The Girl in the Fog

by Donato Carrisi

  The man seemed thrown by this. ‘And what happens then?’

  ‘Then they call me in.’

  Vogel stood up, put his hand in his pocket and dropped a twenty-euro note on the table to pay for his breakfast. Then he headed for the exit, but before walking out the door he turned once again towards the proprietor of the restaurant. ‘Listen to me: don’t sell this place. In a little while, it’ll be full of people again.’

  Outside, the day was cold but the sky was clear and everything was lit by a bright winter sun. Every now and then, a heavy goods lorry passed along the road and the displacement of air lifted the flaps of Vogel’s coat. He stood motionless, both hands plunged in his pockets, on the restaurant forecourt, next to the petrol pump. He was looking up.

  A young man of about thirty came up behind him. He, too, was wearing a suit, a tie and a dark coat, although not a cashmere one. He had fair hair with a parting on one side and deep blue eyes. He looked earnest and good-natured. ‘Hello,’ he said. There was no reply. ‘I’m Officer Borghi,’ he persisted. ‘I was told to come and get you.’

  Vogel still didn’t deign to respond, but continued to stare up at the sky.

  ‘The briefing starts in half an hour. They’re all there, as you requested.’

  At this point, Borghi leaned forward and realised that Vogel was actually looking at something on the roof over the petrol pump.

  A security camera pointing at the road.

  Vogel finally turned towards him. ‘This road is the only access to the valley, am I right?’

  Borghi didn’t even need to think about it. ‘Yes, sir. There’s no other way to get in or out. It runs straight through it.’

  ‘Good,’ Vogel said. ‘Take me to the other end.’

  Vogel walked quickly towards the anonymous dark saloon car in which Borghi had come to fetch him. Borghi hesitated for a moment, then followed him.

  A few minutes later, they were on the bridge that crossed the river and led into the next valley. The young officer parked the car on the side of the road and waited outside it while Vogel, some metres from him, repeated the same action as earlier, this time staring at a speed camera perched on a post beside the carriageway, while vehicles passed close to him and drivers sounded their horns in protest. But Vogel was unfazed and continued to do what he was doing. Whatever it was, Borghi found the situation both incomprehensible and paradoxical.

  When he’d had enough, Vogel walked back to the car. ‘Let’s go and see the girl’s parents,’ he said and got in without waiting for Borghi’s reply. The young officer looked at his watch and patiently climbed in behind the wheel.

  *

  ‘Anna Lou has never given me any trouble,’ Maria Kastner stated confidently. The girl’s mother was a tiny woman, but you nevertheless sensed an unusual strength in her. She was sitting on the sofa next to her husband, a solid but apparently inoffensive man, in the living room of the little two-storeyed house where they lived. Both were still in their pyjamas and dressing gowns, and they were holding hands.

  There was a sickly-sweet smell in the air, a mixture of cooked food and air freshener. Vogel couldn’t stand it. He was sitting in an armchair, Borghi on another chair a bit further back. Between them and the Kastners was a low table with cups of coffee that would soon get cold since nobody seemed interested in drinking it.

  Elsewhere in the room was a decorated Christmas tree, beneath which seven-year-old twin brothers were playing with presents they had just unwrapped.

  One package was still untouched, with a nice red ribbon around it.

  The woman saw where Vogel was looking. ‘We wanted the boys to celebrate the birth of Jesus anyway. It was also a way to distract them from the situation.’

  The ‘situation’ was that their eldest child, who was sixteen and the only girl, had disappeared almost two days earlier. She had left home that winter afternoon at about five to go to a meeting in the local church, which was a few hundred metres from the house.

  She had never arrived.

  Anna Lou had taken a short walk in a residential area of identical houses – small houses with gardens – where everybody had always known everybody else.

  But nobody had seen or heard anything.

  The alarm had been raised at about seven, when her mother realised she hadn’t come home and had called her in vain on her mobile phone, which had been switched off. Two long hours in which anything might have happened to her. The search had gone on all evening, but then they had yielded to common sense and decided to resume it in the morning. In any case, the local police didn’t have the resources for a thorough search of the area.

  As of now, there were no theories as to why she might have disappeared.

  Vogel again observed the parents in silence. They were hollow-eyed from lack of sleep. In the weeks to come, this sleeplessness would cause them to age rapidly, but for now it had only just started to leave its mark on them.

  ‘Our daughter has always been a responsible girl, ever since she was little,’ the woman continued. ‘I don’t know how to put this … But we’ve never had to worry about her: she grew up without any prompting from us. She helps out around the house, she looks after her brothers. At school, her teachers are pleased with her. She recently became a catechist in our brotherhood.’

  The living room was modestly furnished. On entering, Vogel had immediately noticed that the place was full of objects bearing witness to a deep religious faith. The walls were covered with sacred images and Biblical scenes. Jesus was everywhere, in the form of plastic or plaster statuettes, but the Virgin Mary, too, was well represented. And there was a vast array of saints. A wooden crucifix hung over the TV set.

  Also in the room were framed family photographs. A girl with red hair and freckles appeared in many of them.

  Anna Lou was a female version of her father.

