by Stefan Spjut
Torsten rummaged in the back of the snowmobile and brought out a length of light-blue bailer twine. He tied it round the officer’s arms and legs. When he had secured it he took a step away and placed his foot on Wikström’s back. He fell forwards, his chest thudded against the ground and his glasses flew off.
Patrik and Seved lifted him onto the sledge as if he were a parcel.
‘Now take that fox and get out of here,’ Torsten said.
He picked up the glasses lying in the snow and rammed them in an inside pocket of the prone detective’s jacket.
‘And lock that barrier after you!’
Edit Mickelsson was sitting in the kitchen in front of her laptop with a sombre expression on her face. Her fringe was pinned back with a small clip. She looked up when Susso and Torbjörn walked in through the door, and when she saw Susso was not alone she shut the laptop and stood up.
‘This is Torbjörn,’ Susso said.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ the old woman asked.
‘No thanks,’ Susso answered, as she sat down at the kitchen table without taking off her jacket or her hat. ‘We’ve just had some.’
Torbjörn sat down on the small chest of drawers in the hall, resting his elbows on his knees.
‘Can I get you anything else?’
Susso smiled and said, ‘No thanks,’ and Edit sat down again.
‘How are you?’ asked Susso.
‘Well, you know how it is. You sit here, waiting.’
‘No news?’
She shook her head and then turned to face the window.
‘They’ve started talking to people in the village again,’ she said. ‘Asking things they’ve already asked. So I suppose they’ve run out of ideas.’
‘Do you know of a farm near Årrenjarka, where Laestadians live?’ Susso asked, getting out the map. But there was no need to unfold it because Edit nodded.
‘Oh yes,’ she said.
‘We’ve just heard that he might come from there,’ Susso said.
‘The person who was here?’
‘Yes, and I thought you might have heard something about it too …’
‘As far back as I can remember there has been talk about those poor people,’ she said. ‘Edvin said they were intimidating Lars and Gun, who run the Fells Holiday Village over there. They had plans to expand, a restaurant or whatever, but it came to nothing because the digger broke. And when they got it repaired it broke again. And again. Then there was the year the campsite was invaded by lemmings. They even wrote about it in the Kuriren. There were so many lemmings the visitors couldn’t put their feet down on the ground. It was literally heaving with them. And they were vicious, those creatures. So soon the cabins were standing empty. Until they were filled with researchers and ecologists from every corner of the globe, that is. So the Mannbergs didn’t lose out. But they still insisted it was the Laestadians who caused the invasion – treating the ground with some kind of manure that attracted the lemmings, whatever that might have been. The things you hear.’
She shook her head.
‘So I can’t say I’m surprised if people are saying they’re the ones who have taken Mattias,’ she continued. ‘They get the blame for all the trouble that goes on around here – unless it’s the Poles or the Estonians, of course.’
‘No one is saying they’re the ones who have taken him. Only that the dwarf lives there.’
‘The Vaikijaur man,’ Edit said slowly.
It was clear she hated the name so much she could hardly bring herself to say it. Susso was aware that all the negative attention had resulted in ugly, indelible graffiti being painted on the village sign, and she guessed there were neighbours who blamed Edit for the damage. Quite possibly she blamed herself as well, far more harshly than anyone else. It was the same for Susso: she could not see how she could have acted any differently. If she had not set up the camera, the police would have nothing at all to go on, but that did not make her feel better. Susso had no idea what to say, so she sat looking at her hand, which was still resting on the folded map.
‘Shall we get going?’ Torbjörn said after a moment of silence.
Susso nodded.
‘We’re on our way to Årrenjarka,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘To do a bit of snooping.’
Getting the foxshifter into the car was easy. Like an obedient dog it leapt onto the back seat when he opened the door, followed by its bushy tail. It sat in exactly the same place as when it had been in its other form.
Seved reversed to get past the police car, and just as he was putting the car into first gear and was about to drive off there was a thump on the roof. It was Elna. Seved reached across the seat, grasped the handle and opened the door, a puzzled look on his face.
‘The clothes,’ she said, scraping a tangled lock of hair from her face. ‘He’s got to have his clothes.’
She indicated the patrol car with a nod of her head, and the bundle lying on its bonnet.
Seved waited while she ran to fetch them, and after she had handed him the clothes he placed them on the seat beside him. There were wood shavings on the anorak and stains on the nylon fabric of the boots, probably piss. It smelled like that anyway. He nodded his head at Elna, who returned the nod, and then he drove slowly off down the slope. Creaking gently, the car trundled along the narrow forest road. Seved could see the fox’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. Yellow and ringed with black they were watching him intently. There was no doubt Jirvin was concealed in there, in those narrow pupils. It was exactly the same look.
Seved knew he was very old. He had been living in this country when people were eating marsh turtles, so Torsten had said. That was an exaggeration, of course, but how old could he be? Five hundred years? A thousand?
When Seved had passed through the barrier and locked it behind him, he saw in the mirror that the fox was lying down. He felt a sense of relief and glanced over his shoulder to see what it was doing. Its head was resting on its front paws on the seat. Its eyes were glittering slits. Perhaps that was what it was going to do. Sleep.
