She's Never Coming Back (12 page)

Mike snorted with laughter. A cynical confirmation more than anything else.

‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ he said. ‘That’s all you’ve come up with? That’s the reason you asked me to come?’

Still no answer.

‘Is this some kind of questioning technique, just sitting
there in silence? Do you actually suspect me, is that what it is? You think I’ve kidnapped my wife, or killed her and dumped the body? Is that it?’

‘We just wondered if your wife had a lover.’

Gerda tried to make it sound trivial. Like a fact, like the colour of a house or the make of a car.

‘No, my wife does not have a lover. She had an affair with a pretty awful bloke who, for obvious reasons, I don’t have much time for. Let me put it this way, if Bill Åkerman disappears without a trace one day, I suggest you look me up and find out where I’ve been keeping myself. It was over a year ago and, no, I have no reason to believe that it’s still going on. And in any case, Nour phoned him on Saturday, just to make sure. And no, Ylva wasn’t with him.’

Mike stood up.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said, ‘I think I’ll go over the road to the newspaper and ask them to publish a photograph of my wife. Someone must have seen her. She can’t just have vanished in a puff of smoke.’

‘What was carried out with tremendous zeal? You’re holding back information.’

Jörgen Petersson sounded annoyed. Calle Collin sighed.

‘You don’t want to know,’ he said.

‘Of course I want to know,’ Jörgen persisted.

‘Believe me,’ Calle said, ‘you don’t.’

‘You’re like one of those phoney conscientious newsreaders who warn viewers about disturbing pictures knowing that’s the best way to make people watch. You’re just trying to pique my interest, like a circus ringmaster introducing a new act.’

‘I’ve actually had problems sleeping.’

‘Well, I’ve never had that problem. I sleep just like all the beautiful people in the adverts.’

Calle gave another deep sigh.

‘Well, don’t complain later then,’ he said.

‘Why would I complain?’

‘I’m just saying.’

‘I don’t intend to complain.’

‘Okay,’ Calle said. ‘Someone smashed Anders’ head in with a hammer, pounded the hammer into his brain as if it were a butter churn, and then left the shaft standing up out of his skull like a dead flower in a pot.’

‘Oh, fucking hell.’

‘I told you, you didn’t want to know.’

‘Oh Jesus fucking Christ.’

‘I don’t want to hear you complaining.’

‘And it was someone’s better half who did it?’

‘I think we can conclude that it was done by someone who wasn’t very fond of our old classmate.’

‘And the police think it was a man who committed the murder, but that it was a woman who lured him there?’

‘More or less.’

‘But they’ve got no idea who?’

‘Not the faintest.’

Jörgen nodded silently to himself.

‘So he was notorious …’

Calle started.

‘What did you just say?’

‘Anders Egerbladh,’ Jörgen said. ‘He must have been notorious.’

Calle looked at his friend long and hard.

‘Have you been playing around?’ he asked, finally.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You said “notorious” – that’s a dead giveaway, the codeword of someone who’s been unfaithful. In order to play down their own excesses, they’ll demonise others who are that little bit worse. It’s like alcoholics who say they need a lager. Anyone who says “a lager” instead of “a drink” is by definition a serious alcoholic.’

Now it was Jörgen’s turn to look at his friend long and hard.

‘Now you’ve lost me.’

‘Jesus, it’s true,’ Calle said.

‘No, it’s not,’ Jörgen retorted. ‘And no, I haven’t been having a bit on the side.’

‘I hope not,’ Calle said. ‘Because I like your wife more than I like you.’

‘And if I should ever think about it, I wouldn’t burden you with the knowledge.’

‘I thank you for that.’

‘Codeword,’ Jörgen snorted. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard.’

The restaurant had survived. Which was the most astounding thing. The lifespan of trendy, self-conscious cafés was normally short and the cycle was often the same: the place opened, the place was discovered, then the place was abandoned.

As a rule, the entrepreneur, intoxicated by the invasion, became ambitious and invested large sums in the hope of keeping his customers, but they swam in shoals that suddenly changed direction and disappeared without warning.

