the information he’d gleaned from a search for persons missing in Sweden. Three men had gone missing between 1997 and 1999. One was fifty and an alcoholic. One was from Pakistan. One was twenty-six, but he had an artificial leg. The bones of Bogman’s legs were intact. There were no Swedish citizens reported missing in Denmark, or in any other country.
He stopped the car in a quiet town and parked outside a lakeside bar. The interior was dark and cool. The barman handed him a menu. Tobias, who was curious about food, ordered a suovaskebab from the “local specialty” section, and a glass of beer. He usually had beer at lunchtime – and smorssbrod with herring and pickle and hard-boiled egg and salad. He looked doubtfully at what seemed to be a pitta bread sandwich when it arrived. It didn’t look very Laplandlike.
Tobias spoke reasonably good Swedish. “What’s in it?” he asked the barman.
“Smoked reindeer, cucumber, salad and garlic dressing,” said the barman. “Sami fusion cooking.”
The combination was surprisingly tasty.
Tobias sipped his beer and reviewed what he knew about Bogman. He wore a bracelet inscribed ‘Encircled By Your Love.’ He wore the badge of an environmental group. And yet no one reported him missing. Had his lover killed him? That was possible, yes. His lover, or maybe someone he picked up. But if it was some casual pickup, why didn’t the person who gave Bogman the bracelet report him missing? It didn’t make sense. He thought about the bracelet he had given Karren. She probably had more expensive jewellery now. He would know if Karren disappeared. Bad example. What about the women he’d been involved with since his divorce. If any of them went missing, would he know about it, if he wasn’t in the police? Hilde, of course. She was a neighbour. Of course he’d hear about it if she disappeared. Marli Andersen, with whom he was still on friendly terms. But the others? He wouldn’t notice if the librarian at Silkeborg disappeared – unless it made headlines. He’d given a necklace to a girlfriend at college. Mette Svensen. L O V E in gold letters linked by a gold chain. He’d been crazy about her for at least six months. Where was she now? He had no idea. But somebody cared enough about her, he was sure, to report her missing if she disappeared. Why had nobody cared enough about Bogman? Maybe he was a vagrant after all, and had stolen the bracelet. They’d have to trawl through all the stolen item reports in Denmark. The thought wearied him. Agnes didn’t know anything about S S N, or any other Sami group. But she’d heard that one person in the wind farm protest had been in northern Sweden helping Sami protect their reindeer herding rights. That might be worth following up, if he had no luck with the silversmith. He drained his beer glass. Here’s to Berit Handsdatter. His best bet so far.
He got back into the car and headed north again. The countryside changed from lake and forest to tundra. The sky was grey. A wide plain spread out before him. It looked empty, until he noticed reindeer grazing beside a lake, and one or two low wooden cabins. He passed a signpost for Asele and Umea. Less than a hundred kilometres to go.
Just before Vilhelmina, he stopped the car beside a lake and got out to stretch his legs. The landscape looked flat, dull, unexceptional. He was about to get back into the car when the sun came out. The air was suddenly crystal clear, luminous. The black lake turned from oily black to glittering turquoise. The grass sparkled. Yellow lichen on the grey rocks gleamed like gold. The forest looked almost fluorescent.
Tobias thought about Agnes protecting trees in West Jutland. Was it warmer there than it was here? The air had a definite chill in it. He could see snow on the mountains in the distance. He shivered and got back into the car. Only another fifty kilometres now.
The desk sergeant in Vilhelmina was expecting him.
He stopped the car in a quiet town and parked outside a lakeside bar. The interior was dark and cool. The barman handed him a menu. Tobias, who was curious about food, ordered a suovaskebab from the “local specialty” section, and a glass of beer. He usually had beer at lunchtime – and smorssbrod with herring and pickle and hard-boiled egg and salad. He looked doubtfully at what seemed to be a pitta bread sandwich when it arrived. It didn’t look very Laplandlike.
Tobias spoke reasonably good Swedish. “What’s in it?” he asked the barman.
“Smoked reindeer, cucumber, salad and garlic dressing,” said the barman. “Sami fusion cooking.”
The combination was surprisingly tasty.
Tobias sipped his beer and reviewed what he knew about Bogman. He wore a bracelet inscribed ‘Encircled By Your Love.’ He wore the badge of an environmental group. And yet no one reported him missing. Had his lover killed him? That was possible, yes. His lover, or maybe someone he picked up. But if it was some casual pickup, why didn’t the person who gave Bogman the bracelet report him missing? It didn’t make sense. He thought about the bracelet he had given Karren. She probably had more expensive jewellery now. He would know if Karren disappeared. Bad example. What about the women he’d been involved with since his divorce. If any of them went missing, would he know about it, if he wasn’t in the police? Hilde, of course. She was a neighbour. Of course he’d hear about it if she disappeared. Marli Andersen, with whom he was still on friendly terms. But the others? He wouldn’t notice if the librarian at Silkeborg disappeared – unless it made headlines. He’d given a necklace to a girlfriend at college. Mette Svensen. L O V E in gold letters linked by a gold chain. He’d been crazy about her for at least six months. Where was she now? He had no idea. But somebody cared enough about her, he was sure, to report her missing if she disappeared. Why had nobody cared enough about Bogman? Maybe he was a vagrant after all, and had stolen the bracelet. They’d have to trawl through all the stolen item reports in Denmark. The thought wearied him. Agnes didn’t know anything about S S N, or any other Sami group. But she’d heard that one person in the wind farm protest had been in northern Sweden helping Sami protect their reindeer herding rights. That might be worth following up, if he had no luck with the silversmith. He drained his beer glass. Here’s to Berit Handsdatter. His best bet so far.
He got back into the car and headed north again. The countryside changed from lake and forest to tundra. The sky was grey. A wide plain spread out before him. It looked empty, until he noticed reindeer grazing beside a lake, and one or two low wooden cabins. He passed a signpost for Asele and Umea. Less than a hundred kilometres to go.
Just before Vilhelmina, he stopped the car beside a lake and got out to stretch his legs. The landscape looked flat, dull, unexceptional. He was about to get back into the car when the sun came out. The air was suddenly crystal clear, luminous. The black lake turned from oily black to glittering turquoise. The grass sparkled. Yellow lichen on the grey rocks gleamed like gold. The forest looked almost fluorescent.
Tobias thought about Agnes protecting trees in West Jutland. Was it warmer there than it was here? The air had a definite chill in it. He could see snow on the mountains in the distance. He shivered and got back into the car. Only another fifty kilometres now.
The desk sergeant in Vilhelmina was expecting him.
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