fill the basin with water and soap, wet the rag, wipe off his soiled body, put him into a clean shirt. She suspected that Einar purposely made the bag leak. According to his doctor, it was impossible for it to leak so frequently. Yet the bags kept on leaking. And she kept on cleaning up her husband.

‘The water’s too cold.’ Einar flinched as the rag rubbed at his stomach.

‘I’ll make it warmer.’ Helga stood up, went back to the bathroom, put the basin under the tap and turned on the hot water. Then she returned to the bedroom.

‘Ow! It’s scalding! Are you trying to burn me, you bitch?’ Einar shouted so loud that she jumped. But she didn’t say a word, just picked up the basin, carried it out, and filled it with cold water, this time making sure that it was only slightly warmer than body temperature. Then she carried it back to the bedroom. This time he didn’t comment when the rag touched his skin.

‘When is Jonas coming?’ he asked as she wrung out the rag, turning the water brown.

‘I don’t know. He’s working. He went over to the Andersson place. One of their cows is about to calve, but the calf is in the wrong position.’

‘Send him up here when he arrives,’ said Einar, closing his eyes.

‘Okay,’ said Helga quietly, as she wrung out the rag again.

Gösta saw them coming down the hospital corridor. They were hurrying towards him, and he had to fight his impulse to flee in the opposite direction. He knew that what he was about to tell them was written all over his face, and he was right. As soon as Helena met his eye, she fumbled to grab Markus’s arm and then sank to the floor. Her scream echoed through the corridor, silencing all other sounds.

Ricky stood there as if frozen in place. His face white, he had stopped behind his mother while Markus carried on walking. Gösta swallowed hard and went to meet them. But Markus passed him with unseeing eyes, as if he hadn’t seen the same bad news in Gösta’s expression that his wife had seen. He kept on walking along the corridor with no apparent goal in mind.

Gösta didn’t move to stop him. Instead, he went over to Helena and gently lifted her to her feet. Then he put his arms around her. That was not something he usually did. He had let only two people into his life: his wife, and the little girl who had lived with them for a brief time and who now, through the inexplicable workings of fate, had come into his life again. So it didn’t feel particularly natural for him to be standing there, embracing a woman whom he’d known for such a short time. But ever since Victoria disappeared, Helena had rung him every day, alternating between hope and despair, anger and grief, to ask about her daughter. Yet he’d been able to give her only more questions and more worry. And now he had finally extinguished all hope. Holding her in his arms and allowing her to weep on his chest was the least he could do.

Gösta looked over Helena’s head to meet Ricky’s eye. There was something odd about the boy. For the past few months he had been the family’s mainstay, keeping them going. But now he stood there in front of Gösta, his face white and his eyes empty, looking like the young boy he actually was. And Gösta knew that Ricky had lost for ever the innocence granted only to children, the belief that everything would be okay.

‘Can we see her?’ asked Ricky, his voice husky. Gösta felt Helena stiffen. She pulled away, wiped her tears on the sleeve of her coat and gave him a pleading look.

Gösta fixed his gaze on a distant point. How could he tell them that they wouldn’t want to see Victoria? And why.

Her entire study was cluttered with papers: typed notes, Post-it notes, newspaper articles, and copies of photographs. It looked like total chaos, but Erica thrived in this sort of working environment. When she was writing a book, she wanted to be surrounded by all the information she’d gathered, all her thoughts on the case.

This time, however, it felt as if she might be in over her head. She had accumulated plenty of background details and facts, but it had all been obtained from second-hand sources. The quality of her books and her ability to describe a murder case and answer all the questions readers might have relied on her ability to secure first-hand accounts. Thus far she had always been successful. Sometimes it had been easy to persuade those involved to talk to her. Some had even been eager to talk, happy for the media attention and a moment in the spotlight. But occasionally it had taken time and she’d been forced to cajole the person, explaining why she wanted to dredge up the past and how she intended to tell the story. In the end she had always won out. Until now. She was getting nowhere with Laila. During her visits to the prison she had struggled to get Laila to talk about what happened, but in vain. Laila was happy to talk to her, just not about the murder.

Frustrated, Erica propped her feet up on the desk and let her thoughts wander. Maybe she should ring her sister. Anna had often been a source of good ideas and new angles in the past, but she was not herself these days. She had gone through so much over the past few years, and the misfortunes never seemed to stop. Part of her suffering had been self-imposed of course, yet Erica had no intention of judging her younger sister. She understood why certain things had happened. The question was whether Anna’s husband could understand and forgive her. Erica had to admit that she had her doubts. She had known Dan all her life. When they were teenagers they’d dated for a while, and she knew how stubborn he could be. In this instance, the obstinacy and pride that were such a feature of his personality had proved self-destructive. And the result was that everyone was unhappy. Anna, Dan, the children, even Erica. She wished that her sister would finally have some happiness in her life after the hell she had endured with Lucas, her children’s father.

It was so unfair, the way their lives had turned out so differently. She had a strong and loving marriage, three healthy children, and a writing career that was on the upswing. Anna, on the other hand, had encountered one setback after another, and Erica had no idea how to help her. That had always been her role as the big sister: to protect and support and offer assistance. Anna had been the wild one, with such a zest for life. But all that vitality had been beaten out of her until what remained was only a subdued and lost shell. Erica missed the old Anna.

I’ll phone her tonight, she resolved as she picked up a stack of newspaper articles and began leafing through them. It was gloriously quiet in the house, and she was grateful that her job made it possible for her to work at home. She had never felt any need for co-workers or an office setting. She worked best on her own.

The absurd thing was that she was already longing for the hour when she would leave to fetch Maja and the twins. How was it possible for a parent to have such contradictory emotions about the daily routines? The constant alternating between highs and lows was exhausting. One moment she’d be sticking her hands in her pockets and clenching her fists, the next she’d be hugging and kissing the children so much that they begged to be let go. She knew that Patrik felt the same way.

For some reason thinking about Patrik and the kids led her back to the conversation with Laila. It was so incomprehensible. How could anyone cross that invisible yet clearly demarcated boundary between what was permitted and what was not? Wasn’t the fundamental essence of a human being the ability to restrain his or her most primitive urges and do what was right and socially acceptable? To obey the laws and regulations which made it possible for society to function?

Erica continued glancing through the articles. What she had said to Laila today was true. She would never be capable of doing anything to harm her children. Not even in her darkest hours, when she was suffering from postnatal depression after Maja was born, or caught up in the chaos following the twins’ arrival, or during the many sleepless nights, or when the tantrums seemed to go on for hours, or when the kids repeated the word ‘No!’ as often as they drew breath. She had never come close to doing anything like that. But in the stack of papers resting on her lap, in the pictures lying on her desk, and in her notes, there was proof that the boundary could indeed be crossed.

In Fjällbacka the house in the photographs had become known as the House of Horrors. Not a particularly original name, but definitely appropriate. After the tragedy, no one had wanted to buy the place, and it had gradually fallen into disrepair. Erica reached for a picture of the house as it had looked back then. Nothing hinted at what had gone on inside. It looked like a completely normal house: white with grey trim, standing alone on a hill with a few trees nearby. She wondered what it looked like now, how run-down it must be.

She sat up abruptly and placed the photo back on her desk. Why not drive out there and have a look? While researching her previous books she’d always visited the crime scene, but she hadn’t done that this time. Something had been holding her back. It wasn’t that she’d made a conscious decision not to go out there; more that she had simply stayed away.

It would have to wait until tomorrow though. Right now it was time to go and fetch her little wildcats. Her stomach knotted with a mixture of longing and fatigue.

The cow was struggling valiantly. Jonas was soaked with sweat after spending several hours trying to turn the calf around. The big animal kept resisting, unaware that they were trying to help her.

‘Bella is our best cow,’ said Britt Andersson. She and her husband Otto ran the farm which was only a couple of kilometres from the property owned by Jonas and Marta. It was a small but robust farm, and the cows were their main source of income. Britt was an energetic woman who supplemented the money they made from milk sales to Arla by selling cheese from a little shop on their property. She was looking worried as she stood next to the cow.

‘She’s a good cow, Bella is,’ said Otto, rubbing the back of his head anxiously. This was her fourth calf. The previous three births had all gone fine. But this calf was in the wrong position and refused to come out, and Bella was obviously exhausted.

Jonas wiped the sweat from his brow and prepared to make yet another attempt to turn the calf so it could finally slide out and land in the straw, sticky and wobbly. He was not about to give up, because then both the cow and the calf would die. Gently he stroked Bella’s soft flank. She was taking, short, shallow breaths, and her eyes were open wide.

‘All right now, girl, let’s see if we can get this calf out,’ he said as he again pulled on a pair of long rubber gloves. Slowly but surely he inserted his hand into the narrow canal until he could touch the calf. He needed to get a firm grip on a leg so he could pull on it and turn the calf, but he had to do it cautiously.

‘I’ve got hold of a hoof,’ he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Britt and Otto craning their necks to get a better look. ‘Nice and calm now, girl.’

He spoke in a low voice as he began to tug at the leg. Nothing happened. He pulled a little harder but still couldn’t budge the calf.

‘How’s it going? Is it turning?’ asked Otto. He kept scratching his head so often that Jonas thought he would end up with a bald spot.

‘Not yet,’ said Jonas through clenched teeth. Sweat poured off him, and a strand of hair from his blond fringe had fallen in his eyes so he kept having to blink. But right now the only thought in his mind was getting the calf out. Bella’s breathing was getting shallower, and her head kept sinking into the straw, as if she were ready to give up.

‘I’m afraid of breaking something,’ he said, pulling as hard as he dared. And something moved! He pulled a bit harder, holding his breath and hoping not to hear the sound of anything breaking. Suddenly he felt the calf shift position. A few more cautious tugs, and the calf was lying on the ground, feeble but alive. Britt rushed forward and began rubbing the newborn with straw. With firm, loving strokes she wiped off its body and massaged its limbs.

In the meantime Bella lay on her side, motionless. She didn’t react to the birth of the calf, this life that had been growing inside of her for close to nine months. Jonas went over to sit near her head, plucking away a few pieces of straw close to her eye.

‘It’s over now. You were amazing, girl.’

He stroked her smooth black hide and kept on talking, just as he’d done throughout the birth process. At first the cow didn’t respond. Then she wearily raised her head to peer at the calf.

‘You have a beautiful little girl. Look, Bella,’ said Jonas as he continued to pat her. He felt his racing pulse gradually subside. The calf would live, and Bella would too. He stood up and finally pushed the irritating strand of hair out of his eyes as he nodded to Britt and Otto.

‘Looks like a fine calf.’

‘Thank you, Jonas,’ said Britt, coming over to give him a hug.

Otto awkwardly grasped Jonas’s hand in his big fist. ‘Thank you, thank you. Good work,’ he said, pumping Jonas’s hand up and down.

‘Just doing my job,’ said Jonas with a big smile. It was always satisfying when something worked out as it should. He didn’t like it when he wasn’t able to resolve things, either on the job or in his personal life.

Happy with the final results, he took his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket. For a few seconds he stared at the display. Then he dashed for his car.

FJÄLLBACKA 1964

The sounds, the smells, the colours. Everything so bedazzling, radiating excitement. Laila was holding her sister’s hand. They were too old for that sort of thing, but instinctively she and Agneta would reach for each other’s hand when anything unusual happened. And a circus in Fjällbacka was undeniably something out of the ordinary.

They had hardly ever been away from the small fishing village. Two day-trips to Göteborg. That was the furthest they’d gone. The circus brought with it the promise of the big wide world.

‘What language are they speaking?’ Agneta whispered, even though they could have shouted without anyone hearing because of the buzz of voices all around them.

‘Aunt Edla said the circus came from Poland,’ she whispered back, squeezing her sister’s sweaty hand.

The summer had consisted of an endless string of sunny days, but this had to be the hottest day so far. Laila had been allowed to take a day off from her job selling sewing accessories. She looked forward to every minute she didn’t have to spend inside that stuffy little shop.

‘Look! An elephant!’ Agneta pointed excitedly at the big grey beast ambling past them, accompanied by a man who looked to be in his thirties. The sisters stopped to watch the elephant, which was so impressively beautiful and so completely out of place in the field outside of Fjällbacka, where the circus was setting up.

‘Come on, let’s go look at the other animals. I heard they have lions and zebras too.’ Agneta tugged at her sister’s hand, and Laila followed, out of breath. She could feel the sweat running down her back and making damp patches on her thin summer dress with the floral pattern.

They ran between the wagons parked around the big tent which was being raised. Strong men in white undershirts were working hard to get everything ready for the next day when Cirkus Gigantus would have its first performance. Many of the locals hadn’t been able to wait until then and had come over to gawp at the spectacle. Now they were staring wide-eyed in wonder, never having seen the like before. Except for the two or three bustling summer months when tourists arrived to spend time on the beach, daily life in Fjällbacka was anything but exciting. One day followed the other with nothing in particular happening. The news that a circus was coming to town for the first time had spread like wildfire.

Agneta kept on tugging at Laila, drawing her over to the wagons where a striped head was sticking out of a hatchway.

‘Oh, look how beautiful it is!’

Laila had to agree. The zebra was so sweet, with his big eyes and long lashes. She had to restrain herself from going over to pet him. She assumed that touching the animals was not allowed, but it was hard to resist.

‘Don’t touch,’ growled a voice in English behind them, making them jump.

