Frozen Moment (33 page)

    She
seemed to have decided it was best to keep quiet. Good decision. She was
intending to pick up her crappy bike and get the hell out of there, but Wolf
had reached out and grabbed her arm. Then she screamed,
Leave me alone, you
bastard! You re fucking disgusting!
She screamed for help too. She was
welcome to try, nobody would hear her.

    At
the same moment he realised she didn't have a chance. They had the power to do
whatever they wanted, and there was nothing she could say or do to stop them. The
thought turned him on, as did the sight of Wolf, an expression on his hairy
face that Malle had never seen before, pushing the screaming, struggling girl
ahead of him towards the truck.

    Wolf
had pinned her arms behind her back with one of his huge fists, while with the
other hand was fiddling with his flies. The drunken babbling idiot had
completely disappeared.

    Pilen
had opened the door of the truck to make it easy for Wolf to push the girl head
first on to the seats, then he stood there turned to stone, looking as if he
hadn't the faintest idea what might be expected of him.

    Maya
leaves her body and contemplates the scene from above, from the tops of the
trees. This is a relief in itself, the fact that there is no need to offer any
more resistance. The details become razor-sharp: a piece of chewing gum in the
shape of a horse's head stuck to the seat. The remains of a burger meal and
countless empty beer cans on the floor. Homer Simpson looped around the
rear-view mirror. The smell of sweat and cow dung from the fur hat beneath her
cheek.

    
Come
on,
urges the Big One.

    The
one who seems scared pulls her coat up above her waist with an expression that
would be comical in a different context: disgusted, as if he were dissecting a
rat. From her perspective high up above them, Maya can see that he is indeed
afraid. Her short brown skirt over black trousers is exposed. He pulls a face
and breathes quickly and heavily as if he were having an asthma attack, then
tugs at the skirt as if trying to rip the seams apart.

    In
the end the Big One has had enough and pushes his useless pal out of the way,
but before he has time to pin Maya to the seat with his body, she sees her
chance. In a fraction of a second she returns to her body, manages to shift
backwards and drives her heel into her attacker's crotch. The Big One loses his
balance and falls back into the Scared One, who seems to have been waiting for
the opportunity to pass out. He slips and tumbles down into the ditch.

    Maya
seizes her chance and runs, straight out into the black nothingness. A
protruding branch tears at the skin on her face. She runs and clamps her jaws
shut; she will cry about this, but not yet - with tear- filled eyes she would
be lost in the darkness. She is terrified of tripping and falling, but pushes
away the pictures crowding her brain: Maya lying there with her face close to
the frozen ground, her pursuers catching up with her in seconds. Focusing on
the moment is the only thing to do. The blood trickling down into the corner of
her mouth has the bitter taste of iron. She will scream about this, but not
now; she must run with the piercing scream unborn inside her body. The sound of
a snapping twig makes her glance back over her shoulder. The headlights of the
pickup seem alarmingly close.

    She
can hear nothing but the pounding of her heart.

    Before
his brain even had time to register what was happening, Malle had run around
the truck and set off after the girl. He couldn't bear the idea of her getting
away and winning. Not now, when they were going to show her who was in charge.

    Off
into the forest she ran, pathetic, her clothes in disarray. They caught up with
her after just a few dozen metres, in among the fir trees. He couldn't speak
for Wolf, but he had given up any idea of actually fucking her, she was too
pitiful, but for that very reason she had to learn some manners. Then they
would drive her up to the road and she would feel a deep sense of gratitude
that they had chosen not to harm her, even though they had the power to do so.

    
Take
it easy,
he yelled, as much to her as to Wolf, who had flecks of foam at
the corners of his mouth.

    And
suddenly she fell. Afterwards he couldn't be sure whether she had slipped on a
root or whether she just fainted, but she certainly fell, head first, and she
didn't move.

    All
he could hear then was his own heartbeat, and then Wolf's heavy breathing on
the periphery, louder and louder, until he yelled at him to shut the fuck up.

    It
was so dark, too bloody dark to see anything, but he thought again that the
body on the ground was too still. With trembling hands he took out his torch,
but he couldn't bring himself to switch it on. Wolf snatched it from him and
shone it on to the snow, and afterwards, during that insane drive home, it was
Pilen who wept like a child, with his fingers in his ears. And he was the one
who hadn't even seen how the snow was stained red by the blood around her head,
or the blind staring eyes.

    2007    

    Karlberg
arrived at the heating and plumbing shop just in time for Anders Franzén's
break, at least that
was the impression he got from the
owner, who was sitting in a little office behind the showroom with his feet up
on the desk. With his earphones firmly in place and his eyes closed, Franzén
seemed completely deaf to the world around him, including Karlberg's discreet
tapping on the door frame.

    Karlberg
tried gruff throat-clearing, but this didn't penetrate the wall of sound behind
which the shop owner was hiding either. When he finally took two steps forward,
he almost frightened the life out of Franzén. The earphones and the iPod
clattered to the floor, and for a fraction of a second Karlberg was afraid he
was heading for a punch. He backed away and groped for his ID card.

    'Police,
I didn't mean to startle you. I did knock.'

    He
pointed at the earphones now lying under the chair. Bearing in mind how loud
the music was from a distance of two metres, it was hardly surprising that
Franzén hadn't heard him knock.

