Karin Alvtegen - Missing

'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.

'Ummm. 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 Kent next door had gone for a crap and left his logged on.' Sibylla shook her head.

'You're crazy.' He beamed at her.

'Kent was away for ages. By the way, I don't think either of them – that's Kent 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 on the 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 haven't got a chance and you on your own and all that. But you 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 Vastervik.'

'You're joking!'

'No. I've checked out the bus-times already. There is 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 catching 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.'

The landscape was rushing past the bus windows. She spent most of the time looking out. Sodertalje. Nykoping. Norrkoping. Soderkoping. 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-crown 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 gang. Mum and Dad go on about it non-stop. I can't help if I don't fancy arsing about playing hockey or football and whatever. Happens I don't give a shit who gets into the Premier League. So what?'

She nodded apologetically.

'Fine. I just wondered.'

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

The Vastervik murder victim had been a Soren Stromberg, 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, Stromberg'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 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 all this. 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 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 Piperkarr 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 lifted the dosh, 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 one single 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.'