Before the Frost

  The meeting went on, but from time to time someone made or received a call, or left and returned with some document or a photograph that was immediately worked into the investigation.

  Chief Holgersson closed the door at a quarter past eight after a short break. Now no one was allowed to disturb them. Wallander took off his coat, rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt, and walked up to the large pad of paper propped up on the easel. On a blank sheet of paper he wrote Zeba’s name and drew a circle around it.

  “Let’s forget about Medberg for the moment,” he said. “I know it may be a fatal mistake, but right now there is no logical connection between her and Harriet Bolson. It may be the same perpetrator or perpetrators, we don’t know. But my point is that the motive seems different. If we leave Medberg, we see that it is much easier to find a connection between Bolson and Zeba. Abortion. Let us assume that we are dealing with a number of people—we don’t know how many—who with some religious motivation judge and punish women who have had abortions. I use the word assume here since we don’t know. We only know that people have been murdered, animals killed, and churches burned to the ground. Everything that has happened gives us the impression of systematic and thorough planning.”

  Wallander looked at the others, then went back to his place at the table and sat down.

  “Let us assume everything is part of a ceremony,” he said. “Fire is an important symbol in many similar cases. The burning of the animals may have been a sacrifice of some kind. Harriet Bolson was executed in front of the altar in a way that could be interpreted as ritual sacrifice. We found a necklace with a sandal pendant around her neck.”

  Lindman lifted his hand and interrupted him.

  “I’ve been wondering about that note with her name on it. If it was left there for us, then why?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “Doesn’t it suggest that we are in fact dealing with a lunatic who challenges us, who wants us to try to catch him?”

  “It could be. But that’s not the important thing right now. I think these people are planning to do with Zeba what they did to Harriet Bolson.”

  The room grew quiet.

  “This is where we are,” he said finally. “We have no suspect, no sure-fire motive, no definite directions. In my opinion, we’re at a stalemate.”

  No one disagreed.

  “We have to keep working,” he said. “Sooner or later we’ll find our way. We have to.”

  The meeting was over. People left in different directions. Linda felt in the way but had no thoughts of leaving the station. In three days, on Monday the tenth, she would at last be able to pick up her uniform and start working in earnest. But the only thing that meant anything right now was Zeba. Linda went to the bathroom. On her way back, her cell phone rang. It was Anna.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the station.”

  “Is Zeba back yet? I called her apartment but there’s no answer.”

  Linda was immediately on her guard.

  “She’s still missing.”

  “I’m so worried about her.”

  “Me too.”

  She must really be worried, Linda thought. She can’t lie that well.

  “I need to talk,” Anna said.

  “Not now,” said Linda. “I can’t get away right now.”

  “Not even for a few minutes? If I come up to the station?”

  “You aren’t allowed in.”

  “But can’t you come out? Only a few minutes?”

  “Are you sure this can’t wait?”

  “Of course it can.”

  Linda heard that Anna was disappointed. She changed her mind.

  “A few minutes, then.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Linda walked down the corridor to her father’s office. Everyone seemed to have vanished. She wrote on a note that she left on the desk: I’ve gone out for some air and to talk to Anna. Back soon. Linda.

  She put on her jacket and left. The corridor was empty. The only person she passed on the way out was the cleaning woman with her cart. The police officers manning the incoming calls were busy and did not look up. No one saw her walk past the reception area.

  The cleaning woman, Lija, who was from Latvia, normally started at the far end of the corridor, where the criminal investigators had their offices. Since several rooms there were occupied, she started with Inspector Wallander’s office. There were always loose pieces of paper under his chair that he hadn’t managed to throw into the wastebasket. She swept up everything that was under the chair, dusted here and there, and then left the room.

  49

  Linda waited outside the station. She was cold and pulled the jacket tightly across her body. She walked down to the poorly lit parking lot and spotted her dad’s car. She felt her pocket and confirmed that she still had the spare keys. She checked her watch. More than ten minutes had gone by. Why wasn’t Anna here?

  Linda waited at the entrance to the police station. No one was around. In other parts of the building there were shadows behind the lit-up windows. She walked back over to the parking lot. Suddenly something made her feel ill at ease and she stopped short, looking around, listening. The wind rustled through the trees as if to catch her attention. She turned around quickly, adopting a defensive posture as she did so. It was Anna.

  “Why did you sneak up on me like that?”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  Anna pointed vaguely in the direction of the entrance to the lot.

  “I didn’t hear your car,” Linda said.

  “I walked.”

  Linda was more than ever on her guard. Anna was tense, her face troubled.

  “What’s so important?”

  “I just want to know about Zeba.”

  “But we talked about that on the phone.”

  Linda made a gesture up toward the glowing windows of the station.

  “Do you know how many people are working in there right now?” she continued. “People with only one thing on their mind: finding Zeba. You can think what you like, but I’m part of that team and I don’t have time to stand here talking to you.”

