Winter Grave

by Helene Tursten

  The two of them had decided to go up and see Uncle Nisse during the February break. Even if there wasn’t a hint of snow along the coast, there would be plenty in Dalsland. Only two weeks to go, and she was really looking forward to it. So was Elliot—he called or texted almost every day. When you’re nine years old, two weeks is an eternity. He was the best thing to come out of Embla’s year-long relationship with his father, Jason Abbot.

  Elliot’s mom had died before his first birthday, and he had no memories of her. Embla’s role in his life was never that of a mother. She was his friend, and she provided a sense of security. Together they came up with fun things to do, and he often stayed with her when his dad was on tour. In recent years Jason had become increasingly well-known as one of Europe’s best jazz musicians. His choice of instrument was one of the reasons their relationship hadn’t worked: the sax sounded harsh and old-fashioned to Embla’s ears. When she had come out with her opinion during one of their quarrels, Jason had gone crazy. He had never forgiven her. Another reason for their breakup was Jason’s notorious inability to remain faithful. However, Embla’s bond with his son was strong, and as a single parent Jason was wise enough to see the value of another adult in Elliot’s life. His family was split between Jamaica and Miami, which wasn’t much help when he needed someone to watch the kid on short notice.

  Embla was brought back to the present by Jasmin’s deep, warm voice.

  “Johannes isn’t feeling too well. He’s innocent of all the accusations against him, and in view of the trauma his family is currently experiencing, I’m requesting his immediate release.”

  “He claims he’s innocent, but I’m afraid he still has a great deal of explaining to do.” Göran shifted his attention from Jasmin to her client. “Let’s start with what you were doing last Sunday evening just before ten.”

  Johannes’s eyes darted all over the place, and he cleared his throat several times before he managed to speak.

  “I . . . I was home.”

  “Can anyone vouch for that?”

  “Er . . . my wife. But she’d gone to bed. She was asleep.”

  Göran allowed the silence to seep into every corner of the room. Johannes lowered his head, eyes fixed on the table.

  “Okay, let’s take a look at some CCTV footage.”

  He turned the laptop so that Johannes and Jasmin could see. As before, he pointed out that the gas can had been filled with diesel rather than ordinary gas.

  The expression on Jasmin’s face grew more and more rigid, while Johannes dissolved into tears once more. By the time the sequence came to an end, he was in pieces. Hampus handed him a wad of tissues, and they waited for him to calm down. When that didn’t happen, Göran made a decision.

  “Okay, we’ll leave it there and let you rest until tomorrow.” He stood up and placed a hand on Johannes’s shoulder as he walked by. “Tell us what happened. It’ll make you feel much better.”

  Johannes gave a start and turned his tear-stained face up to Göran. Fear shined in his wide-open eyes as he slowly shook his head.

  “We’ll try Ted Andersson again first thing tomorrow. Johannes is already on the edge. We need to play them off against each other,” Göran said.

  “There’s no doubt it was them,” Embla said.

  “None whatsoever.”

  Göran was absolutely sure of his ground, and his colleagues agreed with him. All they had to do now was work out exactly what had gone on.

  “I’d like you two to go and see Pernilla Andersson, talk to her about Sunday evening. She probably doesn’t know much, but it might be a good idea to check out the house and garage—and the car. Bring in the gas can if you find it. If there’s a drop left we can send it to the fire specialists at forensics for analysis. They should be able to tell if it came from the same pump as the diesel that was used as an accelerant at Breidablick.”

  “Do we have a warrant to search the house?”

  “Yes, the prosecutor’s already given the go-ahead, but I’m going to wait at least an hour before I send Paula Nilsson and Lars Engman over there. They’ll arrive about the same time as the CSIs. You don’t need to mention the search to Pernilla Andersson until you’re about to leave.”

  “Okay. When do you want to meet up again?” Hampus asked.

  “In a couple of hours—three at the most.”

