Missing (17 page)

T
he landscape was rushing past the bus windows. She spent most of the time looking out. Södertälje. Nyköping. Norrköping. Söderköping. Patrik kept studying the police computer printouts, apparently hoping to find a hidden clue if only he examined the pictures closely enough.

She had paid for their tickets. In the seclusion of the Ladies she had taken a thousand-kronor note from her savings. When she met up with Patrik afterwards, he had bought two bags of crisps and a two-litre bottle of Coke. His eyes grew round with surprise when she got the tickets, but asked no questions.

She liked that.

‘Why are you getting involved in all this, really?'

He shrugged.

‘It freaks me out.'

She wasn't going to let him get off so easily.

‘Seriously, though. Have you nothing better
to do than hang out with an old hag of thirty-two?'

He grinned at her.

‘You only thirty-two?'

Pointless question. He must have read her age hundreds of times in the newspapers. She kept looking at him, until finally he folded his bits of paper and put them away in an inside pocket.

‘I just don't get it, I mean this thing about always joining some group. Mum and Dad go on about it non-stop. I can't help it if I don't fancy arsing about playing hockey or football and whatever. It just so happens I don't give a shit who gets into the Premier League. So what?'

She nodded apologetically.

‘Fine. I just wondered.'

She went back to staring out the window again and he returned to his bits of paper.

The Västervik murder victim had been a Sören Strömberg, ID 36 02 07-4639. They were going to find his nearest and dearest. She remembered well how she had travelled to see Lena Grundberg, full of courage and hope.

How differently she felt now.

The bus was on time. She kept in the background while Patrik asked the girl in the bus terminal shop for directions to Siver Street, Strömberg's address.

It wasn't far to go. By the time they were
nearly there, she was feeling very uneasy. Patrik was hurrying ahead, unworried and enthusiastic, as if on his way to a good party.

It was a two-storey house with a mansard roof. Someone had chosen a long since discredited fashion and covered the walls with cladding tiles. Presumably the same person had built a porch in corrugated green plastic round the front door. It was the final insult to the house, which now looked totally charmless.

Stopping at the gate, they looked at each other and Sibylla shook her head sadly, to show what a lousy idea she thought it was. That decided Patrik, who at once started strolling along the garden path.

Sighing, she followed him. She couldn't just stand there, after all.

‘What are you going to say?'

Before he had time to answer, a window was opened in the neighbouring house and a middle-aged woman popped her head out.

‘Is it Gunvor you're looking for?'

They exchanged a quick glance.

‘Yes,' they chorused.

‘She's gone to the cottage. It's in Segersvik. Shall I tell her you called?'

Patrik went up to the hedge separating the two properties.

‘Is it far to Segersvik?'

‘Twenty-odd kilometres, I suppose. Are you driving?'

Patrik showed no hesitation.

‘Yes, we are.'

‘Right. Take the old road towards Gamleby, past Piperkärr and then carry on for another ten kilometres or so. I think there's a sign to Segersvik.'

‘Thanks a lot.'

He turned, dispelling any other questions the woman might have wanted to ask. They walked down the path and heard her close the window. He spoke very quietly.

‘That's where he was killed. The news stories say he was killed while staying in his summer cottage.'

They kept walking until they were outside the range of the woman next door. Sibylla stopped at the end of the street.

‘Now what do we do? If we set out walking, we won't get back in time for the bus.'

‘Sure. We'll take a taxi. I've got money.'

This sounded worrying.

‘How come you've got such a lot? I mean, at your age one usually doesn't. Or have times changed?'

He said nothing, just kept his eyes fixed on the street.

‘For fuck's sake, Patrik – you haven't nicked it, have you?'

‘No, I haven't. Borrowed some, though.'

‘Who lent you money?'

There was a taxi rank at the bus terminal and he started walking back. Sibylla didn't move.

‘I won't take another step until you tell me where you got the money.'