  “I’m sorry, I should go.”

  This doesn’t add up, Linda thought. Her whole inner alarm system was ringing. Anna was acting confused. Her sneaking manner and her unconvincing apology didn’t match up.

  “Don’t go,” Linda ordered sharply. “Now that you’re here, you might as well tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’ve already told you.”

  “If you know anything about where Zeba is, you have to tell me.”

  “I don’t know where she is. I just came to ask you if you’ve found her, or at least have any clues.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Anna’s reaction was so surprising that Linda didn’t have time to prepare for it. It was as if Anna underwent a sudden transformation. She shoved Linda in the chest and shouted, “I never lie! But you don’t understand what’s happening!”

  Then she turned and walked away. Linda didn’t say anything. She watched—speechless—as Anna walked away. Anna had one hand in her pocket. She has something in there, Linda thought. Something she’s clinging to like a life vest. But why is she so upset? Linda wondered if she should run after her, but Anna was already far away.

  She walked back up to the front doors of the police station, but something stopped her. She tried to think fast. She shouldn’t have let Anna go. If it was true, as she thought, that Anna was acting strange, then she should have brought her into the station and asked someone else to talk to her. She had been given the task of staying close to Anna. Now she had made a mistake and brushed her away far too soon.

  Linda tried to make a decision. She wavered between going back in and trying to stop Anna. She chose the latter and decided to borrow the car, since that would be faster. She drove the way that Anna should have walked, but without
spotting her. She drove back the same way but saw nothing. There was an alternate route—same result. Had Anna disappeared again? Linda drove to her apartment building and stopped. The lights were on in the apartment. On her way to the front door, Linda saw a bicycle. The tires were wet, and the water-splashed frame had not yet dried. It wasn’t raining, but the streets were full of puddles. Linda shook her head. Something warned her against ringing the doorbell. Instead she returned to the car and backed it up until it was in shadow.

  She felt that she needed to consult with someone, so she dialed her father’s cell phone. No answer. He must have misplaced it again, she thought. She dialed the number to Lindman’s phone. Busy, just like Martinsson’s, which she tried next. Linda was about to try all three again when a car turned onto the street and stopped outside Anna’s door. It was dark blue or black, maybe a Saab. The light in Anna’s apartment was turned off. Linda’s whole body was tense; her hands holding the cell phone were sweaty. Anna appeared and climbed into the back seat, then they drove away. Linda followed. She tried to call her dad, but he still didn’t answer. On Österleden she was overtaken by a speeding truck. Linda stayed behind the truck but pulled out from time to time to make sure the dark car didn’t disappear. It turned onto the road to Kåseberga.

  Linda kept as great a distance between herself and the other car as she dared. She tried to make another call but only managed to drop the cell phone between the seats. They passed the road to Kåseberga Harbor and kept driving east. It was only when they reached Sandhammaren that the car in front of her made a right turn. The move seemed to come out of nowhere, as the driver had not used the turn signal. Linda continued past the place where it had turned and only stopped when she had gone over a hill and around a corner. She found a bus stop and turned around, then drove back, although she didn’t dare take the same turn.

  Instead she chose a small dirt road to the left. It came to an end by a broken gate and a rusty harvester. Linda climbed out of the car. There was a stronger wind down here by the sea. She looked around for her father’s black knit watch cap. When she pulled it over her head, she felt as if it made her invisible. She wondered if she should try to call again, but when she saw that her phone’s battery was running low she put it in her pocket without calling and started walking back the way she had come. It was only a few hundred meters back to the other road. She walked so fast that she broke into a sweat. The road was dark. She stopped and listened, but only heard the wind and the roar of the sea.

  She searched among the houses scattered over the area for about forty-five minutes and had almost given up when she suddenly spotted the dark blue car parked between some trees. There was no house nearby. She listened, but everything was quiet. She shielded the flashlight with her hand to hide the light, then shone it into the car. There were a scarf and some earplugs in the backseat where Anna had been. Then she directed the beam of light onto the ground. There were paths leading in several directions, but one had a multitude of footprints.

  Linda thought again about calling her dad but changed her mind when she reminded herself about the battery being low. Instead she sent him a text message: With Anna. Will call later. She turned off the light and started following the sandy path. She was surprised that she wasn’t scared even though she was breaking the golden rule often repeated during her schooling: Never work alone, never go into the field alone. She stopped, hesitating. Perhaps she should turn back. I’m just like Dad, she thought, and inside she felt a gnawing suspicion that this was about showing him she was good enough.

