For the Missing

by Lina Bengtsdotter

  Reason sits firm and holds the reins, and she will not let the feelings burst away and hurry her to wild chasms.

  Too late, she thought. Her emotions had already hurried her to ruin. She was on her way towards the wild chasm. But tonight, she was going to try to take her mind off it. She regretted promising to tell Rebecka everything, because all she wanted to do now was forget.

  She was almost home when she realised she had to get booze. Rebecka would pitch a fit if she turned up empty-handed tonight. She briefly considered calling Svante and apologising. He would come right over and she wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of sorting it out some other way. She stopped, pulled out her phone, found Svante’s number, but put her phone away again. Not worth it, she thought.

  She turned around and started walking back towards town. She had no money, but she’d find a way. She thought about the fact that this would be her first time at Vall’s since she was there with Him. She regretted taking him there, now that place would be associated with their history too. Why hadn’t they just stuck with meeting up outdoors? But he felt it was too risky. It was only a matter of time before they were caught. After that time at his house, he had become more cautious. The last few times, he had picked her up in his car. He had driven far from town, down winding forest roads, then he had turned the engine off and pushed his seat back. But then one day, she had taken him to the village shop. It was a weekday afternoon and she was almost sure they wouldn’t be interrupted. He had never been there before.

  When she opened the door, he had hesitated. It didn’t feel right, he said, to just walk into someone’s house. Annabelle had had to explain to him again that Vall’s didn’t have an owner, that no one would press charges if they went inside.

  In the hallway by the stairs, he stopped and read the writings on the wall. He wanted to write something beautiful, he said. As a sort of counterweight to all the swastikas and four-letter words.

  She handed him a pen from her purse. Write something, she said. Write me a poem.

  He took the pen and started writing. When he was done, he let her read it. Did she like it?

  Annabelle had said she didn’t, because she knew how the poem ended. She didn’t like tragic endings.

  28

  They had gathered for another meeting at the station. It was a slightly crestfallen group sitting in front of Charlie. They went through the new information about the unknown man, the potential lover. Identifying him, Charlie said, was pivotal. She wanted a list of all the men Annabelle might have come into contact with, in any context. They needed to talk to friends of the family, friends’ fathers, teachers … everyone. If only to write them off. Micke interrupted her to say they’d already done all of that. They had talked to almost everyone in Annabelle’s life, as she was well aware. Charlie said they had to cast a wider net while also digging deeper in terms of the nearest and dearest at the same time. And all alibis had to be double-checked. She didn’t know how to continue without revealing something about herself or offending somebody. It was only a second or two before Micke countered.

  ‘So you’re saying the alibis here are less reliable than in other places?’

  ‘I’m saying this is a small place, that a lot of people have strong ties to one another.’

  Charlie couldn’t keep from rolling her eyes at Anders before carrying on.

  ‘Don’t forget to check if anyone has an extra pay-as-you-go mobile. Have you talked to Rebecka again?’

  ‘We weren’t able to reach her earlier, but I’m calling her again now,’ Adnan said.

  ‘Great, and tell her it’s important, that the usual rules about secrets are not in play here.’

  ‘Charlie,’ Micke put in. ‘He gets it. We’re not completely incompetent down here.’

  ‘And ask her if she recognises this handwriting,’ Charlie pressed on, ignoring Micke’s comment. She held up her phone and showed them the poem before forwarding the picture to Adnan.

  Micke asked what it was and Charlie told them she’d found it on a wall in the village shop.

  ‘I thought that was the technicians’ job,’ Micke said.

  ‘I guess they let themselves down this time.’

  ‘And what are you going to do now?’

  ‘Anders and I are going to go see the parents.’

  ‘Do you think that’s such a good idea?’ Olof said. ‘I mean, Nora’s very upset … I’m not sure I would go over there given the circumstances.’

  ‘Our visit yesterday was cut short. There’s something in that family that feels … I can’t quite put my finger on it. And I also want to have a look at Annabelle’s room.’