After swinging onto the main road he turned round again, and this time he saw that the pelt had already started to disappear from around the eyes. And there was a patch on the forehead where grey leathery skin was shining through, and the nose had paled and begun to change shape.
He did not want to see this.
He picked up the old man’s anorak. Without letting go of the wheel or taking his eyes off the road, he tried to cover the fox but failed, so he began to pull over to the side of the road.
Three hours to get to Jillesnåle. Would that be enough time to shift shape? It was doubtful. Larger varieties usually took a long while. Karats had taken over a week last time, ominous and growling. They had not been allowed to go into Hybblet then.
It was extraordinary that he was shifting shape in a strange car in close proximity to a human he had never met before. Had Torsten told him where he was going and how long it would take to get there, or did he just know?
In the distance, at the furthest point of the white road, he saw a car driving towards him. It was shrouded in a halo of snow flung up by its wheels. When he realised it was not a police car he put on the handbrake. Then he turned round and spread the jacket over the bony old animal, which had begun shuddering, and he could feel the peculiar heat of the shapeshifting process radiating towards the palms of his hands. It was like warming yourself at a stove.
As the car passed, Seved looked the other way, towards the ploughed wall of snow. The risk of being recognised was practically non-existent, but in these parts he felt like a criminal, and he had an idea it showed.
‘You going up to Riksgränsen for Christmas?’ Susso stared at the road, and waited for an answer.
‘Yes, I thought I might,’ he said.
She turned and looked at his profile.
‘Seriously?’
Torbjörn snorted and moved the pouch of snus under his lip. Which meant: ‘I don’t think so.’
Torbjörn nodded, and after a moment he said:
‘Say hello to my mum from me.’
They sat in silence for a few kilometres, watching the peaks grow larger. The slopes were jagged with fir trees. Torbjörn leaned forwards and squinted.
‘It’s near here somewhere,’ he said.
A short distance further on there was a break in the wall of ploughed snow on the right-hand side. Susso depressed the clutch and switched her foot to the brake pedal.
‘Are you sure?’
‘There’s nowhere else it can be.’
The Volvo lurched as it made its way through the snow lying in thick ridges on the small road. In front they could see tyre tracks, the edges marked out in sharp shadows, and although she was not sure if they had been made by a vehicle with greater ground clearance than her own, she took it as a sign that there was no risk in going on. After about fifty metres the road was blocked by a barrier. There was a circular steel notice hanging from it, and even though the text was hidden by snow, the message was unmistakable: they would not be welcome here.
Susso stopped the car.
‘Well,’ she said, taking a quick look in the rear-view mirror. ‘What do we do now then?’
‘We’ll just have to walk, I guess,’ Torbjörn said, folding up the map.
Susso sighed and thumped the steering wheel.
‘But we can’t leave the car here,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to reverse first.’
She rested her right arm on the back of the seat and looked over her shoulder, then quickly unclipped her seat belt.
‘You’re going to have to do that anyway,’ Torbjörn said, nodding towards the road ahead.
A police car was coming towards them. Blue letters on the bonnet and on the roof the shining blue plastic of the lights. The car was moving slowly, and when it was about twenty metres from the barrier it came to a halt and stood there with its lights on in the half-darkness: cold, blinding xenon headlamps. Inside were two men, looking as if they had no plans to get out.
‘What are they waiting for?’ Susso said. ‘Do they want us to open it for them, or what?’
‘Or maybe they want us to reverse out of the way,’ replied Torbjörn.
‘What shall I do then?’
‘Reverse.’
Susso gripped the gear lever, put the car into reverse, turned her head and began to drive backwards. It was dark in the ravine that opened up between the fir trees, so they made slow progress.
‘Are you going to talk to them?’ Torbjörn asked.
‘Not sure,’ Susso answered quickly. ‘Do you think I should?’
When she reached the main road she asked Torbjörn to check if any cars were coming, and he strained his neck to see. When he gave the all-clear she reversed out, turned the car round and parked parallel to the wall of snow at the roadside. They waited with the engine idling. Neither of them said anything.
A harsh light flashed over the trees, and immediately afterwards the police car appeared. Susso opened the door, stepped out and stood facing the oncoming Volvo. She hardly needed to wave: naturally they would understand that she wanted something.
But they did not.
To her utter amazement they drove straight past.
The driver was wearing a police cap and was sitting stiffly behind the wheel. He did not even glance to the side. Susso ran after them for a few paces, waving her arms, and she noticed that the man in the passenger seat was one of the police officers she had spoken to in Jokkmokk. The one with the leather jacket. Wikström!
He looked directly at her but seemed not to recognise her.
The police car drove off in the direction of Jokkmokk, its engine whining as it shot off at top speed, leaving behind it a whirlwind of snow and exhaust. Susso waved both her arms above her head, but it was no use.
She flung open the car door.
‘Shit! Why didn’t they stop?’ She was practically shouting.
Torbjörn did not answer. He merely shook his head, and when she had climbed in and started the engine he mumbled:
‘Perhaps they were in a hurry.’
