Yet the moment she glanced at her daughter, her stomach would knot. She saw the look in the girl’s eyes, the darkness that stirred in her thoughts. Her jealousy towards her brother manifested itself in constant pinching and slapping, and fear kept Laila awake at night. Sometimes she would sit next to Peter’s cot, keeping watch over him as she fixed her gaze on his peaceful face.
Vladek began slipping further away from her, as she did from him. They were being torn apart by forces they never could have foreseen. In her dreams she would sometimes run after him, trying to go faster and faster, but the harder she ran, the greater the gap between them. Finally all she could see was his back, way in the distance.
Words had also deserted them. All those conversations in the evenings at the dinner table, the little signs of love that had brightened their days. Everything had been swallowed up by a silence broken only by the sound of a child crying.
She kept on looking at Peter, filled with a protective instinct that pushed away all else. Vladek could no longer be her everything. Not now that Peter was here.
Chapter Six
The big barn was quiet and cold. A little snow had blown through the crevices in the walls, mixing together with the dust and dirt. The hayloft had been empty for years, and the ladder leading up to it had been terribly rickety for as long as Molly could remember. Aside from their horse van, only old and forgotten vehicles were stored in the barn. A rusty combine-harvester, an unusable Grålle tractor, but mostly lots of cars.
In the distance Molly heard the sound of voices from the stable on the hill, but today she didn’t want to go riding. It seemed so pointless since she wasn’t going to compete tomorrow. Some of the other girls would no doubt be overjoyed to have a chance to ride Scirocco.
Slowly she wandered among the old cars. They were left over from her paternal grandfather’s former business. When she was growing up she’d heard him constantly talking about it, boasting about all the finds he’d made all over Sweden. For a pittance he’d bought up cars that were considered scrap metal and then restored them and sold them for significantly higher sums. But after he fell ill, the barn had been transformed into a car junkyard. The space was filled with partially restored vehicles, and no one could be bothered to get rid of them.
She ran her hand over an old Volkswagen Beetle rusting away over in the corner. It wouldn’t be long before she could start taking driving lessons. Maybe she could persuade Jonas to fix up this car for her.
She tried the handle, and the door opened. The car needed a lot of work inside too. The interior was rusty and dirty, and stuffing was coming out of the seats, but she could tell the car had the potential to be really great. She got into the driver’s seat and cautiously placed her hands on the steering wheel. She would love having this little Beetle for her own. The other girls would be green with envy.
She pictured herself driving around Fjällbacka, magnanimously offering her friends rides. It would be a few years yet before she could drive on her own, but she decided to talk to Jonas about it soon. She would get him to fix up the car for her, whether he wanted to or not. She knew he could do it. Her grandfather had told her that Jonas used to help him restore the cars, and he’d shown a lot of talent for the work. It was the only time she’d ever heard her grandfather say anything nice about Jonas. Otherwise he mostly complained.
‘So this is where you’re hiding?’
She gave a start at the sound of Jonas’s voice right next to the car window.
‘Do you like it?’ He grinned, and with some embarrassment she opened the door. She wasn’t happy about being caught sitting in the car and pretending to drive.
‘It’s great,’ she said. ‘I was thinking of driving it once I have a licence.’
‘It’s not exactly in drivable shape.’
‘No, but …’
‘But you thought I might fix it up for you? Hmm … Well, why not? We’ve got plenty of time. I should be able to do it if I work on it every once in a while.’
‘Really?’ she said, her eyes shining, and she threw her arms around her father’s neck.
‘Yes, really,’ he said, giving her a hug. Then he gently pushed her away and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘But you have to agree to stop sulking. I know how important the competition was to you. We already talked about that. But it won’t be long until the next one.’
‘I know. You’re right.’
Molly could feel her mood lifting. She started walking among the cars again. There were several others that might also be cool to drive, but she still liked the Beetle the best.
‘Why don’t you fix up these cars? Or else sell them for scrap?’ She was standing next to a big black Buick.
‘Your grandfather doesn’t want me to. So they’ll just stay here until they fall apart, or until Grandpa is gone.’
‘Well, I think it’s a shame.’ She went over to a green camper van that looked like the Scooby Doo minibus. Jonas pulled her away.
‘Come on. I don’t like you to be in here. There’s a lot of broken glass and rust. And not long ago I saw some rats.’
‘Rats!’ exclaimed Molly, taking a quick step back and looking about.
Jonas laughed. ‘Come on. Let’s go in and have a snack. It’s cold out here. And I promise that our house is rat-free.’
He put his arm around her, and they headed for the door. Molly shivered. Her father was right. It was freezing cold in here, and she would die if she saw a rat. But she was still overjoyed about the car. She couldn’t wait to tell the other stable girls all about it.
Tyra was secretly pleased that Liv had been reprimanded today. She was even more spoiled than Molly, if that was possible, and the look on Liv’s face when Ida was given permission to ride Scirocco was priceless. She had sulked for the rest of the riding lesson, and Blackie could clearly sense it. He refused to settle down, which had made Liv even more cross.
Tyra was sweating under her heavy clothing. It was so hard to plod through all the snow and her legs ached. She longed for springtime when she’d be able to bicycle back and forth to the stable. Life would be so much simpler then.
