Missing

by Karin Alvtegen

  Patrik was using the keypad to write something.

  serial killer sibylla

  He clicked, the computer started working and after a few seconds produced the results. 67 hits. He was smiling. 'Great.'

  'What does it all mean?'

  'We've got 67 pages to search for stuff about you and your manic killing spree.'

  She was amazed at having become unwittingly a part of this strange world 'on-line' that she had been reading about. Patrik was already scrolling through what looked like pictures of newsprint.

  'I'll print the lot and then we can read it when we like.'

  It was all new and strange to her, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Already another machine on the table had started humming and spitting out paper. The print was on the side she couldn't see but she grabbed the first lot of papers and settled down on the bed. Meanwhile Patrik kept clicking and feeding more paper into the printer. The first sheet began with a robust headline.

  Grand Hotel woman breaks the widow's peace

  Lena Grundberg has curled up in the sofa in her comfy sitting room. She is meeting us at home in the house where she lived with her beloved husband Jorgen until less than a week ago. Last Thursday he was the first victim of a cold-blooded murder. The deranged killer from Grand Hotel is a 32-year-old woman, who so far has managed to disappear without trace in spite of a nation-wide police search. But only two days after the bestial murder at the Grand, the madwoman visited the grieving widow.

  Lena could hardly keep her tears back as she tells us her story.

  I'm so terribly afraid all the time, she confessed. This woman just rang the doorbell and then she told me a lot of lies about how she'd just lost her husband. I never understood what she wanted, but when I later saw the police reconstruction I recognised her face at once…

  Sibylla stopped reading. What a pack of lies! The grieving widow couldn't hold back her tears. Is that so? Screw her.

  By now there was a new pile of printouts. She grabbed the lot.

  Anatomical knowledge is a common skill for slaughter killers.

  The police are baffled by the case of the 32-year-old woman, who has been charged in her absence for several murders in which the victims was butchered. A study of all 'butchery' murders carried out in Sweden since the 1960s shows that the murderer typically belongs to occupational groups such as doctors, veterinarians, hunters and butchers. According to Sten Bergman, professor of Forensic Psychiatry, this is a consequence partly of the fact that these professionals have overcome the fear of dissection felt by most people and partly because they have the technical skills.

  According to the police investigation of the 32-year-old woman's past, nothing in her background fits with these occupational statistics. Of course, more than just the mental and physical skills are required to turn a person into a potential killer of this kind. Above all, they often have a mental defect associated with low empathy and strong contempt for other people.

  Severe mental illness with delusions is another likely precondition. For instance, it seems that in some cases the murderer cannot bear to separate from his or her victim, something that seems to be the case with the 32-year-old woman. In this frame of mind, the perpetrator feels that he or she must have a trophy as a memento of the dead person or of the act of killing. Such personalities believe that they are in control of life and death.

  The woman's victims have been subjected to mutilations, which fit a pattern described as 'aggressive'. This is different from so-called passive butchery, carried out in order to conceal the nature of the crime or complicate later investigations. There is no evidence of this kind of precautionary approach in any of her murders. The woman's only intention has been to desecrate her victims. The police are still unwilling to disclose what she did or which body parts she had…

  She rose, throwing the papers on the floor, it's too much. I won't read any more.' She had raised her voice and Patrik turned to look at her. 'Hey, quiet!'

  She sat down again, listening to the machine spitting out many more sheets of print. People had written all that, thinking about her. Nobody had paid any attention to her before and now she was suddenly the most written-about person in Sweden.

  It was so fucking hateful.

  'Can't stay here. I'm off.'

  He turned her way again.

  'Oh, yeah? Like, to where?'

  She sighed.

  The click of a door opening was heard from somewhere in the flat. They looked anxiously at each other, listening intently. They could hear the rushing water when a tap was turned on. Sibylla rose, looking for places to hide.

  'Relax, he's probably just in the loo.'

  Patrik wasn't reassuring enough. The moment the tap stopped running she dived down under the bed, just in time before there was a knock on the door.

  'You in there, Patrik?'

  No reply. Sibylla saw his feet disappear and heard him lie down on the bed. The door opened and a pair of naked hairy legs walked in.

  'What, are you asleep?'

  'Kind of.'

  'It's past eleven o'clock, you know.'

  The machine on the desk made a humming noise, producing a belated printout. 'What's that?'

  The hairy legs stepped closer. The next second, Patrik's jeans-clad legs materialised right in front of her nose. He must have grabbed the paper.

  'Just some stuff.'

  'Stuff, eh? And why are you in bed with your clothes on?' I was up, really. I felt like lying down for a bit.' 'Aha. What are you printing?' I've been surfing a bit. Nothing special.' The silence lasted for a few unbearable seconds. 'Well, I'm going back to bed now. Are you at home today, or what?'

  'Maybe. I'm not sure.'

