“So he came by boat, then. And the perpetrator must have been onboard,” said Henrik.
“But we can’t exclude the possibility that he got there by car or some other means,” said Gunnar.
“Witnesses?” said Mia.
“None. But we are checking the entire coast from Viddviken to Arkösund.”
“But still, who is he? The boy,” said Henrik.
Gunnar took a deep breath.
“So far he isn’t in any registry that we have. But, Mia, I want you to check through all cases of missing children. Check new ones as well as old, even those where the period of possible prosecution has expired. Get a photo of the boy and talk with the social services, check schools and youth clubs. We might have to ask the public for help,” said Gunnar.
“Via the media?” said Henrik.
“Yes, but I’d rather not do that. There would be such a...how can I put it?...such a circus.”
Gunnar went up to the map on the wall and pointed out the finding place.
“This is where the body was found. So we’re looking for some sort of a boat or vehicle that passed Viddviken on the water between 19:00 and 23:00 Sunday night.”
He moved his hand upwards across the map.
“We’ve put in a unit to go door-to-door there, and there’s a dog patrol going over the immediate area.”
“What shall we do about Kerstin?” said Jana. “If you can’t get me more evidence, I’ll have to release her early tomorrow morning.”
“Perhaps she knows who the boy is?” said Mia.
“We must also ask her about her husband’s financial situation,” said Gunnar.
“Ola, make sure you have scoured his bank accounts. Private, savings account, investments, you name it. Check them all.”
Ola nodded in response.
“Henrik, interview Kerstin again. We haven’t finished with her. Not yet,” said Gunnar.
IT HAD HURT. She knew it would. She had heard it through the walls. But she didn’t know it would hurt so badly.
One of the grown-ups had told her to follow him into the dark storeroom. There he had tied her hands behind her back and forced her head forward. With a sharp piece of glass he carved her new name on her neck. It said KER. From now on that was what she would be called, that was who she would become and remain so forever. While the man with the ugly scar gave her an injection, he had conveyed to her that she would never be hurt again, nothing would happen to her now. At the same time that the sense of calm spread through her body, a strength also grew within her. She didn’t feel fear any longer. She felt powerful. Undefeatable. Immortal.
The grown-ups let her stay in the storeroom with her hands tied so that she wouldn’t touch her wound until it had healed. When she was finally let out, she felt weak and cold and had no appetite.
The girl tried to see the carved letters in a mirror but she couldn’t. She put her hand on the back of her neck. It stung; the skin was still sensitive. A scab had formed and the girl couldn’t help fingering it, but then it started to bleed. She was angry with herself and tried to stop the bleeding by applying pressure with the sleeve of her sweater. But the red stains on the cloth grew larger each time she pressed it against her neck.
She looked at her arm in front of her. The stains were large and she turned on the tap and held her arm under it to try to get rid of the blood. But it didn’t help, it only got worse. Now the sleeve was bloody and wet.
She leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. The glow from the round lamp was weak and there were dead flies inside the glass globe. How would they punish her now? She wasn’t meant to touch her neck. That’s what they had said. The wound had to heal completely. If you touched it, it would look much worse. Ugly.
She slid down to the floor with her back against the wall. The break was soon over; she couldn’t stay much longer in the toilet. How long had she been on the island? A month? Perhaps several months. The trees had at any rate lost all their leaves. She had thought that the golden-brown leaves were so lovely. At home she had never seen a tree that changed color like that. Every time she stood to attention in the yard, she wished she could cast herself into the piles of golden leaves. But she never could. She was only allowed to fight. All the time. Against the wiry boy Minos. And even against Danilo. He was bigger and stronger than she, so she hadn’t been any match for him. He tried not to hit her too hard, but eventually he had to. If you didn’t fight, you got beaten, beaten a lot, so Danilo hit her. At first he tried to be careful, a light thump and a slap. But then the man with the ugly scar had lifted him up so violently by his hair that he pulled some clumps out.
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