Frozen Tracks Read Free Page B

again.
    'Do you know anybody who really disliked Jakob?'
Ringmar asked.
    'Nobody disliked him,' she said.
    'Is there anybody he dislikes?'
    'No.'
    'Nobody at all?'
    'No.'
    Maybe it's the times we live in, Ringmar thought,
and if so it has to be a good thing. When I was a youngster
we were always mad at everything and everybody.
Angry all the time.
    'How well do you know him?' he asked.
    'Well . . . he's my friend.'
    'Do you have several mutual friends?'
    'Yes, of course.'
    Ringmar looked out of the window. Some fifty metres
away, two youths were standing at the bus stop in the
rain, holding their hands up to the sky as if giving
thanks. Not an enemy in the world. Even the rain was
a dear friend.
    'No violent types in your circle of friends?' asked
Ringmar.
    'Certainly not.'
    'What were you doing when Jakob was attacked?'
    'When exactly was it?' she asked.
    'I'm not really allowed to tell you that,' he said, and
proceeded to do so.
    'I'd been asleep for about two hours,' she said.
    But Jakob wasn't asleep. Ringmar could see him in
his mind's eye, walking across the square named after
Doktor Fries. Heading for the tram stop? There weren't
any trams at that time of night. And then somebody
appeared out of nowhere, and one hell of a bash on the
back of his head. No help from Dr Fries. Left there to
bleed to death, if the bloke who'd called the police
hadn't happened to pass by shortly after it had happened
and see the lad lying there.
    Jakob, the third victim. Three different places in the
same town. The same type of wound. Fatal, really.
Perhaps. But none of them actually died. Not yet, he
thought. The other two victims had no idea. Just a blow
from behind. Saw nothing, just felt.
    'Do you live together?' he asked.
    'No.'
    Ringmar said nothing for a moment. The two youths
had just jumped aboard a bus. Maybe it was getting a
bit brighter in the west, a slight glint of light blue. The
waiting room was quite high up in the hospital, which
itself was on the top of a hill. Maybe he was looking
at the sea, a big grey expanse under the blue.
    'You weren't worried about him?'
    'What do you mean, worried?'
    'Where he was that night? What he was doing?'
    'Hang on, we're not married or anything like that.
We're just friends.'
    'So you didn't know where he was that night?'
    'No.'
    'Who does he know out there?'
    'Where?'
    'In Guldheden. Round about Doktor Fries Torg,
Guldheden School, that district.'
    'I haven't the slightest idea.'
    'Do you know anybody around there?'
    'Who lives there, you mean? I don't think so. No.'
    'But that's where he was, and that's where he was
attacked,' said Ringmar.
    'You'll have to ask him,' she said.
    'I'll do that, as soon as it's possible.'
    Winter had taken Elsa to the day nursery. He sat there
for a while with a cup of coffee while she arranged her
day's work on her little desk: a red telephone, paper,
pencils, chalks, newspapers, tape, string. He would get
to see the result that afternoon. It would be something
unique, no doubt about that.
    She barely noticed when he gave her a hug and left.
He lit a Corps in the grounds outside. He couldn't smoke
anything else after all these years. He'd tried, but it was
no use. Corps were no longer sold in Sweden, but a
colleague made regular visits to Brussels and always
brought some of the cigarillos back for him.
    It was a pleasant morning. The air smelled of winter
but it felt like early autumn. He took another puff, then
unbuttoned his overcoat and watched children hard at
work on all sides: building projects involving digging
and stacking, moulding shapes; every kind of game you
could think of. Games. Not much sign of games in the
sports grown-ups indulge in nowadays, he thought, and
noticed a little lad running down the slope towards a
gap in the bushes. Winter looked round and saw the
two members of staff were fully occupied with children
who wanted something or were crying or laughing or
running around in all directions, and so he strode swiftly
down the hill