Mari Jungstedt - Unseen

The line was dead. Why had they been cut off? True, the phone service had gone down before in bad weather. Or had the wire been cut? That thought terrified Emma. She had to get hold of her cell phone. It was out in the kitchen. She dashed out there and punched in Johan’s number without getting through. The reception was poor out here, of course. Damn it. What if the killer was nearby? He couldn’t have come inside the house; she would have heard him. It would take Johan more than an hour to get here. Maybe an hour and a half.

She remembered that she had opened a window in the bedroom, and she ran upstairs to close it. When she leaned out to grab hold of the window latch, she saw him. He was standing on the other side of the wall, just outside the yard. She knew it was him even though she didn’t recognize him. He looked up at her. She had time to notice that he was wearing dark clothing before she swiftly drew back behind the curtains.

She wouldn’t have a chance against him. Quickly she went out of the bedroom to look around for something she could use as a weapon.

Johan must have called the police, she thought. I just need to fend him off until they get here. But how the hell was she going to do that?

He was undoubtedly on his way in, now that he had seen her. The greatest chance of finding some kind of weapon would be in the kitchen. At least there were knives. She had just made up her mind to venture downstairs when she heard the front door open.

It occurred to her that she had forgotten to lock it. How could she not have locked the door? She cursed herself.

Her eyes fell on her sister’s baseball bat that stood leaning against the wall in a corner of the guest room. Julia had brought it home with her after spending a year as an exchange student in the United States. It had never been used before, but right now it might come in handy.

Tingstade, Larbro, and then full speed ahead for Farosund. Knutas glanced again at the clock on the instrument panel. The minutes were ticking away at the speed of a rocket. He had spoken to the two local police officers from Farosund, who were much too slow for his liking. They were now up by the four-way stop at Sudersand and had just turned off for Ekeviken and Skar. The fact that the rain was coming down like a wall in front of the car and obscuring his view didn’t make the driving any easier. It was six fifteen in the evening, and as luck would have it, there were very few cars on the road. Jacobsson was sitting next to him with her cell phone pressed to her ear, busy filling Kihlgard in on the latest developments.

They had tried many times to get in touch with Emma on the cell phone. A recorded voice kept stubbornly repeating that it was not possible to reach the desired number at the present time. Please try later. The phone at the house was dead as a doornail.

Knutas drove fast, his eyes fixed on the main road that led to Farosund. They had to reach Emma Winarve in time. He floored the accelerator and stared hard through the rain curtain on the windshield, taking the curves as fast as he could.

Jacobsson ended her phone conversation.

“Kihlgard is on his way with several others from the team. They’re right behind us. This is horrible,” she said, looking at him.

“How many are on their way to the house?”

“The two local officers, who should be there soon, and then the two of us and three other cars. About ten in all. Everyone has a bulletproof vest except me.”

“You’ll have to stay outside and keep watch,” said Knutas. “If only he doesn’t get there before us. But we need more manpower. We might have to set up a roadblock. Call and ask for more backup. Tell them to bring the dogs, too. And then there’s that crazy TV journalist, who’s on his way out there. I tried to stop him, but now he’s not answering his phone, either. If only he doesn’t make a mess of the whole thing.”

The Bunge Museum appeared on the right-hand side, and right after that they reached Farosund.

At the ferry dock they found the area cordoned off by police tape and guarded by several part-time firemen at the request of the local police. Knutas gratefully greeted them. Immediately afterward the ferry, which had been waiting for them, was on its way across the sound.

The thunder and rain were gone. Emma was standing behind the door to the guest room. She couldn’t think of any other place to hide. She could hear the faint sound of music coming from the radio downstairs. She wished she could just slip inside the wall and disappear. Her muscles were tensed, and she was concentrating on trying to hold her breath. The faces of her children flitted past her mind’s eye. She wanted to cry but controlled herself.

Suddenly she heard the familiar creaking of the stairs. Cautiously she peeked out at the hall through the slit in the door. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought it must be audible. She saw his hand. It was gripping a shaft of wood. An axe. A trembling sob escaped her. She bit her own hand to make herself keep still. The man went into her parents’ bedroom. In a flash she made up her mind. Out into the hall and two big leaps down the stairs before he was after her. She stumbled and fell headlong onto the living room floor. He grabbed her ankle when she tried to stand up. With a howl she turned over and managed to land a direct hit on his hand with the baseball bat. He screamed and released his grip long enough for her to get to her feet.

Sobbing, she stumbled out to the hall and headed for the front door. She grabbed the door handle, but the door was locked, and she couldn’t get it open before he was on her. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her backward into the kitchen.

“You fucking slut,” he snarled. “You bitch, you fucking bitch. Now I’m going to make you beg. You disgusting whore.”

He shoved her into a sitting position, keeping one hand in a tight grip on her throat.

“Now it’s your turn, you little slut. Now it’s your turn, goddamn it.”

His face, only a few inches away from hers, was dark with rage. His breath smelled of mint, which reminded her of something. Her paternal grandfather. He smelled the same way. Throat lozenges. Big, white, and transparent, the kind that you could suck on forever. They came in a brown paper bag. Grandfather was always offering them to everyone.

Just as he raised the axe in the air and took aim, he loosened his grip on her throat slightly. Somehow she summoned up great strength. With a bellow she used both hands to tear his hand away from her throat and at the same time slammed him down to the floor. She landed on top of him and bit his cheek so hard that she could taste blood in her mouth. This time she managed to get the door open and flee outside.

She ran toward the stone wall and threw herself over it. Now she was down on the beach. She cursed the light and kept going. The sand was hard packed, which made it easy to run. And she was used to running. She had gone out jogging here hundreds of times before. When she had gone some distance, she couldn’t help looking back to see how close he was. To her surprise she discovered that he wasn’t there at all. She stopped and looked around in bewilderment. Not a soul as far as the eye could see.

He must have been more hurt than I thought, she told herself. Relieved, she kept on running toward the lighthouse. There were usually people around there. If only she could reach it, she would be safe. It wasn’t yet in sight. First she had to round the point of the shore, and that was still a good distance away. She was now running at a more even pace. It was almost ghostly on the beach. Completely deserted. All she heard was the panting of her own breath and the gentle thudding of her own feet.

On the last stretch of shoreline the sand was replaced by stones. She almost fell but kept her balance. When she reached the other end of the beach, she was completely exhausted. Sweat was running down her back. No one seemed to be there, but soon she’d be up on the road, and then safety wouldn’t be far away.