Cinderella Girl (12 page)

‘No,’ her mother answered, still equally blunt. ‘You’ll have to ask Elise.’

‘Elise?’

‘My other girl. But she’s not home right now.’

‘Is there anyone else in the family?’

‘No. Just the three of us.’

‘Do you have any friend or relative you can ask to come over?’

Laughter and noise from the kitchen. She tapped a long pillar of ash down into the beer can.

‘We want to give you a little time to digest this terrible news,’ said Sjöberg, ‘but we will need to speak further to both you and Elise.’

‘Really?’

‘Preferably as soon as possible. Can we come back tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I’m sure that will be fine. But I don’t know whether Elise will be home then.’

‘I want you to make sure that she is. It would also be nice if you could be completely sober then.’

Sjöberg felt ashamed when he said that; he did not want to sound threatening, but he was forced to continue. ‘Otherwise we’ll have to bring you in for questioning, and I’m sure you would prefer us not to do that.’

Lena Johansson mumbled something inaudible in response and let her gaze rest on a random point on the yellowing wall behind them.

‘We’re extremely sorry about this, I hope you understand. There is help available if you need it. You can call this number any time, day or night,’ said Sjöberg, handing her a card. ‘I’ll see to it that someone comes here too, someone you can talk to. But try to ask a friend or relative to stay with you as support.’

The card left a long trail behind it on the dusty tabletop. The friends in the kitchen were laughing. The woman twisted her neck and looked absentmindedly in their direction. Sjöberg and Hamad got up from the couch at the same time.

‘We’ll meet here tomorrow afternoon then,’ said Sjöberg. ‘Some time between five and six. We are truly sorry about what happened.’

He hoped that Lena Johansson was too.

* * *

It was almost ten when Petra got back to the police building. She, Sandén and a few reinforcements had been door-knocking in the area around Vitabergsparken, but as far as she knew none of them had produced any interesting
information so far. The medical examiner Kaj Zetterström had called and estimated the time of the woman’s death at some time between Friday evening and Saturday morning.

Petra froze inside when she heard that. Could that little baby have been lying outside in the cold for more than twenty-four hours before he got care? In a park in central Stockholm without anyone noticing him? He must have stopped crying before it was morning. Because he must have cried. The doctors at Karolinska had not found any injuries, just that he had hypothermia and was dehydrated. He had a severe throat infection too. According to what they said the last time she spoke to them, he would not have lasted much longer. But now his condition was stable. They thought he would recover without any lasting damage, although they could give no guarantees.

No one had contacted them yet. No one missed the little boy and his mother, or perhaps babysitter. It was disgusting that you could be so isolated in a city, surrounded by people. So alone in a large community. The hunt for witnesses had become simpler once they had an approximate time to work with, but despite that no one they had spoken to so far had seen or heard anything. She had visited the ever-friendly and helpful Ester Jensen on Stora Mejtens Gränd again. She lived near the discovery site and had not gone out on Friday evening, but she had not noticed anything either.

They had a difficult, extensive job ahead of them. Vitabergsparken was surrounded by apartment buildings. They had only covered a fraction of them before they had to quit for the day. Petra sent home the police officers who were supposed to be off for the weekend and the
increasingly fatigued Sandén. She suspected he had been up late the night before, but he hadn’t complained.

The lights were off in all the offices along the dimly lit corridor, except in Einar Eriksson’s, where the midnight oil was burning, she thought ironically. Einar was not one to exert himself unnecessarily, but he did what he was asked and pretty well besides, even if it was seldom without complaining. As she passed his office, she hesitated for a moment before she stopped after all. She knocked lightly on the open door and stepped in. Eriksson did not look up but continued to stare at the screen in front of him.

‘It’s too dark in here,’ she said with solicitude in her voice that she did not feel. ‘You’ll ruin your eyes.’

He muttered something under his breath, still without looking at her. The office smelled musty in a way that Petra unconsciously associated with beard stubble.

‘Have you found anything?’ she continued.

‘I’ve produced an extensive list of previously convicted passengers on the Finland ferry. No murderers, though. I haven’t found any missing infants, if that’s what you’re wondering. No missing mothers of infants or babysitters either. But I can tell you that the pram is an Emmaljunga, 2003 model.’