There were three reasons why Bill Åkerman’s restaurant had survived. The first was that he had decided to stick with
high-quality food and prices that bordered on indecent, despite an unexpected glowing write-up in the local paper. This made the restaurant an obvious choice for company dinners and people who didn’t often go out but wanted to treat themselves once a year.

The second was its location. The restaurant was on the ground floor of an old villa just above Margaretaplatsen and had a panoramic view of the sound and the coast of Denmark.

The third reason was Bill’s wife, Sofia.

Sofia managed the restaurant, employed people, came up with new menus, organised purchases and made sure that everyone was happy.

Bill knew that he couldn’t have chosen a better partner. It was just a shame that she’d put on some extra pounds around the hips and, as a result, her self-confidence had plummeted and she had grown suspicious of his every move. But as she already knew about his affair with Ylva – and, like everyone else in Helsingborg, knew that Ylva was missing – Bill made no attempt to hide the fact that the police wanted to talk to him, as it actually reinforced the idea that Ylva was a cunning seductress who would leave any full-blooded man defenceless. Bill had already told them on
the phone that he had no idea where Ylva was and had made it quite clear that he was no longer on intimate terms with her. But the police had insisted on speaking to him in person, all the same.

The meeting took place in the restaurant bar, which was empty despite the lunchtime rush.

‘When did you last see Ylva?’ Karlsson asked, having accepted a free coffee.

‘Do you mean when did I last sleep with her or when did I last see her?’

‘See her. And yes, sleep with her, too.’

‘We had a brief affair in June last year. So that makes it, what, eleven months ago? The last time I saw her was on Kullagatan. I think it was in April, but I’m not entirely sure.’

‘Did you talk to each other?’

‘Yes. It was a bit awkward.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It’s not a big town, and there’s always someone who’s watching.’

‘I see. And what did you say to each other?’

‘Nothing in particular. She asked when we could start shagging again.’

That made Karlsson and Gerda sit up, they weren’t sure whether he was kidding or not.

‘That’s what she said,’ Bill assured them. ‘And I told her: never.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t want to. But I didn’t say that. Spurn a woman, and you’ve got an enemy for life. You have to play it careful.’

‘So what did you say?’

‘I said that I didn’t want to risk my marriage.’

‘But that wasn’t the real reason?’

‘No.’

‘So, why didn’t you want to?’

Bill looked at them, shrugged.

‘We like different things.’

The police officers were wide-eyed with dry throats, like two adolescent boys. Karlsson pulled himself together first.

‘What do you mean, “different things”?’ he spluttered, leaning forward with interest.

‘She liked drama. She’d throw herself down, going,
Take me, take me –
that kind of thing.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘She wanted to be dominated.’

‘You mean, tied up?’ Karlsson asked, with the peeping-tom interest of a secret teenage masturbator.

‘Not necessarily. But I don’t think it’s got anything to do with her disappearance. I’m just saying that she liked a bit of rough. Even though she looks so sweet. But that’s sex for you. What’s on the inside doesn’t always match what’s on the outside. Swings and roundabouts. The tough guy can be a gentle lover, skinny ones have more to prove.’

‘What do you mean?’ Gerda asked.

Bill Åkerman took a sip of coffee.

‘She should have chosen a skinnier guy,’ he said.

Karlsson threw the papers nonchalantly down on to the desk, pushed back his chair and stretched his legs.

‘Okay,’ he said and clasped his hands behind his neck. ‘We’ve got a missing, horny away-player and a husband who’s been cheated on. Conclusion?’

‘She comes home late, it gets out of hand?’ Gerda suggested.

‘Yep,’ Karlsson said and sighed. ‘We’d better talk to the neighbours. They might have seen when she came home.’

‘In the middle of the night?’

‘Someone’s always awake.’

‘I thought we could talk to the girl,’ Gerda said, and checked the time. ‘She should be at school right now.’

‘If we’re lucky.’ Karlsson nodded.

They parked behind the cafeteria and asked a passing pupil where the staffroom was. They were greeted by a large woman who had once been attractive and now tried to hide the fact that she wasn’t any more. Karlsson and Gerda explained why they were there, and the woman knew immediately what it was about. Like the rest of the school staff, for the past couple of days she had talked of nothing but Ylva’s disappearance. She asked Karlsson and Gerda to wait in the staffroom and went herself to fetch Sanna from her class.

