For the Missing

by Lina Bengtsdotter

  What rule?

  The one about all men being pigs. Mattias was forgiving and good, the only person who knew everything about her and still liked her. Maybe that was why Charlie started resenting him in earnest. She didn’t want this man who knew everything about Betty around. She didn’t want Mattias’s son to come and live with them. They would never be a normal family anyway, whatever Betty imagined. Because Mattias drank and wore weird clothes, and Betty … it was the same thing with Betty. Everything would just be doubly weird.

  A pothole yanked her back to the present.

  ‘You’ve passed it,’ she said. ‘You were supposed to take a left at the last intersection.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’ Anders asked.

  ‘Because my mind was elsewhere. Shouldn’t you have figured it out anyway? The church isn’t exactly invisible. Now you’re going to have to do a U-turn.’

  ‘The road isn’t wide enough.’

  ‘Sure it is. You just don’t know how to judge distance.’

  ‘Why don’t you just focus on where we’re going, okay?’

  They parked on the well-raked gravel path in front of the red vicarage and walked up the steps to the front door. When they knocked, a dog started barking inside.

  A woman with a little boy on her hip opened the door.

  ‘No, Kafka,’ she told the labrador who was jumping at Charlie. ‘He still thinks he’s a puppy,’ she apologised. ‘He doesn’t realise how big he is. Are you all right?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m a dog person.’ She bent down, scratched the dog behind the ears with both hands and explained to the woman why they were there.

  Vicar Hannes appeared behind his wife. He was dressed in his full vestments.

  ‘They’re here to talk about Annabelle,’ the wife said.

  ‘We called,’ Charlie offered.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t keep too close an eye on my mobile,’ Hannes said. ‘But, please, come in. Have some coffee.’

  Charlie looked around the large, rustic kitchen. By the window was an old oak table with a matching kitchen bench with a red-and-white checked cushion, and the walls were hung with textiles extolling the safe hearth of home and praising the Lord Almighty.

  ‘Left by the previous vicar,’ Hannes said. ‘Apparently, his wife loved embroidery.’

  A girl of about four entered the room with a toy car in each hand.

  ‘Would you mind taking the children upstairs, Louise?’ Hannes said.

  His wife nodded, called her daughter and disappeared.

  ‘I was just about to change,’ he continued. ‘These clothes don’t exactly breathe. I’ve been over in the church with a group of young people, praying for Annabelle. Everyone is very upset.’ He wiped sweat from his brow. ‘In these situations, we all feel … we feel powerless.’

  ‘Have you been in touch with the parents?’ Charlie said.

  ‘I’ve called but they don’t pick up.’

  ‘It might be good if you went over there. The mother isn’t doing well at all.’

  He nodded. Of course he would.

  ‘How long have you been with this congregation?’ Anders asked while Hannes got out blue and white coffee cups with matching saucers.

  ‘Just three years.’

  ‘You moved here?’

  ‘Yes, from Stockholm. We were tired of the big city. My wife wanted a garden, a safe place for the children to grow up. But I suppose we may as well accept there are no such places.’

  ‘How well do you know Annabelle?’ Charlie said.

  ‘I confirmed her and then she joined my Bible group. It’s a small group where everyone has got to know everyone else.’

  ‘Why do you think she was drawn to the church?’

  ‘I can only speculate. But it’s not unusual for young people with difficult home situations to be drawn to the church.’

  ‘Are you saying Annabelle’s home situation was difficult?’

  ‘I was speaking generally. But she certainly enjoyed the conversations we had during her confirmation course. I tried to set up a young people’s group afterwards, but everyone except Annabelle dropped out after a few meetings. That was when I suggested she join the adult Bible group. I figured she would only come once, since the other members are so much older. But Annabelle seemed to appreciate that. She is … different from her peers.’

  Charlie asked him to expand on that.

  ‘She just feels more mature and thoughtful. And when she speaks, people listen. I suppose you might say she’s … intelligent, simply put.’

  Charlie asked about the other members of the group.

  Hannes told them there were six in total, but when Charlie asked for their names, he added that he was sure no one in the group had anything to do with Annabelle’s disappearance.

  How could he be so sure, Anders wanted to know.

  ‘These are women in their seventies.’

  ‘Even if they aren’t suspects,’ Charlie said, ‘they might know something that could help move the investigation forward.’

  She pulled a notebook and pen from her bag and asked Hannes to write down the names of the members of the group.

  ‘Did you ever speak privately, you and Annabelle?’ she asked when Hannes pushed the notepad back over to her.

  ‘From time to time.’

  ‘Did anything out of the ordinary come to light during those conversations?’

  ‘I can’t discuss that.’

  ‘I think you comprehend how imperative it is that we are told about anything that can lead us to her.’

  ‘And I think you comprehend the meaning of absolute confidentiality. If you’ll excuse me’ – Hannes glanced at his watch – ‘I have a funeral tomorrow that I need to prepare for.’