The sledding hill was crowded with children. She had gone sledding over there many times, and she remembered the giddy feeling when she’d whooshed down the steep slope. Nowadays it didn’t seem nearly as high or steep as it had when she was a child, but it was still more exciting than Doktorn hill. That one was only for the very young. She recalled going skiing near Doktorn hill, which had led to her first and only skiing holiday. To the surprise of the ski instructor, she had claimed to have learned to ski on Doktorn hill. Then she had set off down the ski slope, which turned out to be quite a bit higher and steeper, and that was putting it mildly. But she had managed fine, and her mother always told the story with such pride, amazed at how bold her little girl had been.
Tyra didn’t know what had happened to that bold spirit of hers. It still existed when she interacted with the horses, but the rest of the time she felt like a coward. Ever since the car accident that had killed her father, Tyra had expected disaster to be lurking around every corner. She knew that everything could seem perfectly normal, only to be changed for ever in a matter of seconds.
With Victoria she had felt braver. It was as if she became somebody else, someone better, whenever they were together. They had always met at Victoria’s home, never at hers. She said it was too noisy because of her little brothers, but the truth was that she was ashamed of her stepfather Lasse, at first because he had so often been drunk, and later because of his religious babbling. She was also ashamed of her mother for allowing herself to be cowed, tiptoeing about the house like a frightened mouse. They were not like Victoria’s darling parents who were so completely normal.
Tyra kicked at the snow. Sweat was running down her back. It was a long walk, but earlier in the day she’d made up her mind to do this, and she had no intention of turning back now. There were things she should have asked Victoria about, answers she should have demanded.
She felt heartsick at the thought that she would never know what happened. She had done everything for Victoria, and that’s what she intended to keep doing.
The nondescript corridor inside the Institute for Sociology at Göteborg University was practically deserted. Having stopped to ask for directions they had been told they would find the criminologist here. Now they stood outside the door to his office. The nameplate said: Gerhard Struwer. Patrik knocked softly.
‘Come in!’ said a voice, so they opened the door and went in.
Patrik wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the man looked as if he’d stepped out of an advert for a Dressmann clothing shop.
‘Welcome.’ Gerhard stood up and shook hands with both Patrik and Martin. Then he turned to Erica, who had stayed in the background. ‘Oh my, what an honour it is to meet Erica Falck.’
Gerhard sounded a bit too enthusiastic for Patrik’s taste. But the way this day was going, it didn’t surprise him that Struwer turned out to be a ladies’ man. Good thing Erica wasn’t susceptible to guys like him.
‘The honour is all mine. I’ve seen the insightful analyses you’ve presented on TV,’ replied Erica.
Patrik stared at her. Why was she speaking in such a flirtatious manner?
‘Gerhard appears regularly on the programme Missing,’ Erica explained to her husband with a smile. ‘I especially liked your portrait of Juha Valjakkala,’ she said to Struwer. ‘You certainly put your finger on something that no one else had seen, and I think that—’
Patrik cleared his throat. This was not going the way he had planned. He studied Gerhard, noting that the man not only had perfect teeth, he had precisely the right amount of grey at his temples. And nicely polished shoes. Who the hell kept their shoes polished in the middle of winter? Patrik cast a gloomy look at his own winter boots, which looked like they needed to be sent through the car wash if they were ever going to get clean again.
‘We have a few questions we’d like to ask you,’ he said, sitting down on one of the visitor’s chairs. He forced himself to keep a neutral expression. He refused to give Erica the satisfaction of seeing that he was jealous. Because he wasn’t. He just thought it was unnecessary to waste valuable time on chit-chat about matters that had nothing to do with why they were here.
‘Certainly. I’ve read with interest the material that you sent over.’ Gerhard sat down behind his desk. ‘Both regarding Victoria and regarding the other girls. Naturally I won’t be able to do a proper analysis on such short notice and with so little background information, but there are a few things that strike me about the case.’ He crossed his legs and steepled his hands, assuming a posture that Patrik found extremely irritating.
‘Shall I take notes?’ said Martin, giving Patrik a poke in the side.
He flinched, then nodded.
‘Yes, by all means,’ he said. Martin got out a notepad and pen and waited for Gerhard to continue.
‘I think we’re dealing with a very organized and rational individual. He or she – though for the sake of simplicity, let’s just say “he” – has been too successful at erasing all traces to be considered either psychotic or demented.’
‘How can you call it rational for someone to kidnap another person? Or to subject someone to what Victoria endured?’ Patrik could hear that his tone was a bit sharp.
‘When I use the word “rational”, I’m referring to an individual who is capable of advance planning, foreseeing the consequences of what he’s going to do, and acting accordingly. Someone who can quickly alter his plans if conditions change.’
‘That seems crystal clear to me,’ said Erica.
Patrik gritted his teeth and let Struwer go on.
‘Presumably the perpetrator is also relatively mature. A teenager or someone in their twenties wouldn’t have the necessary self-control or ability to plan so carefully. But in view of the physical strength required to control his victims, it has to be someone who is still strong and in good shape.’
