Cinderella Girl

by Carin Gerhardsen

  ‘You are automatically assigned to a children’s health centre in the area where you’re registered. But of course you can be registered somewhere other than where you live. There are a few private alternatives too, in the Stockholm region. Those are available to anyone.’

  ‘Would you be able to include those on your list?’ Petra asked.

  Soon she had a relatively short list in her hand, but when she found out how many nurses worked at this children’s health centre alone, and how many children each nurse was responsible for, she realized she had a huge job ahead of her. Stockholm was big, Sweden even bigger. Perhaps the woman and the child were not from Stockholm or even Sweden.

  It was undeniably very strange that no one had missed them yet, after sixty hours. Or was that really so strange? If the woman were a single mother, it might well be the case that she had no daily contact with anyone at all. She died on a Friday night and only now was it a weekday again. She was almost certainly on maternity leave, if she even had a job. How often did Petra herself call her parents or acquaintances? Not that often. If she didn’t have a job, weeks would probably pass before anyone really missed her.

  In any event, the woman probably lived in the vicinity of Vitabergsparken with her child. Theoretically she could have been just visiting, but then someone should have missed her almost immediately. So we’ll start with the children’s health centres in that area, thought Petra, and search outwards from there.

  None of the other nurses at the children’s health centre on Barnängsgatan recognized the woman in the picture either. One nurse was sick and Petra had to visit her at home, which was not far away. The ill nurse talked to her, coughing and sniffling, but she did not have any new information to offer either.

  On the way to the children’s health centre on Wollmar Yxkullsgatan she went into a 7-Eleven to buy a banana and a bottle of mineral water. Ahead of her in the queue was a young mother with a small child hanging in a carrier on her front. The mother was also pushing a pram. Petra was wondering why you would bring a pram if you were going to carry the child anyway, but in mid-thought she was shocked to realize that the pram was done up in navy-blue fabric with small white dots and looked just like the one in Vitabergsparken. Petra was not the sort of woman who looked at baby prams and their contents with a longing gaze. In fact she had never in her life paid much attention to a pram’s appearance. It must be like with cars, she thought. You naturally notice one that looks like your own. If you’re really interested, you notice other types too, and connect the owner with the model.

  ‘Excuse me, may I ask you something?’

  Petra carefully placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  ‘Do you know or would you recognize anyone who has a pram like yours?’

  The woman turned around and both she and the child looked at Petra with wide eyes, before the woman answered with some surprise.

  ‘No, I don’t know anyone who has one like it. But you do see people around now and then who have one.’

  ‘Do you say hello to each other or …?’ Petra asked stupidly.

  The woman snorted.

  ‘Sure, that happens sometimes. Or you just smile at each other or nod with a kind of mutual understanding.’

  It was her turn and she paid for her items. Petra got out of the queue, letting those behind her go ahead, and continued stubbornly.

  ‘You probably think I’m being a nuisance now, but I would like to ask you a couple of questions. I’m a police officer and I need help with something. Do you have time? It will only take a few moments.’

  ‘Sure.’

  They left the pram near the queue and moved away from the till, further into the shop.

  ‘Perhaps you are aware that we found a dead woman in Vitabergsparken? We haven’t been able to identify her yet. But she had a pram similar to yours, so I thought maybe you had noticed her. The picture I have is unpleasant – can you handle it, do you think?’

  Petra asked herself why she was being so careful with this woman. She’d had no such scruples when she’d spoken to the nurses at the children’s health centre. It must be the child on her chest making me soft, she thought.

  ‘Okay then,’ answered the young mother, evidently more interested now.

  Petra held out the photographs and the woman studied them with an expression of disgust and sorrow combined. She slowly shook her head and gave them back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I don’t recognize either of them. Is the baby dead as well?’

  ‘No. He was found nearby, but he survived. Thanks for your help anyway. You gave me an idea. About the pram, I mean,’ said Petra. ‘Perhaps someone will recognize the pram, if nothing else. By the way, where did you buy it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t remember. You buy a lot of things, you know. For the first child. This was big sister’s pram first and we went all over looking for a pram, changing table, cot, finding a babysitter –’

  ‘And when was big sister born?’

  ‘December 2003.’

  ‘Thanks again,’ said Petra, setting aside her items in a basket of apples and going out on to the street. Her mobile phone was already at her ear as the door shut behind her.

  ‘Einar, it’s Petra.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sitting here with a long list in front of me of boys born in March, April and May of 2007.’

  ‘That’s good. This search process takes a lot of time –’

  ‘Yes, mine too.’

  ‘I think it’s embarrassing that we haven’t been able to identify the victim yet. We’ll have to take a chance at this stage. We have to focus the search. I want you to start calling around to all these families, and do it in wider and wider circles from a starting point in Vitabergsparken.’

  She could hear how bossy she sounded. Eriksson was much more experienced than her, yet she was the one giving orders. Perhaps she could express herself differently, a little more gently. But why should she even need to worry about that?

  ‘And ask whether they have a polka-dotted pram, or what?’

  ‘Yes, of course. And where the mother and son are. Besides that, Einar, I want you to start by focusing on families where there is also an older sibling aged three or four. Also ask whether they know any other family that fits this pattern.’

