“I can’t comment on that.”
“How was the body found?”
“We received a call.”
“From a witness, you mean?”
Winter made a gesture with his arms that was open to interpretation.
“Is she Swedish?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you know what she looks like, right? Does she appear to be of Swedish or Nordic origin? Or does she look like she comes from somewhere else?”
“I can’t speculate on that yet.”
“If she doesn’t look Nordic, then it’s gotta make it easier to speculate where in Gothenburg she may have lived,” said a young journalist that Winter hadn’t seen before, as far as he could remember.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t you know where all the immigrants live?”
Winter didn’t answer. He thought of the northern suburbs and thought that that was an oversimplification.
“Any more questions?”
“How old would you say she is?”
“Obviously, we’re not sure about that either. But maybe around thirty.”
The journalists wrote, held microphones. A summer murder in Gothenburg.
“What are you doing now?”
“An extensive investigation was launched early this morning. We are securing evidence at the site where the body was found and focusing our efforts on identifying the victim,” Winter said.
“When did it take place?”
“What?”
“The murder. Or the death. When did it happen?”
“It’s hard to say right now. But sometime late last night. I can’t be any more precise than that.”
“When was she found?”
“Early this morning.”
“When?”
“At around four.”
“Have you spoken to people who were in the vicinity at that time?”
“We are seeking to question anyone who may have seen anything. Anyone who thinks they may have seen something is invited to contact the police.”
“How about motive?”
“Impossible to answer that right now.”
“Was she raped?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Are there any similarities here?” asked Hans Bulow.
“How do you mean?”
“Are you looking into any other cases, either here or elsewhere, that bear a resemblance to this one?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, due to the ongoing investigation.”
“So the victim was not already known to the police?”
“I think I just said that we don’t know her identity.”
“Is that usual?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is it usual for the identity to be unknown? I mean, after this long.”
“It’s been,” Winter looked at his watch, “less than twelve hours since we found her. That’s not a long time.”
“Sure it’s a long time,” the journalist in the sunglasses said.
“Any more questions?” Winter asked, knowing that the cool guy was right.
9
This house was somewhere else; she could see that the trees outside were different. There were no other houses and nobody walking along the road. She couldn’t hear the sound of any cars or trains. Once she heard a rumbling overhead that could have been an airplane.
If there were a phone, she could lift the receiver, press the buttons, and speak to Mommy. She knew how.
Maybe the men were out looking for Mommy. They had driven off and come back and driven off and come back again. Now one of them was gone, and the other was also gone, only he hadn’t left in the car. She thought that he was in another room, but then she saw him outside the house. It was just a short distance between the house and the forest, and he came out of the forest and looked right at her through the window, and she crawled down from the chair and went in toward the room because she thought it was scary.
She was lying on the floor the next time she thought about anything. She felt sort of sleepy in her head, and there was a strange smell in the room. She looked around, and there was steam rising from a dish on the floor.
“Eat this now.”
She rubbed her eyes and looked, but everything was blurry. She rubbed her eyes again. Now she saw that there was a lot of steam coming from the plate.
“It’s soup. You have to eat it while it’s hot.”
She saw shoes and legs and asked for her mommy.
“Your mommy will be here soon.”
She asked where her mommy was, but he didn’t answer and she asked again.
“Eat your soup now. Here’s a spoon.”
She said she was thirsty.
“I’ll bring you some water if you start eating.”
She took the spoon and dipped it into the soup and tasted it, but it was too hot. She couldn’t taste anything.
She waited for the soup to cool off. She felt something crinkly in her clothes when she sat on the floor. She thought about the slip of paper she had in the secret pocket of her pants.
“You have to eat now.”
She looked down into the dish, but it still looked too hot. She closed her eyes.
Suddenly she felt a pain at her ear and she opened her eyes and saw the hand right next to her. It hurt again.
“I’ll pull your ear again if you don’t eat.”
Then the hand was gone, and she dipped the spoon into the steaming dish again. She started to cry. He would hit her again, pull her ear. Mommy used to smack her, but that was Mommy.
10
