Soon we’ll stop for juice and a bun and a coffee and a cig… no, not a cigarillo. But he felt the desire; it increased as he became more tense himself.

“Do you often drive the train?”

“Yes!”

“Are there lots of people traveling with you, Simon?”

“Arvid and Valle and Oskar and Valter and Manfred and… and…” he said, and Winter had time to think about how times change, old-fashioned names become fashionable again, old people revert to their childhood. Twenty years ago Simon could only have been describing a group of old-age pensioners clambering into a toy train.

“Did Billy travel with you as well?”

“No.”

“Where was Billy?”

Simon looked baffled. It was a difficult question.

“Was Billy at home?” Winter asked.

Simon still looked confused. What was wrong? What am I doing wrong? Winter thought.

“Was Billy at the nursery school?” he asked.

Simon looked at Billy and leaned down closer to the bear’s little face, which was turned toward the boy now, as if he no longer had the strength to listen to this conversation. Simon whispered something to Billy, but very quietly. He looked up again.

“Can Billy say where he was?” asked Winter.

“On the train,” said Simon. “Billy rode the train.”

“Billy rode while you were driving?”

Simon nodded again.

“Billy rode on the train all the time?”

Simon nodded.

“Not the car,” he said out of the blue, and leaned over Billy again, as if he wanted to hide his own face in the teddy bear’s. Winter could see that the boy had become more tense, from comfortable calm to sudden unrest.

My God, Winter thought. This is quick. I’ve gotten us to this point, but has it been too quick? But it was Simon who had said that, of his own accord.

“Didn’t ride in the car,” said Simon.

He’s starting to tell us what happened, Winter thought. But what does he mean? We know he was abducted. Wasn’t it in a car?

“Tell me about the car, Simon.”

What Winter needed to do now was let Simon tell his story at his own pace, in his own way. He hoped Simon felt sufficiently secure to start telling the tale. That was all he could ask for.

He remembered what he had read, and passed on to his colleagues:

Hand control over to the child and let the child decide who is going to be described. Let the child decide on the scenario. It’s important that the interviewer makes it clear that he or she doesn’t know what happened.

He would try to break down Simon’s reluctance to tell.

He must give the boy time.

He suddenly felt the need to make a note, but resisted it. He hadn’t said anything about making notes before the interview started. It would only distract Simon now, perhaps spoil something.

“Tell me about the car, Simon.”

Simon turned to Billy again. He whispered something that Winter couldn’t hear.

Now it’s time for Billy. Winter said Billy’s name and then Simon’s. Simon looked up.

“Have you told Billy about the car?” Winter asked.

Simon nodded.

“Do you think he could tell me about it?”

Simon leaned down over Billy again, and Winter waited while the pair of them discussed the matter.

“Billy wants to hear the question,” said Simon.

“I want Billy to tell me what you told him about the car,” said Winter.

“You have to ask,” said Simon.

“Was the car next to the train?”

“Simon says it was in the woods,” said Simon. His tone of voice was darker. The shift was barely noticeable, as if he had left his own body and moved into Billy’s little brown one, which he had now lifted up to face level and was holding out like an overdemonstrative ventriloquist. Winter felt a shudder, and another. I’ve used cuddly toys before, but this is different, he thought. He looked at Barbara Waggoner. She looked scared stiff.

“Tell me about the car, Billy,” said Winter.

Simon held Billy in front of his face, then lowered the teddy a little bit.

“It was a big car in some big, big woods,” chanted Simon in his changed voice, as if he were about to tell a fairy story, or a ghost story. “The boy went into the big woods and the car drove through the woods.”

Simon was looking at Winter now, not at his mother, not at the camera, and not at Billy. Winter stayed motionless. Barbara Waggoner tried not to move.

“The mister had some candies and there were candies in the car,” said Billy. “Brrrrrrmmm, brrrrrrrm, the car drove off with candies!”

Billy paused. Simon looked up.

“Billy rode in the car,” said Simon.

Winter nodded.

“Yes, so he said.”

“No, no, Billy didn’t ride in the car!” said Simon. He looked at Winter, then at his mom.

“No, no,

Billy rode in the train. Billy rode in the car!”

“Did Billy ride in the train and the car as well?” asked Winter.

“No, no.”

Simon shuffled restlessly on the chair. They were getting close to the incident.

“There was a Billy that rode in the car?” said Winter.

“Yes, yes!”

“But it wasn’t your Billy? The Billy who’s sitting here?”

“No, no!”

“Was it a teddy who rode in the car?” Winter asked.

“No!”

“What was it?”

“Billy, Billy. Billy Boy!” Simon was almost shouting now, in yet another voice, almost croaking. “Billy Billy Boy!”

“Did the mister have a Billy?” asked Winter.

Simon picked up his teddy again, returned to the teddy bear’s voice: “The mister had Rotty on the mirror.”

“Rotty?” asked Winter.

Simon lowered the teddy, and croaked: “Rotty, Rotty! Billy Boy, Billy Boy!”

Pretty Rotty, Winter thought. Pretty Polly.

“Did the mister have a parrot?”

Simon put the teddy bear in front of his face again and said:

“Yes, yes. Billy Rotty!”

Rotty on the mirror. The man had a parrot hanging from his mirror. A bird hanging from his rearview mirror.

Jesus, we’re on our way.

32

ANETA DJANALI HAD GOTTEN THOSE RESPONSIBLE TO FURNISH the interrogation room with armchairs children could creep onto, in warm colors. Everything that Ellen Sköld might regard as a toy had been taken away. The girl’s interest had to be concentrated on Djanali.

Aneta entered the room first. Now she was holding the remote control-Ellen had already familiarized herself with the camera.

Lena Sköld was waiting outside. Djanali wanted to try that first. We’ll see how long the girl can sit still.

Ellen was cheerful and inquisitive. Djanali watched her trying out various sitting and lying positions on the armchair.

This is not a traumatized child. I must try to bear that in mind when the questions are asked and the answers given. If they are.

They chatted for a while. Ellen played with her fingers as she answered Djanali’s questions. Or rather, commented on them, it seemed to the detective inspector.

“Your mom told me that it was your birthday a month ago, Ellen.”

The girl nodded, up and down, up and down, but said nothing.

“How old are you now?”

“Four,” said Ellen, holding up a bunch of fingers.

“Wow,” said Djanali.

Ellen nodded again, forcefully.

“Did you have a fun birthday party?” asked Djanali.

“Yes!”

“Tell me about it!”

Ellen looked as if she wanted to talk about it but couldn’t choose between all the fun things that had happened on her birthday.

“Dad came,” she said, when Djanali was on the point of asking a follow-up question. “Dad came and brought some presents.”

Djanali thought about the single mother on the chair in the corridor. Lena Sköld had sole custody, she knew that. Even so there was an absent father who came to his four-year-old daughter’s birthday party with presents. Not all children with a single parent were so lucky. The children are just as single as their parents, she thought.

“What presents did you get?”