  ‘We’ve been over it,’ Olof said. ‘There was no diary or any other clues to what might have happened.’

  ‘I know, but I would still like to see it for myself,’ Charlie said. ‘Anders and I will stop by and then we’ll head over to the school to talk to her teachers. Micke, call the headteacher and let them know we’re coming.’

  Fredrik Roos received them dressed in the same clothes he had worn the day before. Charlie quickly informed him they had no news, but that they wanted to take a look at Annabelle’s room and have a little chat.

  Fredrik didn’t offer them coffee this time. He just showed them into the kitchen and asked them what they wanted to know.

  ‘We were wondering about Nora and Annabelle’s relationship. About Nora being a little … over-protective of Annabelle. Why do you think that is?’

  Fredrik looked at them and said he didn’t know. His wife had just always been like that, he had told them as much, so where were they going with this?

  ‘I guess we just want to know if there was a particular reason, if Nora has reason to think someone is out to hurt Annabelle.’

  ‘No,’ Fredrik said. ‘She would have told me. I suppose some people are just worrygutses.’

  ‘Then let’s drop it,’ Charlie said and stood up. ‘Would it be okay if we looked around her room briefly?’

  Fredrik asked them to keep it down if they really had to go in there, because Nora was resting in the bedroom across the hall.

  On their way upstairs, they ran into Hannes. He was dressed in jeans, a shirt and a clerical collar.

  ‘She’s asleep,’ he said, nodding upstairs. ‘I’ve been sitting with her for a while and was just heading down for a cup of coffee. I want to be there when she wakes up, but it would be better to let her sleep for a while now.’

  ‘We’ll be quiet,’ Charlie said.

  Annabelle’s room was pink, as though it belonged to a much younger girl. The bed had a white canopy and dolls and teddy bears lined up on it, nestled between lace cushions. Along the other wall was a desk and above it a noticeboard with photographs. Charlie leaned forward for a closer look. Annabelle on horseback, squinting at the sun, Annabelle smiling with a big gap from a lost tooth, Fredrik with a chubby, ice-cream-eating little Annabelle on a beach. And then the more recent photos, a beautiful, strawberry-blonde girl with her arms around friends who were almost as beautiful.

  Charlie moved on to the bookcase and read the backs of the books: The Hunger Games, The Circle, Alice in Wonderland. And on the higher shelves: To Kill a Mockingbird, Crime and Punishment, The Stranger. This, Charlie thought, really is a girl who likes to read.

  ‘Doesn’t it strike you as strange,’ she said, ‘that a person who reads so much doesn’t seem to write?’

  The two don’t necessarily go hand in hand, Anders replied.

  ‘But usually they do.’

  ‘Maybe she has a good hiding place. Or maybe she just writes notes on her phone.’

  Charlie opened the closet door. The necklaces hanging on a hook on the back of it rattled.

  ‘She seems to have a fairly bold fashion sense,’ Anders said when he saw dresses in every pattern and colour. Charlie said nothing. She just pulled the dresses aside, one after the other. She wouldn’t have called Annabelle’s taste bold, more like … original.

  Anders looked through t
he desk drawers. There was nothing unusual in them, pens, erasers, a notebook full of quadratic equations. Her bedside table held a box of ibuprofen and a pack of gum. Charlie knelt down on the floor, lifted the valance and had a look. Nothing.

  Fredrik suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was carrying a number of books.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he said. ‘Finding anything of interest?’

  ‘I suppose we’re mostly interested in forming an accurate impression of who Annabelle is,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Could you do me a favour?’

  ‘Yes,’ Charlie said.

  ‘I was just wondering … if you could return these?’ Fredrik stepped inside and put the books down on the desk. ‘Nora and I can’t face going into town.’

  ‘I’m sure the librarian won’t mind them being returned late,’ Anders said.

  ‘We’ll return them,’ Charlie broke in. ‘No problem. We’re staying at the motel anyway, so the library’s right there.’

