The Ice Child. Camilla Lackberg
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and in the cellar sheer terror had surged through her whole body. For a few minutes she had experienced a little of what Louise must have felt down there in the basement. The big difference was that she had been able to rush upstairs to the light and freedom, while Louise had been chained down there, in the dark.
For the first time a real awareness of the girl’s fate struck her with full force, and Erica bowed her head and wept. She was crying for Louise.
Martin studied Marta as she switched on the coffeemaker. He had never met her before, but like everybody else in the Fjällbacka area, he knew of the veterinarian and his wife. She was as beautiful as everyone had said, but it was an inaccessible type of beauty, and the slightly cold impression that she gave was further enhanced by the fact that she was remarkably pale.
‘Maybe you should talk to someone,’ he now said.
‘You mean a pastor? Or a psychologist?’ Marta shook her head. ‘I’m not the one who’s in a bad way. I’m just a bit … upset.’
She looked down at the floor but then raised her head to fix her gaze on him.
‘I can’t stop thinking about Victoria’s family. They finally got her back, only to lose her again. Such a young and talented girl …’ Marta fell silent.
‘I know. It’s awful,’ said Martin. He looked around at the kitchen. It wasn’t exactly ugly, but he could tell that the people who lived here didn’t care much about home decor. Everything seemed to have been put together haphazardly, and even though the room appeared to be clean, there was still a faint odour of horse.
‘Do you have any idea who could have done this to her? Are other girls in danger?’ asked Marta. She poured the coffee and sat down across from him.
‘That’s not a question we can answer.’ He wished he had a better reply, and his stomach clenched when he thought about how worried all the parents of young girls must be right now. He cleared his throat. It would do no good to get caught up in those kinds of thoughts. He needed to focus on doing his job and find out what happened to Victoria. That was the only way he could help them.
‘Tell me about yesterday,’ he said, taking a sip of coffee.
Marta took a few minutes to formulate her response. In a low voice she then told him how she’d gone out riding and how she’d seen the girl come out of the woods. She hesitated a couple of times, but Martin didn’t try to rush her. He let her tell the story at her own pace. He couldn’t begin to imagine how awful a sight the girl must have been.
‘When I realized it was Victoria, I called to her several times. I tried to warn her about the oncoming car, but she didn’t react. She just kept walking forward, like a robot.’
‘Did you see any other vehicle nearby? Or anyone in the woods?’
Marta shook her head.
‘No. I’ve tried again and again to recall the details, but that’s all I saw, both before and after the accident. The driver and I were the only ones around. Everything happened so fast, and I had all my attention focused on Victoria.’
‘Were you and Victoria close?’
‘That depends what you mean by that,’ replied Marta, running her finger along the rim of her coffee cup. ‘I try to establish a close relationship with all the girls at the stable, and Victoria had been coming to the riding school for years. We’re like a family here, even though it can be a dysfunctional one at times. And Victoria was part of the family.’
As she looked away, Martin saw tears welling up in her eyes. He reached for a paper napkin on the table and handed it to her. She took it and dabbed at her eyes.
‘Do you remember anything suspicious happening around the stable, anyone who seemed to be spying on the girls? Have you had anyone working here that we should take a closer look at? I know we’ve asked you these questions before, but they’re even more relevant now that Victoria was found so close by.’
Marta nodded. ‘I understand. But I can only repeat what I’ve already said. We haven’t had any problems like that, and we don’t have any employees. The riding school is in such a remote location that we would notice if anyone started hanging about. Whoever did this must have seen Victoria somewhere else. She was a lovely girl.’
‘Yes, she was,’ said Martin. ‘And she seems to have been a nice girl too. What did the other girls think of her?’
Marta took a deep breath. ‘Victoria was well-liked at the stable. She had no enemies that I know of. She was a completely ordinary teenager from a good family. I can only think that she was unlucky enough to fall into the hands of an extremely sick individual.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Martin. ‘Although the word “unlucky” doesn’t seem adequate, given the circumstances.’
He stood up, signalling that the conversation was over.
‘That’s true.’ Marta made no sign of getting up to accompany him to the door. ‘“Unlucky” can’t begin to describe what happened.’
The hardest thing to get used to back when she started her prison time was that the days were all the same. But gradually the routines had become Laila’s lifeline. She took comfort in knowing that each day would be exactly like the previous day. It was a way of fending off her fear of staying alive. That had been the reason for her suicide attempts during those first few years. The fear of seeing life stretching out endlessly before her as the weight of the past pulled her down into darkness. Because of the routines, she had been able to cope. But the weight was ever-present.
Now everything had changed, and it was too big a burden for her to bear alone.
With trembling hands she turned the pages of the evening papers, which could be read only in the common room. The other inmates wanted to read them too, and they were growing impatient because she was taking so long. So far the journalists didn’t seem to know much, but they were making the most of the few details they had. The sensational tone of the reports disturbed her. She knew what it was like to be on the other side of the big headlines. Behind every such article was someone’s life, and real suffering.
‘Are you done yet?’ asked Marianne, coming over to her.
‘Almost,’ Laila murmured without looking up.
‘You’ve had the papers for ever. Finish reading them so we can have a turn.’
‘All right,’ she said as she continued to study the same pages that she’d spread open on the table quite a while ago.
Marianne sighed and went over to a table near the window to sit down and wait.
Laila couldn’t take her eyes off the photo on the left-hand page. The girl looked so happy and innocent, so unaware of the evil that existed in the world. But Laila could have told her all about it. How evil could live right next to what was good, in a community where people wore blinkers and refused to see what was right in front of their noses. Once you saw evil up close, you could never close your eyes to it again. That was her curse, and her responsibility.
She closed the newspaper, got up, and set it down in front of Marianne.
‘I’d like to have it back when all of you are done with it,’ she said.
‘Sure,’ muttered Marianne, already engrossed in the entertainment section.
Laila stood there for a moment, looking at Marianne as she bent over an article about the latest Hollywood celebrity divorce. How nice it must be to go through life wearing blinkers, she thought.
What bloody awful weather. Mellberg couldn’t understand how his partner Rita, who was originally from Chile, had been able to get used to living in a country with such a terrible climate. Personally, he wouldn’t mind emigrating. Maybe he should have taken the time to go home and change into warmer clothes, but he hadn’t expected to be sent into the woods. As police chief, he was the one who was supposed to tell people what to do. His plan had been to brief the people who