  It was quite some time before the door opened. An overweight middle-aged woman nearly filled the doorway. It was clear she wasn’t pleased to see them, and she stuck out her chin aggressively.

  “What do you want?” she barked before Embla and Hampus had the chance to introduce themselves.

  They showed her their IDs, which she examined carefully before once again demanding to know what they wanted. When they asked if they could come in and have a chat with Pernilla, the woman’s chin shot out even further.

  “My daughter’s not feeling too good. Viggo . . .” She fell silent and her lower lip began to tremble, but she stood her ground.

  “We’d just like to ask her a few simple questions. We thought if we came here it would save her from coming to the station because we assumed that would be too much for her,” Embla said, trying to inject as much empathy as possible into her voice and expression.

  It seemed to work; the woman was clearly hesitating. After a moment she stepped aside. “Okay, but only for a couple of minutes. I’ll call her down.”

  They found themselves in a cramped hallway with an overloaded coatrack and a cracked mirror on the wall. The floor was strewn with shoes, clothes, and toys.

  Pernilla’s mother went over to the narrow staircase and shouted, “Pernilla! The police want to talk to you!” She turned back and jerked her head toward an open door. “You can go and sit in the kitchen.”

  Embla discreetly scanned the hallway. Just inside the door was a large metal flashlight. Viggo had been out in the garden playing with a flashlight when he disappeared. Was this the one he’d been using? Embla hadn’t taken off her woolen gloves—good, no fingerprints. She quickly bent down and picked it up. She noticed how light it was as she slipped it into her pocket: no batteries. Her pockets were pretty roomy, but it only just fit.

  The kitchen was also a mess, with dirty dishes, sticky pizza boxes, and empty beer cans on the counters.

  “I came over today . . . Pernilla called when you arrested Ted. I haven’t had time to clean up yet,” said the woman, whose name they still didn’t know.

  “Do you live nearby?” Hampus asked in a pleasant tone, eyes warm behind those round-rimmed glasses. It hardly ever failed; older ladies fell for the polite young man who looked like a reassuring doctor rather than a highly competent detective.

  “No, Uddevalla. And I don’t have a car, so I have to take the train or the bus. I have a bad hip, so it’s difficult to sit for long periods, but when your grandson disappears and his father’s accused of a crime . . . Poor Pernilla—she’s devastated!” Her voice was trembling by the end.

  Hampus tilted his head to one side and nodded sympathetically. “She’s under a tremendous strain. We all feel for her,” he said gravely.

  “Thank you. Viggo means . . . everything.”

  In the silence that followed they heard slow footsteps on the stairs that turned into a shuffle as Pernilla reached the bottom and began to make her way to the kitchen.

  She stopped in the doorway and stared at the two officers with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. She was wearing a black T-shirt and tights with a hole in one knee and had draped a grubby pink fleece robe over her shoulders. On her feet were a pair of trodden-down fluffy slippers with eyes on the front. Presumably they were supposed to represent some kind of animal—possibly piglets, judging by the color.

  “Have you . . . found him?” she whispered.

  “Hi, Pernilla. My name is Embla—you’ve already met Hampus. No, unfortunately we haven’t found Viggo, but hu
ndreds of people are out there looking, along with dog teams and a helicopter with a thermal-imaging camera. The chances of locating him are very good.”

  Embla tried to sound more optimistic than she was feeling.

  Pernilla let out a sob. “That’s what you said about Amelie, too. And she’s still missing!”

  There was no mistaking the accusatory tone. Her mother placed a hand on Pernilla’s arm, but she shook it off and slumped down on a chair.

  “We just wanted to have a chat with you about Sunday evening,” Hampus began.

  There was no indication that Pernilla had heard what he said; she stared blankly into space.

  “Did anyone visit during the evening?”

  Slowly she turned her head and looked at him, as if she’d only just realized he was still there. Almost inaudibly she whispered, “No.”

  “What time did Ted leave the house?”