‘An ’03,’ said Petra pensively, and was about to say something else when her mobile phone rang.

She pulled it out of her pocket and assumed it was Sjöberg, as it usually was when the display read ‘Blocked number’.

‘And here’s a list of sales locations in Stockholm,’ said Eriksson, apparently undisturbed by the ringing. ‘New and used. And here’s a list of childcare centres in the area.
I don’t have anything else for you yet,’ he said in conclusion, returning to his searching on the computer.

Petra suspected he hadn’t met her gaze once during the conversation. She wanted to say something encouraging, but instead she picked up the lists and left the office to answer the call.

* * *

‘And what was your name again?’

‘Barbro Dahlström.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Doktor Abelins Gata 6,’ answered Barbro.

‘Where’s that?’

‘It’s on Södermalm, but that’s not important –’

‘I’ll connect you to the Hammarby Police Department,’ the female voice interrupted.

‘No, wait a moment. It doesn’t matter where
I
live; the girl might live anywhere in Stockholm.’

‘Then you should call the county detective unit. You’ll have to call back tomorrow.’

‘In that case I’ll try the Hammarby Police anyway,’ said Barbro irritated, surprised at her own stubbornness.

‘Very well.’

After a few seconds, giving Barbro a little time to think through how she should express herself, a male voice answered at the other end.

‘Hammarby Police, Lundin.’

‘I would like to make a report concerning a small child
whom I think is in danger,’ said Barbro, deliberately skipping the courtesies.

‘Does this concern a report of a violent crime?’ asked Lundin.

‘No, not exactly, but I would like to speak to someone.’

‘Then I’ll connect you to a patrol officer.’

‘Fine. Thanks,’ said Barbro.

‘Holgersson,’ answered an authoritative voice, before Barbro even heard a ring.

‘My name is Barbro Dahlström and I have received an unpleasant telephone call –’

‘Then this isn’t the number to call.’

‘Yes, but that’s what I’m doing now anyway,’ she said with increasing irritation. ‘This is important. A little girl called me – not someone I know, she called at random and happened to get me – and told me that she was at home all alone. She must be pretty young, because she didn’t know for example what her last name was or where she lived. But she spoke extremely well otherwise –’

‘To the point,’ said Holgersson sullenly. ‘I’ve got lots to do.’

‘Yes, the point is just that no one is taking care of her. Her father is out of town, she says, and her mother has moved. She hurt herself and is making her own food. She wants me to come and rescue her, but of course I don’t know where she lives. You have to help me.’

‘How could I do that? You said you don’t know where she lives or what her name is.’

‘You’re the police, for God’s sake!’

‘But I’m not a psychic.’

Barbro bit her tongue; she must try to remain calm now.

‘I know that her name is Hanna. And that she lives in Stockholm.’

‘Stockholm’s a big city. I suggest you contact the county detective unit.’

‘But I have managed to get certain details about the surroundings of the building where she lives.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Are you writing down what I’m saying?’

‘No,’ answered Holgersson. ‘Like I just said, you’ll have to contact the county detective unit about this. Good luck with that.’

The conversation was over. In no way did Barbro feel convinced that the county detective unit would take her more seriously.

* * *

It might be too late, but it had been a hectic day and Sjöberg felt he ought to call Åsa. Check how they were doing. Justify his existence, though he was not sure why that should suddenly be in question. He sat down at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a cheese sandwich, smelling again the aroma of Margit Olofsson’s modest perfume in his nostrils. It had come and gone all day; the power of the olfactory memory could not be denied. He took a bite of the sandwich and tried to recall the aroma of Åsa’s perfume instead. Pleasures, he thought. But it didn’t work; he could only smell cheese. And Margit. He reached for the phone and dialled Åsa’s number.

‘Did I wake you?’

‘No problem, we just got the kids to bed. What are you doing?’

‘Just got home. I’ve been working all day.’

‘Working? Haven’t you been at the hospital?’

‘Sure, I drove Mum home this morning, helped her shop and all that. Now we’ve got two bodies and an abandoned infant on our plate.’