  And she was always smiling. On the day of her first communion. In the mountains with her brothers. With skates over her shoulder at the ice rink, proudly displaying a medal after a competition.

  Vogel knew that this room, these walls, this house would no longer be the same. They were full of memories that would soon start to hurt.

  ‘We won’t take down the Christmas tree until our daughter comes home,’ Maria Kastner announced, almost proudly. ‘We’ll keep it lit so that it can be seen through the window.’

  Vogel pondered the absurdity of this, especially in the months to come. A Christmas tree used as a beacon, pointing the way home for someone who might never return. Because that was the risk, although Anna Lou’s parents didn’t yet realise it. Those festive lights would signal to everyone outside that within these walls a drama was being played out. They would become a burdensome presence. The neighbours wouldn’t be able to ignore the tree and its significance. On the contrary, as time went on they would be upset by it. Passing the house, they would cross the street to avoid seeing it. That symbol would alienate everyone from the Kastners, making their solitude even worse. The price you had to pay to keep going with your own life, as Vogel well knew, was indifference.

  ‘They say it’s normal for children to be rebellious when they get to the age of sixteen,’ Maria said, then shook her head resolutely. ‘Not my daughter.’

  Vogel nodded. Although at this stage he had no evidence for it, he was sure she was right. He wasn’t simply humouring a mother who was trying to absolve herself and her own role as a parent by vouching for her child’s incorruptibility. Vogel was convinced she was telling the truth. What gave him this conviction was Anna Lou’s face smiling at him from every corner of the room. That simple, almost childlike air told him that something must have happened to her. And whatever it was had happened against her will.

  ‘We have a very strong bond. She’s very much like me. She made this for me, she gave it to me a week ago …’ The woman showed Vogel a bracelet of coloured beads she was wearing on her wrist. ‘They’ve been her passion lately. She makes them and gives them to the people she loves.’
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  Vogel noticed that as she told him these details, which were of no significance for the investigation, her voice and eyes betrayed no emotion. But it wasn’t coldness. He knew what it was. The woman was convinced that this was some kind of test. They were all being subjected to a test so that they could demonstrate how firm and intact their faith was. That was why, deep down, she accepted what was happening. She might think it was unfair, but she nevertheless hoped that someone up there, maybe God himself, would soon put things right.

  ‘Anna Lou confided in me, but a mother is aware that she doesn’t know everything about her children. Yesterday, while I was tidying her room, I found this …’ The woman let go of her husband’s hand and held out to Vogel the brightly coloured diary she had been keeping close to her chest.

  Vogel reached out across the low table to take it. On the cover was a picture of two sweet kittens with ruffled fur. He started leafing through it absently.

  ‘You won’t find anything suspicious in it,’ the woman said.

  But Vogel closed the diary and took his fountain pen and his black notebook from the inside pocket of his coat. ‘I assume you’re familiar with all the people your daughter mixed with …’

  ‘Of course,’ Maria Kastner said with a touch of indignation.

  ‘Has Anna Lou met anyone new recently? Made a new friend, for example?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said emphatically. ‘She would have told me.’

  She had only just admitted a mother couldn’t know everything about her own children, but now she was making a great show of certainty. It was typical of parents in missing persons cases, Vogel recalled. They want to help but they’re aware that they’re partly to blame, at the very least for not paying enough attention to their children. When you try to point that out, though, the instinct for self-defence kicks in, even if it means denying the evidence. But Vogel needed more information. ‘Have you noticed any unusual behaviour lately?’

  ‘What do you mean by unusual?’

  ‘You know how young people are. A lot of things can be figured out from small signals. Has she been sleeping well? Eating regularly? Has her mood changed? Has she been sullen?’

  ‘She was the usual Anna Lou. I know my daughter, Special Agent Vogel, I always know when something’s wrong.’

  The girl owned a mobile phone. From what Vogel could tell, it was an old model, not a smart phone. ‘Did your daughter surf the internet?’

  The two parents looked at each other.

  ‘Our brotherhood frowns on the use of certain technologies,’ Maria said. ‘The internet is full of snares, Agent Vogel. Misleading notions that can compromise the upbringing of a good Christian. But we’ve never forbidden our daughter anything, it’s always been her choice.’

  Yes, of course, Vogel thought. About one thing, though, the woman was right. The danger did usually come from the internet. Sensitive teenagers like Anna Lou were particularly susceptible. There were hunters out there, clever at manipulating vulnerable young people and insinuating themselves into their lives. Lowering their defences little by little and inverting relationships of trust, they managed to replace the teenagers’ closest relatives and remotely control them until they could make them do whatever they wanted. In this sense, Anna Lou Kastner was the perfect prey. Maybe the girl had only apparently supported her parents’ wishes while going on the internet elsewhere, at school or in the library. They would have to check. For the moment, though, there were other aspects he had to go into. ‘You’re among the fortunate few in the village who sold land to the mining company, is that right?’

  The question was addressed to Bruno Kastner, but it was once again his wife who spoke up. ‘My father left us a plot of land up in the north. Who would ever have imagined it was worth so much? We gave part of the money to the brotherhood and paid off the mortgage on this house. The rest is intended for our children.’

