Missing (16 page)

A
t first she felt simply angry. So angry that she started towards the door, picking up her rucksack in the passing. She stopped with her hand reaching for the door handle, suddenly uncertain. She didn't dare step outside yet.

She put the rucksack down and sighed.

‘Patrik, don't be silly. This isn't some kind of exciting game.'

‘I know. It's just – well, do you have any better ideas?'

She turned to face him, but he was picking up the papers she had thrown down. She went to help him and when the papers were stacked in order again, she sat down on the bed.

‘What chances do you think we've got?'

He leaned forward, speaking in an eager whisper.

‘Sylla, listen. The police are looking for
you
. No one else. It gives us space. We know that there must be another person who's the killer.'

‘So what can we do? We've no information.'

He looked up and met her eyes.

‘Please promise not to be angry.'

‘What? I mean, how can I promise?'

He hesitated. By now she was truly curious about what it was that he thought might make her angry.

‘Ah … my Mum's in the police.'

She was transfixed. He met her eyes. When the full significance of what he had said dawned on her, her blood seemed to pump faster through her body and she rose.

‘I've got to get out of here. Check the hall, please.'

‘Cool it.'

‘
Now
. Please, Patrik.'

She had raised her voice to a dangerous pitch and he obeyed, sighing. After peering outside, he opened the door wide. She got hold of her rucksack and walked swiftly past him.

‘Please, Sylla. Please listen!'

She was walking quickly, but he was only a few steps behind her. When she'd turned the corner and started down Folkunga Street, she hoped she'd lose him. Not one word more from Patrik. ‘My Mum's in the police.' Fancy that. He had invited her straight into a hornets' nest. She stopped abruptly. He was unprepared and crashed straight into her.

‘So what do you think would've happened if your Mum had come home unexpectedly. Fucking what, exactly?'

The adrenaline was still rushing through her veins.

‘Come off it. She's on a course!'

She looked at him, shaking her head. He was too young to understand. Maybe she wasn't being fair on him.

‘Patrik, it's my life we're discussing here. Say she'd caught the 'flu or something and returned a day early or whatever. Anything. There I would've been, in her son's bedroom. Was that what you had in mind?'

He took a few steps back. He looked angry.

‘Right. Fine. You don't trust me. Why don't you go and get pissed then? That's the best you can do, isn't it?'

Suddenly her anger melted away. He was her only real friend and here she was, ditching him. It was a chilly day and he hadn't had time to fetch a jacket. He was wrapping his arms round his chest to keep warm.

It seemed impossible to think of a way forward. It wasn't as if it hadn't been hard before, but now she felt responsible for this youngster as well. Of course there was no telling what he might do as soon as he got out of sight, but she had only herself to blame. She had dragged him into this mess. She sighed, really deeply this time.

‘Go home. Find yourself a thick jacket.'

He looked suspicious.

‘Yeah? Why?'

‘Simple. You're feeling the cold.'

‘Aha. Don't you think I get your cunning plan? Like, when I come back you'll be gone.'

‘Then what?'

Their eyes met.

He thought of something, pulled his wallet from his jeans and put it in the pocket of her anorak.

‘Look after it until I come back.'

In seconds he had disappeared round the corner. That was a clever move. The kid wasn't stupid. He'd do well. She got hold of his wallet, weighing it in her hand.

Then she closed her eyes and couldn't help smiling.

H
e was still not entirely convinced that she would stay put.

‘I'll be hanging about just outside, in Björn's Garden.'

She realised how uncertain he felt.

‘I promise, I'll be here.'

She really meant it this time. He nodded and walked off across Göt Street. She watched him until he'd disappeared out through the doors of the Citizen Place library.

He had returned wearing his jacket. When he saw her, his face broke into a happy smile that would have enchanted any mad killer on the run. She smiled back, listening gravely as he outlined his plan.

First, he would email the police, giving her an alibi for the night of the last murder. She baulked at that and urged him not to give away where they had been and – above all – not to reveal who he was. While she was saying all that, she found him looking at her with his how-fucking-stupid-do-you-think-I-am? look on his
face. Then he pointed out that if he had wanted to let them know who he was, all he needed to do was to email from his home computer. He had planned to protect his identity by using the library terminal, of course.

So she left him to it and went outside to wait for him in Björn's Garden. Citizen Place was full of Saturday afternoon strollers, but there were no familiar faces among the people on the seats round the central square. Thank God.

He joined her barely ten minutes later.

‘What did you tell them?'

‘I told them that they'd find Sibylla Forsenström sitting on a seat in Citizen Place right now. But not to worry their heads about it 'cause she's innocent.'

For just one fraction of a second, she believed him. Then she inhaled deeply.

‘Patrik. That wasn't even a little funny.'

‘I didn't think you'd laugh. What I actually said was that I wanted to remain anonymous, but I knew that you were not the killer. One hundred per cent certain.'

A thought struck her.

‘So how can you be sure? I could've murdered the rest of them. All you know is that I wasn't out killing people last night.'

‘Bah. So you're super dangerous? Who do you think you're kidding?'

She insisted.

‘Seriously, though. What if it's me?'

He screwed up his eyes thoughtfully.

‘And? Are you?'

She waited for a fraction of a second, then she smiled and looked into his eyes.

‘No. But look, you're not entirely sure.'

‘Of course I am – it's just that you're going on and on about not trusting you.'

He was a little irritated, but so was she. She had no intention of becoming an exciting fantasy figure for him to play games with for a while.

‘I simply don't want you to take things for granted.'

He looked mostly bewildered now, clearly not seeing her point. Good, good. It meant that she was still in control, which was how she wanted it.

They sat in silence side by side, thinking and watching the people walking past. No one paid any attention to the odd couple on the bench.

