The Ice Cage — A Scandinavian Crime Thriller set in the Nordic Winter (The Baltic Trilogy) Read Free Page B

window over the passing sea , with t he sound of skates on ice automatically starting to echo in my head. It was the rhythm of my childhood, a constant alternation of sound and silence.
    ‘ Why did he go for a dip in a re mote bay in the freezing winter? ’
    The question had slipped out before I’d even thought about asking. I was thinking out loud. Dahl shrugg ed.
    ‘ I’m from the ma inland. We don’t do that either, but believe me , Henrik wen t for a swim because he had to, because i t was i n his genes. That’s what these crazy islanders do . Don’t try to read any metaphysics into it. Why does a duck quack?’
    He was right. Living here meant being at the mercy of the elements and m aybe that was something I couldn’t grasp as a Londoner. I’d spent my early years on Åland and had expected to b e able to tap into my old self, but I seemed to have been irreversibly transformed by London . Maybe seeing the bay would help .

 
    7
     
    Driving out to Solviken in my father’s car, I called Carrie t o check again that she was alright. She felt like the baby was about to drop out any minute. I told her to hang on – I was doing my best to get back in time for the birth . I wished she could have been with me in Mariehamn . Her level - headedness would have helped me make sense of the situation.
    Solviken turned out to be a typical Scandinavian inlet surrounded by granite rocks. It narrowed as it reached the snow - covered shore. Dahl had claimed I would recognise it, but I didn’t , probably because I’d only been he re in summer.
    My father must have stood on the shore before walking onto the ice. This very spot was where he’d la st put his feet on earth . I tried to imagine this being the last moments of my life .
    I couldn’t quite pinpoint it at first , but something was bothering me. Then I realised what it was. Although he’d died only a few days ago , I couldn’t see a ny hole. I walked on to the ice to look a round. My father driving this far for a dip simply didn’t make sense. There must have been pre - drilled holes nearer home. E ven after searching the bay , I still couldn’t find where he’d jumped into the water . There had to be a logical explanation. I rummaged through the b oot of his car to check if he’d even owned an ice drill. Ice fishers would usually have one , but there was none in the Skoda . I’d wanted to reconnect with my fath er, find the spot where he’d died . I nstead I was losing him. His trace was fading. The accountant in me needed things to add up. He’d died. So much was clear , but I needed to know exactly where and how. I glanced at the bay a last time before getting back into the car. That’s when I saw it. How could I have missed it? It had been staring me in the face all the time.
    I walked back onto the ice. The iced - over hole w as near the rocks on the left side of the bay. It looked like a fishing hole – small for a gr own man. Dahl had mentioned Solviken being popular with fishermen. Trying to imagine my father coming here, I looked back t o the car from the fishing hole . I’d brought a recent photo of him from the ho use. I took it out, took it in.
    He would have undressed by the car and r ushed onto th e ice, a good 50 metres from the shore. Then what? H e plunged and d rowned ? If so, how did they find him? Thanks to the car? If he’d drowned, he would never have made it out of the water. He would have vanished under the ice and s ome spl ashing children would have discovered him next summer. Now that I’d seen the setting, I didn’t understand how he could have been found so quickly if he’d drowned. It just didn’t add up.
    The wind was freezing cold , so I returned to the car. I couldn’t imagine anyone doing what my father had done. I trie d to convince myself that Dahl was right, that it’s what Scandinavians do, but it still didn’t make sense. I needed to know more and hopefully the couple who’d found my father would be able to