The Ice Child

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.