Karin Alvtegen - Missing

The door slammed behind her, shutting her off from her refuge for good. Crossing the yard, she walked towards the Vitaberg

Park. She had no idea what to do next. Then she heard someone shouting behind her. The sound alarmed her and she stopped, looking around for somewhere to hide. 'Sylla! Wait!'

Then she saw him come running round the corner and waited until he reached her. At first he didn't speak and she set off walking again.

'I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first, but I was so fucking scared.'

He was a little breathless. She turned to look at him and discovered a new expression in his eyes, a seriousness that she had not seen before. Then he stared at the ground, as if ashamed by his own admission of fear.

'Don't worry about it.'

'No, it's because I know you're speaking the truth, Sylla.' She kept walking, unable to bear the thought of starting to plead with him again. He hurried after her.

'Sylla, please. You see, I saw the news on the poster in the Co-op window.'

She stopped. He was obviously trying hard to choose the right words.

'The story is that you murdered someone else last night.'

She felt uneasy. 'Are you absolutely sure he's asleep?' Patrick sounded impatient.

'Relax. He's on nightshirts and doesn't usually wake up until the afternoon.'

She was feeling uncomfortable. What would his father do if he found a woman with unnaturally jet-black hair, camping with her rucksack in his son's room? Old enough to be his mother, too.

They were in the block of flats where Patrik lived, whispering together at the bottom of the stairs.

'And your mother, are you sure – really sure, sure – that she isn't coming home?'

'Sure. Not until tomorrow night.'

Maybe he was right but then, maybe he wasn't. Besides, was it really right to involve him?

When she learned the latest news she'd had to go and sit down on the nearest park bench. He had followed her silently, leaving her in peace. Sitting there looking out over the empty school-yard, she felt her courage ebbing away again. Staring at the large clock-face, she thought she should have followed her impulse of a few nights ago and made the school attic her last resting-place.

He tried to say something hopeful to cheer her up.

'Listen. I can tell the police you were with me all the time last night.'

She only snorted at that, but then felt guilty because it had sounded like a put-down.

'They would just have added pederasty to my list of crimes.'

He sounded grumpy.

'I happen to be fifteen years old. Actually.' What's the answer to that?

'Patrik, I've had it. I might as well confess and put an end to the whole saga.' 'Shit, no! Don't!' He was really upset.

'Listen, you can't confess to something you haven't done!'

'What do you suggest then?'

'Can't you go there and… like, talk to them?'

'Same difference.'

'I don't get it. Why?'

'Surely you can see that? The police have already made up their minds. I am the murderer. They won't believe a thing I say.'

She put her head in her hands, speaking quietly to the ground in front of her.

'Worse, I can't hack being locked up.'

He sounded less convinced now.

'But you're just telling them what really happened.'

Then she told him about Jorgen Grundberg. About how her fingerprints got on to his keycard, about the wig and the Swiss army knife she'd left behind in the hotel room. About everything in her past that had combined to make her the prime suspect. Former patient in a mental hospital, homeless and without any kind of social network, she was so utterly perfect that the police must be rubbing their hands with glee. No question about her guilt.

Anyway, to have a chance of finally persuading them of her innocence, they would have to keep her under lock and key for the duration of the inquiry. That would drive her insane. She had been there before and knew what she was talking about.

'The murderer has got the idea too. I'm a perfect scapegoat for him. He even left a confession in my name after the Vastervik murder.'

He nodded gently.

'He did the same in Bollnas.'

'Was that where he struck last night?'

'The night before. I don't know where he was last night.'

She was slumped against the backrest of the bench. The night before last as well, while she was tucked up in the attic. Now they suspected her of four murders.

He stared at her.

'You didn't know, did you?'

She sighed.

'No. I didn't.'

Silence. He was thinking. The complications must be dawning on him.

‘I know. Let's go to my house and check everything they've written about you.' 'How do you mean?' 'We'll surf the net.'

Ah, the Internet. She had read about it in the papers, a fantastic new world she knew nothing about. She felt as doubtful about it as she did about being invited home by this helpful fifteen-year-old.

'Why would that be any good?'

'Maybe we'll find something that proves it couldn't have been you. I bet you haven't read everything they've written.' 'Right enough.' He got up. 'Let's go.'

What other option was there?

They crept through the hall. She felt like a thief and her heart was pounding. 'This way.'

They were outside a door in his flat. A metal sign had been stuck on it. It said: ENTER AT YOU OWN RISK. Fine. She wanted to go away anyway.

They had passed an open doorway to a spacious living room and then the closed door to his parents' bedroom. Patrik had put his finger to his lips as a signal to be quiet. His father was asleep in there. Then Patrik opened the door to his room and waved her on. All this was very awkward, but she followed to please him.

His room looked as if it had been in the path of a storm-force gale. The floor was practically invisible under a tidal wave of clothes, old comics, CD boxes and books. She dumped her rucksack in the middle of it all, looking quizzically at him.

'I know, I promised Mum to keep my room tidy. I just kind of forget.'

'Tell me about it.'

They were speaking in whispers.

He pushed a button on the PC and when it came alive with a little melody, she told him to turn it down. While the computer started up, she looked around the room. Apart from the desk, there was an unmade bed and a bookshelf. She pulled the cover over the bed to make the place look less messy.

When the screen on his desk had filled with symbols, he sat down to work. She wandered across to an apparently empty aquarium by the window, because something moved inside it.

'That's Batman, my Greek land-tortoise.'

Batman had crawled into a corner to munch on a lettuce leaf. He looked quite content, so the world must seem quite agreeable to his tiny mind. She felt momentarily envious.

Patrik was using the keypad to write something.

serial killer sibylla

He clicked, the computer started working and after a few seconds produced the results. 67 hits. He was smiling. 'Great.'

'What does it all mean?'

'We've got 67 pages to search for stuff about you and your manic killing spree.'

She was amazed at having become unwittingly a part of this strange world 'on-line' that she had been reading about. Patrik was already scrolling through what looked like pictures of newsprint.

'I'll print the lot and then we can read it when we like.'

It was all new and strange to her, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Already another machine on the table had started humming and spitting out paper. The print was on the side she couldn't see but she grabbed the first lot of papers and settled down on the bed. Meanwhile Patrik kept clicking and feeding more paper into the printer. The first sheet began with a robust headline.

Grand Hotel woman breaks the widow's peace

Lena Grundberg has curled up in the sofa in her comfy sitting room. She is meeting us at home in the house where she lived with her beloved husband Jorgen until less than a week ago. Last Thursday he was the first victim of a cold-blooded murder. The deranged killer from Grand Hotel is a 32-year-old woman, who so far has managed to disappear without trace in spite of a nation-wide police search. But only two days after the bestial murder at the Grand, the madwoman visited the grieving widow.