  “I don’t know. I was lying on the bed . . . I didn’t hear him leave.”

  “Do you remember when he got back?”

  Nervously, she licked her dry lips, clearly on guard now. “No . . . around ten, maybe.”

  Since the CCTV images from the gas station were taken a few minutes before ten, they knew she was lying.

  His voice still gentle, Hampus said, “Are you sure? We have proof that he was in the center of Strömstad at that particular time.”

  Pernilla gave a start. Embla could see the fear in her eyes.

  “Sure . . . I don’t really remember. I was . . . I mean, Viggo was missing! You don’t understand what it’s like!”

  The last sentence was more of a hysterical scream. Before either Hampus or Embla could do anything, she leaped to her feet, her face bright red and distorted. Her entire body was shaking with anger.

  “Ted had to do something—you’re all so fucking incompetent! First it was Amelie—why the fuck didn’t you arrest that lunatic when it was obvious he’d murdered her? And now he’s taken Viggo!”

  Embla got up and went over to Pernilla. Calmly she put her arms around her and simply held her. At first Pernilla stiffened and made a vague attempt to free herself from Embla’s embrace, then suddenly she seemed to give up. She collapsed against Embla’s shoulder, sobbing with despair and bottomless grief. Neither Hampus nor her mother moved or spoke.

  After a while the sobs began to subside. Embla stroked Pernilla’s tangled hair and said, “We’re doing everything we can to find Viggo, but we have witness statements from five people confirming that Kristoffer was in his workshop at Breidablick on Saturday afternoon. He has a watertight alibi.”

  Pernilla stayed where she was for a few seconds, then pushed Embla away. “That’s not true! Ted said . . .” She stopped and clamped her lips together.

  Hampus cleared his throat. “It is true—Kristoffer had nothing whatsoever to do with Viggo’s disappearance. So what did Ted say?”

  Pernilla remained silent, refusing to look at any of them.

  Hampus waited a moment before continuing. “We have to check out times and so on—it’s essential if we’re going to find out what’s happened to your son.”

  Embla and Hampus allowed the silence to do its work, but when Pernilla showed no sign of cooperating, Hampus said:

  “You told us Ted went out on Sunday evening to help search for Viggo. What time was that?”

  Pernilla merely shrugged. Once again Embla could see the fear in her eyes. It was her husband she was afraid of.

  “We’re not trying to get you to testify against Ted. We’re absolutely certain he was in the town center just before ten. But what did he do before that? Did he meet up with anyone else?” Embla asked, her tone deliberately gentle.

  “I . . . I don’t remember. He didn’t mention anyone else . . .”

  Pernilla’s eyes were darting all over the place; it was obvious she was lying.

  “Did he take the car?”

  Pernilla hesitated. “Yes.” She began to move toward the door. “I can’t do this . . .”

  Hampus got to his feet. “Before you go upstairs I must inform you that this house will be searched shortly,” he said.

  Pernilla spun around with surprising speed and yelled, “We’re not criminals—our son is missing because you can’t do your fucking job!”

  Hampus didn’t allow himself to be provoked. “Ted is suspected of extremely serious crimes. Olof Sjöberg died in the arson attack, and his son, Kristoffer, was badly beaten. In fact he almost died, too. In such cases we always carry out a house search as a matter of routine. There are no exceptions.”

  Pernilla looked as if he’d slapped her across the face, as if she had only just realized how much trouble Ted was in. The tears began to flow once more.

  “Mom! They’re coming here!”

  She ran into the hallway and straight up the stairs. One of the pink piglet slippers came off, but she didn’t stop to put it back on. Her mother stayed in her chair. When she glanced up at Embla and Hampus, resignation was written all over her face.

  Shortly afterward Paula Nilsson, Lars Engman, and the CSIs from Trollhättan arrived. Embla warned them about Pernilla’s volatile state. Paula understood perfectly because she’d already met Viggo’s mother. They agreed that she would go up to the bedroom, partly to keep Pernilla company, partly to see what she was doing.