Sjöberg briefly related the events of the day.

‘You must be really tired,’ said Åsa when he was finished. ‘Weren’t you going out on the town last night, you and Jens?’

‘Yes, I should go to bed now.’

‘
Were
you out, or what?’

‘Yes, we were. I’m completely done in.’

‘So where did you go?’

Åsa was curious, as always, but why shouldn’t she be? They were in the habit of telling each other about things they did. Not to be controlling, but out of interest. Genuine interest and the desire to share each other’s lives.

‘First we had a beer at the Half Way Inn. Then we had a bite at Portofino.’

‘Portofino! On Brännkyrkagatan? Are you kidding me?’

‘Kidding? Why would I do that?’

‘You and I were supposed to go there!’

Åsa was upset, and Sjöberg felt himself also starting to feel angry. He was an adult, damn it!

‘So when? In seventeen years, when the kids have moved out?’

He regretted it as soon as he said it, but Åsa did not give it up.

‘That place is really expensive!’

‘Really expensive, I don’t know … But there’s nothing to keep you and me from going there too, is there?’

‘Maybe our budget. If you’re throwing away our money on a night out with Sandén.’

‘We just had pasta! Since when do I have to ask for permission to go to a restaurant?’

‘Goodnight.’

And then she hung up. Åsa was mad. Sjöberg had not been prepared for that, but for some reason it was not completely unwelcome. The subject of how the evening developed after dinner at the restaurant had not come up.

Petra Westman had two dozen police officers, Sandén among them, out knocking on doors. So far no witnesses had been found, nor could anyone give them any useful information about the dead woman or the child. The medical examiner had determined earlier that morning that the woman was indeed the mother of the child – a piece of information that Petra received with some relief, in terms of the investigation, trying not to think about the implications for the child.

Petra herself was at a children’s health centre on Barnängsgatan, hoping to find a paediatric nurse who recognized the dead woman or her son. This was the first children’s health centre she had visited. Every child goes for periodic check-ups by a nurse, and the younger the child, the more often it is weighed and measured. The woman looked Swedish, as did the child. Somewhere in the country there must be a nurse who would recognize them both, hopefully in Stockholm and preferably on Södermalm.

The waiting room was already full of people. The majority were mothers with infants, but a few of the children were big enough to crawl and walk. A father was sitting at a little table being served make-believe food by his daughter on a plastic dining set.

‘Mum,’ a four-year-old boy called from a red plastic car, ‘can you push me?’

The mother was a woman in her thirties trying to read
Parents
magazine while she nursed a baby.

‘Not now, Hugo,’ she answered quietly, so as not to disturb the infant she had in her arms. ‘The baby needs food.’

Then it occurred to Petra for the first time that the woman might have more than one child, that there might be siblings who were also missing their mother. But in that case they must be in good hands, she told herself. Perhaps they’re out of town, with a grandmother or their dad. Perhaps the parents were divorced. They had to find out who this woman was. They could hardly publish a picture of her when the only one they had was of an obviously dead person, with severe skull injuries besides.

A nurse came into the waiting room and looked around as if she were expecting someone in particular. A good sign, thought Petra. They recognize their patients. She went up to the nurse and addressed her in a low voice, keeping her back to the others in the waiting room so as not to attract unnecessary attention.

‘I need to speak to you. My name is Petra Westman and I’m from the police.’

The woman, who was in her fifties, looked at her in surprise.

‘Of course. I was just going to call a patient, but that can wait a moment. We’ll go to my office.’

She looked around the waiting room and caught sight of the family she was expecting.

‘There’s Otto!’ she said to the nursing mother. ‘It will be your turn soon. I just have to take care of this first.’

She showed Petra into her office, closed the door behind them and extended her hand.

‘Well then, my name is Margareta Flink. What’s this about?’

Petra explained her errand in a brief, factual manner. The nurse looked at her bemused.

‘I’m going to show you several pictures. One of them is extremely unpleasant. I’m sorry about that, but I have to.’

Petra held out the photographs.

‘I’d like to know if you recognize either of them. The woman is about thirty-five.’