‘I borrowed some. Back home, from the household kitty. Relax, I'll pay it back before anyone notices.'

‘Will you? With what, exactly?'

‘I don't know. I mean, I'll think of something.'

He walked on but she still didn't move from the spot. Turning, he shouted irritably at her.

‘What's wrong, do you just want to stand here bullshitting? Or what?'

‘How much did you take?'

He hesitated.

‘One grand.'

She took another sacred thousand-kronor note from her purse.

‘Here, take it. And if you ever nick one single thing again, I'll leave. I mean it.'

He nodded, looking surprised.

‘Do you get that?'

‘
Yes
!'

He grabbed the note.

She set out for the bus station and when she turned her head, he was still standing there.

‘Hey! What do you want, more bullshitting? Come on!'

He hesitated for another second and then, unwillingly, started running after her.

She was appalled when the meter clocked up more than two hundred kronor. Going places by taxi was grossly wasteful. Unheard of.

They had left Piperkärr far behind. The tarmac road had turned into a narrow gravel track through forest, now and then interrupted by farms and fields. The land was hilly, even rocky at times. They didn't speak. The driver luckily was a silent man and Patrik seemed to have withdrawn after being told off.

It made her feel better, because now she was back in charge.

Then they reached the lakeside. There was a small marina. The jetty was empty and the boats were hauled up on land, resting under tarpaulins and waiting for the spring. Afterwards, the road went through more forest until the landscape opened up towards the lake again. The sun was sinking, colouring the western sky an intense pink.

‘Do you want the farm?'

The driver nodded his head in the direction of a group of buildings just ahead. Sibylla glanced at Patrik, who sat turned away and looking out through the window. He wasn't going to help, that much was clear. She leaned forward.

‘I'm not really sure. We're visiting someone
called Gunvor Strömberg. She's staying in a cottage somewhere near here.'

The driver sounded sour.

‘You've got to do better than that. Don't you have her address?'

He drove on slowly, past the gate of small red house on a sharp right-hand bend. The meter had clicked on to two hundred and sixty kronor. Sibylla swallowed and produced another note from her purse. Patrik glared at her but she avoided his eyes.

‘We'll get off here.'

The taxi pulled in as far as possible on the narrow road. She paid but did not tip, so he made no move to help her lift her rucksack from the boot. The taxi turned at a meeting-place a bit further along and disappeared in the direction of town. It struck her that they hadn't planned the return journey. She sighed and heaved the rucksack onto her back.

The gate was open and the gap was wide enough to let a car through. There was a green tin letterbox with a name-tag. STRÖMBERG.

She turned towards Patrik.

‘This is it. The cottage is by the water's edge.'

‘Yeah.'

He sounded indifferent.

‘How long are you going to sulk for?'

He didn't answer but walked along with her. The path leading to the house ran sharply
downwards but after a short walk they could see the roof of a house. The rest of it was hidden behind tall shrubbery. Sibylla walked on, followed by Patrik. Once they got round the shrubbery the lake spread out in front of them. A jetty ran out into the water.

The view was stunningly beautiful. How could anyone be murdered in such a place as this?

‘Are you looking for someone?'

Sibylla turned quickly. A woman was standing above them on the slope, next to a veranda on the lake side of the house. She had to think of something to say, because it was obvious that she was on her own now. Patrik was drifting off in the general direction of the jetty.

The woman, who could have been in her mid-sixties, had been tidying the lawn but she put the rake away. She was limping a little as she took a few steps to meet Sibylla. They met in silence and Sibylla could feel a pulse beating at her temple. What next?

‘Have you come to look at the cottage? I'm afraid the estate agent didn't say.'

Of course! They were prospective buyers. Sibylla smiled gratefully.

‘Yes, we are. If you don't mind?'

The woman smiled in response.

‘I see. I'm sorry if I sounded a little cross, but … you see, lots of people came here just
because they're … curious. Anyway, lucky I was here.'