Laila turned around. She had never seen such a big man. Tall and muscular, he towered over them. The sun was at his back, so the sisters had to shade their eyes to see anything, and when Laila met his glance, it felt like an electric current surged through her body. She had never experienced such a sensation before. She felt confused and dizzy; her whole face burned. She told herself that it must be the heat.

‘No … We … no touch.’ Laila searched for the right words. Even though she had studied English in school and had learned a good deal from watching American films, she had never needed to actually speak the foreign language.

‘My name is Vladek.’ The man held out a calloused fist, and after a few seconds of hesitation, she responded, watching her own hand disappear in his grasp.

‘Laila. My name is Laila.’ Sweat was now coursing down her back.

He shook her hand as he repeated her name, though he made it sound so different and strange. When her name issued from his lips it sounded almost exotic and not like an ordinary, boring name.

‘This …’ She frantically searched her memory and then ventured: ‘This is my sister.’

She pointed at Agneta, and the big man greeted her as well. Laila was a bit ashamed of her stammered English, but her curiosity won out over her embarrassment.

‘What … what do you do? Here. In the circus.’

His face lit up. ‘Come, I show you!’ He motioned for them to follow and then set off without waiting for them to reply. They had to trot to keep up with him, and Laila felt her blood racing. He strode past the wagons and the circus tent that was still being raised, heading for a wagon that stood apart from the others. It was more like a cage, with iron bars instead of walls. Inside two lions were pacing back and forth.

‘This is what I do. This is my babies, my lions. I am … I am a lion tamer!’

Laila stared at the wild beasts. Inside of her something entirely new began to stir, something frightening but wondrous. And without thinking about what she was doing, she reached for Vladek’s hand.

Chapter Two

It was early morning at the station. The yellow-painted walls of the kitchen looked grey in the winter haze that hovered over Tanumshede. No one said a word. None of them had slept much, and weariness covered their faces like a mask. The doctors had fought heroically to save Victoria’s life, but without success. At 11.14 yesterday morning, she had been pronounced dead.

Martin had filled everyone’s coffee cup, and Patrik now cast a glance at his colleague. Since his wife’s death, he rarely smiled, and all their attempts to bring back the old Martin had failed. Pia had clearly taken part of Martin with her when she died. The doctors had thought she would live one more year, but things had progressed much faster than anyone anticipated. Only three months after her diagnosis, she was gone, and Martin was left alone with their young daughter. Fucking cancer, thought Patrik as he stood up to begin the briefing.

‘As you know, Victoria Hallberg has died from the injuries she sustained when she was struck by a car. The driver of the vehicle has not been charged with any crime.’

‘That’s right,’ Martin interjected. ‘I spoke with him yesterday. David Jansson. According to him, Victoria suddenly appeared in the road, and he had no time to brake. He tried to veer around her, but the road was slippery and he lost control of the car.’

Patrik nodded. ‘There’s a witness to the accident: Marta Persson. She was out riding when she saw someone come out of the woods and then get hit by a car. She was also the one who called the police and ambulance. And she recognized Victoria. From what I understand, she was suffering from shock yesterday, so we’ll need to talk to her today. Can you handle that, Martin?’

‘Sure. I’ll take care of it.’

‘In addition, we urgently need to make some progress in our investigation of Victoria’s disappearance. That means finding the individual or individuals who kidnapped her and subjected her to such horrific treatment.’

Patrik rubbed his face. The images of Victoria as she lay on the gurney had been etched into his mind. He had driven straight from the hospital to the police station and then spent several hours going through the material they had collected so far. He had studied the interviews they’d conducted with family members, as well as the girl’s classmates and friends at the stable. He was trying to map out Victoria’s inner circle of family and friends and determine what she had been doing in the hours before she disappeared on her way home from the Persson riding school. He had also reviewed the information they had about the other girls who had disappeared over the past two years. Of course the police couldn’t be sure, but it seemed unlikely to be a coincidence that five girls, all about the same age and similar in appearance, had disappeared from a relatively small area. Yesterday Patrik had also sent out new information to the other police districts and asked them to respond in kind if they had anything more to add. It was always possible that something had been overlooked.

‘We’re going to continue to cooperate with the other districts involved and combine efforts as best we can while investigating this case. Victoria is the first of the girls to be found, and maybe this tragic event can at least lead us to the others. And then we can put a stop to the kidnappings. Someone who is capable of the kind of sadistic treatment Victoria was subjected to … well, someone like that can’t be allowed to go free.’

‘Sick bastard,’ muttered Mellberg, causing his dog Ernst to raise his head uneasily. As usual, he’d been sleeping under the table with his head resting on his master’s feet, and he was sensitive to the slightest change in Mellberg’s tone of voice.

‘What can we glean from her injuries?’ Martin leaned forward. ‘Why would the perpetrator do something like that?’

‘If only we knew. I’ve been wondering whether we should bring in a profiler to assist us. So far we don’t have a lot to go on, but maybe there’s a pattern that might prove interesting, a connection that we haven’t seen.’

‘A profiler? You mean one of those psychology guys? A so-called expert who has never had contact with any real criminals? You want someone like that to tell us how to do our job?’ Mellberg shook his head so hard that his comb-over tumbled down over one ear. With a practised hand he pushed it back in place.

‘It’s worth a try,’ said Patrik. He was all too familiar with Mellberg’s resistance to any form of innovation or modern methods when it came to police work. In theory, Bertil Mellberg was chief of the Tanumshede police station, but everyone knew that Patrik was the one who did all the work, and it was thanks to him that any crime ever got solved in their district.

‘Well, it’ll be on your head if the top brass start whining about unnecessary expenses. I wash my hands of the whole business.’ Mellberg leaned back and clasped his hands over his stomach.

‘I’ll find out who’s available,’ said Annika. ‘And maybe we should check with the other districts in case they’ve already gone down this route and forgotten to tell us. We don’t need to duplicate their efforts. That would be a waste of time and resources.’

‘Good idea. Thanks.’ Patrik turned to the whiteboard where he’d already taped up a photograph of Victoria and jotted down the basic facts about her.

From the corridor they could hear the sound of a radio playing pop music. The upbeat melody and lyrics were a sharp contrast to the gloomy mood in the kitchen. The station had a conference room but it was cold and impersonal, so they preferred to hold meetings in the more pleasant surroundings of the kitchen, which also had the advantage of placing them closer to the coffeemaker. They would be drinking many litres of hot coffee before they were done.

Patrik paused to think and stretch his back before doling out the work assignments.

‘Annika, I’d like you to pull together all the materials we have relating to Victoria’s case, along with any information we’ve obtained from the other districts. We’ll need to send as much information as possible to the profiler, when we find one. And please see to it that the file is kept updated with any information we discover from now on.’

‘Of course. I’m taking notes,’ said Annika, who was sitting at the kitchen table with paper and pen. Patrik had tried to get her to start using a laptop or tablet instead, but she refused. And if Annika didn’t want to do something, there was no budging her.

‘Fine. Also, schedule a press conference for four o’clock this afternoon. Otherwise we’ll have the reporters breathing down our necks.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Patrik noticed that Mellberg was smoothing down his hair with a pleased expression. Obviously there would be no keeping him away from the press conference.

‘Gösta, find out from Pedersen when the autopsy report will be ready. We need all the facts ASAP. And please have another talk with the family. See if they’ve thought of something that might be important to the investigation.’

‘We’ve already talked to them so many times. Don’t you think they should be left in peace on a day like this?’ Gösta was looking dejected. He’d had the difficult task of speaking to Victoria’s parents and brother at the hospital, and Patrik could see that the experience had taken its toll on him.

‘Yes, but I’m sure they’re anxious for us to find out who did this. Just be as tactful as you can. We’re going to have to talk to a lot of people that we’ve already interviewed – her family members, friends, and anyone at the stable who may have seen something when she disappeared. Now that Victoria is dead, they might decide to tell us something they previously didn’t want to reveal. For instance, we ought to talk to Tyra Hansson again. She was Victoria’s best friend. Could you do that, Martin?’

Martin murmured his acquiescence.

Mellberg cleared his throat, reminding Patrik that, as usual, he needed to come up with some trivial task for Bertil. Something that would make him feel important without putting him in a position to do any significant damage. Patrik thought for a moment. Sometimes it was wisest to have Mellberg close by so he could keep an eye on him.

‘I talked to Torbjörn last night,’ Patrik went on. ‘And the forensic examination of the crime scene produced no results. It wasn’t an easy job, because it was snowing. They found no trace of where Victoria might have come from. Now they’ve run out of manpower, so I was thinking of summoning volunteers to help by searching a wider area. She might have been held prisoner in some old cabin or summer cottage in the woods. When she reappeared, it wasn’t too far from where she was last seen, so it’s possible she was somewhere in the vicinity the whole time.’

‘That’s what I was thinking too,’ said Martin. ‘Wouldn’t that indicate that the perpetrator is from Fjällbacka?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Patrik. ‘But not necessarily. Not if Victoria’s case is connected to the other disappearances. We haven’t found any clear link between the other towns and Fjällbacka.’

Mellberg again cleared his throat, and Patrik turned to look at him.

‘I thought you could help me with this, Bertil. We’ll go out to the woods, and with a little luck, we may be able to find the place where she was being held.’

‘That sounds good,’ replied Mellberg. ‘But it’s not going to be much fun in this cold.’

Patrik didn’t answer. Right now the weather was the least of his worries.

Anna was listlessly gathering up the laundry. She was unbelievably tired. She had been on sick leave ever since the car accident. By now the physical scars on her body had begun to fade, but emotionally her injuries had not yet healed. She was struggling not only with the grief of losing the baby but also with a hurt for which she alone was to blame.

Feelings of guilt churned inside her like a never-ending nausea. Every night she lay awake, going over and over what had happened and re-examining her motives. But even when she tried to give herself the benefit of the doubt, she still couldn’t work out what had made her sleep with another man. She loved Dan, and yet she had kissed someone else and allowed that man to touch her body.

Was her self-esteem so weak and her need for acknowledgement so great that she had thought another man’s hands and lips would give her something that Dan could not? She didn’t understand it, so how could she expect Dan to understand? He was loyalty and security personified. People said it was impossible to know everything about a person, but she knew that Dan would never even think of being unfaithful to her. He would never have touched another woman. The only thing he wanted was to love her.

After the initial outbursts of anger, the harsh words had been replaced by something much worse: silence. A heavy, suffocating silence. They tiptoed around each other like two wounded animals, while Emma, Adrian, and Dan’s daughters were like hostages in their own home.

Anna’s dreams of running her own home-decorating business had died the moment Dan’s hurt gaze met hers. That was the last time he had looked her in the eye. Now, whenever he was forced to speak to her directly – about something concerning the kids or even something as banal as asking her to pass the salt – he would mumble the words with his eyes lowered. And that made her want to scream. She wanted to shake him, force him to look at her, but she didn’t dare. So she too kept her eyes lowered, not because she felt hurt, but out of shame.

Naturally the children had no idea what was going on. They didn’t understand, but they were suffering from the effects. They went around in silence, trying to pretend that everything was normal. But it had been a long time since Anna had heard any of them laugh.

Her heart was so filled with remorse that she thought it might burst. Anna leaned forward, buried her face in the laundry, and wept.

This was where it all happened. Erica cautiously entered the house, which looked as if it might come crashing down at any moment. Abandoned and neglected, battered by the weather, it had stood here all these years until there was hardly anything left to remind people of the family that had once lived in this place.

Erica ducked under a board hanging down from the ceiling. Pieces of glass crunched under the soles of her winter boots. Not a single windowpane remained intact. The floor and walls bore clear signs of random occupants, with scrawled names and words that meant something only to whoever had written them. Four-letter words and insults, many of them misspelled. Those who chose to spray-paint epithets in empty buildings seldom exhibited any great literary talent. Discarded beer cans lay scattered about, and a condom wrapper had been tossed next to a blanket that was so filthy it made Erica feel sick. Snow had blown inside, piling up in nooks and crannies.

The whole house gave off an air of misery and loneliness. Erica pulled from her bag the folder of photographs she’d brought along to help her visualize the scene. They showed a different house, a furnished home where people had lived. Yet she couldn’t help shuddering because she thought she could see traces of what had happened in this place. She took a good look around. And then she saw it: dried blood, still visible on the wooden floor. And four marks where the sofa had once stood. Erica again glanced at the photos, trying to orient herself. She was starting to picture the room as it had looked back then. She saw the sofa, the coffee table, the easy chair in the corner, the TV on its stand, the floor lamp to the left of the easy chair. The whole room seemed to materialize before her eyes.

She could also see Vladek’s corpse. His big, muscular body semi-reclining on the sofa. The gaping red gash in his throat, the stab wounds on his torso, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. And the blood gathering in a pool on the floor.

In the photographs the police had taken of Laila after the murder, her eyes looked completely blank. The front of her jumper was soaked with blood, and there were streaks of blood on her face. Her long blond hair hung loose. She looked so young. Nothing like the woman who was now serving a life sentence in prison.

It had been an open-and-shut case. It seemed to have a certain logic to it that everyone simply accepted. Yet Erica had a strong feeling that something wasn’t right, and six months ago she had decided to write a book about the crime. She’d first heard about the case when she was a child, listening to people talk about the murder of Vladek and the family’s terrible secret. The events that took place in the House of Horrors had grown into a legend as the years passed. The house became a place where children could test their mettle, a haunted house they used to scare their friends, where they could show off their bravery and defy their fear of the evil within those walls.