  'If you go out, please don't come back later than ten o'clock. And you must phone to say where you are.'

  She could hear Patrik sighing. The naked male legs walked towards the door and then stopped.

  'That's not your rucksack, is it?'

  Sibylla closed her eyes, while Patrik seemed to take an age replying. Christ, just say something. You've found it. Nicked it. Any bloody thing at all.

  'It's Viktor's.'

  That's a good one.

  'What's it doing here?'

  He forgot it in school and I promised to look after it.' Better still. The legs were walking again. 'See you later. Remember, you must tidy up in here before your Mum comes back.' ‘I will.'

  Then the door finally closed behind him and Patrik's smiling face was peering at her below the edge of the bed. 'Were you scared now?'

  She crawled out. She tried to brush the dust off her front while she hissed at him.

  'Can't you lock the door?'

  He was sitting on the bed studying the piece of paper he had hidden from his Dad. She looked over his shoulder. HUNTING A KILLER. He seemed thoughtful. 'I know what we've got to do.' She couldn't think what to say.

  'Think! The police are after you and nobody else. Question: who's to track down the real murderer?' No idea.

  'Don't you see? We'll have to do it. We've got to find the murderer.'

  At first she felt simply angry. So angry that she started towards the door, picking up her rucksack in the passing. She stopped with her hand reaching for the door-handle, suddenly uncertain. She didn't dare step outside yet.

  She put the rucksack down and sighed.

  'Patrik, don't be silly. This isn't some kind of exciting game.'

  'I know. It's just – well, do you have any better ideas?'

  She turned to face him, but he was picking up the papers she had thrown down. She went to help him and when the papers were stacked in order again, she sat down on the bed.

  'What chances do you think we've got?'

  He leaned forward, speaking in an eager whisper.

  'Sylla, listen. The police are looking for YOU. No one else. It gives us space. We know that there must be another person who's the killer.'

  'So what can we do? We've no information.'

  He leaned back
to be able to meet her eyes.

  'Please promise not to be angry.'

  'What? I mean, how can I promise?'

  He hesitated. By now she was truly curious about what it was that he thought might make her angry. 'Ah… my Mum's in the police.'

  She was transfixed. He met her eyes. When the true significance of what he had said dawned on her, her blood seemed to pump faster through her body and she rose.

  'I've got to get out of here. Check the hall, please.'

  'Cool it.'

  'NOW. Please, Patrik.'

  She had raised her voice to a dangerous pitch and he obeyed, sighing. After peering outside, he opened the door wide. She got hold of her rucksack and walked swiftly past him.

  'Please, Sylla. Please listen!'

  She was walking quickly, but he was only one step behind her. When she'd turned the corner and started down Folkunga Street, she hoped she'd lose him. Not one word more from Patrik. 'My Mum's in the police.' Fancy that. He had invited her straight into a hornets' nest. She stopped abruptly. He was unprepared and ran straight into her.

  'So what do you think would've happened if your Mum had come home unexpectedly. Fucking what, exactly?'

  The adrenaline was still rushing through her veins.

  'Come off it. She's on a course!'

  She looked at him, shaking her head. He was too young to understand. Maybe she wasn't fair on him.

  'Patrik, it's my life we're discussing here. Say she'd caught the 'flu or something and returned a day early or whatever. Anything. There I would've been, in her son's bedroom. Was that what you had in mind?'

  He took a few steps back. He looked angry.

  'Right. Fine. You don't trust me. Why don't you go and get pissed then? That's the best you can do, isn't it?'

  Suddenly her anger melted away. He was her only real friend and here she was, ditching him. It was a chilly day and he hadn't had time to fetch a jacket. He was wrapping his arms round his chest to keep warm.

  It seemed impossible to think of a way forward. It wasn't as if it hadn't been hard before, but now she felt responsible for this youngster as well. Of course there was no telling what he might do as soon as he got out of sight, but she had only herself to blame. She had dragged him into this mess. She sighed, really deeply this time.

  'Go home. Find yourself a thick jacket.'

  He looked suspicious.

  'Yeah? Why?'

  'Simple. You're feeling the cold.'

  'Aha. Don't you think I get your cunning plan? Like, when I come back you'll be gone.' 'Then what?' Their eyes met.

  He thought of something, pulled his wallet from his jeans and put in the pocket of her anorak. 'Look after it until I come back.'

  In seconds he had disappeared round the corner. That was a clever move. The kid was not stupid. He'd do well. She got hold of his wallet, weighing it in her hand.

  Then she closed her eyes and couldn't help smiling.

  He was still not entirely convinced that she would stay put. ‘I’ll be hanging about just outside, in Bjorn's Garden.' She realised how uncertain he felt. 'Promise, I'll be here.'

  She really meant it this time. He nodded and walked off to cross Got Street. She watched him until he'd disappeared out through the doors of the Citizen Place library.