  ‘I was thinking about the book club as well,’ Fredrik said. ‘I believe Annabelle was talking about starting a book club in school, but I don’t know if it actually happened. It might not have been easy to get people to sign up.’

  ‘We can ask the people at the school if they know anything about it,’ Charlie said. She picked up the books on her way out of the room.

  They walked past the door to Nora’s room, which was standing ajar. Nora was crying inside.

  ‘My little girl,’ she said, sobbing, ‘my darling little girl.’

  Then Hannes’s voice: ‘A lot of people are praying for her, Nora. Your daughter is … she’s a very special girl.’

  ‘Get me more water,’ Nora said. ‘I need more water and something to help me sleep. I don’t want to be awake any more.’

  Hannes came out onto the landing just as they were about to walk downstairs.

  ‘How is she?’ Charlie asked. ‘How is she holding up?’

  ‘Poorly,’ Hannes replied, ‘very, very poorly.’ He turned to Fredrik. ‘She wants more pills.’

  ‘They’re on the kitchen counter, I’ll show you.’

  ‘Could I use the loo?’ Charlie said. Fredrik nodded and pointed to a door on the other side of the hallway.

  ‘It’s that one.’

  When the others had disappeared downstairs, Charlie went straight into Nora’s room. Nora was slumped in her bed, her face red from crying and her hair dishevelled. She barely reacted when Charlie entered.

  ‘Nora,’ Charlie said, ‘I need to talk to you.’ She went over to the bed. ‘I was just wondering if you know something about Annabelle that you’re not telling us?’

  Nora shook her head.

  ‘I’ve been told you’ve been fairly … concerned about her. Is that for any particular reason?’

  No reply. Charlie was just about to reformulate her question when Nora cleared her throat.

  ‘The world is evil.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that’s the reason. I wanted to protect her.’

  ‘Are you thinking about anyone in particular? Has anyone threatened you?’

  Nora shook her head. The world was just evil. The world and the people in it. That was all.

  ‘What did Nora say?’ Anders said when they were back in the car. ‘I’m assuming you didn’t actually need the bathroom.’

  ‘She said the world is evil, and the people in it too, and that was why she wanted to protect her daughter.’

  ‘Did she have any particular evil in mind?’

  ‘Not as far as I could wheedle out of her anyway. She’s not the easiest person to talk to.’

  ‘It’s good you tried, at least.’

  ‘What do you think of the priest?’ Charlie said. ‘Could he be the lover?’

  ‘The priest?’ Anders turned to her.

  ‘Well, he’s not just a priest,’ Charlie said. ‘He’s a person as well.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he have a lot to lose?’ Anders said.

  ‘That’s what I mean. I get the feeling he knows more than he’s told us. We need to talk to him again.’

  29

  Gullspång Central School was a large orange brick building with strange annexes and portable classrooms. The upper secondary school was at the far end of the parking lot. Charlie never made it that far. She hadn’t even had time to graduate from the secondary school housed in the larger building. School. She had been the kind of unusual child who loved it. It had started with a teacher with a warm lap and a gentle voice, continued with another who encouraged her to read and let her use a maths book for the higher classes. It didn’t matter that Betty forgot to go to the parent-teacher conferences and parent meetings, that she never bothered to help Charlie with her homework, because Charlie did well regardless. High achiever, that’s what a teacher had called her in year eight. The only one who can stop you is you, she had added. That wasn’t true, Charlie reflected now; plenty of factors were categorically beyond her control. She thought about Betty and Mattias, who would routinely keep her up on school nights. If it wasn’t Betty clinking on the piano, it was Mattias with his guitar. Play something for me, darling. You’re the first person I’ve ever met with perfect pitch.

  The smell of fossils, stones and books washed over her when she opened the heavy double doors to the upper secondary school. Classes were over for the day and the corridors were silent and deserted.