Erica turned away from the family’s old living room. It was time to go upstairs. The chill inside the house was making her joints stiff, so she jumped up and down a few times to get warm before heading for the stairs. She carefully tested each step before proceeding upwards. She hadn’t told anyone that she was coming here, so she didn’t want to crash through a rotting step and end up lying here with her back broken.

The stairs held, but she was equally cautious about deciding to cross the floor on the second level. The floorboards creaked loudly, but they seemed able to bear her weight, so she continued on with greater confidence as she looked about. It was a small house, so there were only three rooms upstairs along with a short hallway. Directly across from the stairway was the larger bedroom that had belonged to Vladek and Laila. The furniture had been removed or stolen, so all that remained were the tattered and dirty curtains. Here too Erica found discarded beer cans. An old mattress indicated that someone had either slept in the empty house or used it for amorous activities far away from watchful parental eyes.

She squinted, trying to visualize the room based on the photographs she’d seen. An orange rug on the floor, a double bed with a pine bedstead and duvet covers with big green flowers. The room screamed the 1970s, and judging by the pictures the police took after the murder, it had been immaculate. Erica was surprised the first time she looked at the photos. Based on what she knew, she had expected to see a home in shambles, dirty and messy and neglected.

She left the parents’ bedroom and entered the next one, which was a little smaller. It had once been Peter’s. Erica found the relevant photo from the file. His room was also nice and tidy, though the bed was unmade. It was traditionally furnished, with blue wallpaper decorated with tiny circus figures. Happy clowns, elephants with plumed headdresses, a seal balancing a red ball on its nose. Lovely wallpaper for a child’s room, and Erica could understand why they had chosen that particular pattern. She raised her eyes from the photograph to study the room. Bits and pieces of the wallpaper were still there, but most of it had flaked off or been covered with graffiti. There was no trace of the thick wall-to-wall carpet except for a few patches of glue on the dirty wooden floor. The bookcase that had held toys and books was gone, as were the two small chairs and the table that were just the right size for a child to sit there and draw pictures. The bed that had stood in the corner to the left of the window was also long gone. Erica shivered. Here too the windowpanes were broken and snow had blown in to whirl across the floor.

She had purposely left the one remaining upstairs room for last. Louise’s bedroom. It was next to Peter’s, and when she took out the photo, she had to steel herself for what she knew she would see. The contrast was so bizarre. While Peter’s room had been so nice, Louise’s room looked like a prison cell, and it had essentially been just that. Erica ran her finger over the big bolt that was still on the door, although it hung loose from several screws. A bolt that had been installed to keep the door securely locked from the outside. To keep the child in.

Erica held up the photo as she stepped inside. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The room had an eerie air about it, but she knew this had to be her imagination. Rooms and houses possessed no memory, no capacity for recalling the past. No doubt it was the knowledge of what had happened in this house that was making her feel so uneasy in Louise’s room.

The room had been virtually empty. The only thing inside was a mattress on the floor. No toys, not even a proper bed. Erica went over to the window. Boards had been nailed across it, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have guessed this had been done after the house was abandoned. She glanced at the photograph. The same boards were evident back then. Here a child had been locked inside her own room. Tragically, that was not the worst thing the police had discovered when they came to the house after being notified of Vladek’s murder. Erica shuddered. It felt as if a cold wind was sweeping over her, but this time it wasn’t because of a broken window. The chill seemed to be coming from the room itself.

She forced herself to stay there a while longer, refusing to succumb to the strange mood. But she couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief when she emerged into the hall. Cautiously she made her way down the stairs. There was only one more place to see. She went into the kitchen where she found the cupboards empty and gaping, all the doors having been removed. The cooker and fridge were gone, and the mouse droppings in the spaces where they had once stood showed that rodents had been roaming freely, both inside the house and out.

Erica’s fingers trembled as she pressed down the handle on the cellar door to open it, encountering the same strange chill she’d noticed in Louise’s room. She cursed as she peered into the intense darkness, realizing that she hadn’t thought to bring along a torch. She might have to wait until another time to explore the cellar. But she fumbled her hand over the wall and finally located an old-fashioned switch. When she turned the knob, by some miracle, the cellar light came on. It was impossible for a light bulb from the seventies to be still functioning, so someone must have replaced it.

Her heart was pounding as she went down the stairs. She had to duck to avoid cobwebs, and she tried to ignore the creepy feeling on her skin as she imagined spiders slipping under her clothes.

When she reached the cement floor, she took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. This was just an empty cellar inside an abandoned house. Nothing more. And it did look like an ordinary basement. A few shelves remained, and an old work bench that had belonged to Vladek, but no tools. Next to it stood an empty oil can, and several crumpled old newspapers had been tossed in a corner. Nothing startling to look at. Except for one small detail: the chain, about three metres in length, which had been fastened with screws to the wall.

Erica’s hands shook badly as she searched for the right photograph. The chain was the same as back then, merely rustier. But the shackles were missing. The police had taken them. And in the police report, she’d read that they had been forced to saw them off, because they couldn’t find the key. She squatted down and picked up the chain, weighing it in her hand. It was heavy and solid, clearly sturdy enough to have restrained a much larger person than a thin and undernourished seven-year-old girl. How could anyone do that to a child?

Erica felt a wave of nausea rise to her throat. She was going to have to take a break from visiting Laila. She didn’t know how she could face her again after coming here and seeing with her own eyes these traces of the woman’s wickedness. Photographs were one thing, but as she held the cold, heavy chain in her hands, she had a much clearer idea of what the police must have found on that day in March 1975. She felt the same horror they must have felt when they came down to the cellar and discovered a child chained to the wall.

A rustling in the corner made Erica stand up abruptly. Her pulse again began racing. Then the light went out and she screamed. Panic seized hold of her and she started taking short, shallow breaths. Close to tears, she fumbled her way towards the stairs. Odd little sounds were coming from all directions, and when something brushed against her face, she screamed again. She flailed her arms about until she realized that it was just another cobweb. Feeling sick to her stomach, she threw herself in the direction where the stairs ought to be and then had the breath knocked out of her when she ran right into the railing. The light flickered and then came back on, but she was so filled with terror that she grabbed hold of the railing and dashed up the stairs. She missed one of the steps and hit her shin, but then managed to stumble the rest of the way up to the kitchen.

Gratefully she fell to her knees after slamming the cellar door closed behind her. Her leg and midriff were bruised, but she ignored the pain, focusing all her attention on breathing calmly. She felt a bit ridiculous as she sat there, but her childhood fear of the dark never seemed to go away, and in the cellar sheer terror had surged through her whole body. For a few minutes she had experienced a little of what Louise must have felt down there in the basement. The big difference was that she had been able to rush upstairs to the light and freedom, while Louise had been chained down there, in the dark.

For the first time a real awareness of the girl’s fate struck her with full force, and Erica bowed her head and wept. She was crying for Louise.

Martin studied Marta as she switched on the coffeemaker. He had never met her before, but like everybody else in the Fjällbacka area, he knew of the veterinarian and his wife. She was as beautiful as everyone had said, but it was an inaccessible type of beauty, and the slightly cold impression that she gave was further enhanced by the fact that she was remarkably pale.

‘Maybe you should talk to someone,’ he now said.

‘You mean a pastor? Or a psychologist?’ Marta shook her head. ‘I’m not the one who’s in a bad way. I’m just a bit … upset.’

She looked down at the floor but then raised her head to fix her gaze on him.

‘I can’t stop thinking about Victoria’s family. They finally got her back, only to lose her again. Such a young and talented girl …’ Marta fell silent.

‘I know. It’s awful,’ said Martin. He looked around at the kitchen. It wasn’t exactly ugly, but he could tell that the people who lived here didn’t care much about home decor. Everything seemed to have been put together haphazardly, and even though the room appeared to be clean, there was still a faint odour of horse.

‘Do you have any idea who could have done this to her? Are other girls in danger?’ asked Marta. She poured the coffee and sat down across from him.

‘That’s not a question we can answer.’ He wished he had a better reply, and his stomach clenched when he thought about how worried all the parents of young girls must be right now. He cleared his throat. It would do no good to get caught up in those kinds of thoughts. He needed to focus on doing his job and find out what happened to Victoria. That was the only way he could help them.

‘Tell me about yesterday,’ he said, taking a sip of coffee.

Marta took a few minutes to formulate her response. In a low voice she then told him how she’d gone out riding and how she’d seen the girl come out of the woods. She hesitated a couple of times, but Martin didn’t try to rush her. He let her tell the story at her own pace. He couldn’t begin to imagine how awful a sight the girl must have been.

‘When I realized it was Victoria, I called to her several times. I tried to warn her about the oncoming car, but she didn’t react. She just kept walking forward, like a robot.’

‘Did you see any other vehicle nearby? Or anyone in the woods?’

Marta shook her head.

‘No. I’ve tried again and again to recall the details, but that’s all I saw, both before and after the accident. The driver and I were the only ones around. Everything happened so fast, and I had all my attention focused on Victoria.’

‘Were you and Victoria close?’

‘That depends what you mean by that,’ replied Marta, running her finger along the rim of her coffee cup. ‘I try to establish a close relationship with all the girls at the stable, and Victoria had been coming to the riding school for years. We’re like a family here, even though it can be a dysfunctional one at times. And Victoria was part of the family.’

As she looked away, Martin saw tears welling up in her eyes. He reached for a paper napkin on the table and handed it to her. She took it and dabbed at her eyes.

‘Do you remember anything suspicious happening around the stable, anyone who seemed to be spying on the girls? Have you had anyone working here that we should take a closer look at? I know we’ve asked you these questions before, but they’re even more relevant now that Victoria was found so close by.’

Marta nodded. ‘I understand. But I can only repeat what I’ve already said. We haven’t had any problems like that, and we don’t have any employees. The riding school is in such a remote location that we would notice if anyone started hanging about. Whoever did this must have seen Victoria somewhere else. She was a lovely girl.’

‘Yes, she was,’ said Martin. ‘And she seems to have been a nice girl too. What did the other girls think of her?’

Marta took a deep breath. ‘Victoria was well-liked at the stable. She had no enemies that I know of. She was a completely ordinary teenager from a good family. I can only think that she was unlucky enough to fall into the hands of an extremely sick individual.’

‘You’re probably right,’ said Martin. ‘Although the word “unlucky” doesn’t seem adequate, given the circumstances.’

He stood up, signalling that the conversation was over.

‘That’s true.’ Marta made no sign of getting up to accompany him to the door. ‘“Unlucky” can’t begin to describe what happened.’

The hardest thing to get used to back when she started her prison time was that the days were all the same. But gradually the routines had become Laila’s lifeline. She took comfort in knowing that each day would be exactly like the previous day. It was a way of fending off her fear of staying alive. That had been the reason for her suicide attempts during those first few years. The fear of seeing life stretching out endlessly before her as the weight of the past pulled her down into darkness. Because of the routines, she had been able to cope. But the weight was ever-present.

Now everything had changed, and it was too big a burden for her to bear alone.

With trembling hands she turned the pages of the evening papers, which could be read only in the common room. The other inmates wanted to read them too, and they were growing impatient because she was taking so long. So far the journalists didn’t seem to know much, but they were making the most of the few details they had. The sensational tone of the reports disturbed her. She knew what it was like to be on the other side of the big headlines. Behind every such article was someone’s life, and real suffering.

‘Are you done yet?’ asked Marianne, coming over to her.

‘Almost,’ Laila murmured without looking up.

‘You’ve had the papers for ever. Finish reading them so we can have a turn.’

‘All right,’ she said as she continued to study the same pages that she’d spread open on the table quite a while ago.

Marianne sighed and went over to a table near the window to sit down and wait.

Laila couldn’t take her eyes off the photo on the left-hand page. The girl looked so happy and innocent, so unaware of the evil that existed in the world. But Laila could have told her all about it. How evil could live right next to what was good, in a community where people wore blinkers and refused to see what was right in front of their noses. Once you saw evil up close, you could never close your eyes to it again. That was her curse, and her responsibility.

She closed the newspaper, got up, and set it down in front of Marianne.

‘I’d like to have it back when all of you are done with it,’ she said.

‘Sure,’ muttered Marianne, already engrossed in the entertainment section.

Laila stood there for a moment, looking at Marianne as she bent over an article about the latest Hollywood celebrity divorce. How nice it must be to go through life wearing blinkers, she thought.

What bloody awful weather. Mellberg couldn’t understand how his partner Rita, who was originally from Chile, had been able to get used to living in a country with such a terrible climate. Personally, he wouldn’t mind emigrating. Maybe he should have taken the time to go home and change into warmer clothes, but he hadn’t expected to be sent into the woods. As police chief, he was the one who was supposed to tell people what to do. His plan had been to brief the people who had turned up to help with the search, telling them in which direction to go while he stayed in the car with a thermos of hot coffee.

But that wasn’t what happened. Of course Hedström had insisted that the two of them should help with the search. What foolishness! Aside from being a waste of his supervisory skills, he’d probably end up getting sick after plodding around in the freezing cold, and then how would the station function? The whole place would fall apart within hours. It was a mystery to him why Hedström didn’t realize that.

‘Damn it!’ His thin shoes slipped on the icy ground and he instinctively reached out to grab a tree branch in order to stay upright. The manoeuvre shook the tree, causing snow to come tumbling down and over him like a cold blanket, seeping under his collar and down his back.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Patrik. He didn’t seem to notice the cold, no doubt because he had on a fur hat, heavy boots, and an enviably thick winter jacket.