When the woman came back, she was holding the girl’s hand, apparently oblivious that the police could see how she cared for the children. The woman introduced Sanna to the policemen and said that they wanted to talk to her, maybe ask a few questions.

‘It’s nothing to be scared of,’ she assured her, in her kindest child-friendly voice, and then turned to Karlsson and Gerda. ‘Maybe it would be just as well if I stay?’

Karlsson nodded his consent and the woman sat down on the chair beside Sanna, without letting go of her hand.

‘We’ve been talking to your dad,’ Karlsson said, in the same voice that he always used, no matter who he was talking to. ‘And he said that your mum’s missing. Do you remember when you saw her last?’

Sanna nodded.

‘When was that then?’

Sanna shrugged. Gerda gave it a try. He spoke in a softer voice than his colleague.

‘Do you remember when you last saw your mummy?’

‘Yes,’ Sanna said.

‘And where was that?’

‘At school, here.’

The woman filled them in. ‘Ylva dropped Sanna off at school on Friday morning. She spoke to the teachers. Mike was going to pick her up.’

Gerda gave a thoughtful nod and turned to Sanna again.

‘And you haven’t seen your mummy since then?’

Sanna shook her head.

‘What did you and Daddy do at the weekend?’

‘We went to Väla and McDonald’s. And got out some films.’

‘Sounds good.’

Sanna nodded. ‘
The Parent Trap.
’

Gerda didn’t understand.

‘It’s really good,’ Sanna said.

‘Oh, I see, it’s a film. Okay. Did Daddy watch it too?’

‘He was talking on the phone.’

‘When did he tell you that Mummy was missing?’

‘When Granny came. Then the police.’

‘Sanna, these gentlemen are also policemen.’

Sanna nodded obediently, but without much conviction.

‘But the other ones were real policemen,’ she said eventually. ‘Daddy said that Mummy would come back when I was asleep, but she didn’t. He said that she’d be back when I woke up. But she wasn’t.’

Gerda sat on the edge of his chair and leaned forward towards Sanna, in an attempt to gain her confidence.

‘And your mummy and daddy, do they argue a lot?’

Gerda stared out through the car window.

‘I just hope it was him. If not, we’ve ruined his life. Mrs Mutton-Dressed-up-as-Lamb won’t rest on her laurels.’

He was referring to the plump teacher who had sat in on the interview, savouring every word.

‘You’re the one who wanted to go there,’ Karlsson said.

‘So, conclusion,’ Gerda said. ‘Either she shows up with
her tail between her legs when she’s finished screwing around, or he’s killed her. There’s no other option. And if he didn’t do it himself, he hired someone.’

Karlsson chewed the skin at the side of his nail nervously.

‘He could get us put away for something like this,’ Karlsson said. ‘And I’d report it, if it was me. Too bloody right, I would.’

‘You know what?’ Gerda said. ‘He’s got other things to think about.’

Karlsson turned on the radio. A presenter with an affected voice was talking unnecessarily fast and loud.

‘Bloody talk radio,’ he said, and switched it off again.

‘It’s all so strange, so hard to understand.’

Kristina had been sitting in front of the TV all evening. She’d seen what had happened and heard what was said, even though it had all gone over her head. She couldn’t take any more of it. She blocked out the outside world.

A person couldn’t just disappear?

A single thought occupied her mind, a single thought that prevented the TV images and sound from registering on her optic nerve or eardrums.

It was a thought that she mustn’t think, didn’t want to think – a horrid thought, which for that very reason refused to go away.

The thought that her son might have had something to do with Ylva’s disappearance.

She couldn’t get it to fit. She’d never known Mike to be violent. Quite the opposite; he was the quiet sort.

Had it been the last straw?

And if so, what did the future hold? Who would look after Sanna? Kristina imagined that everyone would keep their distance, too scared to get close. It would be hard for Sanna to find friends she could trust.

Kristina wanted to conjure up the image of some seriously disturbed psychiatric patient who might have stabbed her daughter-in-law to death on the street. She tried to imagine Ylva giggling irresponsibly in another man’s bed, or laughing evilly. So that Mike would finally realise the kind of woman she was and free himself from her spell.