For the Missing

by Lina Bengtsdotter

  When she went to rinse off, her phone rang. It was Susanne, who between sobs and curses managed to relay that the police had come to pick up Isak. No, they hadn’t forced him to go with them, they had just turned up saying they wanted to talk to him in private and then they’d left.

  ‘Where are the children?’ was the only thing Charlie could think of to say.

  ‘My mum picked them up. I can’t even take care of myself right now.’

  ‘I’m coming over,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m leaving right now.’

  ‘Isak’s a fucking arsehole,’ Susanne said. She was sitting on the sofa, drinking some weird greenish concoction. The dachshund was lying next to her, shooting its owner anxious glances whenever her voice turned shrill. ‘But you should know, Charlie, that even though right now I’m hoping he’ll rot in some dungeon, he’s not the type to kidnap a young girl. I hope you know that.’

  Charlie nodded, even though she didn’t really know. How was she supposed to know that? She didn’t know Isak; and when people were in a bind, when they felt threatened, the most unpleasant personality changes could occur.

  ‘Did you know?’ she said. ‘Did you know they were seeing each other?’

  Susanne nodded. She had known.

  And why hadn’t she told the police?

  Yeah, right, why hadn’t she? Maybe because she hadn’t wanted the boys’ father, their whole family, dragged through the mud in front of the whole bloody town.

  ‘But Annabelle’s missing,’ Charlie said. She wanted to add something about how the Susanne she’d known once would never have kept that kind of information to herself, but Susanne was upset enough as it was.

  ‘I suppose I believed him when he said he had nothing to do with her disappearance.’

  ‘Was Isak home that night?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘Think?’

  ‘I’d taken two Imovane,’ Susanne said. ‘Two Imovane and painkillers. How the fuck am I supposed to know if he was home?’

  ‘So he could have gone out?’

  ‘Theoretically, yes.’

  ‘And practically?’

  ‘Yes, theoretically and practically, but he didn’t do anything to her.’

  ‘Have you told the police everything you know now?’

  Susanne nodded. She had told them everything she knew. But she was sure, dead certain, that Isak hadn’t done anything to Annabelle.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Charlie said, ‘you think you know a person, but then … people aren’t always what you think they are.’

  ‘Like I don’t know that,’ Susanne said and downed the last of what was in her glass. ‘But Isak … Isak wouldn’t … My God, if he were the violent type, he’d have smacked one of the boys a long time ago. You don’t understand how their screaming and fighting have messed with our heads. Isak can’t keep it in his trousers; he’s a liar and deep in some kind of life crisis, but you have to believe me when I tell you he’s not capable of hurting anyone, at least not physically.’

  For a while, neither one of them spoke. Susanne handed her the bottle. When Charlie shook her head, she heaved a sigh, topped herself up and took three deep gulps.

  Charlie steeled herself and asked the unpleasant question.

  ‘Did you see Annabelle?’

  ‘Like I’ve told you, she comes to the motel sometimes.’

  ‘But that night? Did you see Annabelle that night?’

  ‘What night?’

  ‘The night she disappeared, obviously.’

  ‘No,’ Susanne said. ‘I didn’t see her that night. But I saw her earlier. I saw her earlier that evening.’

  That evening

  Rebecka disappeared down the road in front of her. Annabelle pondered going home. What was the point of going to a party where almost everyone was pissed off at her, even Jonas? He’d told her he’d seen her with someone out on Gold Island, asked her who it was. She had obviously denied being there. Jonas had been annoyed and said that the next time she wanted a ride anywhere, she should ask someone else. He was fed up.

  Annabelle’s thoughts moved on to William. He was at least as disappointed in her as Jonas. And Becka, she was probably just going to disappear off somewhere with William all night. She’d probably get stuck with Svante Linder and if anyone could put her in a foul mood, it was him. So why even go?

  But what was she going to do at home?

  The only thing she really wanted to do was see Him. What would happen if she went over to his house and knocked on the door? But no, she didn’t have to make things worse than they already were. Besides, she didn’t know what his wife might be capable of. What she had said earlier, by the meadow … it didn’t feel like empty threats.

  A girl from the secondary school was smoking a joint on the front steps of the village shop.

  ‘You should go home,’ Annabelle said. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

  The girl laughed and said it was none of her fucking business. If this was such a bad place, what was she doing here herself?

  ‘I’m older,’ Annabelle said.

  ‘A couple of years doesn’t make a lot of difference, Bella.’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I know your name? Doesn’t everyone know everyone’s name around here?’

  ‘Not everyone,’ Annabelle replied, because she couldn’t remember this girl’s name, even though she’d seen her before.

