by Ian Giles
And now she was standing here, unaffected by the grim environment around her, the awful weather, and the cold wind. Nothing could possibly be worse than what she had experienced in the last few weeks, and the memories of them had been compartmentalised into some hidden corner of her consciousness. The beginning of what was to come next awaited, and that meant everything to her.
At a quarter past—hadn’t he said four o’clock?—Jeanette did a lap of the large, half-empty car park. Maybe he was somewhere she couldn’t see him? No.
He must have run into something—maybe they needed him at work a little longer. But she could wait; she didn’t have anything better to be doing. It was half past four—was he waiting for her out on the road, even though he had expressly said the car park? Not there either, she noted, before returning to the car park. Had he gone inside to get warm? No, and the car was definitely not in the car park, so he wasn’t here. Unless he had changed cars, that was. But that seemed unlikely, because he could hardly have left his job since she last saw him. The car might have broken down, of course, meaning that he’d come in a borrowed or rented car—but that would be even greater cause to show himself to her.
Bilprovningen! It hit her. He had written Bilcity, but had obviously meant Bilprovningen next door. But he wasn’t there either, and it was now five o’clock. If he had written four but had meant five, then it was probable that he would turn up eventually.
She hurried back to the agreed meeting place outside the car dealership, pacing back and forth before doing the last hour all over again. Without success: he was nowhere to be seen. There was no word from him on her mobile either.
It had got dark, and when hope began to run out, she plucked up the courage to send him a text message at the untraceable number. Had she misunderstood—hadn’t they agreed to meet? But she didn’t get an answer, and she didn’t dare be more assertive than that. He would either get in touch or he wouldn’t. He knew she was waiting and that bad news was better than no news at all.
Six o’clock came, then seven, but she still hadn’t given up all hope. It wasn’t possible that he had tricked her into coming here only to fail to show up—he wasn’t like that. But could she be sure of that? They didn’t actually know each other that well . . . Well, now they did. She tried to convince herself. They were connected for life, whether they wanted it or not. Exactly two weeks ago, something had happened that neither of them would forget, and from Peter’s perspective in particular it was best to keep their relationship friendly at least. And why had there been all those tokens of affection in that solitary message if he hadn’t meant anything by them? Why express his love and his longing if they were merely empty words?
She prowled among the uninspiring barracks, stamped her way through industrial sites to stay warm, and let herself get splattered by stressed-out rush hour motorists on the busy roads around the roundabout—all while the clock kept ticking, minute after minute, hour after hour.
Eventually, she realised that the resilience driving her wasn’t motivated by strength and patience, but by desperation and madness. Somehow, she had to get home and pull the wool over her husband’s eyes with some story about how she had spent the evening. Then she would cry in silence in the darkness of the bedroom.
35
Jan
TEN DAYS HAD crawled by, and a further ten had been added to them. Only when he had made it to fourteen days over time did Jan feel like he could relax: the threat wasn’t going to be realised. He celebrated in silence, albeit surrounded by people, perched on a bar stool at G:a Masters on the way home from work. The police still hadn’t come to knock on his door, none of his acquaintances in the force had shot glances at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. That was, without doubt, worth both a beer and a whisky.
Norling’s disappearance had given rise to several articles and items on the news—not just locally but in the national media. According to sources, the police were taking the case very seriously, but despite that, they were said not to have a clue about where he might have gone, how he might have left or why. The whole thing was an enigma to almost everyone—but there was always someone who knew the truth. That was the one thing you could always be sure of, Jan thought smiling to himself before draining his whisky glass in one go.
“Another?” said the bartender attentively.
Jan nodded. The car would have to stay where it was overnight—nowadays he had stopped getting behind the wheel if he had had so much as a beer.
“Weird story, that thing with Peter Norling . . .” said the bartender while pouring the whisky into a fresh glass. “Disappearing into thin air like that.”
Out of everyone, he seemed to be talking to Jan in particular—as if he had read his thoughts. The surprise must have been visible on Jan’s face, because the bartender clearly felt encouraged to explain his statement.
“I seem to remember you were in the same hunting club?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Jan confirmed with relief. “Absolutely. Yes, the whole thing is bloody messed up.”
“Tragic,” said the bartender, placing the glass in front of him. “Especially for the family, regardless of what’s happened.”
Jan nodded. Naturally, he personally felt neither sorrow nor consternation. Instead, he revelled in the fact that the deeply unpleasant blackmail story was history.
It was theoretically possible that Jan had got the wrong end of the stick, and that the company car that Norling pootled about in had left the scene before the accident. Jan really had no idea, given that he had approached from the wrong direction on his way back, and hadn’t been able to see up that forest track. And in that case he had been wrong when he had aimed his suspicions at Norling, and should have followed a different line of inquiry. Which was not doable since he hadn’t seen a soul out there in the woods by the ravine, and he could hardly start guessing which one of the fifty-seven thousand inhabitants on this island had silently witnessed the fatal accident and then documented it.
