A thought struck Irene: Was it the work on child pornography that had triggered Rebecka’s depression last fall? If seasoned investigators were disturbed by the evidence, it didn’t sound too farfetched to think that Rebecka could have been affected even more. Was this something to bring up with Dr. Fischer and maybe Rebecka herself?
“Thank you for taking the time to tell me about this,” said Irene.
“It’s not a problem. It’s Save the Children’s mission to spread information about what’s happening on the Internet. Sexual assaults on children happen every day, and pictures move with the speed of light and are spread via the global network. They’re copied all the time on an unknown number of computers around the world. Naturally, also here in Sweden.”
“It feels terribly. . hopeless. What can you do?”
“That’s difficult to answer. The Web has a life of its own. There are no limitations of time or space. But we must never give up, for the sake of the children. They don’t have anyone but us. The average person doesn’t want to know about what’s going on and doesn’t want to hear us talk about it. They cover their ears and pretend they don’t know anything. We’re talking about the majority of the adult population. But the thing is that if they do know what’s going on, but don’t do anything, they’re accessories. That’s my opinion.”
Irene agreed with her. She had investigated a few cases of incest over the years. Strikingly often, adults near the vulnerable children suspected or knew what was going on, but didn’t do anything to help them.
After she had hung up the phone, Irene sat for a long time and thought about things. Could Rebecka have come across information about someone she knew during the investigation of the child pornography ring? Had she told her parents and brother? Had they used that information? Perhaps in the wrong way, since all three were dead.
The only one who could answer the questions was Rebecka. Hannu was right. Irene had to go back to London after the coming Easter Weekend.
ON TUESDAY morning, a young ornithologist phoned Superintendent Andersson. During his birdwatching on Sunday, he had found the remains of a campfire near the north side of Norssjön. At first he hadn’t looked closely at the ashes, but an impulse made him do just that before he left the area. He was certain that there had been fragments of computer diskettes in the remains of the fire. Thanks to the newspapers, everyone knew about the destroyed hard drives and the bloody pentagrams at the crime scenes. Still, it took him all day Monday to convince himself that his discovery might have something to do with the murders.
Andersson set up a meeting with him, so he could guide them to the site of the fire. Sven beeped Fredrik Stridh without getting a reply. Then he dialed Irene’s direct line. She was in and promised to come by his office immediately. The superintendent gave her his information and asked her to bring a technician with her to the meeting place.
THE FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD birdwatcher stood, stamping nervously, at the agreed-upon place outside the pizzeria in Kullahult. An expression of disappointment was visible on his acne-covered face when Irene drove up in her unmarked car and introduced herself as a detective inspector. The question was what disappointed him the most: that she was a female police officer, or that he wouldn’t have a chance to ride in a police car with its blue lights flashing. Irene jumped behind the wheel again. Svante Malm sat in the back seat, a large technician’s bag next to him. The youth introduced himself as Tobbe Asp. He sat next to Irene in the front passenger seat and directed them toward Norssjön. They stopped at a small side road a few hundred meters before the gravel road that led to the Schyttelius family cottage. The weather was beautiful, even if it was still chilly. Wiser now, after her earlier forest wanderings, Irene had brought along a pair of rubber boots. With the birdwatcher in the lead, they tramped down toward the lake.
At the edge of the lake, they found the abandoned campfire in a deep crevice in the cliff. With a naked eye, Svante Malm determined that there were remains of diskettes in the ashes.
While Svante took care of the remains and investigated the area surrounding it, Irene drove the helpful Tobbe back to the pizzeria. He inquired if it would be possible to go along to the technical lab at the police station, like, follow the ashes he had found. Irene said conspiratorially that for reasons of procedure it could not be done, but that his discovery was invaluable. With that he seemed to be satisfied.
Chapter 15
“SHE WAS ACTUALLY THE one who suggested that I film her.”
Tommy waved the videocassette he held in his hand. Irene, Superintendent Andersson, and Fredrik sat in front of the TV in one of the larger interrogation rooms, the audience for Tommy’s movie premiere.
With a ceremonious expression, he inserted the cassette in the VCR and started it. The chosen audience could hear Tommy’s voice when he announced the date, which was a bit unnecessary since it was also displayed in one of the corners of the screen. Then he continued, “Present are myself, Detective Inspector Tommy Persson; Prosecutor Inez Collin; and attorney Henning Neijlert. The witness who will be questioned is Mrs. Gertrud Ritzman.”
The camera captured Inez Collin’s profile. Her light hair was gathered in a neat ponytail. She was wearing a light-brown leather blazer and a toffee-colored silk top under it, with the pearl necklace she often wore around her neck. She unconsciously stroked the pearls. Irene noted long bronze-colored fin-gernails and a large brilliant diamond ring on her left ring finger.
Attorney Neijlert was a nervous blinking man, a bit past middle age. His hairline was almost at the top of his head, but the curly hair that remained was surprisingly thick and silver-gray. His pointy facial features made him look like an old poodle.
Previously, Tommy had told Irene that Gertrud Ritzman had just turned eighty. She looked it, but her haggard appearance was mainly a result of her illness, not of her age itself. Her claw-like hands shook when she pulled a light-blue sweater tighter around herself. The skin on the backs of her hands was spotted and wrinkled. It seemed too big for her almost transparent hands. Her lips had a bluish tinge against the pale-yellow skin of her face, and her breathing was heavy and strained. A large oxygen tank sat next to her. A thin plastic tube ran from it to her nose to provide her with extra oxygen.
“Mrs. Ritzman has asked me to videotape her testimony about what took place on the night in question, and early that morning. She believes she’s ill enough that there’s a chance she might be. . gone. . when the time comes for the trial of Asko Pihlainen,” Tommy’s voice said.
“I’m going to be dead. I should be already, but I’m tough.” Resolutely, the little woman took the initiative and explained how she had seen Asko Pihlainen and his neighbor, Wisköö, pull up in front of the houses right across from her own on the morning in question. The time was almost five thirty. There was no way they could have been playing poker with their wives at around five o’clock, as they claimed.
Inez Collin asked a few questions in order to check how well Gertrud Ritzman was aware of dates and times. There was never the slightest hesitancy in her answers. Her memory was sound as a bell. The group asked a few supplementary questions. Toward the end, her clear gaze clouded somewhat and her voice shook noticeably between her wheezing breaths. She was completely worn out and wouldn’t last much longer. Tommy must have realized this as well, because he finished the questioning with a pan shot of the people present in the room. Then the TV screen turned black.
Andersson broke the silence. “Will this hold up?” he asked.