Karin Alvtegen - Missing

'You have the right to request a solicitor.'

'I haven't done anything wrong.'

He shrugged and went to the door.

'I think you'd better change your tune.'

Then he left her alone.

A little later, a man in his fifties came to see her. He seemed agitated, either terrified or under great stress. He dumped his briefcase on the table in the cell.

'My name is Kjell Bergstrom.'

She sat up, but her face contorted with pain. Her broken rib was announcing that it would rather she stayed horizontal.

'I'll be your legal advisor until further notice. They'll presumably move you to Stockholm soon, and find you someone else to help you there. Your father is dead, did you know that?'

She stiffened.

'What did you say?'

Kjell Bergstrom pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase. 'This is a fax that's just come in from a colleague in Vetlanda. They heard the news that you had been captured.' She responded quickly. 'I didn't do it.'

He lost his bustling show of efficiency and looked at her for the first time.

'It was a heart attack. Two years ago.'

Heart attack. Sibylla tested what it felt like. It didn't seem to matter in the slightest to her that Henry Forsenström had been dead for two years. As far as she was concerned, he had been dead for a very long time.

'My contact Krister Ek, the executor and a very good man, tells me that your mother, Beatrice Forsenström, believed for years that you were dead. When your father died, she appealed to have you declared dead officially. It was just about to be passed when you got in the news as wanted by the police.'

Sibylla realised that she was smiling. The corners of her mouth were irresitibly pulled upwards, even though there was no real reason.

'She thought I was dead, did she? So that was why she kept sending me fifteen hundred kronor every month for the last fifteen years? To this dead person?'

It was Kjell Bergstrom's time to be surprised.

'Did she, indeed?'

'Until last week.'

'Remarkable. Quite… remarkable.' Yes, isn't it?

Bergstrom studied his fax again.

'As you surely know, your father had quite considerable assets. He left an inheritance that according to the law must be divided equally between his spouse and any direct descendants. On the face of it, it's hard to escape the conclusion that your mother has been attempting to deprive you of your share.'

Sibylla felt like laughing out loud. Something was breaking inside, pushed apart by feelings that wanted release. She tried to control herself, burying her face in her hands and letting soundless laughter shake her body.

'I understand this must be difficult for you.'

Sibylla peered at him between her fingers. So, he thought she was weeping. Poor man, he was standing there utterly nonplussed by the problem of dealing with a serial killer, who was crying because her father had died. It made her want to laugh again. Her rib was aching dreadfully, causing tears to come to her eyes. When she sensed that her eyes were overflowing, she pulled herself together sufficiently to risk taking her hands away from her face.

He felt he had better try to comfort her.

'You mustn't worry. The law is your side.'

This was too much. Her control cracked and new laughter welled up. She made snorting noises, holding her hands to her sides to dampen the pain.

The law was on her side!

She had just become a millionaire, but would go straight into prison to serve life for four brutal murders, which she had not committed.

Presumably God was pleased with His handiwork – if He was looking her way, that is. Now He and Ingmar could relax and live together happily ever after, just contemplating their successes from time to time.

The laughter was dying away now, as suddenly as it had emerged. Left behind was only a great empty space inside her.

He was observing her nervously.

'How do you feel?'

She looked up at him, with the tears still streaming down her face.

How did she feel? Fucking awful. Everything was fucking awful.

She laid down again, turning her back to him. He went to the door and knocked to be let out. He was away for a few minutes, but then she heard the door opening and he returned.

‘I’ll stay with you just now. They'll be back soon to take you in for further questioning.'

They did come soon afterwards. The pain when she got up showed on her face. Bergstrom had been watching her.

'Are you in pain?'

She nodded.

'Someone broke a chair on my ribcage.'

He asked no more questions. Maybe this kind of thing was common practice in Vimmerby?

She obediently reached out her hands towards the policeman, expecting to be handcuffed again, but he only shook his head.

The interrogation room was empty when they came in. She sat down on the same chair and Kjell Bergstrom stood, leaning against the wall. One man and one woman came in soon afterwards, new people this time. Bergstrom shook hands with them, but Sibylla stayed where she was. Presumably she didn't need to introduce herself.

Three pairs of eyes were watching her. The unknown man spoke first.

'How are you feeling?'

She couldn't be bothered answering and just smiled a little.

'My name is Per-Olof Gren. I'm working for the National Criminal Bureau. This is my colleague Anita Hansson.'

Bergstrom went back to lean against his wall, while the newcomers settled behind the desk. No one started the tape recorder.

'We had hoped that you would feel strong enough to tell us about what happened last night.'

Feel strong enough? What was this soft approach meant to achieve? Sibylla sighed and leaned against the back of the chair. Thoughts were stumbling about inside her head. It seemed impossible to arrange any of them in an orderly sequence.

She stared to the desktop.

'I was in the cemetery. I met Rune Hedlund's widow. Ingmar turned up afterwards and I went away with him.' 'Is he the person who beat you up?' She looked up.

'Yes, he is. With a chair. At least one rib seems to be broken.' 'What about the scratches in your face?' 'I got them when I was running away from him. Through the forest.'

The man looked at his woman colleague. 'You were lucky, you know.' Oh, yeah? Super-lucky is the word. Suddenly Anita Hansson spoke up. 'I believe you know Patrik.'

A small ray of hope was coming through the thick cloud of dejection filling her mind. 'Did you find him?'

'He's my son.'

Sibylla stared at her. Patrik's mum, she who was 'in the force'. Nothing in Anita Hansson's face revealed her feelings about the matter.

'This morning, when the news broke, he told me all about it.'

For a moment, Sibylla thought she was dreaming.

'I phoned the National Bureau once I'd convinced myself that he was telling the truth. It all hung together, except the name Thomas Sandberg, of course. A bit confusing, that.'

'I wanted to keep Patrik outside the case at that stage. He had helped me enough, I thought.'

Patrik's mother nodded. She clearly thought so too.

Per-Olof Gren started the explanation.

'We searched Ingmar Eriksson's house this morning. He kept the… remains in his freezer.'

'… What a shame. I've forgotten about the shopping. I'm afraid you'll have to be content with just coffee, after all.''

Again, self-defence came first.

'I didn't put them there.'

Per-Olof Gren spoke soothingly.

'Sibylla, calm down. We know it wasn't you.'

She scarcely dared believe her ears. This couldn't be true. Not now, when she had finally accepted her fate.

'He has confessed. He cracked when we found the glass jars in his freezer. He was going to bury the lot in Hedlund's grave.'

The room was silent. Sibylla was trying to get her mind round this totally new situation, but she was far too tired to manage it.