But competent people were lucky, he affirmed to himself with a humour he hadn’t felt for a month. The accident and its tragic consequences had fallen into oblivion in Jan’s consciousness. Lately, the photographs from the scene of the accident had cast their shadow over his existence. But now Norling was gone, and since then the blackmail threat had not been renewed or executed. The problem was gone from the world, and Jan could look ahead with confidence.
“Cheers,” he said with a smile at the bartender, appearing friendly, but not overly happy now that the subject of Norling’s tragic disappearance had been brought up. Then he drained the new whisky, downed the rest of the beer, paid his tab and left, lighter of heart than he had been in a long time.
36
Jeanette
JEANETTE WAS SITTING in the car park outside work. Her place of work—that was why her car was here. But it was Peter’s place of work too, and that was also why she was here. Her tongue was dry in her mouth; she really needed something to drink, but she didn’t have anything. Visiting his workplace went directly against everything they had agreed on, and it didn’t sit well with her. But it was the best thing she could come up with—significantly better than going to his home, which was completely unthinkable. Peter would not tolerate that, and she couldn’t bear the thought of even glimpsing his wife and children. It was as if her self-confidence had been blown away, and in order to postpone the unpleasant but unavoidable visit ahead of her, she evaluated the situation yet again.
It had been yesterday, during the long afternoon and evening outside the car dealership, and during the night, that she had realised what the new component in her spiritual misery was: that absence of self-confidence. It had slowly begun to dawn on Jeanette that she could no longer be loved, and nor did she deserve to be.
There had been two practicable ways to tackle the situation at the ravine. On the one hand they could have taken the money and sneaked away from the scene, celebrating their good fortune, with a positive outlook on life
and looking ahead to the future with obvious joy. On the other hand, they could have followed their consciences, flat out said no to the whole idea, and left carrying their heads high.
Jeanette had chosen the coward’s option. Vacillating, she had stood there shifting from one foot to the other, listening with half an ear to the voice of her heart, while at the same time she had allowed herself to be convinced—while in a decidedly uncritical state—to do something that went against everything she believed in. By someone she barely knew.
What a silly cow she was—a milksop without her own will. A turncoat.
He got cold feet right there in the car as they had driven away from the scene of the accident. He had realised what she brought to the table—that she was not someone whose hand he wanted to hold when the wind picked up. And that she had nothing to offer even when it wasn’t windy.
It was under the weight of this newfound insight that she finally got out of the car and went to the shop that was adjacent to the garage where Peter worked. With a final, tremendous effort, she plucked up her courage and stepped through the door, accompanied by a plinging sound.
“I was here about a week ago and talked to a guy about a problem with my car,” she began. “I don’t remember his name, but he had dark, pretty short hair, and . . .”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the man behind the counter. “Perhaps I can help you instead?”
He was around thirty, burly, with a bushy ginger beard and a shaved head, and he exchanged a glance that was difficult to interpret with a colleague who had just had his back to them while fiddling with the shelves.
“It’s quite complicated,” said Jeanette. “I’m not sure I can explain it all again. Isn’t he in? The dark-haired guy?”
New looks were exchanged—did they suspect something? Had they caught sight of them together, or had Peter told them something in confidence that he oughtn’t have?
“No,” said the man, leaning forward with the palms of his hands spread wide on the counter.
He almost looked threatening standing there and looking at her, seemingly waiting for the next move, as if he knew she wasn’t telling the truth.
“Do you know when he’s expected back?” Jeanette continued obstinately.
“No,” said the man again, without letting her out of his gaze.
Maybe he was offended that she wouldn’t confide her mechanical issues to him?
“He’s on holiday,” the other one interrupted—an older man who didn’t look like he had long left until retirement. “He’ll probably be gone for a couple of weeks at least.”
Another mysterious look was exchanged between the two men, and Jeanette was overcome by the feeling that not a single word of truth had been said during this peculiar conversation.
“Okay, then I’ll try again in a few weeks,” she said with a smile and a forced lightness of tone. “Bye for now!”
Then she turned on her heel and left the garage. She heard the door close behind her with another quiet pling from the bell there to notify the staff of new customers.
In a seemingly nonchalant way, she strolled past the window of the unit. Then she went and got back into her own car. She thought again. Tried to interpret the situation. Concluded that Peter was potentially at the garage, but had asked his colleagues not to reveal it if anyone asked after him. Such as a blonde in fashionable clothing pretending not to know him. Or maybe he really was on holiday. Maybe for two weeks, maybe for longer. And he hadn’t told her this.
Regardless of which was true, it all seemed to bode ill. He didn’t want anything to do with her any longer.
JEANETTE WAS SITTING at the breakfast table turning the pages of the newspaper, distractedly and mostly for appearance’s sake, since her husband was also at the table. If she wasn’t reading, she would be expected to talk to him, and she had increasingly little to discuss with her husband. The news didn’t interest her either—the thoughts turning over in her head now overshadowed everything else.