Mellberg angrily brushed off the snow. ‘Don’t you think I should head back to the station to get things ready for the press conference?’

‘Annika is taking care of all that. And it’s not until four this afternoon. We’ve got plenty of time.’

‘But this is a total waste of time. The snow that fell yesterday wiped out her tracks, and even the dogs can’t find a scent in this cold.’ He motioned towards a gap in the trees where they could see a handler with one of the two police dogs that Patrik had managed to call in. The dogs had been given a head start so as not to confuse them with new tracks and smells.

‘So tell me again, what exactly should we be looking for?’ asked Mats, one of the volunteers. He’d come from the local sports club after hearing the appeal for help with the search. Everyone in the community wanted to contribute in whatever way they could.

‘Anything that Victoria might have left behind. Footprints, bloodstains, broken branches … Anything that catches your attention,’ Mellberg told him, repeating word for word what Patrik had said when he spoke to the volunteers before they began the search.

‘We’re also hoping to find the place where she was being held,’ added Patrik, pulling his fur hat further down over his ears.

‘She couldn’t have walked far. Not in the condition she was in,’ Mellberg muttered, his teeth chattering.

‘No, not if she was on foot,’ said Patrik, slowly continuing onward as his eyes swept the ground and the surrounding area. ‘But she could have escaped from a car. If the perpetrator was in the process of moving her, for example. Or she could have been dropped off here on purpose.’

‘Would the perp really have let her go free? Why would he do that? That would be a very risky thing for him to do.’

‘Why?’ Patrik stopped. ‘She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t see, and she was probably seriously traumatized. Presumably we’re dealing with a perpetrator who is starting to feel extremely confident, given that he’s been at large for two years and the police haven’t found so much as a trace of the girls who disappeared. Maybe he wants to taunt us by releasing one of his victims and showing us what he’s done. As long as we don’t know anything, we can’t assume anything. We don’t know for sure that she was being held in the vicinity, but it’s possible she was.’

‘Okay, okay. You don’t need to talk to me like I’m some amateur,’ said Mellberg. ‘I’m just asking the questions that the general public will be asking us.’

Patrik didn’t reply. He had bent down to focus his attention on the ground again. Mellberg shrugged. Junior officers could be so touchy. He crossed his arms to hug his chest while he tried to stop his teeth from chattering. Another half hour and then he planned to supervise the search from his car. There had to be a limit to such a waste of resources. He just hoped that the coffee in the thermos would still be hot.

Martin didn’t envy Patrik and Mellberg wandering about in the snow. He felt as if he’d drawn the winning lottery ticket when he was assigned to interview Marta and Tyra. In truth, he didn’t think it was making optimal use of Patrik’s time for him to be out combing the woods, but over the years they’d worked together enough for Martin to understand why his colleague was doing this. For Patrik it was important to get close to the victim, physically to be on-site, aware of the same smells, listening to the same sounds, in order to have a sense of what happened. That instinct and ability had always been Patrik’s strong suit. The fact that it would also allow him to keep Mellberg occupied was a positive side effect.

Martin was hoping that Patrik’s instinct would lead him in the right direction, because thus far their investigation had failed to come up with any explanation for Victoria’s disappearance. They desperately needed to uncover some clue out there in the woods that would tell them where she’d been all these months. If they didn’t, and if the autopsy produced no concrete results, then it was going to be difficult to find any new leads.

While Victoria was missing they had talked to everyone with whom she might have come into contact. They had gone over her room with a fine-tooth comb and searched through her computer, looking for chat contacts, emails, and text messages, but without result. Patrik had cooperated with the other police districts, and they had devoted a good deal of time to looking for common denominators between Victoria and the other missing girls. But they hadn’t found any connection. The girls didn’t seem to share common interests or like the same music; they had never been in contact with each other, or been members of the same Internet forums, etc. No one in Victoria’s family or circle of friends recognized the name of any of the other girls.

Martin got up and went into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. He was drinking too much coffee these days, but with so many sleepless nights, he needed caffeine in order to function. After Pia died, his doctor had prescribed sleeping pills and antidepressants, which he’d tried for a week. But the pills wrapped him in a shroud of indifference, which scared him. So on the day of Pia’s funeral, he tossed them in the bin. He no longer remembered what it felt like to sleep through a whole night. In the daytime things were gradually getting better. As long as he kept busy – worked hard, fetched Tuva from day-care, cooked dinner, cleaned the house, played with his daughter, read her stories, put her to bed – he managed to hold on. But at night he was overwhelmed by grief, and thoughts kept whirling through his head. Hour after hour he would lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling as memories came rushing in and he was filled with an unbearable longing for a life that would never return.

‘How’s it going?’ Annika placed her hand on his shoulder, and he realized he was standing in the middle of the room holding the coffee pot in his hand.

‘I’m still not sleeping well,’ he said, filling his cup. ‘Would you like some?’

‘Sure. Thanks,’ she said, reaching for a cup.

Ernst came ambling in from Mellberg’s office, no doubt hoping that a coffee break in the kitchen meant there would be some treat for him too. When Martin and Annika sat down at the table, he lay down underneath and placed his head on his paws, keeping an eye on their every move.

‘Don’t give him anything,’ said Annika. ‘He’s starting to get fat, and that’s not good for his health. Rita does what she can to make sure he gets exercise, but she can’t keep up with the pace that would be needed to balance out what he eats.’

‘Are you talking about Bertil or Ernst?’

‘I suppose it would apply to both of them.’ Annika smiled, but then her expression turned serious. ‘So how are you really doing?’

‘I’m okay.’ He noticed Annika’s sceptical look. ‘It’s true. I’m just not sleeping much.’

‘Is anyone helping out with Tuva? You need a chance to rest and get caught up with things.’

‘Pia’s parents have been fantastic, and my parents too. So you don’t have to worry, but … I miss her. And no one can help me with that. I’m grateful for the wonderful memories of our life together, but at the same time I wish I could rip them out of my head, because they’re what hurts the most. And I don’t want to feel like this any more!’ He stifled a sob. He didn’t want to cry at work. This was his free zone, and he refused to allow his grief to invade here too. Then he would have no place left to flee from the pain.

Annika gave him a sympathetic look. ‘I wish I had lots of wise and comforting things to say. But I have no clue how it must feel. Just the thought of losing Lennart almost makes me fall apart. The only thing I can tell you is that it’s going to take time, and I’m here for you, if that helps at all. You know that, don’t you?’

Martin nodded.

‘And try to get some sleep. You’re starting to look like a wrung-out dishrag. I know you don’t want to take sleeping pills, but go to the health-food shop and see if they might have some sort of supplement that could help you.’

‘All right. I’ll do that,’ he said, deciding that it might actually be worth a try. He wouldn’t be able to keep going if he didn’t get at least a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep at night.

Annika got up to refill their cups. Ernst raised his head from his paws, but lowered it again, disappointed to see that no pastries were being offered to him.

‘What did the other districts say about the idea of bringing in a profiler?’ asked Martin, deliberately changing the subject. Annika’s concern warmed his heart, but it was too draining to talk about his grief for Pia.

‘They seemed to think it was a good idea. None of them has tried it yet, and any new suggestions would be welcome. Everyone is really shaken by what happened. And they’re all thinking the same thing: Have their missing girls been subjected to the same treatment as Victoria? They’re also worried about how the families will react when they hear the details. We can only hope that won’t happen for a while.’

‘Unfortunately, I don’t think it will take long. People seem to have a sick tendency to blab to the press. And given the number of medical personnel who saw the girl’s injuries, I’m afraid the news will leak out soon – if it hasn’t already.’

Annika nodded. ‘We’ll find out at the press conference, in that case.’

‘Is everything ready?’

‘Yes. It’s just a matter of finding some way to keep Mellberg out of there. That would make me feel a lot less nervous about things.’

Martin raised his eyebrows, and Annika held up her hands. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Nothing would keep him away. Not even death. He would rise out of his grave like Lazarus just to attend a press conference.’

‘A very apt analogy.’

Martin set his cup in the dishwasher. As he was about to leave the kitchen he stopped and gave Annika a hug.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Now I have to be off to interview Tyra Hansson. She should be home from school by this hour.’

With a gloomy expression Ernst followed him out of the room. As far as he was concerned, the coffee break had been a big disappointment.

FJÄLLBACKA 1967

Life was wonderful. Amazing and totally unreal, yet so natural all the same. Everything had changed on that hot summer day. When the circus left Fjällbacka, Vladek did not go with it. He and Laila had agreed to meet on the evening of the last performance, and it was tacitly understood that he would then pack up his belongings and go back to her flat. He left everything behind for her. His mother and brothers. His life and his culture. His whole world.

Since then they had been happier than she could ever have imagined. Every night they fell asleep in each other’s arms, snuggled together in her bed, which was much too small, and yet there was space enough for the two of them and their love. The entire flat was actually too small. It was only a bedsit with a tiny kitchen in one corner, but oddly enough Vladek was content. They made do with the space they had, and day by day their love for one another grew.

And now they would need space for one more. She placed her hand on her stomach. The slight swelling was still hardly visible, but she couldn’t resist running her hand over it now and then. She had an urge to pinch herself to make sure this was real. That she and Vladek were actually going to be parents.

She saw Vladek come walking across the courtyard outside the block of flats, at exactly the same time he always did after a day’s work. She still felt as if an electric current passed through her every time she saw him. He seemed to sense her gaze, because he raised his head to look up at their window. With a big smile, filled with love, he waved to her. She waved back as she again caressed her stomach.

Chapter Three

‘How is Pappa today?’ asked Jonas. He kissed his mother on the cheek and sat down at the kitchen table, trying to muster a smile.

Helga didn’t seem to hear him.

‘It’s so awful what happened to that stable girl,’ she said instead, setting in front of him a plate with several big slices of freshly baked sponge cake. ‘It must be terribly hard for all of you.’

Jonas picked up the piece on top and took a big bite. ‘You spoil me, Mamma. It almost feels like you’re trying to fatten me up.’

‘I know. But you were always such a skinny little boy. So thin we could count your ribs.’

‘Uh-huh. I’ve heard you say that a thousand times, how tiny I was when I was born. But now I’m almost six foot two, and there’s certainly no problem with my appetite.’

‘It’s good for you to eat, considering how busy you are. All that running about. That can’t be healthy.’

‘Right. Exercise is known to be a real health hazard. Didn’t you ever do any vigorous exercising? Not even when you were young?’ Jonas reached for another piece of cake.

‘When I was young? You make it sound like I’m ancient.’ Helga spoke sternly, but she could feel a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Jonas could always make her smile.

‘No, not ancient. I think “antique” is the word I was going for.’

‘Stop that now,’ she said, giving him a swat on the shoulder. ‘If you don’t watch out, there won’t be any more sponge cake, or any home-cooked meals either. Then you’ll have to make do with whatever Marta puts on the table.’

‘Good Lord, then Molly and I would starve to death.’ He took the last piece of cake from the plate.

‘It must be hard for the girls in the stable to hear that one of their friends suffered such a horrible end,’ Helga went on, wiping some invisible crumbs from the table.

The kitchen was always kept in perfect order. Jonas couldn’t recall ever seeing it messy, and his mother never stopped moving as she cleaned, baked, cooked, and took care of his father. Jonas looked about. His parents weren’t keen on modernizing anything, so the room had looked exactly the same all these years. The wallpaper, cupboards, linoleum, and furniture – everything was just as he remembered from his childhood. The refrigerator and worktop were the only things they had reluctantly replaced. But he liked the fact that so little had changed. It gave his life a sense of continuity.

‘It was quite a shock, of course. Marta and I are going to have a talk with the girls this afternoon,’ he said. ‘But don’t worry about it, Mamma.’

‘No. No, I won’t.’ She picked up the plate, which now held only a few crumbs. ‘How did it go with the cow yesterday?’

‘Good. It was rather complicated, but—’

‘JOOONAS!’ His father’s voice thundered from upstairs. ‘Are you there?’

His displeasure ricocheted off the walls, and Jonas noticed how his mother instantly clenched her jaw.

‘Best if you go up,’ she said as she began wiping the table with a wet rag. ‘He’s cross because you didn’t come to see him yesterday.’

Jonas nodded. As he climbed the stairs he could feel his mother’s gaze following him.

Erica was still feeling a bit shaky when she arrived at the day-care centre. It was only two o’clock, and she usually didn’t fetch the children until four. But after her experience in the cellar of the abandoned house she was longing to see them so much that she decided to drive straight to the centre. She needed to see her kids, give them a hug, and hear their bubbly voices, which could make her forget everything else.

‘Mamma!’ Anton came running towards her with his arms outstretched. He was dirty from head to toe, with one ear sticking out from under his cap. He looked so sweet that Erica thought her heart would burst. She squatted down and held out her arms to draw him close. Her clothes were going to get dirty too, but that didn’t matter.

‘Mamma!’ She heard another little voice calling from the playground, and Noel also came running. He had on red overalls instead of the blue ones that Anton wore, but his cap was crooked, just like his brother’s. They were so alike, and yet so different.

Erica set Noel on her lap too, hugging another dirty child who burrowed his face against her neck. Noel’s nose was ice cold, and she shivered as she laughed.

‘Hey, you little ice cube, are you trying to warm up that nose of yours on my neck?’