  ‘I’m Sara. I’m just here because … I want to see Svante.’

  ‘He doesn’t sell to little kids.’

  ‘He usually gives it to me for free.’ Sara glared at her defiantly.

  Annabelle opened her mouth to say that Svante never gave anything away for free, but then she reckoned there was no point.

  ‘Go home,’ she said, ‘and don’t get mixed up with Svante.’

  The hallway was full of shoes. It was funny, Annabelle mused, that the people who graffitied on the walls, carved notches in the furniture and threw up all over the house still respectfully took their shoes off before entering. She felt she needed more to drink. She would need a lot more to make this a good party.

  As she walked up the stairs, she realised Svante Linder had already arrived, because the weird music pumping through the house had to be his choice.

  47

  Coming back from Susanne’s, Charlie went straight down to the lake. She didn’t have a swimming costume, but what did it matter, she thought to herself as she took off her clothes and got in.

  She hadn’t swum in Lake Skagen since Mattias disappeared, because she had always had a feeling his bloated corpse would surface right next to her, but now … now she knew better. She reckoned a swim might help her gather her thoughts together and calm down.

  The water was just the right temperature. She waded out a bit and then started swimming. Maybe she should have stayed with Susanne for longer, but it was hard for her. She had sat there for hours, listening to the story about the message from Annabelle on Isak’s phone, the panic Susanne had felt seeing the positive pregnancy test. She had been so fucking pissed off, she’d stamped on the phone and broken it. And then, how she’d got in her car to drive over to Annabelle’s house to talk to her. She’d almost run her over on the gravel road by her house, had stopped and shouted atrocious things. She’d regretted it afterwards. It wasn’t that poor girl she was angry with, after all, it was Isak. She’d confronted him that evening and then all hell had broken loose. She’d asked Isak to go to hell, bellowed at him that they were over, that he had to get out of their house. But then the boys had woken up and been beside themselves, so he’d stayed. She’d taken a couple of sleeping pills and gone to bed.

  And then, when it turned out Annabelle was missing, well, then she no longer had the strength to throw him out.

  Susanne had sworn that was the whole story. She had sworn on her father’s grave that she had been home all night.

  Was she telling the truth? Charlie’s gut said she was, but in this case,
gut instinct wasn’t enough. She had felt obliged to call Anders again.

  When she turned around to swim back to shore, she noticed someone sitting on the sand, not far from her pile of clothes. When she got closer, she realised it was a man in shorts and a T-shirt. She figured she would swim back and forth for a while until he left. The water no longer felt cooling, just cold. She was cold. Ten minutes later, she realised the man wasn’t going to leave, that maybe he was in fact amused by the whole situation.

  ‘Are you looking for me?’ she called out. She had come in far enough to reach the bottom, but her whole body was still submerged.

  ‘I just wanted a quick chat.’

  Only then did she realise it was Johan, the journalist bastard.

  ‘Get out of here!’ she shouted.

  ‘It’s not your private beach, is it?’ he shouted back.

  ‘I would prefer to get dressed in private.’

  ‘I can turn around.’ Johan got up and walked towards the edge of the trees.

  Charlie quickly walked up onto the beach and pulled her dress on over her wet skin. She just had time to put her shoes on before Johan was back.

  ‘I didn’t peep,’ he said and smiled, ‘so there’s no reason to look so angry.’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Charlie said. ‘What do you want from me? Don’t you understand what you’ve done?’

  ‘What do you mean, done?’

  ‘You got me suspended from work. Don’t you think I know what you were after? I’m perfectly aware you just wanted the inside scoop on the case.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Johan said.

  ‘I mean exactly what I say. What you wrote about in your bloody paper, the video, after being with me. What did you think my colleague was going to think?’

  ‘How was I supposed to know you’d tell your colleague about us?’

  ‘He saw us. And the next day, it’s in the paper that the police has secret evidence. How could you possibly think that wouldn’t have consequences for me?’

  ‘What I wrote,’ Johan said, ‘I got from a different source, and how was I to know that was your colleague peeping out of his room when we were on our way to yours?’

  ‘Who’s your source?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Of course.’ Charlie rolled her eyes. ‘What are you people like? Are all journalists completely unethical? How can you care more about your source than … I don’t understand your kind.’

  ‘My source might be one of your people,’ Johan said, ‘so don’t get on some kind of ethical high horse.’

  ‘Tell me who it is.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Then maybe you should leave now. I’ve nothing more to say to you.’

  ‘Other people’s lies seem to really upset you,’ Johan said, ‘but you don’t seem to have any scruples about lying yourself. Isn’t that slightly … contradictory?’