    'I
usually hear when a customer comes in,' Franzén apologised. 'I must have turned
the volume up too high. I've got Lucinda Williams's latest on here.
Brilliant.
Have you heard it?'

    He
held out the earphones to Karlberg, who declined.

    'I'd
like to ask you some questions about a man you supposedly shared these premises
with some time ago. Olof Bart.'

    The
corner of Franzén's mouth twitched.

    'These
premises, is that what he said? Is he in trouble, then?'

    'You
could say that,' said Karlberg tersely. 'He's dead.'

    The
colour drained out of Franzén's face in an instant.

    
'Dead?
But what the hell! If you're here that must mean he
was-'

    
'Murdered, yes.
That's why I'd like your help with some
information. You worked with Bart, is that correct? Did you see him on a daily
basis?'

    'Well…'
Anders Franzén looked at Karlberg, his expression hesitant. 'I don't really
know what I can tell you. For a start we didn't share these premises. He rented
a small area in my warehouse for a couple of years. I can't tell you what he
did there, except that he took on all kinds of repairs.
Agricultural
machinery mainly, the odd car or motorbike.
I assume he wasn't exactly
keeping accounts and paying his taxes, but surely that can't be relevant now?'

    Karlberg
shook his head.

    'No.
So you had no real idea of who you were renting this space to?'

    'Oh
yes,' Franzén protested. 'I did know him personally, but I don't know how far
my obligation to check on someone's business dealings goes, just because he
pays me rent. He was a jack of all trades - did all kinds of things to earn a
bit extra. Bought stuff and did it up then resold it, so of course he needed a
place to store everything. I had a big warehouse and I was only using half of
it and… well, I needed the money.'

    He
looked at Karlberg defiantly.

    'How
did you get to know Olof Bart?'

    
'Through friends, Ernst and Anette Persson.
Bart was a
neighbour of theirs. They knew he needed storage space and I needed a tenant,
so they put us in touch.'

    That
was rather strange, thought Karlberg. According to Persson, he had only spoken
to Bart on a few occasions. It would seem a little odd, although not
impossible, if Bart's need for storage space had come up on one of these rare
occasions. Of course it was also odd to live next door to someone for ten years
and never speak, although no doubt it wasn't unique. If the Perssons had, in
fact, had a closer relationship with Bart than they had let on, they must have
had a reason to lie.

    Anders
Franzén's tone was now quite defensive.

    'I
use the place for storage myself, but obviously I'm not there every day. I
don't think he was there every day either, because he did other work as well.
In the forest, among other things, I think. I didn't really ask him much about
what he wanted the space for, or go poking about his stuff when he wasn't
there. Besides, his section was locked and-'

    'I
understand. You don't know anything about his business affairs,' Karlberg
interrupted, 'but do you know anything about his character, his background?'

    Franzén
firmly shook his head.

    'You
said you knew him personally?'

    'Well
yes… I thought he seemed a bit dodgy, to be perfectly honest. I don't have any
real evidence for that, but I wasn't keen on the bloke.' He shrugged.

    'Go
on.'

    'He
was very difficult to talk to. Didn't look you in the eye, if you know what I
mean.
Didn't give a proper answer to anything.
A bit evasive.
But I did only see him occasionally after
we'd signed the contract.'

    'I
understand that.'

    Karlberg
decided to try a different approach.

    'I
heard that you cancelled the contract with Bart because of a disagreement.'

    Judging
from the colour of Franzén's face, the tactic worked.

    'I
did tell him he had to go, yes. If I'm honest, I'm not completely sure I had
the right to do it but I'll tell you anyway.'

    He
crossed his legs.

    'It
was 2003
,1
think. I'd been on my guard for a while
because I'd had a nasty break-in at my summer cottage. It was horrible. They
hadn't just stolen my
stuff,
they'd wrecked the place
as well. They'd even crapped on the floor. Kids, maybe, drug addicts… how
should I
know. Anyway, it might have affected my judgement
and made me overly suspicious. But I had been thinking that Bart seemed a shady
character. I didn't know where I was with him, and that bothered me. One
evening I went out to the warehouse after I'd closed the shop - it was
November, so it was bloody dark. I don't know if you've checked out the area,
but it's remote and deserted, just old warehouses nearby. Anyway, I didn't have
time to react when a man crept up on me from behind and slammed me against the
wall. I felt something sharp in my side and got the idea that he had a knife.
You don't take chances in a situation like that, so I gave him my wallet and my
watch. I actually had a Rolex at the time; my sister works in advertising and
she'd been able to buy one cheap.'

    Franzén's
forehead was glistening, but it was rather warm in the little office. His gaze
wandered vaguely towards the door, almost as if he was expecting his assailant
to march in, demanding to be allowed to give his side of the story. He seemed
to have lost the thread.

    'So
he got your wallet and your watch,' prompted Karlberg.

    'That's
right. I was really shaken up afterwards. It was all a bit much, and I think
that even then, totally illogically, I somehow linked the incident to Bart.
Then a couple of weeks later I spotted him, Bart that
is
,
in town. It was from a distance, on the other side of the street, and he didn't
see me, but he had someone with him. I'm not one hundred per cent
certain,
since it was dark that night out by the warehouse,
but I was sure it was the man who robbed me.'