Free The Shadow Woman by Åke Edwardson

thinking. Are you sure? You know more about cars than I do.”
    “No, I’m not sure. But it looks like an Escort. Fredrik knows more about cars than anyone.”
    “It comes back later on,” Winter said, and fast-forwarded the fourteen minutes.
    “It’s closer, but it’s no easier to tell what make it is from this angle,” Ringmar said.
    “There’s someone in the front seat.”
    “If there weren’t, that would be pretty sensational.”
    “You can just about make out the face.”
    “You’re gonna have a harder time with the tags.”
    “It’s hard but not impossible,” Winter said. He turned toward Ringmar.
    Ringmar saw a strange light in his eyes. Could be the reflection of the screen.
    “Someone was in the vicinity of the disposal site after the body was put there. Or shortly before—or at the same time.”
    “We’ll have to track down that car,” Ringmar said. But that went without saying, so he continued, “How sophisticated is our equipment for making this footage visible?”
    “You mean crystal clear?”
    “I mean clear enough to see a few numbers or letters or facial features. And we’ll have to speak to the uniform behind the camera. The cameraman.”
    “We’ll have to speak to Beier,” Winter said, and just at that moment the phone rang and it was Beier.
    “We’ve got something on the sign,” he said.
    “The sign?”
    “The marking on the pine tree. The red mark, the sign above the body.”
    “Okay, I’m with you now.”
    “Did you check with the forestry service?”
    “Just a second.” Winter put down the receiver and looked through the thin pile of papers on his desk. “Has anyone checked with forestry and everyone else about that marking on the tree yet?”
    Ringmar didn’t know.
    “Not everything has come in yet,” Winter said into the phone. “So the answer to your question is still no.”
    “Anyway, it was fresh.”
    “How fresh?”
    “Could be from last night.”
    “Don’t tell me it’s blood.”
    “No. Paint, acrylic, one of the hundred or so shades of red.”
    “And it’s only on that one tree?”
    “Seems that way.”
    “What’s it supposed to be?”
    “We’re looking into that now, but, to be honest, I have no idea. It could be a cross, but that’s pure speculation.”
    “How many photos do you have of it?”
    “Quite a few copies, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Distribute it to all the departments. Could be some gang, youth gang or something.”
    “Or satanists. Delsjö Lake is not unknown to satanists.”
    “Delsjö Lake is a big place.”
    “Let me know when you’ve checked with the forestry service,” Beier said. “If service is the proper term under the circumstances.”
    “Send over a few photos,” Winter said. “I was just about to call you, by the way. I have a couple of videotapes that I want you to take a look at.”
    “Send them up,” Beier said, and hung up.
    The phone rang again, and Ringmar watched Winter as he listened intently and jotted something down. After he said good-bye he looked up again.
    “The guy who owns the kennel over by the bog was woken up last night by a couple of his dogs barking. He went outside and saw a car turn around in front of his spread and drive back out toward the road and the highway on-ramp, or at least toward that recreation area.”
    “Could he see the car?”
    “He had a light on down at the gate, and he’s sure it was a Ford Escort.”
    “That’s our car. What time was this?”
    “Just before we saw it on the videotape,” Winter said, and nodded at the mute TV screen. “He even mentioned what year it was.”
    “Is that possible?”
    “He saw the car in real life,” Winter said.
    “Now he can see the replay.”
    “Sometimes I feel like it’s the replay you want to be part of,” Winter said. “Not the first live recording but the replay.”

11
    THE NATIONAL CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION DEPARTMENT HAD contacted Winter. He sat with the photo of the dead face in front of him. There