The nurse instinctively recoiled from the appearance of the dead woman, but she studied the pictures carefully before she answered.

‘Unfortunately I don’t recognize either of them. This is not one of my mums, I’m sure of that.’

‘I’ll need to ask all your colleagues here the same question,’ Petra continued. ‘Right now seems to be the best opportunity. I’d also like to get a list of all the other children’s health centres around here.’

‘There are only a few, but I’ll write them down for you,’ the nurse answered willingly.

‘Are new mums assigned to a children’s health centre,’ Petra asked, ‘or can they choose any one they want?’

‘You are automatically assigned to a children’s health centre in the area where you’re registered. But of course you can be registered somewhere other than where you live. There are a few private alternatives too, in the Stockholm region. Those are available to anyone.’

‘Would you be able to include those on your list?’ Petra asked.

Soon she had a relatively short list in her hand, but
when she found out how many nurses worked at this children’s health centre alone, and how many children each nurse was responsible for, she realized she had a huge job ahead of her. Stockholm was big, Sweden even bigger. Perhaps the woman and the child were not from Stockholm or even Sweden.

It was undeniably very strange that no one had missed them yet, after sixty hours. Or was that really so strange? If the woman were a single mother, it might well be the case that she had no daily contact with anyone at all. She died on a Friday night and only now was it a weekday again. She was almost certainly on maternity leave, if she even had a job. How often did Petra herself call her parents or acquaintances? Not that often. If she didn’t have a job, weeks would probably pass before anyone really missed her.

In any event, the woman probably lived in the vicinity of Vitabergsparken with her child. Theoretically she could have been just visiting, but then someone should have missed her almost immediately. So we’ll start with the children’s health centres in that area, thought Petra, and search outwards from there.

None of the other nurses at the children’s health centre on Barnängsgatan recognized the woman in the picture either. One nurse was sick and Petra had to visit her at home, which was not far away. The ill nurse talked to her, coughing and sniffling, but she did not have any new information to offer either.

On the way to the children’s health centre on Wollmar Yxkullsgatan she went into a 7-Eleven to buy a banana and a bottle of mineral water. Ahead of her in the queue was a young mother with a small child hanging in a carrier
on her front. The mother was also pushing a pram. Petra was wondering why you would bring a pram if you were going to carry the child anyway, but in mid-thought she was shocked to realize that the pram was done up in navy-blue fabric with small white dots and looked just like the one in Vitabergsparken. Petra was not the sort of woman who looked at baby prams and their contents with a longing gaze. In fact she had never in her life paid much attention to a pram’s appearance. It must be like with cars, she thought. You naturally notice one that looks like your own. If you’re really interested, you notice other types too, and connect the owner with the model.

‘Excuse me, may I ask you something?’

Petra carefully placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

‘Do you know or would you recognize anyone who has a pram like yours?’

The woman turned around and both she and the child looked at Petra with wide eyes, before the woman answered with some surprise.

‘No, I don’t know anyone who has one like it. But you do see people around now and then who have one.’

‘Do you say hello to each other or …?’ Petra asked stupidly.

The woman snorted.

‘Sure, that happens sometimes. Or you just smile at each other or nod with a kind of mutual understanding.’

It was her turn and she paid for her items. Petra got out of the queue, letting those behind her go ahead, and continued stubbornly.

‘You probably think I’m being a nuisance now, but
I would like to ask you a couple of questions. I’m a police officer and I need help with something. Do you have time? It will only take a few moments.’

‘Sure.’

They left the pram near the queue and moved away from the till, further into the shop.

‘Perhaps you are aware that we found a dead woman in Vitabergsparken? We haven’t been able to identify her yet. But she had a pram similar to yours, so I thought maybe you had noticed her. The picture I have is unpleasant – can you handle it, do you think?’

Petra asked herself why she was being so careful with this woman. She’d had no such scruples when she’d spoken to the nurses at the children’s health centre. It must be the child on her chest making me soft, she thought.

‘Okay then,’ answered the young mother, evidently more interested now.

Petra held out the photographs and the woman studied them with an expression of disgust and sorrow combined. She slowly shook her head and gave them back.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I don’t recognize either of them. Is the baby dead as well?’