  The headteacher received them in her office. She told them how shocked all the pupils in the school were. In tiny Gullspång they just weren’t used to things like this happening. Children who disappeared were always found and everyone … well, everyone knew everyone else and …

  ‘Do you have anything to tell us about Annabelle?’ Anders said.

  ‘I’ve already told the police,’ the headteacher said, ‘that Annabelle is our most promising student. True, she has skipped some classes and been late several times recently, but other than that, there’s not a lot to say.’

  ‘The lateness and absences,’ Charlie said, ‘is that new?’

  ‘I think so, but I could check the records further back if you want.’

  ‘We could do with a list of her teachers as well,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Sure,’ the headteacher turned on her computer and sighed about the slowness of the school’s intranet. ‘All the teachers are listed as abbreviations, so I’ll write them out for you.’

  She turned around and pulled a paper from the printer. Then she picked up a pen and started to write. Charlie asked her to note down their ages as well. The headteacher looked up and said she would have to check their contracts to make sure she got it right.

  ‘Then please do,’ Charlie said. ‘Annabelle’s father talked about a book club she wanted to start. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘No,’ the headteacher said. ‘But check with the librarian. He might know. The library is at the end of the corridor. I think he’s still there. Unless the printer gives me trouble I’ll be by with the list shortly.’

  As they walked towards the library, Anders had a text message and Charlie realised she’d forgotten that his son was ill.

  ‘Was that Maria?’ she said. ‘Is the baby okay?’

  Anders nodded.

  There was no sign of the librarian in the library. Charlie walked over to the counter and rang the little bell. A man came out of an adjoining room with a stack of papers under his arm.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

  Charlie looked at his tight, light blue shirt. He looked nothing like what she had expected. To her, a school librarian was a middle-aged woman in colourful clothes with big pockets; if it was a man, it was supposed to be a slender little thing with glasses and tiny hands. But this librarian was a good-sized man of about thirty-five. His handshake was firm and self-assured when he introduced himself as Isak Sander.

  ‘Could we speak to you for a minute?’ Charlie said.

  ‘Sure,’ Isak said. ‘Why don’t we use the back office. There are several chairs in t
here.’

  He showed them into a room behind the lending counter. On his desk was a framed photograph of four blond, happily smiling boys. So this is him, Charlie thought to herself. This is Susanne’s absent husband. She’d had the feeling he worked in some kind of office, but he was apparently in fact a librarian.

  ‘I’m not sure what I can do for you,’ Isak said. ‘But I certainly hope you find her soon. This … disappearance has stirred up the whole area.’

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

  ‘Know? She’s a student at the school, one of my most frequent borrowers, but I wouldn’t say I know her. We’ve talked a bit about books for the book club she started.’

  ‘So she did start a book club?’ Charlie said.

  ‘Yes,’ Isak replied.

  ‘Do you know who was in it?’

  ‘Rebecka Gahm,’ Isak said. ‘Rebecka, William Stark and a few girls from the senior class, and sometimes he came to, the one who works at the motel, Jonas.’

  ‘Jonas Landell.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t that his name?’

  ‘So the book club wasn’t just for students at the school?’

  ‘No,’ Isak said. ‘I can see no reason to exclude somebody who wants to join in and read books simply because he’s a few years older than his friends.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Charlie said. ‘It just strikes me as a bit unusual that a young man who has finished school joins a book club there.’

  ‘Young men with an interest in literature do exist,’ Isak said and smiled.

  Sure, Charlie thought. But they would more likely be interested in the girls in the book club.

  The bell on the lending counter dinged. It was the headteacher. Isak asked her to join them.

  ‘Here’s a list with names and personal identity numbers,’ she said. ‘Not just teachers, but all the school staff. Yes, you’re on it too, Isak.’ She smiled. ‘You and the janitors, cleaners, well, everyone. The ones I circled are the ones who taught Annabelle,’ she clarified as she handed the papers to Charlie. ‘And about her absences. There was a slight uptick during the past five weeks, but it’s not unusual for a lot of our students to feel a certain amount of school fatigue in the spring term.’