She cleared her throat, pulled off her gardening gloves and held out her hand.

‘Pleased to meet you. My name is Strömberg. Gunvor Strömberg.'

Sibylla took a fraction too long to answer.

‘Sorry we were unexpected. I'm Margareta Lundgren.'

They shook hands. Gunvor Strömberg's hand was warm and a little damp after wearing the glove.

‘Is that your son?'

They both looked towards Patrik's back. Sibylla laughed nervously.

‘Absolutely. Yes.'

Patrik was throwing stones into the water. Sibylla's heart was beating too fast. He was so demonstratively unhelpful. How upset was he? Would he actually try to punish her?

‘The jetty doesn't come with the house, but we do have the right of use. That's in the deeds. Actually, we use it more than anybody else.'

She fell silent, looking out over the water. Then she pulled herself together.

‘I suppose you'd like to start indoors?'

Sibylla smiled.

‘Please. Thank you.'

‘What about the young man?'

Patrik was still throwing stones.

‘Patrik, come along! We're going to look at the cottage.'

He didn't come at first. After throwing another stone, he started ambling back up from the jetty. Gunvor Strömberg smiled at Sibylla.

‘Oh dear, it's such a difficult age, isn't it? I always felt that all you could do was let them get on with life on their own.'

Sibylla tried a smile of complicity. Damn his special age, whatever it was, she'd tell him a thing or two as soon as they were on their own.

Gunvor was walking ahead towards the house while Sibylla waited until Patrik joined her. When he was at whispering distance, she hissed at him.

‘Get your fucking act together! She thinks we want to buy the place.'

He raised his eyebrows.

‘Why don't you? You've got plenty stashed away, seemingly.'

He passed her on the path. This was the second time in one week that her money had angered and disappointed someone. Why did they take it out on her?

Gunvor was waiting for them and Sibylla hurried along. Meanwhile Patrik had introduced himself politely.

‘Why don't you have a look around on your own? I'll be out here if you want me.'

After exchanging a quick glance, they climbed the stone steps to the front door.

‘It's quite small but well equipped, I think you'll agree. The immersion heater is a little old though.'

Sibylla nodded and they stepped inside. The murderer must have come in this way once. After crossing a lobby, they were in a small kitchen. Everything was neat and well looked after. The atmosphere was cosy, familiar. Scruffy patches on the floor showed where kitchen chairs had been pulled up to and away from the table. The enamel on the handle on the oven door had been partly worn away after years of use by hungry hands.

There was a faint odour of paint in the air.

Patrik had gone on to open the door of a closed room. In the doorway, he stopped and signalled to her. She came to stand next to him. The room was unfurnished and freshly painted white. Patrik produced one of his pieces of paper. Pointing, he spoke in a whisper.

‘That's the wall.'

Sibylla looked at the photograph of the bloodstained bed and read once more the killer's message, signed with her name. She wanted to get out, now.

Gunvor Strömberg had walked down to the jetty and stood there with her back to the house, staring out over the calm water of the lake. Sibylla felt she shouldn't disturb her. Patrik came alongside her.

‘Go talk to her. I mean, it's not as if we've figured anything new yet. I'll stay here, just check it out a bit more.'

He was right. Of course they couldn't just leave now.

Gunvor Strömberg did not acknowledge Sibylla's presence in any way. Only when Sibylla cleared her throat noisily did her companion take her eyes away from the lake and raise a hand to wipe her face.

Still Gunvor did not turn round.

‘It's a very nice place, this.'

No reply. For a while they stood together without speaking. Sibylla thought that sooner or later the silence would force the other woman to say something.

Looking at the wonderful view, Sibylla realised that this was the place she had always dreamt of. The quiet seclusion, the lovely natural setting. Not that she would ever be able to afford something like this. Besides, soon she wouldn't be able to buy anything at all. Suddenly Gunvor spoke, turning towards Sibylla.