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Authors: Åke Edwardson
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floor the next time she thought about anything. She felt sort of sleepy in her head, and there was a strange smell in the room. She looked around, and there was steam rising from a dish on the floor.
“Eat this now.”
She rubbed her eyes and looked, but everything was blurry. She rubbed her eyes again. Now she saw that there was a lot of steam coming from the plate.
“It’s soup. You have to eat it while it’s hot.”
She saw shoes and legs and asked for her mommy.
“Your mommy will be here soon.”
She asked where her mommy was, but he didn’t answer and she asked again.
“Eat your soup now. Here’s a spoon.”
She said she was thirsty.
“I’ll bring you some water if you start eating.”
She took the spoon and dipped it into the soup and tasted it, but it was too hot. She couldn’t taste anything.
She waited for the soup to cool off. She felt something crinkly in her clothes when she sat on the floor. She thought about the slip of paper she had in the secret pocket of her pants.
“You have to eat now.”
She looked down into the dish, but it still looked too hot. She closed her eyes.
Suddenly she felt a pain at her ear and she opened her eyes and saw the hand right next to her. It hurt again.
“I’ll pull your ear again if you don’t eat.”
Then the hand was gone, and she dipped the spoon into the steaming dish again. She started to cry. He would hit her again, pull her ear. Mommy used to smack her, but that was Mommy.
10
WINTER READ THE AUTOPSY REPORT PAGE BY PAGE. PIA ERIKSON Fröberg described each organ in detail.
Strangulation. The woman had been murdered. She had defensive wounds on her arms, her chest, and her face from a sharp instrument. A knife, a screwdriver, anything. There was no evidence of needle marks on her body, but in some of the photographs he could see lacerations in the skin.
Winter thought about what he’d just read. She had had a child, but it was impossible to say when. Nursery school? Day care? School? Babysitter? Playmates who talked about why a friend didn’t come out to play anymore? Was there even a child anymore? Or was the child a teenager?
Her body had no scars from operations, but there were small scars on her face, around the ears, and she had at some point in her childhood gotten second-degree burns on the inside of her left thigh. Winter hadn’t noticed that in the blue light of the autopsy room.
She was a smoker. Her liver was normal. He had to wait for the results from toxicology. The lab would find any traces of alcohol or drug use there might be.
He was also waiting to hear from the missing persons department of the National Criminal Investigation Department in Stockholm. If she had been reported missing anywhere in the country, Stockholm would identify her.
They hadn’t managed to find her among the local missing person reports or criminal-records databases.
The clothes she had been wearing didn’t have brand labels. Winter thought of the H&M posters he saw every time he walked down the street and of the poster he might have to put up himself.
She hadn’t been wearing any shoes. The police at the body disposal site had found shoes and a whole bunch of other odds and ends from times gone by, but not her shoes.
Her short white tube socks had been wet, or at least very damp. From the grass? It had been relatively dry. From the water? He saw a boat gently gliding through the water, oarlocks wrapped in cloths to muffle the sound.
He rose and stretched his tall body. Fatigue had taken hold of him while sitting.
He walked across the floor to a cabinet and took down a can of shaving cream and a razor from the top shelf and went to the bathroom, where he wet his face and spread the cream on. The light was dim and his eyes glowed in his face, which was like a mask. He leaned in closer and saw that the whites of his eyes had cracked into small red threads.
But the shave perked him up and back in his room he switched on the VCR and TV with the
“Eat this now.”
She rubbed her eyes and looked, but everything was blurry. She rubbed her eyes again. Now she saw that there was a lot of steam coming from the plate.
“It’s soup. You have to eat it while it’s hot.”
She saw shoes and legs and asked for her mommy.
“Your mommy will be here soon.”
She asked where her mommy was, but he didn’t answer and she asked again.
“Eat your soup now. Here’s a spoon.”
She said she was thirsty.
“I’ll bring you some water if you start eating.”
She took the spoon and dipped it into the soup and tasted it, but it was too hot. She couldn’t taste anything.
She waited for the soup to cool off. She felt something crinkly in her clothes when she sat on the floor. She thought about the slip of paper she had in the secret pocket of her pants.
“You have to eat now.”
She looked down into the dish, but it still looked too hot. She closed her eyes.
Suddenly she felt a pain at her ear and she opened her eyes and saw the hand right next to her. It hurt again.
“I’ll pull your ear again if you don’t eat.”
Then the hand was gone, and she dipped the spoon into the steaming dish again. She started to cry. He would hit her again, pull her ear. Mommy used to smack her, but that was Mommy.
10
WINTER READ THE AUTOPSY REPORT PAGE BY PAGE. PIA ERIKSON Fröberg described each organ in detail.
Strangulation. The woman had been murdered. She had defensive wounds on her arms, her chest, and her face from a sharp instrument. A knife, a screwdriver, anything. There was no evidence of needle marks on her body, but in some of the photographs he could see lacerations in the skin.
Winter thought about what he’d just read. She had had a child, but it was impossible to say when. Nursery school? Day care? School? Babysitter? Playmates who talked about why a friend didn’t come out to play anymore? Was there even a child anymore? Or was the child a teenager?
Her body had no scars from operations, but there were small scars on her face, around the ears, and she had at some point in her childhood gotten second-degree burns on the inside of her left thigh. Winter hadn’t noticed that in the blue light of the autopsy room.
She was a smoker. Her liver was normal. He had to wait for the results from toxicology. The lab would find any traces of alcohol or drug use there might be.
He was also waiting to hear from the missing persons department of the National Criminal Investigation Department in Stockholm. If she had been reported missing anywhere in the country, Stockholm would identify her.
They hadn’t managed to find her among the local missing person reports or criminal-records databases.
The clothes she had been wearing didn’t have brand labels. Winter thought of the H&M posters he saw every time he walked down the street and of the poster he might have to put up himself.
She hadn’t been wearing any shoes. The police at the body disposal site had found shoes and a whole bunch of other odds and ends from times gone by, but not her shoes.
Her short white tube socks had been wet, or at least very damp. From the grass? It had been relatively dry. From the water? He saw a boat gently gliding through the water, oarlocks wrapped in cloths to muffle the sound.
He rose and stretched his tall body. Fatigue had taken hold of him while sitting.
He walked across the floor to a cabinet and took down a can of shaving cream and a razor from the top shelf and went to the bathroom, where he wet his face and spread the cream on. The light was dim and his eyes glowed in his face, which was like a mask. He leaned in closer and saw that the whites of his eyes had cracked into small red threads.
But the shave perked him up and back in his room he switched on the VCR and TV with the
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