Ryker was pleasantly surprised at what he found inside the abandoned building. Henrik wasn’t. He’d known exactly what to expect. The building, little more than an enlarged storage shed – though for who or what, it wasn’t clear – had likely been out of official use for some time given its state. The variety of trash, discarded both inside and out, evidenced its recent unofficial use. Trash that, in the case of Ryker and Henrik, had proved extremely useful.
Their first task was to build a small fire. A little risky, given the potential for the smoke to alert anyone of their presence, but a necessary step to helping them warm their frozen bodies and stave off hypothermia if it hadn’t already taken hold.
Henrik didn’t need any tutoring, either in how to build or how to light the fire from scratch. Were all kids in this remote area as adept at outdoor survival or was Henrik an outlier?
The next step was to strip out of their cold, sodden clothing. Luckily, they had no need to sit stark naked. Ryker found an old and thick bright yellow worker’s coat – stained, smelly, and with a large gash down the side through which the inner padding was spilling loose. Probably the reason it had been discarded, but Henrik didn’t seem to care too much; it was warm and dry and big enough to cover him nearly head to toe.
For himself, Ryker found several discarded dust sheets. Decorator’s sheets, most likely, given the many hardened white paint stains on the fabric. The sheets were equally smelly as the coat, and horribly dusty, but amply large enough for Ryker to wind around him – like a toga in ancient Rome – to keep him warm as they sat by and fed the fire to heat them through and dry their clothes.
‘You have a lot of scars,’ Henrik said as they sat, looking at Ryker’s arms, which other than his neck and face and hands was the only skin visible. Still, when they’d stripped out of their wet-through clothes, modesty hadn’t been Ryker’s number one thought and clearly Henrik had noticed the patchwork evidence of past injuries across Ryker’s body.
‘Yeah,’ Ryker said.
‘Who are you?’
‘I told you. My name’s James Ryker.’
‘And you’re English. But… what are you?’
This was a conversation Ryker really didn’t want to get into now.
‘Your job, I mean,’ Henrik said as if the clarification would help. ‘Do you have a job?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘You were in the army?’
‘What makes you say that?’
Henrik shrugged. ‘You look… tough. Maybe a fighter, a boxer or—’
‘No. I wasn’t in the army. And I wasn’t a boxer. But I have been involved in a lot of fighting. A lot of bad things.’
Henrik looked as though he had no idea what that meant. Ryker didn’t really know either, but he wasn’t about to open up to this kid about his troubled past. He hated opening up about it to himself even.
‘I’m here to help,’ Ryker said. ‘Let’s leave it there.’
‘But why are you helping me?’
‘Good question. You tell me?’
Henrik went silent now as he stared at the flames licking up from the small fire. With a crackle, a small, glowing splinter of wood jumped out and landed a couple of inches from his bare foot. He didn’t flinch. The ember went from orange to black as it cooled.
‘Henrik? Why did those men have you?’
He looked up and caught Ryker’s eye. Ryker was sure he saw tears welling. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Is that the truth?’
Henrik nodded.
‘They never told you? Never asked you any questions?’
Henrik looked back at the fire without saying a word.
‘What do you know about Russians?’ Ryker asked.
‘Russia?’
‘No. Not the place. The people. Two Russians, here in Blodstein.’
Easy enough to call them Russians, even if Ryker wasn’t sure that was their precise nationality or affiliation.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘They didn’t take you? Never came to that house?’
‘Russians? I don’t know what you mean.’
Ryker sighed. ‘Why don’t you tell me about yourself.’
Better to get him to relax, talk freely before they approached the hard stuff.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘You grew up in Blodstein?’
‘A little.’
‘Well, you knew this place?’
Henrik nodded. ‘I don’t know where I was born. But I don’t think it was here in Blodstein.’
‘You were an orphan?’
‘Not really. I had a mother, I lived with her, but she was… taken away. Or I was taken away.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I was so little, I don’t really remember. I only know what I was told. I was two when I came to live here.’
‘With who?’
‘Foster, is that the word?’
Ryker nodded.
‘They were my foster parents. I stayed with them for eight, nine years. But then…’
He trailed off and pushed his head down toward his bent knees. Sadness. Raw.
‘Then?’
‘There was an accident. Their car slid off the road. Into the water. They drowned.’
The room fell silent, except for the crack and pop of the fire. Ryker didn’t know what to say. He’d suffered losses too. His old mentor at the JIA, Mackie, and the one person he’d truly loved – Angela Grainger – were the two most painful. They’d both died because of him, directly or indirectly, as had so many others over the years. Which was one of the very reasons why he’d pushed Sam Moreno away, Simona in Prague too. He couldn’t let it happen again.
He was terrible at talking about his past, about his feelings, and how those dark events had shaped him, although he knew it did help.
So what was he supposed to do here with Henrik? Ask more questions? Keep silent? Change the subject?
‘I should have been in the car that night,’ Henrik said. ‘But I… I’m not a good kid.’ He glanced back up to Ryker now. A look on his face Ryker hadn’t seen on him before. Shame. Disgust. ‘I treated them so badly. They were supposed to take me out that night, but I caused so much trouble they went without me. A neighbor looked after me. I never saw them again.’
Silence once more. This time it went on longer.
‘What happened to you after that?’
‘That same neighbor, I stayed with her. She was… nice. But I was horrible to her too. I just wanted my mamma and pappa back.’
A tear escaped his eye now, though he wiped it away in a flash, hung his head, clearly embarrassed by the show of emotion. He had no need to be.