  Suddenly she caught sight of a light between the trees and the sand dunes up ahead. She listened. There were still only the sounds of the wind and the sea. She took a few steps in the direction of the light. There were several lit windows. It was a house set off from others, without neighbors. There was a fence and a gate. She turned off her flashlight when she was close enough that the light from the house illuminated the ground in front of her. The garden was large, and she knew the sea must be close by, although she couldn’t see it. She wondered who had such a large house near the shore and what Anna was doing there, if that’s where she was. Then her phone rang. She was startled and dropped the flashlight, but answered it quickly. It was one of her fellow students from the academy, Hans Rosquist, who now worked in Eskilstuna. They hadn’t talked since the graduation ball.

  “Is this is a bad time?” he said.

  Linda could hear music, the clinking of glasses and bottles in the background.

  “Sort of,” she said. “Call me tomorrow. I’m working.”

  “You can’t talk even for a few minutes?”

  “No. Let’s chat tomorrow.”

  She hung up and kept a finger on the off button in case he called again. When she had waited for two minutes without anything happening, she tucked the phone back into her pocket. Cautiously she climbed over the fence. There were more cars parked in front of the house, and there were also a few tents on the lawn.

  Someone opened a window close to where she was. She flinched and crouched down. There was a shadow behind a curtain and the sound of voices. She waited. Then she noiselessly made her way up to the window. The voices had stopped. The feeling that there were eyes out here in the darkness was very strong. I should run away from this place, she thought, her heart pounding. I shouldn’t be here, at least not alone. A door opened, she couldn’t see exactly where, but she saw the long patch of light it cast onto the grass. Linda held her breath. Now she caught the whiff of tobacco smoke on the wind. Someone is standing in the doorway, smoking, she thought. At the same time, the voices through the window started up again.

  The patch of light on the grass disappeared and the unseen door closed. The voices became clearer. It took a few minutes for her to realize that there was actually only one speaker, a man. But the pitch of his voice varied so much that she had at first thought it was several speakers. He spoke in short sentences, paused, and then continued. She strained to hear what language he was using. It was English.

  At first she didn’t understand what he was talking about, it was simply an incoherent jumble of words. He was giving the names of people, of cities: Luleå, Västerås, Karlstad. It was part of a briefing, she realized. Something was set to happen in these places. A time and a date were repeated over and over. Linda made the calculation in her head. Whatever it was, it would happen in twenty-six hours. The voice spoke methodically and slowly and could occasionally become sharp, almost shrill, and then drop down to a mild tone again.

  Linda tried to imagine what the man looked like. She was very tempted to stand up on tiptoe and try to peek into the room, but she stayed in her uncomfortable position crouched next to the wall. Suddenly the voice inside started to talk about God. Linda felt her stomach contract.

  Linda didn’t have to think about what the alternatives were. She knew she should make her way back and contact the station. Perhaps they were even wondering where she had gone. But she also felt she couldn’t leave just yet, not while the voice was talking about God and the thing that was to happen in twenty-six hours. What was the message between the lines of what he was saying? He talked about a special grace that awaited the martyrs. Martyrs? What was he talking about? There were too many questions and not enough room in her head. What was going on, and why was his voice so mild?

  How long did she listen until she grasped what he was saying? It might have been half an hour or just a few minutes. The terrifying truth slowly dawned on her and she started to sweat, even though it was cold. Here in a house in Sandhammaren a group of people were preparing a terrible attack—no, thirteen attacks, and a few of those who would set the catastrophe in motion had already left.

  She heard a few repeated phrases: located by the altars and towers. Also: the explosives, and at the corners of the structures. Linda was suddenly reminded of her father’s irritation when someone tried to inform him of an unusually large dynamite theft. Could there be a connection to what she was hearing through the window? T
he man inside started to talk about how important it was to attack the foremost symbols of the false prophets, and that that was why he had chosen the thirteen cathedrals as targets.

  Linda was sweating, but she was also cold. Her legs were stiff, her knees ached, and she realized she had to get away immediately. What she had heard, what she now knew was true, was so terrifying that she couldn’t really get it into her head. This isn’t really happening, she thought. These kinds of things happen far away.

  She carefully straightened her back. It was quiet inside. He started to talk again just as she was about to leave. She stiffened. The man who was speaking now said all is ready, only that: all is ready. But he wasn’t speaking a true Swedish, it was as if she were hearing a voice inside herself and on the tape that had disappeared from the police call-center archive. She shivered and waited for Torgeir Langaas to say something else, but the room was quiet. Linda carefully felt her way over to the fence and climbed over. She didn’t dare turn on her flashlight. She walked into branches and stumbled over rocks.

  After a while she realized she was lost. She couldn’t find the path and she had ended up in some sand dunes. Wherever she turned she couldn’t see any light except from a ship far out to sea. She took off her hat and stuffed it into her pocket, as if her bare head would help her find her way. She tried to figure out where she was from her position in relation to the sea and the direction of the wind. Then she started to walk, pulling out the hat and putting it on again.