  It must be a tidy sum, Vogel thought. Probably enough to guarantee a more than decent existence for several generations of Kastners. They could have allowed themselves all sorts of luxuries, or chosen to buy a larger and more impressive house. Instead, they had decided not to modify their lifestyle. Vogel couldn’t understand how you could ignore such a windfall so easily. For the moment, he simply registered it. Head still bent over his notebook, he said, ‘You haven’t received a ransom demand, so I’d rule out a kidnapping. But have you received any threats in the past? Is there anyone – a relative, an acquaintance – who has reason to envy you, or bear you a grudge?’

  The Kastners seemed taken aback by these questions.

  ‘No, nobody,’ Maria said immediately. ‘The only people we see regularly are the members of the brotherhood.’

  Vogel reflected on the implication of these last words: the Kastners were naïvely convinced that conflict was impossible within the brotherhood. In fact, he’d never doubted that this would be the response. Before setting foot in their house, he had looked into their lives, trying to find out everything there was to know about them.

  Public opinion, as usual, went entirely on appearances. That was why, when something unusual happened, like a simple, well-brought-up girl going missing, and when it happened within the context of a respectable family, everyone tended to assume that the evil had come from outside. But an experienced police officer like Vogel was always reluctant to look outside, because in all too many cases the explanation was more simply – and horribly – hidden within the walls of the family home. He had dealt with fathers who abused their daughters and mothers who, instead of protecting them, had treated their own daughters as dangerous rivals. Then, for the sake of a quiet life, the parents reached the conclusion that the best way to save their marriage was to get rid of their own offspring. He had once investigated the case of a wife who, on discovering the abuse, had chosen to cover for her husband, and to avoid her own shame, had killed her daughter herself. In short, the range of savagery within the family was ever more varied and fantastic.

  The Kastners seemed respectable.

  He was a lorry driver, and hadn’t given up work on becoming unexpectedly rich. She was a modest housewife, completely devoted to her family and her children. In addition, both were fervent in their religious faith.

  But you never could tell.

  Vogel pretended to be satisfied. ‘It seems to me we’ve covered everything we can, for the time being.’ He got up from his armchair, immediately imitated by Borghi, who had remained silent throughout. ‘Thank you for the coffee. And for this,’ he added, waving Anna Lou’s diary. ‘I’m sure it’ll be of great help to us.’

  The Kastners walked the two policemen to the door. Vogel glanced again at the children playing imperturbably by the Christmas tree. God alone knew what would remain of all this in their adult memories, he thought. Maybe they were young enough to escape the horror. But the package waiting for Anna Lou, its red ribbon still uncut, told him that there would always be something to remind them of the tragedy that had struck their family. Because there was nothing worse than a gift that doesn’t reach the person it is intended for. The happiness it contains slowly decays, poisoning everything around it.

  At that moment, Vogel realised that the silence between them had lasted too long, so he turned to Borghi. ‘Could you wait for me in the car, please?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Borghi said deferentially.

  Alone now with the Kastners, Vogel spoke in a new, thoughtful tone, as if he had taken ‘the situation’ to heart. ‘I want to be frank with you,’ he said. ‘The media have got wind of the story, they’ll soon be arriving in their droves … Sometimes, reporters are better than the police at digging up news, and what ends up on television isn’t always relevant to the case. Not knowing where to look, they’ll look at you. So if you have anything to say, anything … now’s the time to say it.’

  A silence followed, a silence Vogel drew out longer than necessary. It was like sealing a pact. His advice had c
ontained a warning: I know you have secrets, everybody has them. But now your secrets belong to me.

  ‘Good,’ he said at last, breaking the silence to release them from further embarrassment. ‘I see you’ve had flyers printed with a photograph of your daughter. That was a good idea, but it’s not enough. So far, it’s been the local media who’ve dealt with the matter, but now we’ll need to do more. For example, it’d be helpful to make a public appeal. How do you feel about that?’

  Husband and wife looked at each other questioningly. Then Anna Lou’s mother took a step forward, slipped off the bead bracelet her daughter had made for her, took Vogel’s left hand and put the bracelet around his wrist, as if in a solemn investiture. ‘We’ll do everything that’s necessary to help you, Agent Vogel. But you’ll bring her home, won’t you?’

  As he waited in the car, Borghi was busy speaking into his mobile phone. ‘I don’t know how much longer he’ll be, he asked to do it,’ he was explaining to one of the officers who had been waiting for more than an hour for the scheduled briefing to start. ‘I have family, too. Calm them down and assure them that nobody will miss their Christmas dinner.’ Actually, he wasn’t sure he should be making a promise like that, because he didn’t know what Vogel had in mind. He knew only what he needed to know, and this morning all he knew was that he had to be Vogel’s driver.

  The previous evening, his immediate superior had told him he would have to go to Avechot in the morning to help Special Agent Vogel in investigating the disappearance of a minor. Then he had handed him the meagre file on the case and had concluded with some unusual instructions. He was to be at the roadside restaurant on the outskirts of the village at eight thirty on the dot, wearing a dark suit with a shirt and tie.