“Where?”

“We’ve heard from three witnesses during the night who think they saw a man pushing a stroller with a child in it from H &M or somewhere near there, and he was wearing a checked cap. No leading questions.”

“What made them notice that?”

“A woman was working right by where the mother left the stroller, and she noticed that it was unattended for a while, and then a man came up after a while and went off with it.”

“And she didn’t react?”

“Well, it seemed natural enough at the time. She recalled the incident when we started rooting around.”

“Good God, Bertil: If what she says is right, we’re onto something here. What about the other witnesses?”

“Independently of each other, they both saw that cap in Nordstan.”

“Nobody saw it outside?”

He could hear Bertil sigh. Bertil had had another sleepless night. Winter hadn’t been able to stay with him, it wouldn’t have been possible. It had been necessary to discuss the Christmas holiday with Angela. And to make a snowman with Elsa.

“We’ve had the usual idiots who’ve seen everything you can imagine. There’ve been more than ever of them, but that probably has to do with Christmas,” said Ringmar.

Winter didn’t ask him what he meant by that.

“Have you made copies of the photo?” he asked.

“Hundreds.”

“I’ll be with you in half an hour.”

“I haven’t gotten around to talking to the parents yet,” said Ringmar.

“I heard his father was taken into the hospital last night,” said Winter.

“I’ve never seen anybody in such a state of shock,” said Ringmar. “It hit him afterward, like an avalanche.”

“Nothing new from the mother? Carolin?”

“She’s told her side of the story,” said Ringmar. “She didn’t set up a kidnapping scenario, I don’t think so. But we’ll be talking to her again.”

“I thought of trying again with Simon Waggoner later this morning,” said Winter.

“At home? Or at the station?”

“At home. Do you have the video camera?”

“It’s here on my desk.”

“How are the checks on the nursery-school staff going?” Winter asked.

“It’s progressing. It takes time, as you know.”

“We have to check up on everybody who works, or has worked, at those places. I take it that Möllerström is aware of that? Even if we have to go back ten years, or even longer.”

He embraced Elsa and whispered things into her ear that made her giggle. The bags were all packed.

“We should have had some sort of Christmas party last night,” said Angela.

“We’ll do it in a few days’ time,” he said.

“Don’t fool yourself,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“We’ve both hidden a Christmas present for you somewhere in the apartment,” she said.

“You’ll never find mine!” said Elsa.

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral, or somewhere in between?” he said.

“Fish!” Elsa shouted.

“It’s a secret, Elsa!” said Angela.

“Is it easy to find the packages?” Winter asked.

“There’s a letter in the kitchen with clues,” said Angela.

The taxi was waiting. The snow had gone, but the sun was there, located quite low in the blue expanse.

“Daddy is coming as well,” said Elsa as she got into the car. She looked miserable.

What am I doing? Winter thought.

The driver crammed the bags into the trunk. He glanced at Winter. He’d heard.

Winter’s mobile rang in his inside pocket-two, three rings.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” asked Angela from the backseat, through the open door.

He saw “private number” on the display, and answered. It was Paul Waggoner, Simon’s father: “I just wanted to check what time we could expect you,” he said.

Winter exchanged a few words with him, then hung up.

“I’ll take you to the airport,” he said, starting to take the bags out of the trunk.

“Merry Christmas,” said the taxi driver, as he prepared to drive his empty car away.

Winter and Elsa sang Christmas carols all the way to Landvetter airport.

The check-in line was shorter than he’d expected.

Angela smiled and waved from the escalator up to the terminal. He needed that. She was a good lady. She understood.

The question was how much she understood, he thought, as he drove back to Gothenburg from the airport. On the way he listened to the news reports about his own reality. Now that was his whole world.

31

WINTER CAME TO THE ROUNDABOUT AT LINNÉPLATSEN, CONTINUED along the service road, and turned off toward Änggården.

The Waggoners lived in one of the English-type town houses. Of course. There was a Christmas tree outside the front door. There was still snow on the lawn, a thin rectangular drift that could have been a snowman once upon a time. Winter thought he could make out an orange carrot as he rang the doorbell. He rang again. He was carrying his equipment himself.

Simon Waggoner had not spoken, not drawn anything, not said anything about what had happened. It hadn’t worked in the room they’d set up at police headquarters. Maybe it would work now.

When a child is about one, it communicates in single words; at about eighteen months it starts using two-word sentences, and later it uses three-word sentences. He knew that from the interrogations he’d conducted with children, and from the literature. Christianson, Engelberg, Holmberg:

Advanced Interview and Interrogation Methodology.

And he knew from his conversations with Elsa.

He knew that a child’s language exploded between the ages of two and four.

After the age of two a child is aware that it is an individual in its own right.

The child can start to link its experiences to a concept of itself, and explain to others what it has experienced. It has a memory. It is possible to find that memory, find paths leading to it. Forgetfulness disappears as language develops.

Four-year-olds can talk about experiences they have been through.

Simon Waggoner was four. He was nowhere to be seen as Winter stood in the hall, greeting the parents, Paul and Barbara. There was a smell of Christmas spices in the house, but not quite the same as in a typical Swedish home. Perhaps there was a Christmas pudding on the stove, slowly cooking for another few hours.

“Simon is very tense,” said Paul Waggoner.

“I understand that,” said Winter.

“As far as we can gather he’s been telling his teddy bear what happened,” said Barbara Waggoner. “He confides in his teddy bear.” She looked at her husband. “I don’t know what we should make of that.”

“The teddy bear can be present at the interview,” said Winter. “What’s his name?”

“Billy.”

Billy can do the talking, Winter thought. Billy can talk via Simon.

“We’ve prepared the guest room,” said Barbara Waggoner. “We moved some of the furniture.”

“Is Simon used to being in the room?”

“Oh yes. He’s in there every day. He likes to sit there drawing.”

“Good.”

“Follow me, I’ll take you to it.”

The room was on the ground floor. They passed through the kitchen, which was big and light and had a window facing east. Sure enough something was cooking in a large saucepan, and it wasn’t a Christmas ham. There were newspapers and drawing paper and colored pencils on the kitchen table, various small molds, wrapping paper, and a stick of sealing wax. Two candles were burning in low candlesticks. There were Advent candles in the window, with three of them burning. The fourth one would be lit tomorrow, on Christmas Eve. But being an English family, their main celebration would be the day after, on Christmas Day. With full stockings in the morning.

The radio was murmuring away on the kitchen counter, just as in Winter’s flat, and he recognized the BBC voice, dry, reliable, clear. Facts, no rumors.