Karin Alvtegen: Missing

'Oh no – what a shame. I've forgotten about the shopping. I'm afraid you'll have to be content with just coffee, after all.'

'No problem.'

He opened one of the kitchen cabinets, taking out pretty cups and saucers with a blue flower pattern. He put them on the table and started rummaging in a drawer to find the coffee spoons. A car drove past on the road. She jumped and looked out, but the car drove past at speed, disappearing beyond the next bend in the road.

By now Ingmar was folding napkins, delicate little squares of thin cloth with scalloped edges. She hadn't seen their like since the ladies' afternoon tea-parties in Hultaryd. Maybe this was to be expected in the countryside, where time moved so much more slowly than in towns.

'Only the best for visitors.'

She looked at him. He was busy, carefully smoothing the folds in the spotless waxed cloth covering the table. Getting the napkins from a drawer in the table had disturbed it. He was looking very pleased with himself, almost elated. Could it be that it was a long time since he experienced anything as convivial as having a guest for coffee? A female guest to boot.

Before pouring the coffee, he found a small silver tray in a cupboard. On it he placed a sugar-bowl and a cream jug in the same china as the cups. Looking very pleased with his preparations, he sat down opposite her and smiled invitingly.

'There now. Hope you'll enjoy it.'

'Thank you.'

She glanced at the empty cream jug. It would have been nice with a little milk out of a packet, but she realised that it was pointless to ask. Lifting the cup by its tiny fragile handle, she drank some coffee while considering the text on the embroidered sampler behind him.

GREATEST OF ALL IS LOVE.

Then he suddenly broke the silence.

'So what's your plan for when you meet Kerstin?'

The question threw her. During the car journey her thoughts had been so intense that she had somehow assumed that he would share her sense of urgency. Now it struck her that he still had no idea who she was. She looked into her coffee cup.

I just wanted to talk to her a little.'

The expression on his face didn't change, as if the smile had been glued to his face. 'Why do you?'

She felt something like irritation creeping into her mind. So maybe he meant well, but she wasn't that dependent on his good offices.

‘It's something between her and me.' Ingmar kept focusing on her. 'Are you sure?'

The coffee was thin and tasteless. He had put in far too little coffee. She had no energy left for maintaining this conversation and rose from the table.

'Thanks for the coffee and the lift. I feel like taking a little walk now, while I wait.'

He didn't answer and the smile still didn't leave his face. It suddenly came to her that there was something not quite right about him. His incessant smiling was so silly that she had an impulse to say something nasty, just to wipe it off his mug. He looked so pleased with himself, as if remembering a funny story he had no intention of sharing with her.

She walked into the hall and started putting on her boots. When she straightened up and reached for her jacket he was standing in the kitchen doorway, positively grinning at her.

'You're not leaving already?'

His tone of voice made it sound more like an order than a question. This was the end of good manners, as far as she was concerned.

'Yes, I am. I can't stand coffee without milk, you see.'

'Is that so? I got the impression you weren't that picky.'

He had bitten suddenly, like a snake. Unhesitatingly ready to drop any attempt at choosing his word with care. She suddenly felt deeply uneasy. Taking down her jacket, at first she could think of nothing to say at all.

'What do you mean?'

When she finally spoke, she no longer felt quite so sure of herself and her voice must have revealed it, for the smile came back to his face.

'That's obvious, isn't it? People like you should be grateful for what they can get.'

She tried as best she could not show how frightened she was feeling by now. He didn't look particularly strong, but that was a miscalculation she had made before and duly suffered for. If they were hungry enough for what they wanted, she had rarely had a chance. No way was she giving in without a fight, though. She backed away from him.

'Vimmerby seems to be one hell of a place. A serial killer and a rapist living just next door to each other. Maybe there's something nasty in the water?'

She glanced towards the front door. The key had gone.

‘It's locked, in case you wondered.'

He had an informative tone to his voice.

'Now there's something else I should let you know. If there's one thing I haven't got the slightest inclination to do, it's keeping you here for sex.'

This did nothing to convince her. She backed away from him, hitting her back against end of the stair railing.

'There are other things we've got to sort out together, you and I.'

She swallowed.

I don't think so.'

Now he grinned again.

'Oh yes, we do – Sibylla.'

She was dumbfounded at first. Her only clear thought was that things had gone badly wrong.

'How do you know my name?'

'I read the paper, like everyone else.'

He couldn't have recognised her – or could he? Not with her new hairdo, surely? A car drove past on the road outside and she looked at it over his shoulder through the kitchen window. Then it was gone.

'You might as well give up your idea of meeting Kerstin. She lives at the other end of town, as it happens. That house is empty. A German family has bought it and they usually don't turn up here until June.'

She wanted get out of there, get away from him.

'Why did you lock the door? What do you want from me?'

He didn't answer.

She glanced at the door again. There was no window in the hall.

'Don't even think about it, Sibylla. You're going nowhere without my permission.'

She was a prisoner. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to pull herself together. He moved away from the doorway and because she had no choice, she followed him into the kitchen.

'I'd appreciate it if you took your shoes off.'

She stared at him. No fucking hope.

Instead she walked over to the table and sat down. A glance at him was enough to make her realise that her keeping her shoes on had angered him a great deal. Frowning, he got hold of a brush and pan form a cupboard and started sweeping up invisible muck from the floor. When he had put the things away, he came to sit down at the kitchen table. The smile had gone from his face.

'From now on you will do what I tell you.'

'From now on'? What was this weirdo after? Why was he so bossy?

She tried to speak in a low, calm voice. 'You have no right to keep me here.' He grimaced with mock surprise.

'Oh, don't I? Dearie me. Maybe you'd like to phone the police?'

He burst out laughing when she didn't answer immediately. She told herself that maybe phoning the police was exactly what she should do now. They were both focusing on each other, registering each other's every breath. Another car went past and for a fraction of a second Sibylla let her eyes wander away from him. He broke the silence.

'I must say, I was flabbergasted when you turned up in the cemetery out of nowhere. Like a gift from God. Indeed, God does look after his own.'

She stared at him.

'When I spotted your watch I couldn't believe my eyes at first. Do you know, if it hadn't been for your watch I might never have recognised you.'

They both looked at her watch. Then he smiled briefly before closing his eyes and turning his face upwards.

'Thank you Lord. You listened to your servant and saved my soul. You sent her to me.

Thank you…'