‘But I’ve spoken to one of them,’ Susso said, getting out her mobile while turning the car around. ‘In Jokkmokk. He was there when they questioned me. And I know he saw me.’
‘Maybe he didn’t recognise you.’
‘What do you mean, not recognise me? What the hell does that matter? They should have stopped anyway, if someone’s waving them down. What kind of fucking police are they? What if something had happened?’
‘Well, at least we know they’ve been here,’ Torbjörn said.
‘Morons,’ said Susso under her breath, looking from the road to the keys on her mobile.
‘Who are you ringing?’
‘I want to know! If he was there.’
She tapped in the number for Kjell-Åke Andersson but got through to voicemail. The instant she began to say her name it struck her that it might not be appropriate for her to be spying on the Laestadians, and so she coughed and said only that she wanted to know how the investigation was going. When she had finished she held the mobile in her hand as it rested on the wheel.
For the last ten kilometres or so Jirvin had been talking to himself in the back seat – at least, he moved his lips and a whispered word came out from time to time. They were unintelligible sounds, but Seved could hear they were words. He did not like it and he drove far too fast. He just wanted to get there. He had not yet started to be affected but he had no idea what he would do if he began to sense the old man taking him over inside. It could very well end in an accident.
‘We’re nearly there,’ he said, and because talking made him feel calmer he carried on: ‘We live near a little village called Jillesnåle. That’s where you are going to be. For a while.’
No sound came from the back seat. It could have just been a green jacket lying there. With a tail, thought Seved, after taking a look over his shoulder. The feet were visible too. They looked like a child’s feet that had grown old. Like the feet of a mummified child. Black nails. Or rather, claws.
*
It took a while for the door to open and, when it did, it opened slowly. Börje was standing on the veranda, watching as the little man climbed down from the seat. The dogs barked, but that was probably because the shapeshifter was wearing clothes and had his hood up. It made them think something suspicious was going on. The little man held his boots in one hand and pressed the other to his chest while his yellow eyes looked at the dog enclosure.
‘Is he going to be in Hybblet, or where?’ asked Seved, slamming the car door behind him.
‘The barn,’ Börje said.
Seved walked across the yard and opened the barn door. The little man was right behind him and he picked up speed when he saw the darkness inside the barn. The dogs did not like it when he ran, but Börje roared at them and they instantly fell silent. But it was impossible for them to be still. Whining and with their tails erect they paced up and down inside the fence.
No sooner had the little man stepped inside the barn than he let something go, something that quickly glided up to the greying roof beams and was gone. A bird, Seved thought, astonished, and he took a step to one side to see where it had gone. Something tiny flew past him and then darted back, and he realised it was a bat. Seved looked at the little man, who was also standing with his head turned up towards the roof. It almost looked as if he was smiling.
*
‘I heard you had a close shave,’ said Börje, throwing his snus into the rubbish bin under the sink. Seved stood beside him drinking milk from a carton. He nodded without moving it from his lips.
‘What will happen with those policemen now?’ he asked, after he had swallowed.
‘They’ll have a little chat with Luttak,’ Börje said.
‘Yes, but what will happen to them? Will they forget everything, or what?’
‘If he could just make the
m forget, then he would,’ said Börje, who was standing looking out of the window with his hands in his pockets. ‘But he can’t. When he scrapes the details of the event out of them, other things come too. And the memory of it will sit inside them like an old nightmare. They will never be themselves again, believe me. In many cases it ends in suicide.’
‘Because no one believes them?’
Börje shook his head.
‘It’s more like a burn. They’ll feel the pain but have no memory of the fire. They won’t know what they’ve experienced, but it will hurt and they will suffer a personality change, as the newspapers say. Start to drink. Slap the wife about. And then it ends with a gun in the mouth. Either that or they kill themselves driving.’
‘The key to the padlock was bent,’ Seved said in a low voice. ‘So I didn’t lock the barrier after me. That’s why they could drive all the way up to Torsten’s and take us by surprise like that.’
Börje nodded.
‘Things happen.’
‘But if I hadn’t done it, those policemen wouldn’t have been hurt.’
‘If they’d wanted to take a closer look at Torsten’s farm, a broken barrier wouldn’t have stopped them. So don’t you worry about it. It turned out all right.’
Seved nodded.
‘I feel bad anyway.’
‘We’ve got other things to think about,’ said Börje, and walked out of the kitchen.
They had pulled in at the Statoil filling station in Gällivare. Susso bought a yoghurt drink and a cheese and ham baguette, and carried her purchases in a rustling paper bag to the car. She ate everything and crumpled up the wrapping. When she had thrown the rubbish away in the bin beside the petrol pump and brushed away the crumbs from her jumper, she hurried back to the car, where her mobile was lying on the seat with the display lit up.
She answered and heard Kjell-Åke Andersson’s voice at the other end.
‘I just wanted to know how everything was going,’ she said. ‘With the Vaikijaur man, I mean. Because I heard he might be living in that area, around Kvikkjokk, with some Laestadians. Do you know anything about that?’