She pinched his nose, making him laugh. Then he lifted up her jumper and pressed his cold and grubby mittened hands against her stomach, evoking a shrill scream from Erica. Both boys howled with laughter.

‘What a couple of rowdy boys you are! Hot baths for the pair of you as soon as we get home.’ She set them down, stood up, and straightened her jumper. ‘Come on, kids, let’s go and fetch your sister,’ she said, pointing towards Maja’s part of the school. The twins loved to go over there because it gave them a chance to roughhouse with the older children in Maja’s group. And Maja was always delighted to see them. Even though her little brothers could be such pests, she always showered them with love.

When they arrived home, the cleaning-up process began. Usually this was a task that Erica hated, but today she didn’t care how much dirt and debris got scattered over the floor. And she didn’t let it bother her when Noel immediately lay down and began screaming about something only he understood. None of this was of any importance after she’d spent time in the cellar of the Kowalski house and realized the horror that Louise must have experienced as she sat there, chained to the wall in the dark.

Her own children lived in the light. Her children were the light. Noel’s shrieks, which usually made her cringe, had no effect today. She merely reached down to stroke his hair, which surprised him so much that he stopped crying.

‘Come on, let’s go put you in the bathtub. Then we’ll thaw out a whole bunch of Grandma’s cinnamon buns and eat them with hot chocolate while we watch TV. Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?’ Erica smiled at her children as they sat on the wet floor in the front hall. ‘And let’s forget about making dinner tonight. We’ll just eat all the rest of the ice cream in the freezer instead. And you can stay up as long as you want.’

Not a sound came from the children. Maja gave her mother a worried look and then went over to touch her forehead.

‘Are you sick, Mamma?’

Erica couldn’t help laughing.

‘No, sweetheart,’ she said, and then drew all three kids close. ‘Mamma isn’t sick or crazy. I just love you so much.’

She gave them a big hug, wanting to hold them even tighter. But in her mind she saw a different child. A little girl who was sitting all alone in the dark.

Ricky had hidden her secret deep inside, in a special corner of his heart. Ever since Victoria had gone missing, he had turned that secret over and over, studying it from all angles and trying to work out whether it might have had anything to do with her disappearance. He didn’t think so, but there was still a slight doubt in his mind. Think it over again. That phrase kept whirling through his head, especially at night when he lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Think it over again. The question was whether he’d done the wrong thing, whether it had been a terrible mistake to keep quiet. It would be so easy to let the secret remain hidden, buried for ever, just as Victoria was now going to be buried in the cemetery.

‘Ricky?’

Gösta’s voice made him flinch as he sat there on the sofa. He had almost forgotten about the police officer and all his questions.

‘Have you thought of something else that might be relevant to the investigation? Now that it turns out Victoria may have been held captive somewhere nearby?’

Gösta’s voice sounded gentle and sorrowful, and Ricky could see how tired he was. He had grown fond of this older policeman who had been their family liaison officer during the past few months. And he knew that Gösta liked him too. Ricky had always got on well with grown-ups. Ever since he was a child, he’d been told that his was an old soul. Maybe that was true. Regardless, he felt as if he’d aged a thousand years since yesterday. All joy and anticipation about the life that lay ahead of him had vanished the moment Victoria died.

He shook his head.

‘No, I’ve already told you everything I know. Victoria was an ordinary girl, with ordinary friends and ordinary interests. And we’re just an ordinary family. Perfectly normal …’ He smiled and glanced at his mother, but she didn’t return his smile. The sense of humour that had always united the family had also died with Victoria.

‘I heard from a neighbour that you’ve asked the public for help in searching the woods,’ said his father. ‘Do you think that will produce any results?’ Markus’s face was ashen with exhaustion, but there was a spark of hope in his eyes as he looked at Gösta.

‘We hope so. Lots of people have volunteered to help, so with luck we might find something. She must have been held somewhere.’

‘What about the other girls? The ones we read about in the newspapers?’ Helena reached for her coffee cup. Her hand was shaking, and Ricky’s heart ached to see how thin his mother had become. She had always been slender and petite, but now she had lost so much weight that her bones were clearly visible under her skin.

‘We’re continuing to work with the other police districts. Everyone is determined to solve this case, and we’re helping each other by exchanging information. We’re going to put all our resources into finding whoever kidnapped Victoria and presumably the other girls too.’

‘I mean …’ Helena hesitated. ‘Do you think the same thing …’ She couldn’t bear to finish the sentence, but Gösta knew what she was asking.

‘We don’t know. But it’s certainly possible that …’ He too couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Ricky swallowed hard. He didn’t want to think about what Victoria had gone through. But the images from the photographs kept creeping into his mind, and he felt nausea rise into his throat. Her beautiful blue eyes, which had always held such warmth. That was how he wanted to remember them. He couldn’t stand to think about the horror of what had happened to his sister.

‘We’re going to hold a press conference this afternoon,’ said Gösta after a moment. ‘And I’m afraid the reporters will probably show up here too. The disappearance of the girls has been national news for a while, and this will only … Well, I just want you to be prepared.’

‘They’ve already been here and rung the bell a few times. And we’ve stopped answering the phone,’ said Markus.

‘I can’t understand why they won’t leave us in peace.’ Helena shook her head. Her dark hair, cut in a page-boy style, swayed around her face. ‘Don’t they realize …’

‘No, unfortunately they don’t,’ said Gösta, standing up. ‘I need to go back to the station now. But don’t hesitate to call. You can reach me anytime, day or night. And I promise to keep you informed.’

He turned to Ricky and placed his hand on the boy’s arm.

‘Take care of your mother and father.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ He felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. But Gösta was right. As things stood, he was stronger than either of his parents. He was the one who would have to keep everything together.

Molly felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Disappointment filled her body, and she stomped her foot so hard on the stable floor that a cloud of dust rose up.

‘You’re a sodding idiot!’

‘Watch your language, please.’ Marta’s voice was ice cold, and Molly shrank back. But her anger was so great that she couldn’t stop herself.

‘But I want to go! I’m going to talk to Jonas about it too.’

‘I know you want to go,’ said her mother, crossing her arms. ‘But in the circumstances, it’s not a good idea. And your father will agree with me.’

‘What do you mean, “in the circumstances”? It’s not my fault that such awful things happened to Victoria. Why should I have to suffer?’

Tears were now running down Molly’s face, and she wiped them off on the sleeve of her jacket. She peered up at Marta from under her fringe to see if her tears would have any effect, though it seemed unlikely. Her mother merely stared at her with that guarded expression of hers, which Molly hated. Sometimes she wished that Marta would get furious instead, that she would scream and swear and show some emotion. But she never lost her composure. She never gave any sign of yielding.

Molly’s tears poured out, her nose was running, and her jacket sleeve was now soaked.

‘But it’s the first competition of the season! I don’t understand why I can’t participate, just because of what happened to Victoria. I’m not the one who killed her!’

Slap! Marta’s hand struck her cheek before she even saw it coming. Molly touched her face in disbelief. It was the first time her mother had hit her. The first time anyone had ever hit her. Her tears stopped abruptly as she stared at Marta, who was again utterly calm. She stood there motionless, her arms crossed over the green quilted riding vest she wore.

‘That’s enough now,’ she said. ‘You can stop begging like some spoiled brat and behave decently.’ Marta’s words cut just as deep as the slap. Molly had never been called a spoiled brat. Well, the other girls in the stable might have called her that behind her back, but that was only because they were jealous.

Still holding her hand to her cheek, Molly kept on staring at Marta. Then she turned on her heel and ran out of the stable. The other girls began whispering to each other when they saw her crying as she ran across the yard, but she didn’t care. They probably thought she was crying about Victoria, like everyone else had been doing since yesterday.

Molly ran for home, going around back to the door to her father’s veterinary clinic, but it was locked. There were no lights on, and Jonas wasn’t there. Molly wondered where he could be as she stood in the snow for a moment, stomping her feet to stay warm. Then she took off running again.

She tore open the door to her grandparents’ house.

‘Grandma!’

‘Good Lord, where’s the fire?’ Helga came out to the front hall, drying her hands on a dish towel.

‘Is Jonas here? I need to talk to him.’

‘Calm down. You’re crying so hard I can barely understand you. Is this about the girl that Marta found yesterday?’

Molly shook her head. Helga led her into the kitchen and got her to sit down at the table.

‘I … I …’ Molly stammered, but then she had to stop and take several deep breaths. Just being in her grandmother’s kitchen helped her to calm down. In this house, time stood still. Nothing ever changed in here while outside the world continued to rush onward.

‘I need to talk to Jonas. Marta says I can’t take part in the competition on the weekend.’ She hiccupped and then fell silent so her grandmother had time to take in how unfair the situation was.

Helga sat down. ‘Well, Marta likes to make the decisions. You’ll have to wait and see what your father says. Is it an important competition?’

‘Yes, it is. But Marta says it wouldn’t be appropriate to compete after what happened to Victoria. And of course I think it’s sad, but I don’t see why that’s any reason for me to miss the competition. That cow Linda Bergvall is bound to win if I’m not there, and then she’ll be so annoying, even though she knows I could have beat her. I’ll die if I’m not allowed to go!’ With a dramatic expression, she leaned over the kitchen table, rested her face on her arms, and began to sob.

Helga patted her gently on the shoulder. ‘Now, now, it’s not the end of the world, and your parents are the ones who make the decisions. They’d do anything for you, but if they think you shouldn’t compete … well, then there’s not much to be done about it.’

‘But don’t you think Jonas would understand?’ said Molly, giving Helga a pleading look.

‘I’ve known your father since he was this big,’ said Helga, holding her thumb and index finger only a centimetre apart. ‘And I’ve known your mother for a long time too. Believe me when I say that it’s impossible to make them change their minds, once they’ve made a decision. So if I were you, I’d stop complaining and look forward to the next competition instead.’

Molly dried her face on the paper napkin that Helga handed her.

She blew her nose and then got up to toss the napkin in the bin. The worst thing was that her grandmother was right. It was hopeless to try and talk to her parents once they’d decided. But she was still planning to try. Maybe Jonas would take her side, in spite of everything.

It had taken Patrik a whole hour to thaw out, and it was going to take Mellberg even longer. It had been sheer madness to go out in the woods when the temperature was minus seventeen degrees Celsius and he was wearing thin shoes and only a windproof jacket instead of a proper winter coat. Mellberg’s lips were blue as he stood in a corner of the conference room.

‘How’s it going, Bertil? Are you still cold?’ asked Patrik.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Mellberg, slapping his arms against his body. ‘I could use a stiff whisky. That might warm me up from the inside.’

Patrik shuddered at the thought of an intoxicated Bertil Mellberg at the press conference. Although that might actually be an improvement over the sober version.

‘So what approach do you think we should take?’ Patrik asked.

‘I thought I’d take charge, and you can back me up. The reporters like to see a strong leader, someone they can turn to in situations like this.’ Mellberg tried to sound as authoritative as he could with his teeth chattering.

‘Of course,’ said Patrik, sighing to himself so heavily that he thought Mellberg might hear. Always the same story. Getting Mellberg to do anything useful in an investigation was about as easy as trying to catch flies with a pair of chopsticks. But the minute he had the chance to step into the spotlight, or claim credit for work done by the rest of the team, no one could keep Bertil away.

‘How about letting in the hyenas?’ said Mellberg, turning to Annika, who got up and went over to the door. She had made all the arrangements while they were out in the woods. She’d given Mellberg a quick rundown of the most important points and also printed out key words on a piece of paper for him. Now they could only cross their fingers and hope that he didn’t embarrass them any more than necessary.

The journalists shambled into the room, and Patrik greeted several that he knew – some from the local media and some who worked at the national level, reporters that he’d run into on various occasions. As usual there were also a few new faces. The newspapers seemed to have a high turnover rate where journalists were concerned.

They all sat down, exchanging a few murmured remarks, while the photographers good-naturedly jostled for the best positions. Patrik hoped that Mellberg’s lips wouldn’t look quite so blue in the photos; at the moment he looked as though he belonged in the morgue.

‘Everybody here?’ said Mellberg, shivering. The reporters had already started waving their hands in the air, but he motioned for them to stop. ‘We’ll take questions in a moment, but first I want to turn over the floor to Patrik Hedström, who will give you a brief report on what has happened.’

Patrik gave his boss a surprised look. Maybe Mellberg realized after all that he didn’t have a grasp of the big picture, which was what this crowd of reporters needed to hear.

‘Thank you. All right then,’ Patrik replied. He cleared his throat and came over to stand next to Mellberg. He paused to gather his thoughts, trying to work out what he should tell them and what he should withhold. An unguarded word to the media could destroy so much, and yet the journalists were their link to one of the greatest assets any investigation could have: the public. He needed to give the press enough information to trigger a ripple effect that would start tips coming in from ordinary people. There was always someone who had seen or heard something that might turn out to be relevant even though that person might not think so. But handing out the wrong information, or revealing too many details, could give the perpetrator an advantage. If he or she knew what sort of leads the police were following, it would be easier to hide their tracks or simply refrain from making the same mistake next time. And that was everyone’s greatest fear right now, that this horrific crime would be repeated. A serial criminal rarely stopped of his own accord. Most likely not in this instance, at any rate. Patrik had a bad feeling about this one.