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Charlie said. ‘Where were you the night between Friday and Saturday?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hannes said. ‘Are you implying that I …’

  ‘We ask everyone,’ Charlie said, ‘so there’s no need to be offended.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Hannes said. ‘Just surprised. But I was home all night.’

  ‘Was your family at home with you?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘No, they were in Stockholm, visiting relatives. I had an early Sunday service so I had to stay here.’

  ‘I told you so,’ Anders said when they were back in the car. ‘Did you really think a priest would tell us anything?’

  ‘I rather think he did,’ Charlie retorted.

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Sure, what with the home situation.’

  ‘He said that was generally speaking.’

  ‘Oh come on, of course it wasn’t general.’

  ‘Either way, it’s hardly news,’ Anders said. ‘We already knew about the mother, that she’s over-protective and …’

  ‘He drinks,’ Charlie said. ‘I think the vicar drinks.’

  ‘Based on what?’ Anders turned to her.

  Charlie didn’t know how to respond. It was his breath, of course, the unmistakable smell of alcohol when she shook his hand, but that didn’t have to mean he had a drinking problem. Was there something in his eyes? The slightly red nose with its burst blood vessels?

  ‘It was just a hunch,’ she said. ‘It was just a hunch I had.’

  ‘Does that make him suspicious in any way?’

  ‘No, but you know as well as I do what alcohol does to a person’s judgement.’

  ‘Not quite as well as you do,’ Anders said with a grin.

  ‘Regardless, I don’t like it that we can’t verify his alibi.’ Charlie pulled out the notepad and read the names Hannes had written down: Inez Gustavsson, Gunlis Andersson, Anna-Britt Estberger, Marit Höglund and Rita Oksanen. ‘Maybe Annabelle told the other people in the group something,’ she said. ‘Either way, someone has to talk to these women.’

  ‘Is that really a priority? It seems a bit far-fetched. Wouldn’t it make more sense to focus on the partygoers?’

  ‘It won’t hurt to
check in with these people, too.’ She called Micke and gave him the names of the women in the group. Could he dig up their phone numbers and have a short conversation with each of them?

  ‘I spoke to one of them just yesterday,’ Micke offered. ‘Gunlis Andersson. She’s my grandmother. And I can tell you this much right now; if she knew anything of significance, she would have told me a long time ago.’

  ‘Contact the other ones,’ Charlie said.

  There and then

  Rosa says that if there is one thing she’s always wished for, it’s a sister. She’s even prayed for God to give her one.

  ‘And what do you know,’ she says and strokes Alice’s cheek, ‘it’s almost enough to make you believe he exists after all.’

  ‘He doesn’t exist,’ Alice says.

  ‘We don’t know that,’ Rosa retorts with a gentle punch on the arm.

  Alice punches back.

  Rosa hits her again, a bit harder this time. Before long they are rolling around in the grass.

  ‘Do you yield?’ Rosa asks. She is straddling Alice’s waist and has locked her arms and hands with her knees.

  ‘I yield,’ Alice says and laughs.

  ‘Do you understand that I’m stronger than you?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’ll promise you one thing,’ Rosa says, leaning forward so her hair tickles Alice’s face, ‘if anyone ever hurts you, they’ll be punished. I’m serious, Alice, they’ll be punished.’

  Rosa’s not afraid of anything, not even the moped guys who drive up next to them, much too close. She spits after them and gives them the finger. Alice doesn’t understand how she dares. Once, one of them stops, pushes his black visor up and shouts at Rosa that she should be raped with a limp cock.

  ‘Both you and your whore of a mother should be raped with a limp cock,’ he shouts.

  Alice looks at Rosa, waiting for the explosion.

  But instead of lunging at him or kicking his moped, Rosa bursts out laughing.

  What kind of threat is that? Is that supposed to scare her, or what?

  ‘So lame,’ Rosa says as they walk away, ‘like I’d be scared of something like that.’

  Alice nods even though she barely understands what was said.

  ‘You can’t fuck a person with a limp cock.’ Rosa punches her in the side. ‘Even toddlers know that.’

  17

  ‘I’m driving down to the newsstand,’ Charlie said when they reached the motel. ‘Need cigarettes.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell me to go that way?’ Anders asked.

  ‘Because I forgot.’

  A small group of young people were hanging out by the newsstand. Was it the same ones that had been there before? Charlie stopped. When she climbed out of the car, she noticed one of the boys pushing one of the girls around. She went over.

  ‘Everyone good here?’ she said.

  The teenagers looked at her in silence.

  ‘I asked if everyone’s good here?’ she said again and fixed her gaze on the boy who had done the pushing.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ another, bigger lad said.

  Charlie brandished her badge.

  ‘We were just goofing around,’ said the one who had done the pushing. ‘Don’t the police have better things to do right now than worrying about a harmless gag?’

  ‘Did you think it was funny?’ Charlie turned to the girl. Only now did she realise it was Sara, one of the girls who had stayed at Vall’s until the small hours the night Annabelle went missing.

  Sara shrugged. She was drunk, Charlie realised. Thirteen years old and drunk before dinner on a school night.