  ‘All right, but it’s really nice to find this out now, when I’ve already produced the information –’

  ‘We can trade, you and I, if you’d rather run around to all the children’s health centres?’

  She bit her lip and took a deep breath. It was always just as well to accommodate Einar Eriksson. It served no purpose to get too irritated by him. If you wanted work done – and he did do a good job – it was best to let him have his way. And she almost felt a little sorry for him. It couldn’t be fun having his attitude towards everything and everyone.

  ‘Einar, I’m sorry about the extra bother. It just suddenly struck me that the baby probably has an older sibling, because the pram is from 2003.’

  ‘Or it might very well be a hand-me-down, or bought used or even borrowed.’

  ‘That’s true, but I still want us to try this. We have to start somewhere. For that reason let’s start with boys born in March, April or May 2007, registered in the area around Vitabergsparken and with an older sibling born in 2003 or 2004.’

  ‘Sure, sure,’ said Einar Eriksson.

  ‘Take careful notes about every call. The ones you don’t get hold of you’ll have to phone again, until you get an answer. Okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ answered Einar Eriksson, making no effort to conceal his antipathy.

  * * *

  Barbro Dahlström was starting to get really irritated. Admittedly she could not assume that the police were not doing their job, simply because she had been treated rudely when she spoke to one of them. But she was quite convinced that Holgersson at the Hammarby Police had not taken her seriously. Earlier in the morning she had called the police switchboard again, and asked to be connected to the county det
ective unit. She was not able to speak to any detectives, only to the receptionist. The person she should talk to was ‘not in at the present time’, so she had been encouraged to call back after eleven.

  ‘A ticklish matter,’ said Detective Nyman, who was now back in the office.

  ‘I realize that,’ said Barbro as politely as she was able. ‘On the other hand, can it really be all that hard to figure out who called me yesterday evening?’

  ‘What time did you say it was?’

  ‘I don’t remember exactly. It must have been around eight o’clock, but that has no significance because I only had one call the whole evening, and it was from this girl.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Nyman.

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ said Barbro in a sharper tone now. ‘You have to promise to do something about it immediately.’

  ‘I will, but it may take a little time.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Up to a week usually.’

  ‘And in a prioritized case, like this? Involving a child in obvious danger?’ Barbro hoped it would pay to go on the offensive.

  ‘A whole day at best. It depends on the work load of the provider.’

  ‘Can I call Telia myself and apply pressure?’ Barbro offered.

  ‘No, that won’t work,’ Nyman replied, and Barbro could have sworn he was smiling as he said it. ‘The police have special access and private individuals can’t request that type of information.’

  ‘Then can I rely on you?’ Barbro coaxed further.

  ‘I think you should, Mrs Dahlström. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know more.’

  * * *

  Sjöberg sat on the metro, summarizing to himself the morning’s events on Viking Cinderella. Hamad, Eriksson, Hansson, Rosén and he had been met by their counterpart from the Åbo police, Nieminen, and several other Finnish police officers in the company of the ship’s captain. After first taking a look at the crime scene itself, they were treated to breakfast and had a meeting in one of the conference rooms on the boat. Nieminen outlined the current situation and reported on the meagre results from the questioning so far.

  It had been determined that the persons of most interest in the investigation – besides the boyfriend, Joakim Andersson, and the other young people in the party – were the man that Jennifer Johansson had been seen with in the bar and the two gentlemen in suits she met afterwards. None of these men had made themselves known during the introductory interviews, and the girl had not been observed after she had been seen with them. For that reason it was decided that the search for these three individuals should be given highest priority, from both the Finnish and Swedish side.

  The bartender Juha Lehto was taking a few days off and was now with his Swedish girlfriend, who lived in an apartment by Thorildsplan. That was where Sjöberg was headed after the morning’s work on the Finland ferry. The door opened almost immediately when he rang the bell.

  ‘That was fast. No problems finding a parking spot?’

  Lehto spoke with a lilting Finnish accent, but even though he spoke very well it was clear that Swedish was not his native language. In Nieminen’s case it had been hard to tell whether he was actually a Finnish Swede or simply spoke excellent Swedish.

  ‘I took the metro,’ Sjöberg answered. ‘Once you’ve found a parking spot on Söder, you don’t want to give it up.’

  He hung his jacket on a hanger and, being well brought up, left his shoes on the hall mat. Lehto showed him to an armchair in the sparsely furnished living room. Although he had gone to bed early the night before, Sjöberg had not slept long. He ignored how tired he was and instead sat leaning forward with his interlaced hands hanging between his knees.

  ‘Coffee?’ asked Lehto, sitting down at the table when Sjöberg declined.

  ‘You’ve done this before,’ said Sjöberg, ‘but I want you to do it again. Tell me in your own words as much of what you recall from that evening as possible. I’m going to record our conversation. I hope you don’t mind.’

  Lehto shook his head and from his trouser pocket Sjöberg pulled out the MP3 player he had got from Åsa as a birthday present and activated the voice-recording function. He had been using it more and more like a Dictaphone, and with a nod at the bartender he asked him to start.