‘Yesterday Victoria Hallberg was found near a wooded area east of Fjällbacka. She was then struck by a car, and we are convinced it was an accident. She was taken to Uddevalla hospital, where all possible efforts were made to save her life. Unfortunately, her injuries were too severe and at 11.14 she was pronounced dead.’ He paused and reached for a glass of water that Annika had placed on the table. ‘We have searched the area where she was found, and I’d like to thank all the volunteers from Fjällbacka who turned up to help. There is little more I can tell you. We are continuing to cooperate with other police districts investigating similar cases. We need to find the girls who have gone missing, and we need to catch the person who kidnapped them.’ Patrik took a sip of water. ‘Any questions?’

Everyone instantly stuck their hand in the air, and several reporters began speaking at once. The photographers in the front of the room had started snapping pictures as Patrik spoke, and he had to restrain an urge to smooth down his hair. It was always a strange feeling to see big pictures of his own face printed in the evening papers.

‘Kjell?’ He pointed to Kjell Ringholm from Bohusläningen, which was the local paper with the most subscribers. Kjell had offered the police valuable assistance on previous cases, so Patrik tended to give him preferential treatment.

‘You mentioned that Victoria had suffered severe injuries. What type of injuries? Were they the result of being struck by the car, or was she injured prior to the accident?’

‘I can’t comment on that,’ replied Patrik. ‘I can only say that she was struck by a car and she died from her injuries.’

‘We have information that she had been subjected to some sort of torture,’ Kjell went on.

Patrik swallowed hard, picturing in his mind Victoria’s empty eye sockets and her mouth, with a stump where her tongue had been. But those were details they didn’t want to release. He cursed whoever hadn’t been able to resist talking to the press. Was it really necessary to divulge such information?

‘Given the ongoing police investigation, we can’t comment on any details or the extent of Victoria’s injuries.’

Kjell was about to say something else, but Patrik held up his hand to stop him, and then called on Sven Niklasson, a reporter for Expressen. He had also dealt with this journalist before, and he knew that Niklasson was always sharp. He did his homework and never wrote anything that might damage an investigation.

‘Was there any indication that she had been sexually abused? And have you found any link to the disappearance of the other girls?’

‘We don’t know yet. The autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow. As far as the other missing girls are concerned, at this time I can’t divulge what we know about any possible links. As I said, we are continuing to work with the other police districts, and I’m convinced that this cooperative effort will lead to the arrest of the perpetrator.’

‘Are you sure that we’re talking about only one perpetrator?’ The reporter from Aftonbladet took the floor without being called on. ‘Couldn’t it be several individuals, or even a gang? Have you looked into possible connections with trafficking?’

‘At the present time we are not ruling out anything, and that also applies to the number of perpetrators involved. Of course we’ve discussed the possibility of a link to human trafficking, but Victoria’s case does not seem consistent with that theory.’

‘Why’s that?’ persisted the reporter from Aftonbladet.

‘Due to the nature of her injuries, it seems unlikely that she was going to be sold,’ Kjell interjected, as he scrutinized Patrik’s expression.

Patrik didn’t comment. Kjell’s conclusion was correct and revealed more than the police wanted to say, but as long as he refused to confirm anything, the newspapers could only print speculations.

‘As I said, we are investigating all possible leads. We are not ruling out anything.’

He allowed the reporters to ask questions for another fifteen minutes, but he was unable to answer most of them, either because he didn’t know the answer or because he didn’t want to release more details. Unfortunately, the more questions thrown at him, the clearer it became just how little the police actually knew. It had been four months since Victoria disappeared, and even longer since the girls in the other districts had gone missing. Yet there was so little to go on. Frustrated, Patrik decided the time had come to stop taking questions.

‘Bertil, is there anything you’d like to say in conclusion?’ Patrik adroitly moved aside to make Mellberg feel that he was the one who had been conducting the press conference.

‘Yes, I’d like to take this opportunity to say it was a blessing in disguise that it was in our district that the first of the missing girls was found, given the unique expertise available at our station. Under my leadership, we have solved a number of high-profile murder cases, and my list of previous successes shows that …’

Patrik interrupted him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

‘I wholeheartedly agree. We’d like to thank all of you for your questions, and we’ll stay in touch.’

Mellberg glared at him, angry at missing an opportunity for a little self-promotion, but Patrik steered him out of the room while the journalists and photographers gathered up their things. ‘Sorry about cutting in like that, but I was afraid they would miss their deadline if we kept them here any longer. After that great presentation you gave, we want to be certain they’ll file their reports in time for the morning editions.’

Patrik was ashamed of the drivel he was spouting, but it seemed to work because Mellberg’s face lit up.

‘Of course. Good thinking, Hedström. You do have your useful moments.’

‘Thanks,’ said Patrik wearily. Handling Mellberg took as much effort as running the investigation. If not more.

‘Why are you still unwilling to talk about what happened? It was so many years ago.’ Ulla, the prison therapist, peered at Laila over the rims of her red-framed glasses.

‘Why do you keep asking me about it? After so many years?’ replied Laila.

Back when she started serving her sentence she’d felt pressured by all the demands to describe everything, to open her soul and reveal the details from that day as well as the preceding period. Now it no longer bothered her. No one expected her to answer those questions; they were both just going through the motions. Laila knew that Ulla had to continue to ask about that time, and Ulla knew that Laila would continue to refuse to answer. For ten years Ulla had been the prison therapist. Her predecessors had stayed for varying lengths of time, depending on their ambitions. Tending to the psychological well-being of prisoners wasn’t particularly rewarding monetarily or in terms of career development or satisfaction at receiving good results. Most of the prisoners were beyond saving, and everybody knew it. Yet someone still had to do the job, and Ulla seemed to be the therapist who felt most content with her role. And that in turn made Laila feel calmer about being with her, even though she knew the conversation would never lead anywhere.

‘You seem to look forward to Erica Falck’s visits,’ said Ulla now, startling Laila. This was a new topic. Not one of the usual, familiar subjects that they danced around. She felt her hands start to shake as they lay on her lap. She didn’t like new questions. Ulla was aware of this and she fell silent, waiting for a reply.

Aware that her usual replies, which she could rattle off in her sleep, wouldn’t suffice, Laila couldn’t decide whether to respond or keep quiet.

‘It’s something different,’ she said at last, hoping that would be enough. But Ulla seemed unusually persistent today. Like a dog refusing to let go of a bone.

‘In what way? Do you mean it’s a break from the daily routines here? Or something else?’

Laila clasped her hands to keep them still. She found the questions confusing. She hadn’t a clue what she was hoping to achieve by meeting with Erica. She could have gone on declining Erica’s repeated requests to visit her. She could have gone on living in her own world while the years slowly passed and the only thing that changed was her face in the mirror. But how could she do that now that evil had forced its way in? Now that she realized it wasn’t simply a matter of taking new victims. Now that it was happening so close.

‘I like Erica,’ said Laila. ‘And of course her visits are a break from all the dreariness.’

‘I think there’s more to it than that,’ said Ulla, pressing her chin to her chest as she studied Laila. ‘You know what she wants. She wants to hear about what we’ve tried to talk about so many times. What you don’t want to discuss.’

‘That’s her problem. No one is forcing her to come here.’

‘True,’ said Ulla. ‘But I can’t help wondering whether deep down you’d like to tell Erica everything and in that way lighten the burden. She seems to have somehow reached you, while the rest of us have failed, in spite of all our attempts.’

Laila didn’t answer. They had tried so often, but she wasn’t sure she could have told them even if she had wanted to. It was too overwhelming. And besides, where should she begin? With their first meeting, with the evil that grew, with that last day when it happened? What sort of starting point could she possibly choose so that someone else would understand what even she found inexplicable?

‘Is it possible that you’ve fallen into a pattern with us, that you’ve kept everything inside for so long that you just can’t let it out?’ asked Ulla, tilting her head to one side. Laila wondered whether psychologists were taught to adopt that pose. Every therapist she’d ever met did the same thing.

‘What does it matter now? It was all so long ago.’

‘Yes, but you’re still here. And I think in part that’s your own doing. You don’t seem to have any desire to lead a normal life outside these prison walls.’

If Ulla only knew how right she was. Laila did not want to live outside of the prison; she had no idea how she would manage that. But that wasn’t the whole truth. She didn’t dare. She didn’t dare live in the same world as the evil she had seen close-up. The prison was the only place where she felt safe. Perhaps it wasn’t much of a life, but it was hers, and the only one she knew.

‘I don’t want to talk any more,’ said Laila, standing up.

Ulla’s gaze didn’t waver, seeming to go right through her. Laila hoped not. There were certain things she hoped no one would ever see.

Normally it was Dan who took the girls to the stable, but today he was busy at work, so Anna had driven them there instead. She felt a childish joy that Dan had asked her to step in, that he had asked her anything at all. But she wished she could have avoided the stable. She had a deep-seated dislike of horses. The big animals frightened her. It was a fear stemming from her childhood when she had been forced to take riding lessons. Her mother Elsy had decided that she and Erica should learn to ride, leading to two years’ torment for both sisters. It had been a mystery to Anna why the other girls at the stable were so obsessed with horses. Personally she found them totally unreliable, and her pulse would still race at the memory of how it felt to cling to a rearing animal. No doubt the horses could sense her fear from far away, but that made no difference. Right now she was thinking of simply dropping off Emma and Lisen and then retreating to a safe distance.

‘Tyra!’ Emma jumped out of the car and rushed over to a girl walking across the yard. She threw herself at Tyra, who gathered her up and swung her around.

‘You’ve grown tall since the last time I saw you! Soon you’ll be taller than me,’ said Tyra with a smile. Emma’s face lit up with joy. Tyra was her favourite of the girls who were always hanging about the riding school. She was devoted to her.

Anna went over to them. Lisen had run straight into the stable as soon as she got out of the car. She wouldn’t reappear until it was time to go home.

‘How are you feeling today?’ she asked, patting Tyra on the shoulder.

‘Awful,’ said Tyra. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked as though she hadn’t slept.

From the other side of the yard someone approached in the fading afternoon light, and Anna saw that it was Marta Persson.

‘Hi,’ she said as Marta came closer. ‘How’s it going?’

She had always found Marta to be incredibly attractive, with her sharp features, high cheekbones, and dark hair, but today she looked tired and worn out.

‘Things are a bit chaotic,’ replied Marta curtly. ‘Where’s Dan? You don’t usually come here voluntarily.’

‘He had to work overtime. They’re having teacher evaluations this week.’

Dan was at heart a fisherman, but since fishing could not provide him with a living in Fjällbacka, he had taken a teaching job in Tanumshede years ago to supplement his income. The fishing had gradually become a sideline, but he struggled to earn enough so he could at least hold on to his boat.

‘Isn’t it time for the girls’ lesson?’ asked Anna, glancing at her watch. It was almost five.

‘It’s going to be a shorter lesson today. Jonas and I feel it’s important to tell the girls about Victoria. You’re welcome to stay if you like. It might be nice for Emma to have you here.’

Marta headed indoors. They followed her into the conference room and sat down along with the other girls. Lisen was already there, and she gave Anna a sombre look.

Marta and Jonas stood next to each other, waiting for the buzz of voices to die down.

‘I’m sure you’ve all heard about what happened,’ Marta began. Everyone nodded.

‘Victoria is dead,’ said Tyra quietly. Big tears ran down her cheeks, and she wiped them on her shirt sleeve.

Marta didn’t seem to know what else to say, but then she took a deep breath and went on.

‘Yes, that’s right. Victoria died in hospital yesterday. We know that you’ve all been very worried about her, that you’ve missed Victoria. The fact that it should end like this … well, it’s terrible.’

Anna saw Marta turn to her husband for support. Jonas nodded and then spoke.

‘It’s terribly difficult for any of us to understand how something like this could happen. I suggest that we hold a minute’s silence to honour Victoria and her family. It’s worse for them than for anyone else right now, and I want them to know that we’re thinking of them.’ He fell silent and bowed his head.

Everyone followed his example. The clock in the conference room ticked quietly, and when the minute was up, Anna opened her eyes. All the girls were looking scared and anxious.

Marta took the floor again. ‘We don’t know any more than you do about what happened to Victoria. But the police will probably come here to talk with us again. Then we’ll find out more. And I want everyone to be available to answer the officers’ questions.’

‘But we don’t know anything. We’ve already talked to them several times, and nobody knows a thing,’ said Tindra, a tall blonde that Anna had spoken to on one occasion.

‘I know it may seem like that, but maybe there’s something you don’t realize might help. Just answer the questions the police ask.’ Jonas fixed his eyes on the girls, one after the other.

‘Okay,’ they murmured.

‘Good. We all need to do whatever we can to help,’ said Marta. ‘So now it’s time for the riding lesson. We’re all still feeling the shock, but maybe it would be good to think about something else for a while. So let’s get going.’

Anna took Emma and Lisen by the hand and headed for the stable. The two girls seemed surprisingly calm. With a lump in her throat, Anna watched as they got the horses ready. Then the girls led them into the riding hall and mounted them. She didn’t feel nearly as composed. Even though her son had lived only a week, she knew how desperately painful it was to lose a child.

She went over to sit on a bench. Suddenly she heard someone weeping quietly behind her. When she turned around, she saw Tyra sitting further up, with Tindra beside her.

‘What do you think happened to her?’ asked Tyra between sobs.

‘I heard that her eyes were gouged out,’ whispered Tindra.

‘What?’ Tyra practically shrieked. ‘Who told you that? When I talked with the policeman, he didn’t say anything about that.’

‘My uncle was one of the medics in the ambulance that picked her up yesterday. He said both her eyes were gone.’