‘No. He was found nearby, but he survived. Thanks for your help anyway. You gave me an idea. About the pram, I mean,’ said Petra. ‘Perhaps someone will recognize the pram, if nothing else. By the way, where did you buy it?’

‘Oh, I don’t remember. You buy a lot of things, you know. For the first child. This was big sister’s pram first and we went all over looking for a pram, changing table, cot, finding a babysitter –’

‘And when was big sister born?’

‘December 2003.’

‘Thanks again,’ said Petra, setting aside her items in a basket of apples and going out on to the street. Her mobile phone was already at her ear as the door shut behind her.

‘Einar, it’s Petra.’

‘Yes, I’m sitting here with a long list in front of me of boys born in March, April and May of 2007.’

‘That’s good. This search process takes a lot of time –’

‘Yes, mine too.’

‘I think it’s embarrassing that we haven’t been able to identify the victim yet. We’ll have to take a chance at this stage. We have to focus the search. I want you to start calling around to all these families, and do it in wider and wider circles from a starting point in Vitabergsparken.’

She could hear how bossy she sounded. Eriksson was much more experienced than her, yet she was the one giving orders. Perhaps she could express herself differently, a little more gently. But why should she even need to worry about that?

‘And ask whether they have a polka-dotted pram, or what?’

‘Yes, of course. And where the mother and son are. Besides that, Einar, I want you to start by focusing on families where there is also an older sibling aged three or four. Also ask whether they know any other family that fits this pattern.’

‘All right, but it’s really nice to find this out now, when I’ve already produced the information –’

‘We can trade, you and I, if you’d rather run around to all the children’s health centres?’

She bit her lip and took a deep breath. It was always just as well to accommodate Einar Eriksson. It served no purpose to get too irritated by him. If you wanted work done – and he did do a good job – it was best to let him have his way. And she almost felt a little sorry for him. It couldn’t be fun having his attitude towards everything and everyone.

‘Einar, I’m sorry about the extra bother. It just suddenly struck me that the baby probably has an older sibling, because the pram is from 2003.’

‘Or it might very well be a hand-me-down, or bought used or even borrowed.’

‘That’s true, but I still want us to try this. We have to start somewhere. For that reason let’s start with boys born in March, April or May 2007, registered in the area around Vitabergsparken and with an older sibling born in 2003 or 2004.’

‘Sure, sure,’ said Einar Eriksson.

‘Take careful notes about every call. The ones you don’t get hold of you’ll have to phone again, until you get an answer. Okay?’

‘Sure,’ answered Einar Eriksson, making no effort to conceal his antipathy.

* * *

Barbro Dahlström was starting to get really irritated. Admittedly she could not assume that the police were not doing their job, simply because she had been treated rudely when she spoke to
one
of them. But she was quite
convinced that Holgersson at the Hammarby Police had not taken her seriously. Earlier in the morning she had called the police switchboard again, and asked to be connected to the county detective unit. She was not able to speak to any detectives, only to the receptionist. The person she should talk to was ‘not in at the present time’, so she had been encouraged to call back after eleven.

‘A ticklish matter,’ said Detective Nyman, who was now back in the office.

‘I realize that,’ said Barbro as politely as she was able. ‘On the other hand, can it really be all that hard to figure out who called me yesterday evening?’

‘What time did you say it was?’

‘I don’t remember exactly. It must have been around eight o’clock, but that has no significance because I only had one call the whole evening, and it was from this girl.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Nyman.

‘That’s not good enough,’ said Barbro in a sharper tone now. ‘You have to promise to do something about it immediately.’

‘I will, but it may take a little time.’

‘How long?’

‘Up to a week usually.’

‘And in a prioritized case, like this? Involving a child in obvious danger?’ Barbro hoped it would pay to go on the offensive.

‘A whole day at best. It depends on the work load of the provider.’

‘Can I call Telia myself and apply pressure?’ Barbro offered.

‘No, that won’t work,’ Nyman replied, and Barbro
could have sworn he was smiling as he said it. ‘The police have special access and private individuals can’t request that type of information.’