More than two weeks had passed since the nonmeeting, and Jeanette’s problems had only got worse. Now she no longer dared to hope for a reunion with Peter. After scrutinising every element of the drama that had taken place, it seemed more and more obvious that he no longer wanted her with him on his voyage into a brighter future. But there were a few details that bothered her and kept her hopes alive, and no matter how much she puzzled over it, she was unable to make sense of his reasoning.
How could he be so certain that she wouldn’t have a breakdown, give herself up and therefore by extension him too? That risk had been looming large since the very beginning, and he ought not to feel confident in her loyalty as a result. What was more, if he had lied to her, holding out the prospect of a meeting, and then he had crept away from all of it without so much as a peep, then the situation as far as he was concerned was even more serious. Surely he grasped that this was no longer just about loyalty to him, but quite simply a matter of her own well-being? Jeanette was free to do as she wished, and if she was in the process of succumbing to remorse then the next step of contacting the police wasn’t far off.
And why had he let her believe until the very end that he loved her and was missing her? The words in that final text message were beautiful, and it had clearly been a very effective method of keep her warm, as it were. But instead of proposing a meeting, he could have postponed. A week at a time, or a month. For their safety. He could have laid it out like that and she would have walked straight into the trap. Right until the day it became apparent to her that the relationship was never going to happen. By then so much time would have passed that nothing could be done, everything would drain away into the sand, and life would return to normal. If it hadn’t already done so.
Her gaze fell upon an article covering a large spread describing the mysterious disappearance of a forty-one-year-old man. She read it several times and examined the picture with a rising sense of dread. Then she rushed into the bathroom to be on her own with her uncontrollable shaking and her overheating brain.
She popped a few pills that she gulped down as best as she could with water cupped in her trembling hands. Then she sat down on the toilet seat and tried to gather her thoughts while waiting for the physical reaction to dissipate.
Missing? What did that mean? And without the car?
There were suspicions that something serious had happened, and two days before their planned meeting at that. He had already been missing when she had been trudging around in cold and slush outside the car dealership. That explained why he had no-showed, and it also explained why he hadn’t been in touch or replied to her message. What was more, it explained the secretive behaviour and suspicious demeanour of the two mechanics when she had turned up asking for Peter. Clearly they knew he was the subject of a search. The police had obviously been there and questioned them, sworn them to silence, and they had tried to deal with the unusual circumstances as best as they could. They hadn’t wanted to give away too much, but they must have been curious about who was asking for Peter.
Did that make her a person of interest for the inquiry? It should have done, naturally. But she had probably played her role well—that of an untroubled, innocent customer who didn’t know the name of the person she was asking for. Even if that was in no way a reflection of the truth. On the other hand, her lack of knowledge of Peter’s unexpected absence had been entirely genuine. In conclusion, there was probably no cause for Peter’s colleagues to tell the police about Jeanette’s visit.
Which was good, because she definitely didn’t want to get mixed up in this. Didn’t want there to be any visible points of contact between her and Peter. When he came back, they could start from scratch—no one could be allowed to think this relationship was any older than that.
If he came back. It hit her, and a knot grew in her stomach. According to the police, something serious might have happened—what did that mean? A heart attack somewhere out of the way? An accident, or a homicide? What did she really know abo
ut Peter? About his health or even his propensity for getting into dangerous situations? Nothing. She had thought she knew him better before all this terrible stuff had happened. Before the theft of the money.
The money. The six million he had coveted with such avarice after he—actually, the two of them, she corrected herself—had almost literally stepped across a corpse to get to it.
Jeanette felt the trembling increasing, and was overcome by nausea. She didn’t want to throw up; she wanted to keep the tablets down so that they could begin to take effect before they got out of her system. Instead, she lay down on the bathroom mat with a towel over her. Couldn’t she be allowed to sleep? Just drift off from it all and never wake up again?
But the new thought refused to leave her. She was shaking so much that she was jolting about as she lay on the floor. Her teeth were chattering. And here came the tears too. She cried into the towel so that it wouldn’t be audible, but she couldn’t stop the tears. Not once had she realised the great betrayal.
Peter had convinced her it was reasonable to leave a man who had been in a serious accident to die. He had convinced her to do it—against her own instincts. Because he wanted to steal two holdalls filled with cash. Jeanette hadn’t been and still wasn’t interested in the money. But she had done what Peter had told her to do, for his sake and for love and for the sake of their mutual future. She was his accomplice and just as guilty, with the difference that she felt much worse about what they had done. The only thing that had kept her going was the dream of Peter—the dream of a life together with him.
And now he was gone. Taking all the money with him. She didn’t care about that, but it was just as much hers. Peter hadn’t been able to withstand temptation—for him, money clearly meant more than love, and Jeanette had just been an obstacle in his path.