‘Oh, no,’ moaned Tyra, bending forward. It looked like she was going to vomit.

‘Do you think it’s someone we know?’ said Tindra with ill-concealed excitement.

‘Are you crazy?’ said Tyra, and Anna realized that she needed to put an end to this conversation.

‘That’s enough,’ she said as she went up to the girls and put her arm around Tyra. ‘It’s no good speculating. Can’t you see that Tyra is upset?’

Tindra stood up. ‘Well, I think it has to be the same madman who murdered those other girls.’

‘We don’t know that they’re dead,’ replied Anna.

‘Of course they’re dead,’ said Tindra boldly. ‘And I bet their eyes were gouged out too.’

Anna shuddered with revulsion as she hugged Tyra’s trembling body even closer.

Patrik stepped inside the warmth of the front hall. He was bone tired. It had been a long work day, but the fatigue he felt had more to do with the responsibility that weighed him down on an investigation of this nature. Sometimes he wished he had an ordinary nine-to-five job in an office or a factory, and not a profession where someone’s fate depended on how well he did his job. He felt a great responsibility for so many people. Especially for the family members who placed their trust in the police to deliver the answers they needed if they were ever to come to terms with what had happened. Then there was the victim, who seemed to plead with him to find the person who had prematurely put an end to her life. But his greatest responsibility was to the missing girls who might still be alive, and for those who might be at risk from the kidnapper. As long as the perpetrator was on the loose and unidentified, more girls might disappear. Girls who lived, breathed, and laughed, unaware that their days were numbered because of some sadistic murderer.

‘Pappa!’ A little human projectile threw himself at Patrik, followed instantly by two more, which meant that they all ended up in a heap on the floor. The melted snow on the doormat was seeping into his trousers, but he didn’t care. It was good to have his children so near. For a few seconds everything was perfect, but then the bickering started.

‘Hey!’ Anton screamed. ‘Noel pinched me!’

‘No!’ cried Noel. And as if to show that he hadn’t, he gave his brother a pinch. Anton howled and flailed his arms about.

‘All right now …’ Patrik separated the boys and tried to look stern. Maja stood off to one side, imitating his expression.

‘No pinching!’ she said, wagging her finger at her brothers. ‘If you keep fighting, you’ll get a dime-out.’ Patrik had to stop himself from laughing. When she was much younger, Maja had misunderstood the expression ‘time-out’, and it had been impossible to get her to say it correctly.

‘Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll handle this,’ he said, getting up and holding the twins by the hand.

‘Mamma, the twins are fighting,’ called Maja as she ran to Erica in the kitchen. Patrik followed with his sons.

‘Really?’ said Erica, her eyes wide. ‘They’re fighting? Never!’ She smiled and kissed Patrik on the cheek. ‘Dinner is ready, so let’s stop all the fuss. Maybe pancakes will improve everyone’s mood.’

That did the trick. After the children had finished eating and settled in front of the TV to watch Bolibompa, Erica and Patrik were able to enjoy a rare moment of peace and quiet at the kitchen table.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Erica, sipping her tea.

‘We’ve hardly begun.’ Patrik reached for the sugar bowl and dumped five teaspoonfuls into his cup. Right now he didn’t want to think about any diet rules. Erica had been watching his food intake like a hawk ever since he’d developed heart problems at the same time the twins were born. But tonight she didn’t say a word. He closed his eyes, savouring the first taste of the piping hot and very sweet tea.

‘Half the town was out in the woods today helping us, but we didn’t find anything. And then there was the press conference this afternoon. Have you already seen the news about it online?’

Erica nodded. She hesitated as if debating her next move, then got up and took the last of Kristina’s homemade buns out of the freezer. She put them on a plate and stuck it in the microwave. A minute later the delicious fragrance of butter and cinnamon filled the kitchen.

‘Isn’t there a risk of destroying evidence with half of Fjällbacka tramping through the woods?’

‘Sure. Of course. But we have no idea how far she walked or where she came from, and by this morning the snow had already obliterated any footprints. I thought it was worth the risk.’

‘So how did the press conference go?’ Erica took the plate out of the microwave and set it on the table.

‘There’s not much we can tell the press. Mostly it was reporters asking questions that we couldn’t answer.’ Patrik reached for a bun but swore and quickly dropped it back on the plate.

‘Let them cool off a bit.’

‘Thanks for telling me.’ He blew on his fingers.

‘Was it because of the ongoing investigation that you couldn’t answer?’

‘I wish that was the reason. But the fact is we haven’t got a clue. When Victoria disappeared it was like she went up in smoke. Not a trace left behind. No one saw anything, no one heard anything, and there were no links to the other missing girls. Then all of a sudden she just reappeared.’

Neither of them spoke as Patrik touched the buns again and decided they had cooled off enough to eat.

‘I heard something about her injuries,’ said Erica cautiously.

Patrik paused before saying anything. He wasn’t supposed to discuss the girl’s injuries, but obviously word had already spread, and he needed to talk to someone. Erica was not only his wife, she was also his best friend. Besides, she had a much keener mind than he did.

‘It’s all true. Although I don’t know what you heard.’ He was buying himself a little time by chewing on a cinnamon bun, but suddenly he lost his appetite, and it didn’t taste as good as it should.

‘I heard she had no eyes.’

‘Yes, her eyes were … gone. We don’t know how it was done. Pedersen is doing the autopsy early tomorrow morning.’ He hesitated again. ‘And her tongue had been cut out.’

‘Good Lord,’ said Erica. Now she lost her appetite too. She set a half-eaten bun back on the plate.

‘How long ago did it happen?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Were the injuries new or had they healed?’

‘Good question. But I don’t know. I hope to get all the details from Pedersen tomorrow.’

‘Could it be some religious thing? Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth? Or some horrible expression of hatred for women? She wasn’t supposed to look at him, and she was supposed to keep quiet.’

Erica waved her hands about as she talked, and as always Patrik was impressed with the shrewdness of his wife’s mind. Such thoughts hadn’t occurred to him when he was trying to speculate about a possible motive.

‘What about her ears?’ Erica went on.

‘What about her ears?’ He leaned forward, getting crumbs on his hands.

‘Well, I was just wondering about something … What if the person who did this, the one who took away her ability to see and speak, also damaged her hearing? If so, she would have been in a sort of bubble, without any means to communicate. Think about what power that would give the perpetrator.’

Patrik stared at her. He tried to imagine what Erica had just described, but the mere idea made his blood run cold. What a horrifying fate. If that was true, then it might have been a blessing that Victoria hadn’t survived, even though it seemed cold-hearted to think such a thing.

‘Mamma, they’re fighting again.’ Maja stood in the kitchen doorway. Patrik glanced at the clock on the wall.

‘Oh, it’s time for bed.’ He got up. ‘Shall we do rock, paper, scissors?’

Erica shook her head and got up to kiss him on the cheek.

‘If you put Maja to bed, I’ll take care of the boys tonight.’

‘Thanks,’ he said and took his daughter by the hand. They headed for the stairs as Maja chattered about what she had done during the day. But Patrik wasn’t listening. His thoughts were on the girl inside the bubble.

Jonas slammed the front door so hard that Marta came rushing out of the kitchen, then stood leaning against the doorjamb with her arms folded. He could tell that she’d been expecting this conversation, and her calm demeanour made him even angrier.

‘I just talked to Molly. What the hell were you thinking? Shouldn’t we be making decisions like this together?’

‘Yes, we should. But sometimes you don’t seem to understand what has to be done.’

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Marta knew that a disagreement about Molly was the only thing that could make him lose his temper.

Jonas lowered his voice. ‘She’s been looking forward to this competition. It’s the first one of the season.’

Marta turned around and went back into the kitchen.

‘I’m making dinner. You’ll have to come in here if you want to argue.’

He hung up his jacket, took off his boots, and swore as he set his feet on the floor. His socks were instantly soaked from the snow he’d tracked in. It was never a good thing when Marta decided to cook. The smell coming from the kitchen did not bode well.

‘I’m sorry for yelling.’ He went over to stand behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders. She was stirring something in a pot, and he looked down to see what it was. He couldn’t tell what was simmering inside, but whatever it was, it didn’t look appetizing.

‘Sausage stroganoff,’ she said in reply to his unspoken question.

‘Could you just explain to me why?’ he said gently as he continued to massage her shoulders. He knew her so well, knew that it would do no good to shout and scream. So he was trying a different tactic. He had promised Molly that he would at least try. She had been inconsolable when she told him about Marta’s decision, and the front of his shirt was still wet from her tears.

‘It would look insensitive if we went to the competition right now. Molly needs to learn that the world does not revolve around her.’

‘I don’t think anybody would object if she …’ he ventured.

Marta turned around and looked up at him. He had always found it endearing that she was so much shorter than he was. It made him feel strong, like he was her protector. But in his heart he knew that was not the case. She was stronger than him and always had been.

‘But don’t you understand? You know how people talk. It’s obvious we can’t allow Molly to compete after what happened yesterday. The riding school is barely breaking even, and our reputation is our most important asset. We can’t risk it. So we’ll just have to let Molly sulk. You should have heard the way she spoke to me today. It’s not acceptable. You let her get away with far too much.’

Jonas reluctantly had to admit that she was right. But that was not the whole truth, and she knew it. Jonas pulled her close, feeling her body against his own and the current that passed between them, as always. He would always feel it. Nothing was stronger. Not even his love for Molly.

‘I’ll talk to her,’ he said with his lips pressed against Marta’s hair. He inhaled her scent, so familiar yet still so exotic. He felt himself responding, and Marta did too. She moved her hand down to his crotch and began stroking him through his trousers. He groaned and leaned down to kiss her.

The stroganoff on the stove was burning, but they didn’t care.

UDDEVALLA 1967

Everything had fallen into place so nicely for them that Laila could hardly believe it. Vladek was not only an excellent lion tamer, he also possessed a talent that was more practical for everyday use. He was an expert at fixing things. It hadn’t taken long before word of his skill had spread through town, and people began coming to Vladek to get help with everything from faulty dishwashers to broken-down old bangers.

In all honesty, he’d probably attracted a large number of such jobs because of the interest his presence had stirred. Plenty of people wanted to have a look at someone as remarkable as a genuine circus performer. But after the initial curiosity had faded, they retained a solid respect for his handyman skills. Everyone soon grew so accustomed to him that it was as if he had always been part of the community.

His self-confidence grew, and when he saw an advert for a workshop in Uddevalla, it seemed only natural that they should seize the opportunity and make the move, although Laila was sad not to be closer to Agneta and her mother. Yet Vladek was finally going to turn his dream into reality and start his own business.

Here in Uddevalla they had found their dream house. They fell in love with it on first sight. It was quite plain and a bit run-down, but for a modest sum they were able to do some renovations and make changes so that it was now their paradise.

Life was good, and they were counting the days until they could hold their child in their arms. They would soon become a real family. Laila, Vladek, and the baby.

Chapter Four

Mellberg awoke to find a little person jumping on him. The only person who was allowed to wake him. Or jump on him, for that matter.

‘Get up, Grandpa. Up!’ Leo urged him, bouncing up and down on Mellberg’s big stomach. So Mellberg did as expected and grabbed the boy, tickling him so he howled with laughter.

‘Good Lord, what a noise you two are making!’ shouted Rita from the kitchen. That was also part of the routine, but he knew that she loved to hear their rowdy playtime in the morning.

‘Hush,’ said Mellberg, holding his finger to his lips and opening his eyes wide. Leo did the same. ‘There’s a wicked witch out in the kitchen. She eats little children, and she has probably already eaten both of your mothers. But there’s one way we can defeat her. Do you know what it is?’

Even though Leo knew full well what Mellberg was going to say, he shook his head.

‘We have to sneak in there and tickle her to death! But witches have extra sharp ears, which means we have to do our best to move quietly so she won’t hear us, or else … or else we’re done for!’ And Mellberg made a motion as if slashing his throat. Again Leo copied him. Then they tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where Rita was waiting for them.

‘ATTACK!’ yelled Mellberg, and he and Leo ran over to Rita to tickle her.

‘EEEK!’ cried Rita, laughing. ‘This is what I get for my sins!’ The two dogs, Ernst and Señorita, rushed out from under the table and began dashing back and forth, barking happily.

‘Wow, what a ruckus,’ said Paula. ‘It’s a miracle you haven’t been evicted long ago.’

Everyone fell silent. They hadn’t heard the front door of the flat open.

‘Hi, Leo. Did you sleep well?’ said Paula. ‘I was thinking of coming up here to have breakfast with all of you before going to the day-care centre.’

‘Is Johanna coming too?’ asked Rita.

‘No, she already left for work.’

Slowly Paula went over to the kitchen table and sat down. In her arms she held Lisa, who for once was sound asleep. Leo ran over to give her a hug, studying his little sister a bit anxiously. Ever since Lisa’s birth, Leo had been sleeping at ‘Granny and Grandpa Bertil’s place’. Partly to escape the baby’s colicky crying, but also because he slept so well curled up in Mellberg’s arms. The two of them had been inseparable from the beginning, since Mellberg had been present at Leo’s birth. Now that the boy had a sister and his mothers were so busy with her, he often sought out his grandfather, who conveniently lived in the flat upstairs.

‘Is there any coffee?’ asked Paula. Rita filled a big cup, added a dash of milk, and set the coffee on the table in front of her. Then she kissed both Paula and Lisa on the top of the head.

