Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(44)

Birgitta outlines the situation, then introduces Tobias as the prosecutor in charge and Daniel as the leader of the preliminary investigation. Then she invites questions from the floor.

A young woman with thick eye makeup immediately puts up her hand. She is from one of the tabloids.

“Do you have any suspects?” she asks in a high, slightly shrill voice.

Birgitta has just explained why they don’t have any suspects at this stage. Without changing her expression, she replies, “Not at the moment. It’s too early. We will of course inform you as and when further developments occur.”

“When do you think you’ll have a suspect?” the journalist persists.

“We can’t say at the moment, but this is a major investigation, and the case is our top priority.”

The young woman doesn’t look happy. She scribbles in her notebook with such force that the point of her pencil snaps off.

Birgitta nods to a man in a blue jacket, from a morning paper.

“The police have been criticized for not finding the victim earlier when they knew about her disappearance several days before her body was discovered. Do you have any comment on that?”

Birgitta looks at Daniel. He isn’t ready, but he leans toward the microphone anyway. His mouth is as dry as dust.

At first he can’t get a single word out. He has to clear his throat, which sounds unnaturally loud over the microphone.

Someone sniggers.

“We had to search a very extensive area,” he explains.

“Both the heavy snowfall and the severe cold made the search particularly challenging.”

It sounds as if he’s making excuses. His face flushes bright red—he can’t help it.

Birgitta steps in and saves him—for now.

“The search was conducted according to our normal routines. We have full confidence in the efforts that were made locally. It is essential to take particular care in weather conditions like this.”

Her calm, experienced voice puts across the message much more effectively. Daniel feels the sweat trickling down his spine from the nape of his neck.

A hand is waving at the back of the room.

“Apparently it was left to the girl’s parents to contact Missing People—why didn’t the police turn to them right from the start?” the journalist demands indignantly.

Daniel can’t understand what point he’s making. The police weren’t ignoring Missing People, they just needed to complete their analysis first. This guy is making it sound as if they were guilty of gross misconduct.

“Could it have made a difference?” the man goes on.

“Could you have found the girl alive if Missing People had been involved from the outset?”

Daniel looks up at the ceiling and sighs. It is an impossible question; is this guy trying to blame him for Amanda’s death? He leans forward again.

“Hindsight is a wonderful thing.”

He tries not to sound defensive, and glances at his watch.

How much longer is this going to go on?

“Will you be closing down ?re?” asks a man from a national TV channel.

“We have no plans to do so,” Birgitta answers.

He’s not giving up.

“Is it safe to let families travel to ?re to celebrate Christmas when there’s a killer on the loose?”

Birgitta has had enough. “No comment,” she snaps.

After brief concluding remarks, she gets to her feet. The press conference is finally over.

Daniel follows the others through the side door, dripping with sweat.

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43

Mimi and Kalle are watching TV in the living room. They were treated to takeaway pizza for dinner, then settled in front of the new version of The Lion King, which is a big favorite. Lena can hear them from the kitchen, laughing at some funny lines. Children have the ability to detach from the seriousness of a situation.

They know that their big sister is gone, but right now they are absorbed in the movie.

Lena can neither eat nor watch TV. Instead she wanders from room to room, adjusting the red Christmas cloth on the kitchen table, nipping a few wilting leaves off a poinsettia, taking a glass out of the cupboard above the sink. Then she stands there wondering why she has a glass in her hand. It is several minutes before she remembers that she was going to pour herself some water.

Why? She isn’t thirsty.

Fear and suppressed panic drive her on; she can’t keep still. It is taking all her strength to hold it together in front of the children rather than scream uncontrollably.

Harald isn’t home, he went out in the car several hours ago.

“I need some fresh air,” he’d said, jangling the car keys.

“I can’t just sit here.”

Lena has no idea whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, whether she wants him to stay with her or if it’s better for him to be somewhere else. When he isn’t here she feels upset and abandoned. When he is here she can’t bear to see her own pain reflected in his eyes.

Ludde pads along behind her like a shadow when she leaves the kitchen. Maybe he understands that something is wrong. The sound of his claws on the wooden floor follows her up the stairs and into the bedroom. Mechanically she puffs up a pillow, straightens the pink blanket. Then she gathers it up and throws it on the floor.