‘Or we could be talking about more than one perpetrator,’ Martin interjected.
Gerhard nodded. ‘Yes, we can’t rule out the possibility that several individuals are involved. There have even been cases where an entire group has colluded in committing heinous crimes. Often some sort of religious motive is involved, as with Charles Manson and his cult of followers.’
‘What do you think about the time sequence? The first three girls disappeared at regular intervals, with about six months in between. But then it was only five months later that Minna went missing. And Victoria disappeared about three months after that,’ said Erica. Patrik had to admit that this was an excellent point.
‘If we look at serial murderers in the United States, such as Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, and Jeffrey Dahmer – and I’m sure you’ve heard these names numerous times – they often needed time to build up their energy, a sort of inner pressure. Criminals usually begin by imagining the crime, then they follow the victim that they’ve chosen, keeping watch for a while before they strike. Or it could be a matter of coincidence. The murderer fantasizes about a certain type of victim and then he happens to run into someone who fits the profile.’
‘This may be a stupid question, but are there any female serial killers?’ asked Martin. ‘I’ve only heard of men.’
‘It’s more common for men to commit serial murders, but there have been some women too. Aileen Wuornos, for example. And there are others.’
Struwer again pressed his fingertips together.
‘But getting back to the time aspect, it could be that the perpetrator keeps the victim prisoner for a lengthy period of time. After the victim has fulfilled her purpose, so to speak, or simply dies from exhaustion and injuries, then sooner or later he has to find a new victim to satisfy his needs. The pressure grows and grows until the perpetrator has to find some means of release. And that’s when he strikes. In interviews many serial killers have said that it’s no longer a matter of free will; they feel forced to take action.’
‘Do you think that’s the sort of behaviour we’re dealing with in this case?’ asked Patrik. Despite himself, he was fascinated.
‘The time sequence seems to indicate something along those lines. And maybe his need has grown increasingly urgent. The perpetrator can no longer wait as long before seeking out a new victim. If you are in fact looking for a serial killer, that is. From what I understand, you haven’t found any other bodies, and Victoria Hallberg was still alive when she reappeared.’
‘That’s right. Although it seems unlikely the perp intended to let her live. Don’t you think it seems more plausible that she somehow managed to escape?’
‘I agree. But even if we’re only dealing with kidnappings, the perpetrator may follow the same behaviour pattern. It could also be someone who kills out of sexual desire. A psychopathic perpetrator who murders for enjoyment. And for sexual gratification. The autopsy on Victoria showed that she had not been subjected to sexual assault, but this kind of case often has a sexual motive. So far we don’t know enough to determine if that’s the situation here.’
‘Did you know that research shows that half a per cent of the population can be labelled as psychopaths?’ Erica said eagerly.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Martin. ‘I seem to remember reading about that in Café. Something about upper-level bosses.’
‘I’m not sure we should trust the scientific findings reported in a publication like Café. But in principle, you’re right, Erica.’ Gerhard smiled at her, flashing his white teeth. ‘A percentage of the general population meets the criteria for psychopathy. We tend to associate the term psychopath with murderers, or at least with criminals, but that’s far from the truth. Outwardly, most of them appear to lead completely ordinary, well-functioning lives. They learn how to behave in order to fit in with society, and they may even be high achievers. But inside they may never be like other people. They lack the ability to feel empathy and understand anyone else’s feelings. Their whole world and all their th
oughts revolve around themselves. Whether psychopaths can become integrated into their community depends on how well they can imitate the feelings that are expected of them in various contexts. But they will never be totally successful. There’s always something that doesn’t ring true about them, and they have a difficult time establishing long-lasting and close relationships. Frequently they exploit people for their own purposes, and when they can no longer get away with it, they move on to the next victim, without feeling regret, remorse, or guilt.
‘So, getting back to your comment, Martin: there is research showing that the number of psychopaths in the top echelons of business is higher than among the general population. Many of the traits I just described can be of benefit in certain positions of power, when ruthlessness and lack of empathy have their uses.’
‘Are you saying that sometimes you can’t tell if someone is a psychopath?’ asked Martin.
‘Yes. At least, not immediately. Psychopaths can be quite charming. But if someone, over a period of time, has a relationship with a psychopath, sooner or later it will become clear that things are not as they should be.’
Patrik had begun to fidget. His chair was uncomfortable, and he could feel his back starting to ache. He cast a glance at Martin, who was busily taking notes. Then he turned to Struwer.
‘Why do you think these particular girls were chosen?’
‘It’s probably a question of the perpetrator’s sexual preference. Innocent young girls who’ve yet to have any sexual experience. A young girl is also easier to control and frighten than an adult. I’d guess it’s a combination of those two factors.’
‘Do you think it’s significant that they’re similar in appearance? They all have, or had, brown hair and blue eyes. Is that something the perp is intentionally looking for?’
‘It’s possible. In fact, I’d say it’s probable that the resemblance is significant. The victims may remind the perpetrator of someone, and so his actions have to do with that person. Ted Bundy was an example of this. Most of his victims looked alike and reminded him of a former girlfriend who had rejected him. He took his revenge on her through his victims.’
The Ice Child Page 15
