all over the world. All of us who have seen them have been sickened. They’re terrible images, and I’ve had problems sleeping and sometimes felt depressed—for no immediate reason—after viewing them. I realize that it’s the terrible pictures that pop up in my head that are affecting me.”
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 bird-watching 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 bird-watcher 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