Then two police cars came swooping along at top speed but using only their blue lamps to clear the traffic. The sirens were switched off. Both cars pulled up in front of the library and, from each car, two constables leapt out and rushed into the building.

Time to go.

Exchanging a glance, they got up and hurried down Tjärhov Street. Then they climbed the slope toward Mosebacke Square and, still without speaking, settled down on one of the
benches. The sun chose this moment to break through the solid grey cloud that for days had been in place over the city like a lid. Sibylla leaned back and closed her eyes. Warmth and sunshine. There were countries with lots of it. She could go to one of them and no one would find her there. But no. She had not been allowed to go abroad with her parents when she was a child and now she had no chance of getting a passport.

Then he broke the long silence.

‘How about I go to my Mum's office and check out her computer records?'

Well, now.

‘You mustn't do anything of the sort.'

‘No? I'm going to do it anyway.'

‘I won't let you. You might get bogged down in all this shit and I don't want that.'

‘I'm bogged down already.'

He sounded rather sharp and what he said was true enough. Still, remembering her own polite teenage self, always anxious to please and as quiet as a clam, she hadn't realised quite how enterprising he would be. She preferred to think that she would never have told him her story if she had known. On the other hand, she could have been wrong. Maybe getting a taste of law-breaking is good for young people.

‘Is there any chance of you doing that without being discovered?'

‘I turn up at the station and ask if she's
in. When they tell me she's away, I ask to be allowed to wait in her room.'

‘But you know she's on a course.'

‘The receptionist doesn't know.'

‘What if she does?'

He lost patience with her lack of enthusiasm. ‘Christ, I don't know. I'll think of something.'

He was far too nonchalant. Not so good.

‘What if they discover you fiddling with the computer?'

‘They won't.'

‘
If
, I said.'

He didn't answer, just slapped his hands against his thighs and got up.

‘Let's go.'

‘Go where?'

His face showed what he thought about having to explain everything twice.

‘My Mum's office, of course!'

She stared at him. Either he was her guardian angel sent to save her, or a demon, who would give her the final shove into the abyss. There was no telling until later.

‘Would you mind if I don't tag along while you wheedle your way into police premises?'

He grinned.

‘Where do we meet afterwards?'

S
he hadn't heard him come. She'd been sitting on the quayside behind the City Hall, watching the hands moving round the clock-face on the Riddarholm Church. After one hour, she began to think seriously about going away.

She didn't. Half an hour later, a paper was suddenly dangled in front of her nose.

He'd crept up behind her. When she turned she saw pride glowing in his eyes behind the wire-rimmed spectacles.

She started reading. There was a list of individuals: two male and two female names. The first one was Jörgen Grundberg. The police believed that she had killed these four people.

Patrik was leaning over her shoulder.

‘Look, it's all the murdered people, complete with addresses and ID numbers. Last night's victim lived in Stocksund, that's in Stockholm – isn't it?'

She nodded. Bang went her alibi. She could easily have travelled to Stocksund and back while Patrik was asleep in the school attic. Not that the thought seemed to have occurred to
him yet. He was still delighted by how clever he had been.

She looked out over the Riddar Firth, where the sun was making the little waves glitter. A couple of ducks floated past.

‘Hmmm. Now what?

He pulled some folded pieces of paper from his pocket.

‘I printed out a few things I found.'

‘Did anybody see you?'

‘No. I didn't use Mum's PC after all, because Kevin next door had gone for a crap and left his logged on.'

Sibylla shook her head.

‘You're crazy.'

He beamed at her.

‘Kevin was away for ages. By the way, I don't think either of them – that's Kevin and my Mum – is working on this case. But there was some general info in the mailbox.'

He showed her the first sheet.

‘Look, this is what the murderer is leaving behind at each site.'

It was a black and white picture of a crucifix made of dark wood with the figure of Christ apparently made of a silver-like metal. The measurements were listed with millimetre accuracy.

The next picture was a black and white photo of a wall with flowery wallpaper above an unmade bed. The bed linen had large dark
stains. There was a line of carefully printed text just above the bed.

ACCURSED ARE THOSE WHO ROB THE INNOCENTS OF THEIR RIGHTS. Sibylla.

She looked up at him. He quickly handed her the last of the sheets. It was a picture of a pair of transparent plastic gloves. The text said
Nutex size 8
.

‘They use these in hospitals and things.'

Really? That solves the case then.

‘That's all I had time to look at. Anyway, we've got their names now.'

‘Exactly what can we do with them?'

He twisted round to face her, apparently choosing his words with care.

‘Do you know what I think?'

Not a clue.

‘I think you seem to have packed it in. You aren't really keen to work on finding the solution. Like, you don't give a shit.'

‘And is that so strange?'

‘I guess not but when I do that sort of thing my Dad always says I mustn't sit there feeling sorry for myself. I must try and fix whatever instead. Do something.'

Yes. Good luck to your Dad.

‘Yesterday you kept going on about how misunderstood the homeless were, and people like that. How you hadn't got a chance and you on your own and all that. But you do have a chance and you aren't fucking well taking it.'

He was getting worked up. She was looking at him with real interest. She wasn't sure if what he said was more insulting than enlightening, but it was certainly justified. She rose.

‘You're right, boss. OK, let's go. What should we do, do you think?'

‘Let's go to Västervik.'

‘You're joking!'

‘No. I've checked out the bus times already. There's one leaving Stockholm in half an hour. Four hundred and sixty kronor return. I'll lend you the money. We'll arrive at four forty and that will give us two hours and twenty minutes before we catch the bus back.'

‘You
are
crazy.'

‘We'll be back at quarter past eleven.'

She reached for the last straw.

‘You're meant to be back home before ten.'

‘Nope. I'm going to a movie, I've already phoned Dad.'