  He had returned wearing his jacket. When he saw her, his face broke into a happy smile that would have enchanted any mad killer on the run. She smiled back, listening gravely as he outlined his plan.

  First, he would email the police, giving her an alibi for the night of the last murder. She baulked at that and urged him promise not to give away where they had been and – above all – not to reveal who he was. While she was saying all that, she found him looking at her with his how-fucking-stupid-do-you-think-I-am look on his face. Then he pointed out that if he had wanted to let them know who he was, all he needed to do was to mail from his home computer. He had planned to protect his identity by using the library terminal, of course.

  So she left him to it and went outside to wait for him in Bjorn's Garden. Citizen Place was full of Saturday afternoon strollers, but there were no familiar faces among the people on the seats round the central square. Thank God.

  He joined her barely ten minutes later.

  'What did you tell them?'

  'I told them that they'd find Sibylla Forsenström sitting on a seat in Citizen Place right now. But not to worry their heads about it 'cause she's innocent.'

  For just one fraction of a second, she believed him. Then she inhaled deeply.

  'Patrik. That wasn't even a little funny.'

  'I didn't think you'd laugh. What I actually said was that I wanted to remain anonymous, but I knew that you were not the killer. One hundred per cent certain.'

  A thought struck her.

  'So how can you be sure? I could've murdered the rest of them. All you know is that I wasn't out killing people last night.'

  'Bah. So you're super dangerous? Who do you think you're kidding?'

  She insisted.

  'Seriously, though. What if it's me?' He screwed up his eyes thoughtfully. 'And? Are you?'

  She waited for a fraction of a second, then she smiled and looked into his eyes.

  'No. But look, you're not entirely sure.'

  'Of course I am – it's just that you're going on and on about not trusting you.'

  He was a little irritated, but so was she. She had no intention of becoming an exciting fantasy figure for him to play games with for a while.

  'I simply don't want you to take things for granted.'

  He looked mostly bewildered now, clearly not seeing her point. Good, good. It meant that she was still in control, which was how she wanted it.

  They sat in silence side by side, thinking and watching the people walking past. No one paid any attention to the odd couple on the bench.

  Then two police cars came swooping along at top speed but using only their blue lamps to clear the traffic. The sirens were switched off. Both cars pulled up in front of the library and from each, two constables leapt out and rushed into the building.

  Time to go.

  Exchanging a glance, they got up and hurried down Tjarhov Street. Then they climbed the slope toward Mosebacke Square and still without speaking, settled down on one of the benches. The sun chose this moment to break through the solid grey cloud that for days had been in place over the city, like a lid. Sibylla leaned back and closed her eyes. Warmth and sunshine. There were countries with lots of it. She could go to one of them and no one would find her there. But no. She had not been allowed to go abroad with her parents when she was a child and now she had no chance of getting a passport.

  Then he broke the long silence.

  'How about I go to my Mum's job and check out her computer records?' Well, now.

  'You mustn't do anything of the sort.' 'No? I'm going to do it anyway.'

  I won't let you. You might get bogged down in all this shit and I don't want that.'

  I'm bogged down already.'

  He sounded rather sharp and what he said was true enough. Still, remembering her own polite teenage self, always anxious to please and as quiet as a clam, she hadn't realised quite how enterprising he would be. She preferred to think that she would never have told him her story if she had known. On the other hand, she could have been wrong. Maybe getting a taste of law-breaking is good for young people.

  'Is there any chance of you doing that without being discovered?'

  I turn up at the station and ask if she's in. When they tell me she's away, I ask to be allowed to wait in her room.' 'But you know she's on a course.' 'The receptionist doesn't know.'

  'What if she does?'

  He lost patience with her lack of enthusiasm. 'Christ, I don't know. I'll think of something.'

  He was far too nonchalant. Not so good.

  'What if they discover you fiddling with the computer?'

  'They won't.'

  'IF, I said.'

  He didn't answer, j
ust slapped his hands against his thighs and got up. 'Let's go.' 'Go where?'

  His face showed what he thought about having to explain everything twice.

  'My Mum's office, of course!'

  She stared at him. Either he was her guardian angel sent to save her, or a demon, who would give her the final shove into the abyss. There was no telling until later.

  'Would you mind if I don't tag along when you wheedle your way into police premises?'

  He grinned.

  'Where do we meet afterwards?'

  She hadn't heard him come. She'd been sitting on the quayside behind the City Hall, watching the hands moving round the clock-face on the Riddarholm Church. After one hour, she began thinking seriously of going away.

  She didn't. Half an hour later, a paper was suddenly dangled in front of her nose.

  He'd crept up behind her. When she turned she saw pride glowing in his eyes behind the wire-rimmed spectacles.

  She started reading. There was a list of individuals, two male and two female names. The first one was Jorgen Grundberg. The police believed that she had killed these four people.

  Patrik was leaning over her shoulder.

  '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.'