Chapter 50
Fresh snow fell between Christmas and New Year’s, settling like fine dust over everything.
It hampered the search for the missing. Helicopters were still hovering; emergency vehicles and trucks were lined up just outside the cordoned area.
Volunteers from the community turned up but couldn’t do much; it was still too risky.
The media flocked nearby like they were up against the barricades at a concert.
The radio on Gerd’s shoulder crackled. It was one of the patrols on the other side of the crater.
“He’s back,” the crackle said. “Same question.”
“Next time, don’t answer him,” Gerd snapped. “Just let it be. I told him we’ll be in touch as soon as we know.”
Bill, Kjell ?stholm’s new hunting dog, had been home alone on the farm.
Kjell himself had survived; he had been spending Christmas Day with Frans and was on his way home when it all started.
Thank goodness Frans had convinced him to stay for coffee, too, so he hadn’t gotten far.
Now he was going around demanding information about the dog from every police officer, firefighter, and ambulance driver he saw.
“I never should have left him home alone,” he said. “I knew it. I knew it. But I’ve always let my dogs do whatever they please, and he didn’t want to come along to Frans’s place.”
“We’ll find him,” Vidar Jorgensson assured him, although he didn’t seem to believe his own words. “Don’t worry.”
Vidar was one of the many officers who’d been called out from Halmstad.
When he first arrived at the site of the collapse, he was dumbfounded by the destruction.
But shortly thereafter, he got hold of himself and began to pitch in, just like everyone else.
So many people arrived during those days in Skavboke, so many people gritting their teeth and lending a hand. The community would remember that.
—
A little while later, Siri’s radio crackled. A discovery.
She and Gerd moved cautiously toward the spot; it wasn’t far.
He lay on his side, his eyes closed. One leg was at a funny angle, but that was the only sign that he wasn’t just asleep.
“He was under that,” Vidar said, pointing at a large machine. “We didn’t see him until we moved it away.”
“What is that?” Siri asked.
“A lathe. We think it was in the basement.”
“The Soderstroms’ basement?”
“Yes, could be. I don’t know their name—the big house that was here. It took moving straps and four men to lift it away.”
Gerd crouched down to study the body.
“What the hell was he doing so far from the farm?”
“He’s totally stiff,” Vidar said. “Poor bastard.”
His fur was dirty and dusty, the fine strands swaying gently in the breeze. Great splinters of wood had drilled into his body, leaving deep wounds.
Gerd looked at Vidar.
“Call up Kjell and tell him—”
“Gerd, there’s something in his mouth,” Siri interrupted.
Something was wedged between his teeth.
Getting the dog’s mouth open was no easy task. It took all three of them to pry his jaws apart. When they finally gave way, there was a harsh, dry snap, like a branch breaking.
“Damn, they were stuck,” said Siri.
She reached inside and got hold of a scrap of fabric, the size of a napkin but jagged. She held it up in front of Gerd.
Someone in the area, dead or alive, owned a flannel shirt that was missing a bite. It was dark green, with pale yellow and blue stripes.
They heard a phone ringing loudly somewhere.
“Where the hell is that ringing coming from?” Gerd bellowed.
A patrolman they didn’t know waved apologetically, a receiver in hand.
“It’s for you,” he said, offering it to them. “You’re from here, right?”
Gerd nodded at Siri.
“Take it.”
She gripped the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m calling from forensics.” The man cleared his throat, as though ashamed of calling in the midst of events like those he had seen on TV about Skavboke.
“About the blood sample you took from Killian Persson on December twenty-third. It’s a match for the blood we found on the steering wheel in the Volvo. He was driving.”
“Thank you,” Siri said wearily.