  Before leaving the house Embla and Hampus decided to check out the garage, but the door was locked. Hampus went back inside and asked Pernilla’s mother for the key. Without a word she took it from the hook inside one of the kitchen cupboards, handed it over, then began to make her way laboriously up the stairs.

  The garage door slid up with a rattle. They switched on their flashlights and shined the beams over the interior and the car. Embla found a switch, and two powerful fluorescent lights flooded the space with a harsh glare.

  The Lexus was black, and looked pretty new. The windows were heavily tinted. Embla tried the trunk, and to her surprise it opened. It was clean and empty—apart from a red gas can.

  “Yes! We’ll take that with us,” Hampus said. He went over to a workbench cluttered with wood and rubbish. There was a roll of garbage bags at the side; he ripped one off and put the roll back. Carefully, so as to avoid smudging any fingerprints or leaving any fresh ones, he managed to ease the can into the bag.

  “There you go! Back to the station for analysis,” he said.

  Instinctively Embla patted her pocket. The flashlight she’d picked up in the hallway was still there. Why had she taken it? Maybe because she’d felt it could be important, since Viggo had been playing out in the garden with a flashlight when he went missing. Then again, this was old-fashioned rather than modern. It wasn’t really suitable for a little boy; it was bulky and would be heavy with the batteries in it. But if Viggo had been playing with this flashlight, there were a number of questions that needed answering. Why hadn’t the boy taken it with him when he disappeared? Or had the perpetrator taken it off him and thrown it down in the garden? And why were there no batteries in it?

  Outside the ICA grocery store, they saw the headlines on the newspaper placards: does he know where amelie and viggo are? and parents in despair while main suspect kept sedated.

  “Where the hell do they get this stuff from?” Embla exclaimed.

  “Social media,” Hampus informed her dryly.

  His words were confirmed by Göran when they arrived back at the Shore House. He was sitting in the armchair with his laptop on his knee, his injured foot resting comfortably on the footstool. There was an almost empty packet of Ballerina cookies on the coffee table, along with a large cup of coffee. That was the typical scene when the chief inspector was working.

  Hampus left the sack containing the gas can in the hallway. Before handing over the flashlight, Embla put on a pair of latex gloves and slipped it into a plastic bag she found in a kitchen drawer. Then the tw
o of them reported back on their encounter with Pernilla Andersson and her mother.

  Göran took the last cookie and washed it down with the remaining few drops of his coffee. “I’m glad you brought the most important things away with you,” he said. “I’ll take a look at the flashlight shortly. Is there anything left in the can?”

  “A little.”

  “Great—and the flashlight could be interesting. Did you ask Pernilla if it was the one Viggo was playing with on Saturday?”

  “No, I didn’t really get the chance. And there are no batteries in it, by the way.”

  Göran shook the crumbs out of the packet into the palm of his hand and tossed them into his mouth. He picked up his cup and seemed surprised to find it empty.

  “Shall I make some more?” Embla asked.

  He shook his head. “We’ll be eating soon, but thanks for the offer.”

  “We saw some pretty annoying headlines on our way back,” Hampus told him.

  “I know. I’ve checked out the newspapers online. The trolls are having a field day, and the venom directed at Kristoffer is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve called Paula Nilsson and asked her to bring me Ted’s computer. Something tells me a lot of the hate mail has come from him. I recognize his choice of words.”

  “Kristoffer was a target when Amelie disappeared—are you saying it’s gotten worse?” Embla said.

  “Much worse. There’s a torrent of abuse flowing through every online forum. It started on Saturday night. One person posted a battery of abuse directed at both the police and Kristoffer across all social media platforms. It carried on all day Sunday, and now all the trolls who’ve jumped on board have made it a thousand times worse.”

  Hampus looked pensively at his chief. “What security do we have in place around Kristoffer?”