  ‘Come on, I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Leave her alone,’ said the one who had pushed her. ‘She’s better off with us.’

  ‘She’s going home,’ Charlie said.

  Sara shrugged and followed her without protest.

  ‘You’re Sara, right?’ Charlie said once they were in the car.

  ‘How did you know that?’ Sara asked.

  ‘You were there, at the party, the night Annabelle disappeared.’

  ‘Yeah, but I already talked to the police about it. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t notice anything strange.’

  ‘No one noticed anything strange, but something strange happened.’

  Sara’s phone rang. She rummaged around her bag for a while, but gave up when she was unable to find it.

  ‘Where do you live?’ Charlie asked.

  Sara gave her an address Charlie knew.

  ‘Will your parents be angry?’

  ‘Parent,’ Sara said and hiccuped. ‘And no, he won’t be angry. I don’t even think he’s realised I’m not there. Alcoholic,’ she explained. ‘The only thing he ever tells me is that I can’t get into cars with strangers.’ She started laughing. ‘I hope he meant strange men.’

  Sara’s house was made of brown brick; an advent candle holder twinkled in the window. Charlie couldn’t help remembering the Christmas curtains they’d had in the windows their last year in Lyckebo.

  ‘Do you want me to go in with you?’ she said.

  ‘No need,’ Sara replied. ‘I’ll go by myself.’

  And yet she stayed in her seat, not even unbuckling her seatbelt.

  ‘Good song,’ she said with a nod to the radio where Alphaville’s ‘Forever Young’ was playing. ‘But the lyrics are proper sad.’

  Charlie agreed. They were sad.

  Or even horrible, Sara felt. Because who wanted to be young forever? She couldn’t imagine anything worse. Grown-ups who claimed to want to relive their youth must have forgotten what it was like or were just fucking stupid. She started laughing again. Charlie laughed too and told her she agreed, that she was one of the people who hadn’t forgotten. She couldn’t think of anything worse than being forever young.

  ‘In a way, I kind of wish I was her,’ Sara said and put a hand on the door handle.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Annabelle.’

  ‘How come?’ Charlie fixed her tensely.

  ‘Because at least she got away from here; wherever she is now, at least it’s somewhere else.’

  ‘Do you know her well?’

  Sara shook her head. Annabelle wasn’t the type to hang out with younger girls.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?’

  ‘Dead sure,’ Sara said.

  ‘Maybe you could take my card?’ Charlie searched her bag and pulled out a business card.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I just figured you might need it. If you think of anything else about that night, anything at all, or … if there’s anything else.’

  ‘Okay.’ Sara took the card, turned it over for a minute before climbing out of the car and starting to walk towards the house.

  Charlie watched her staggering progress in the rear-view mirror, her skinny legs in those short shorts. For a few seconds, Charlie felt as though she was her, on her way towards bedlam. She wanted to open the door and shout that everything would be okay, that things would turn out all right in the end, but who was she to make that kind of promise? Social services, she thought, on her way back to the motel. I’m going to call social services about this. But it would probably make very little difference. At least not if their methods were unchanged from when she had needed them. Everything is the same here after all, Charlie thought to herself. Nothing has really changed.

  18

  Fredrik took a big swig of whisky. He thought about the unpleasant questions the police had asked. Had they ever used violence against their daughter? Had he really answered that question truthfully? At times, the rows between Nora and Annabelle had got out of hand. He had been forced to step in and separate them so they wouldn’t hurt each other. Had he been wrong not to tell the detectives? No, he decided. It would only lead them down the wrong path. But the two of them had fought the day she went missing. At least he had told the police that. He went over the previous Friday in his mind, yet again. Nora had had d
inner ready when he came home from work. She had seemed upset, he remembered that; upset and distracted. Annabelle had left before dinner. He had asked if they had fought, she and Annabelle. Nora had replied that they had had a disagreement about Annabelle’s curfew after she noticed her dress was missing. It was nothing serious.

  Fredrik took another swig. What did he really know about his wife?

  She had no family, she had told him, when he had finally managed to persuade her to go out for a coffee with him so many years ago now; only a foster family in Mariestad that she wanted nothing to do with.

  How come?

  Not a subject she wanted to discuss.

  And how did she end up in Gullspång?

  It was the rents, the cheap rental flats. He had laughed and said it was the same for him. He had tried to learn more about her, but she hadn’t wanted to answer any more questions. She said she was the kind of person who looked to the future, not the past.

  When Fredrik proposed, just a year later, he still didn’t know much more about her background than what he had been told during that first date. Back then, it hadn’t bothered him. But later on, he realised that whatever Nora liked to believe, it was in fact impossible to suppress such a large part of one’s life. Her nightmares woke him up at night, her flailing fists in his face, her screams. Then, when he asked her about the dreams, she said she couldn’t remember. When Fredrik told her about the hitting, the screaming, she just shrugged and told him she had been like that ever since she was a little girl. She had always been a child with very vivid dreams.

  Fredrik thought about Nora’s elation the day they moved into the house. Everything was crooked and askew, but it was as though she didn’t see it.