‘You look upset, love. This must be so hard for you. Why doesn’t the doctor do something?’

‘There’s not much he can do. It will pass in time. Or so he hopes.’ Paula took a big gulp of coffee.

‘But have you been getting any sleep at all?’

‘Not much. But I suppose it’s my turn now. Johanna can’t exactly show up for work after going night after night without any sleep,’ she said, sighing heavily. Then she turned to Mellberg. ‘So, how did it go yesterday?’

Mellberg was holding Leo on his lap and was totally focused on spreading jam on slices of Skogaholm rye bread. When Paula saw what her son was about to have for breakfast, she opened her mouth to say something, but then refrained.

‘That might not be the best for him,’ said Rita when she saw that Paula didn’t have the energy to protest.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Skogaholm rye bread,’ said Mellberg, defiantly taking a big bite. ‘I grew up eating this bread. And jam? It’s just berries. And berries have vitamins. Vitamins and oxidants. All good things for a growing boy.’

‘Anti-oxidants,’ Paula corrected him.

But Mellberg wasn’t listening. What nonsense. Nobody needed to tell him anything about nutrition.

‘Okay, but how did it go yesterday?’ she repeated her question, realizing it was a losing battle to argue about breakfast food.

‘Excellent. I ran the press conference in my usual authoritative and intelligent manner. We need to buy copies of the newspapers today.’ He reached for yet another piece of bread. The first three were just for starters.

‘I’m sure you were amazing. I wouldn’t expect anything less.’

Mellberg cast a suspicious glance at Paula to see if there was any hint of sarcasm, but her face remained impassive.

‘Aside from that, have you made any progress on the case? Are there any leads? Do you know where she came from? Where she was being held captive?’

‘No, nothing yet.’

Lisa started squirming, and Paula’s expression showed how exhausted and frustrated she felt. Mellberg knew she hated to be left out of an investigation. It didn’t come easy to her, being away from work on maternity leave, and this initial period hadn’t exactly been tinged with maternal joy. He placed his hand on her knee and noticed through her pyjamas how thin she’d grown. She’d been practically living in pyjamas for weeks now.

‘I promise to keep you updated. But at the moment we don’t know much, and—’ He was interrupted by a shrill shriek from Lisa. It was astounding that a tiny body could produce such a piercing scream.

‘Okay, thanks,’ said Paula, getting up. Moving like a sleepwalker, she began pacing the kitchen as she hummed softly to Lisa.

‘Poor little thing,’ said Mellberg, taking another slice of bread. ‘It must be awful to have a tummy ache all the time. I’m lucky I was born with an iron stomach.’

Patrik was standing in front of the whiteboard in the station’s kitchen. Next to it on the wall he’d tacked up a map of Sweden, and he had inserted pins to mark the places where the girls had disappeared. He suddenly had a flashback to a case from several years earlier, when they’d also stuck pins in a map of Sweden. Back then they’d successfully solved the case. He hoped they’d be able to do the same this time.

The investigative materials that Annika had collected from the other districts were now sorted into four piles on the table, one for each missing girl.

‘It’s impossible for us to proceed as if Victoria’s death is an isolated case. We need to make sure we stay updated regarding the other disappearances.’

Martin and Gösta nodded. Mellberg had arrived at the station but had almost immediately gone back out to take Ernst for a walk, which usually meant that he would be stopping at the local bakery. He’d most likely be gone for at least an hour. It was no coincidence that Patrik had chosen this particular moment to review the case with his other colleagues.

‘Have you heard anything from Pedersen?’ asked Gösta.

‘No, but he said he’d phone as soon as he finished the autopsy,’ replied Patrik. He picked up the first stack of documents. ‘I know we’ve gone through everything before, but I want to go over the information about the other girls again, in chronological order. Maybe some new idea will turn up.’

He leafed through the papers and then turned to write the key points on the whiteboard.

‘Sandra Andersson. Fourteen years old, about to turn fifteen when she disappeared two years ago. Lived in Strömsholm with her mother, father, and younger sister. The parents own a clothing shop. No sign of any family problems. According to everyone interviewed, Sandra was a conscientious teenager who received excellent marks in school. She was planning to become a doctor.’

Patrik held up the first photograph. Sandra was a brunette. Pretty in a quiet sort of way, with intelligent eyes and a serious expression.

‘What were her other interests?’ asked Martin. He took a sip of his coffee but grimaced at the taste and set the cup back on the table.

‘Nothing special. She seemed to be totally focused on her studies.’

‘And nothing suspicious that occurred before she disappeared?’ asked Gösta. ‘No anonymous phone calls? Nobody sneaking about in the bushes? No letters arriving in the post?’

‘Letters?’ said Patrik. ‘For someone like Sandra, it would be more likely that she’d get emails or text messages. Kids her age hardly know what a letter or a postcard is any more.’

Gösta snorted. ‘I know that. I’m not that old and decrepit. But who’s to say that the perpetrator is so up on things? Whoever did this might belong to the snail-mail generation. You didn’t think of that, did you?’ With a triumphant smile Gösta leaned back and crossed his legs.

Patrik reluctantly agreed that his colleague had a point.

‘Nothing like that was reported,’ he said. ‘And the police in Strömsholm have been just as thorough in their investigation as we have. They’ve talked to her friends and classmates, searched her room and her computer, and looked into any other contacts she may have had. But they haven’t found anything out of the ordinary.’

‘That in itself seems fishy. A teenager who hasn’t got into the slightest mischief?’ muttered Gösta. ‘Sounds unhealthy, if you ask me.’

‘Personally, I think it sounds like a parent’s dream,’ said Patrik, thinking with dread about what might be awaiting him and Erica when Maja reached her teenage years. He’d seen too much in his line of work, and he felt his stomach clench at the thought of what lay ahead.

‘Is that all?’ Martin cast an anxious glance at the few words written on the whiteboard. ‘Where did she disappear?’

‘She was on her way home from visiting a friend. When she failed to return, her parents rang the police.’

Patrik didn’t have to consult the papers. He’d already read them several times. He placed Sandra’s stack of files aside and moved on to the next one.

‘Jennifer Backlin. Fifteen years old. Disappeared from Falsterbo eighteen months ago. As in Sandra’s case, there don’t seem to have been any problems at home. She comes from a wealthy middle-class family; her father owns an investment firm, her mother is a housewife. One sister. Jennifer was an average student academically, but a promising athlete. She’d done well enough in gymnastics to win a place at a sports academy.’ He showed the others a photo of a girl with brown hair, a nice smile, and big blue eyes.

‘Did she have a boyfriend? Did Sandra?’ said Gösta.

‘Jennifer did have a boyfriend, but he’s been cleared of any involvement. No boyfriend in Sandra’s life.’ Patrik reached for his glass of water and took a sip. ‘The same situation in both cases: no one saw or heard anything. No conflicts in Jennifer’s family or among her circle of friends. Nothing suspicious observed either before or after she disappeared, nothing online …’

Patrik began writing on the board, and the points were disturbingly similar to what he’d written about Sandra. Most striking of all was the lack of significant information or leads. Usually their enquiries would turn up someone who’d seen or heard something, but these girls seemed to have been swallowed up by the earth.

‘Kim Nilsson. A little older than the other girls – sixteen. She disappeared from Västerås about a year ago. Her parents own an upmarket restaurant, and Kim sometimes helped out, along with her sister. No boyfriend. Good marks in school, no particular interests other than school. Like Sandra, she seemed focused on her studies. Her parents said that she dreamed of studying economics at university, and then wanted to run her own business.’

Yet another photo of a pretty girl with dark hair.

‘Could we take a short break? I need to empty my bladder,’ said Gösta. His joints creaked as he stood up, and Patrik was suddenly reminded that his colleague was fast approaching retirement age. To his surprise, he realized that he would miss Gösta. For years Patrik had been irritated by his colleague’s tendency to opt for the course of least resistance and do only what was absolutely necessary. But he had also seen other sides of him, times when the older man demonstrated what a good police officer he really was. And under that gruff exterior of his, Gösta had a big heart.

Patrik turned to Martin. ‘Okay, while we’re waiting for Gösta, why don’t you tell me about your interview with Marta. Did you find out anything?’

‘No, not a thing.’ Martin sighed. ‘She didn’t see anyone and no vehicles passed that way before Victoria came out of the woods. And there were none afterwards, other than the car that struck the girl. Marta and the driver both stayed with Victoria while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. I didn’t learn anything new about her disappearance either. Apparently there have been no developments at the stable since the last time we talked to Marta.’

‘What about Tyra?’

‘Exactly the same as last time. But I did have a feeling that there was something she didn’t want to share. As if she might have a suspicion, but she didn’t dare tell me about it.’

‘Huh,’ said Patrik, frowning as he studied the notes he’d jotted down on the whiteboard, printed in bold letters. ‘If that’s true, let’s hope she changes her mind soon. Do you think we ought to lean on her a bit?’

‘I’m back,’ Gösta announced as he sat down again. ‘This damned prostate of mine has me running to the loo every fifteen minutes.’

Patrik held up his hand. ‘Okay, thanks, but that’s more than I want to know.’

‘Are we done with Kim?’ asked Martin.

‘Yes. The information is pretty much the same as in the two other cases. Not a trace left behind. Nothing suspicious. Nothing at all. But it’s a little different when we get to the fourth girl. It’s the only instance when an eye witness reported seeing a suspicious individual.’

‘Minna Wahlberg,’ said Martin.

Patrik nodded, wrote down the name, and picked up a photo of a girl with blue eyes. Her brown hair was gathered in a messy topknot. ‘Yes. Minna Wahlberg. Fourteen years old, from Göteborg. Disappeared about seven months ago. Her background is different from the other girls. Raised by a single mother, with lots of reports of trouble at home while Minna was growing up. Her mother’s boyfriends were usually to blame. Minna’s name started appearing in social welfare records for things like shoplifting and smoking hash. Unfortunately, it’s the classic story of a young girl gone astray. She was frequently absent from school.’

‘Any siblings?’ asked Gösta.

‘No. She lived alone with her mother.’

‘You haven’t added any comment about how Jennifer and Kim disappeared,’ Gösta pointed out. Patrik turned to look at the board and realized he was right.

‘Jennifer disappeared on her way home from school, after gymnastics practice. Kim disappeared near her home. She had gone out for a walk and planned to meet a friend, but she never turned up. In both cases the police were notified early on that the girls were missing.’

‘But that didn’t happen in Minna’s case, did it?’ said Martin.

‘No. You’re right. Minna hadn’t been seen at school or home for three days when her mother realized that something was wrong and phoned the police. Clearly she didn’t keep a close eye on her daughter. Minna came and went as she pleased. She would stay with various girlfriends or guys she knew. So we don’t know exactly what day Minna disappeared.’

‘What about the witness?’ Martin took another sip of coffee, and Patrik had to smile at his frown when he tasted the bitter brew, which had been sitting in the pot for hours.

‘Damn it, Martin. Why don’t you make some fresh coffee?’ said Gösta. ‘I could use a cup, and I’m sure Patrik could too.’

‘Why don’t you make it yourself?’ Martin replied.

‘Never mind. It’s not necessary.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as lazy as you,’ said Martin. ‘Maybe it’s your age.’

‘Hey, I’m not that old.’ Gösta often joked and grumbled about his age, but he didn’t like it when anyone else alluded to it.

Patrik wondered what an outsider would think about the banter that went on between them, even during the most harrowing investigations. But it was something they all needed. Sometimes the work left them so weighed down that they had to take a moment to relax, tease each other, and laugh. That was how they coped with all the sorrow, death, and despair.

‘Shall we go on? Where were we?’

‘The witness,’ Martin reminded him.

‘Right. Well, this is the only case with a witness – an eighty-year-old woman. The information she provided is a bit hazy, and she had difficulty remembering the exact time, but it appears to have happened the first day Minna didn’t return home. The witness stated that she saw Minna get into a small white car outside the ICA supermarket on Hisingen.’

‘But she wasn’t able to identify the type of car?’ said Gösta.

‘No, she wasn’t. The Göteborg police have tried everything they can think of to get more details from her about the car, but it was no use. All she could tell them was that it was an “older white car”.’

‘And the witness didn’t see who was sitting inside?’ asked Martin, even though he already knew the answer.

‘No. She thought it might be a young man sitting behind the wheel, but she couldn’t say for sure.’

‘I can’t believe this,’ said Gösta. ‘How the hell can five teenage girls just disappear? Somebody must have seen something.’

‘Well, so far no one has come forward,’ replied Patrik. ‘And that’s in spite of all the media coverage. After all the column space the papers have devoted to the missing girls, you’d think someone would have contacted the police if they’d seen anything.’

‘Either the perpetrator is extraordinarily clever, or he’s so obsessive that he never leaves any evidence behind.’ Martin was thinking aloud.

Patrik shook his head. ‘I think there must be a pattern. I can’t say why I think so, but it’s there somewhere, and once we discover it …’ He threw out his hands. ‘By the way, have you had any luck finding someone to put together a psychological profile of the perpetrator for us?’

‘Turns out it’s not that straightforward,’ Martin said. ‘There aren’t many specialists in that field, and most of them are booked up. But Annika just told me that she’s found an expert who does profiling. A man named Gerhard Struwer. He’s a criminologist at Göteborg University, and he can meet with us at his office this afternoon. She emailed him all the information we have. It’s rather strange that the Göteborg police haven’t already talked to him.’

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