  ‘It was fairly early in the evening,’ Lehto began, and then told how Jennifer Johansson and the considerably older man had shown up in the bar at about the same time.

  Lehto thought for a little while before continuing.

  ‘She was good-looking, that girl. Really good-looking. It probably occurred to me that she shouldn’t be sitting there with him. He was too old for one thing, and seedy besides. I’ve thought about this quite a bit, but I can’t really put my finger on what it was that made me think he looked a little down at heel. I remember that he had on a white shirt. It was probably wrinkled or dirty, otherwise I wouldn’t have thought that. And I think he was unshaven. And not in a trendy way. I don’t think he was drunk. He wasn’t fat. There was nothing special about his appearance that I noticed. That’s the best I can do, unfortunately.’

  Lehto threw out his hands in an apologetic gesture and continued trying to explain what he thought seemed threatening in the situation and how the girl was then approached by another man.

  ‘So you think they knew each other, Jennifer and that other man?’ Sjöberg asked.

  ‘I got that impression, but they may have just been pretending. She went with him and sat at their table.’

  ‘That man at the bar, where did he go then?’ asked Sjöberg.

  ‘He just left. Without finishing his beer.’

  ‘Did he pay?’

  ‘I don’t remember if he left money on the bar or if he had already paid earlier. He left anyway.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘He must have been fifty or sixty.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Thirty-one.’

  ‘Could he have been forty or seventy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you recall whether he had a dialect?’

  ‘I’m not good at Swedish dialects, I have to admit. I don’t think he was from Skåne anyway.’

  ‘Those other men then,’ Sjöberg continued. ‘Can you describe them?’

  ‘They were a little older than me. In their forties, I would say. Cool guys, yuppie types. Both of them had suits on, looked like businessmen. Quite handsome, both of them, it’s fair to say. I only saw them when they were ordering at the bar.’

  ‘What did they have to drink?’

  ‘The girl had an umbrella drink. I don’t recall what the guys were drinking.’

  ‘Do you remember how they paid?’

  ‘Cash.’

  ‘But you don’t think you would recognize either of them?’

  ‘Not the Finnish guys, I don’t think. Maybe the guy at the bar.’

  ‘And this kid?’ said Sjöberg, holding out the photograph of Joakim Andersson. ‘Do you recognize him?’

  ‘I’ve thought a lot about that, but I really don’t remember serving him.’

  ‘It was fairly early in the evening. If you had served him, would you have noticed?’

  ‘You mean considering the injuries on his face?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have no idea how many people I meet who look like that.’

  When Sjöberg had left Lehto and made his way to the metro platform, where he was now standing, waiting for the train, he called Lotten, their cheerful receptionist.

  ‘Where have you been hiding? Einar’s the only one here.’

  ‘It piled up a little over the weekend, as you may have heard. We’re all out on the job. Do you miss us?’

  ‘Always,’ Lotten chirped.

  ‘And how’s Pluto doing?’

  Lotten was an unusually enthusiastic dog person. Her dog – an Afghan whose name was not Pluto at all, but something pretentiously French-sounding – and the caretaker Micke’s standard poodle sent each other Chri
stmas cards and even birthday cards. Sjöberg often asked himself whether these birthdays were celebrated once a year or seven times, but he never got around to asking. Presumably because he would not be able to ask without sounding contemptuous and – her dog obsession aside – he had nothing but respect for this positive, bubbly person who made any situation whatsoever easier and more pleasant.

  ‘ “Pluto”,’ answered Lotten with feigned annoyance, ‘has a slight cold, otherwise he’s just fine. Listen, I have a message.’

  Efficient and factual as always, despite the cheerful wrapping.

  ‘A journalist from Aftonbladet called who wanted to talk about the infant in Vitabergsparken. I didn’t know whether I should refer her to you or Petra or what I should do –’

  ‘Wait,’ he interrupted. ‘I can’t hear anything right now.’

  The train pulled into the station and Lotten’s voice was drowned in the noise of the underground. Sjöberg got into one of the carriages and resumed the call.

  ‘What did you say? Infant?’

  ‘Yes, she mentioned the infant in Vitabergsparken. I didn’t think it was officially –’

  The doors closed and the train left Thorildsplan.

  ‘What’s her name? Telephone number?’

  The receiver started to crackle.

  ‘… text … call back …’

  ‘Now I’m losing you!’ shouted Sjöberg. ‘Put Petra on it! I’ll be in after lunch!’

  * * *

  After checking off Wollmar Yxkullsgatan and Hornstull from her list of children’s health centres without success, Petra went back to the police building to compare notes on the situation with Eriksson and Sandén. Hopefully she would have time to consume something edible too. She had just stepped into her office when Lotten called.

  ‘I have a journalist from Aftonbladet on the line. She’s been after you all morning.’

  ‘Us?’ said Petra.

  ‘Yes, she has questions regarding the infant finding in Vita Bergen.’

  ‘Did she use that phrase, “the infant finding”?’

  ‘Yes, she did actually,’ Lotten laughed.

  ‘She’ll have to talk to Conny. I have no authority to speak to the press.’