‘What was her name?’
‘The neighbor? Trine. Trine Hansen.’
‘Does she still live here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you didn’t think about us going to her?’
He seemed to think about the question but then didn’t give any answer.
‘I didn’t stay with her long,’ he said. ‘I was eleven when they found me a new family in Trondheim.’
‘And then?’
‘And then… And then nothing. I was with them until…’
‘Until those men took you?’
‘I don’t even know how long ago. One month. Two?’
Ryker shook his head in disbelief. Were his new ‘family’ not looking for him? Or was it just that the search, for whatever reason, hadn’t come this far north?
‘I think… Maybe because I ran away a lot. Maybe they don’t even care I’m gone.’
‘I can’t believe that.’
A strange silence fell over them, with Henrik in quiet contemplation. About his life, most likely. His mistakes. About the people he’d let down, those who’d let him down. None of that meant he deserved what was happening to him now.
But what was happening?
‘Do you know any of those men?’ Ryker asked.
‘Not before,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘I thought everyone here knew everyone else.’
‘I never cared.’
‘What about now? What do you know about them now?’
Henrik pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Hardly a thing.’
‘They never asked you anything? Never told you anything?’
‘No.’
‘They hurt you?’
‘No. They fed me. Let me watch TV. But they never let me leave that house. I mean, I was never supposed to.’
He smiled a little, but it was short-lived.
‘Yesterday, on the road, when—’
‘When you nearly killed me?’ Henrik prompted.
‘That’s not quite how I saw it, but—’
‘I ran. From the house. I wanted to get to Trondheim.’
‘Why Trondheim?’
‘It’s safe. Safer than here. Like you said—’
‘Everyone knows everyone else here. I’m sorry I stopped you.’
Henrik’s body quivered. Just a reaction to the cold, or was it something that had flashed in his mind?
‘You said you knew this place?’ Ryker said, looking around the room.
That little smile, that little indicator of hope and a better life crept across Henrik’s face again.
‘I used to come here a lot. To get away from everyone else. You know?’
‘Kind of.’
‘It might not seem much to you, but here… I could just be me. Could be free of everything else. I never brought anyone else here before. In a way, I’ve always preferred being on my own.’
Ryker didn’t say anything to that, though he’d certainly spent much of his life the same way. Out of necessity, as much as out of choice.
‘I’m probably more like you than you realize,’ Ryker said.
‘I doubt that.’
‘I never had a real family either.’
‘I had a real family. They’re dead.’
‘I always felt alone too. It can make a person much stronger.’
‘I’m not strong.’
‘Henrik, I don’t know a lot of children, teenagers, but I can’t imagine there are many stronger than you.’
‘And you?’
‘You think I’m strong?’
‘You look it.’
Ryker wouldn’t delve into the difference between mental and physical strength.
‘Let’s just say, I have a habit of surviving,’ Ryker said. ‘I think you do too.’
That smile again. Henrik looked genuinely flattered, but Ryker had meant it.
‘We need some food,’ Ryker said. He leaned forward and tested his clothes hanging above the fire from the snapped rafters. Warm, a little damp. Another half hour and they’d be fully dry. Was it worth waiting that long? ‘We also need to decide what to do next.’
‘Take me to Trondheim.’
‘To your foster parents?’
A forceful shake of the head. ‘No. Not to them.’
Interesting. ‘To the police, then?’
Henrik didn’t answer.
‘Is there someone there who can help you?’ Ryker asked, sounding a little less patient.
Henrik hung his head again. ‘I don’t really know.’
‘I don’t know how we’d even get to Trondheim now,’ Ryker said. ‘I have a car, but it’s by that house still.’
Several miles of trekking to get there. And would Erling and the others have found it already? What would they have done if so? Trashed it? Towed it away? Ordered someone to lay in wait? The journey to the car would be a risk in itself, never mind the question of what they would find when they got there.
‘You could steal a car?’ Henrik suggested.
Ryker was sure he could. Did he want to?
‘I’m not sure that’s fair on the owner,’ Ryker said.
‘Depends on the owner,’ Henrik said with a sly grin.
‘How about Trine Hansen?’ Ryker asked.
Henrik’s face soured. ‘I don’t want to see her.’
‘I don’t think that’s what I suggested.’
Henrik said nothing but he looked angry now.
‘Do you know Inspector Wold?’ Ryker asked.
Henrik nodded.
‘Is he involved? In kidnapping you? In keeping you at that house?’
‘I… He was never at the house.’
‘But yesterday, he took you away in his car. I could tell you were afraid of him then.’
Henrik shot a glare at Ryker. ‘I’m not afraid.’
‘Did he take you straight to them?’
Henrik paused but then nodded. ‘Near to the town. He stopped the car. Handed me over. That was it.’
‘You didn’t know before that Wold was involved?’
‘I don’t know what he knows or how.’
But Wold certainly hadn’t helped Henrik when he’d had the chance. Somehow he’d already been well aware of what was happening.
Ryker wanted to ask about Pettersen. Would Henrik know her? Trust her? For some reason, he held back, for once unsure of his own instincts. Plus, he’d already badgered the boy enough. The kid was tired, cold, hungry, had suffered weeks of captivity for reasons he claimed he didn’t know. Interrogating him wouldn’t help.
That was one reason why Ryker stopped asking questions.
The other was because of the sound.
Judging by the look on Henrik’s face, both of them had heard it.
‘There’s someone here,’ Ryker said.