  ‘You should’ve told me you’re a journalist,’ Charlie said, ignoring his question. ‘Why did you lie about it?’

  ‘Well, why do you think? Would you have gone upstairs with me if I’d been honest?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There’s your answer. And you, why didn’t you tell me you were a police detective?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’ Charlie started walking back towards the house.

  Johan followed her up the trail. She turned around and asked what he was doing. And how had he known where to find her anyway?

  ‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ Johan said, ‘but I doubt you’ll believe me.’

  ‘I probably won’t.’

  ‘I wanted to see you again, but the guy at the motel said you’d checked out, so I asked around a bit about where you might have gone, and I found you here.’

  ‘More lies,’ Charlie said. ‘Only two people know I’m here, and I hardly think they’ve talked to you about it.’

  ‘More than two, apparently. I actually was told you might be here.’

  ‘By whom?’ Charlie turned around.

  ‘Maybe someone who knows who you are.’

  Charlie suddenly felt uneasy. Who was this unrelenting person? What did he want from her? Should she maybe run? She was fast and knew this forest like the back of her hand. That would give her a head start, but would she really be able to make it to the house and lock the door behind her before Johan caught up (if he actually decided to give chase)? She thought about the time Betty had come home with a big wolf-like dog she’d promised to look after for some friend. Don’t let him sense your fear, sweetheart, that will just provoke his hunting instinct.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Charlie said. ‘Don’t come any closer. I’m serious, back up.’

  ‘My dad,’ Johan said and took a step back. ‘My dad lived here when I was little. It was in the house up there, Lyckebo.’

  Charlie suddenly felt panic fill her chest. Her head crackled. She saw the lake, the black depths, felt that helplessness all over again, the shame.

  ‘When?’ she said, trying to control her breathing.

  ‘Twenty years ago. His name was Mattias,’ Johan said. ‘Mattias Andersson.’

  There and then

  John-John is sitting in the sandbox outside the supermarket. No sign of stupid-head. From the bushes, Rosa whispers for him to come to them.

  ‘Check out how easy this is going to be.’

  She calls John-John, but John-John doesn’t want to come.

  ‘We have lollipops,’ Rosa says. ‘Come over here and I’ll give you one.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Alice asks when John-John toddles over.

  Rosa doesn’t respond. She just takes John-John by the hand and Alice takes his other one, then they run away so fast John-John’s feet barely touch the ground.

  They only just make it out of the town centre before he starts crying for his mummy. He’s already forgotten about the lollipops.

  All he wants is his mummy. Mummy, Mummy, Mummy. He trips. Rosa drags him by the arm. She doesn’t like cry-babies, she says. If there’s one thing she hates, it’s cry-babies.

  ‘He lost his shoe,’ Alice says. ‘He lost his shoe.’

  ‘Who gives a shit about his shoe,’ Rosa says.

  They walk along the railway tracks, John-John dangling between them. Then they meet a lady carrying a bouquet of flowers.

  ‘Is he sad?’ she asks and looks at the snot-covered toddler between them.

  John-John has wet himself, his wrists are red because they’ve held them so tight.

  ‘Mummy!’ he screams. And the woman tilts her head and asks again if they need help with anything.

  Rosa tells her they’re fine, that they’re bringing their little brother home to their mum.

  ‘He’s run away,’ she explains. ‘He’s a runner.’

  As they walk on, Alice can feel the woman’s eyes on her back. She wants to turn around and shout that they do need help, that someone has to take this child from them before something terrible happens.

  48

  Charlie tried to shake Johan off, but he stubbornly followed her up the path to the house. He’d come to Gullspång to write about the case, but he’d planned to do some research as well. After all, Annabelle wasn’t the first person in town to disappear. His dad had never been found either. He’d wanted to come many times before, but it had just never happened.

  Charlie asked if he really hadn’t known who she was that night, and Johan swore he hadn’t. He’d seen her, found her attractive. It was all just a strange coincidence.

  ‘Johan,’ Charlie said. They had reached the house and she was not under any circumstances going to ask him inside. ‘I believe you and all of that, but I just want to be alone now.’

  ‘Charline,’ Johan said. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth from the beginning, about me being a journalist.’

  ‘Me too.’ Charlie put a hand on the door handle. ‘You take care.’

  Johan stayed where he was.

  ‘I’m sorry,�
� he said. ‘It’s just that I … I’ve thought so much about this place. When I was little, I kept waiting to move here. Dad said it was like heaven.’

  ‘He was wrong.’

  ‘Could I just … could I just have a look around the house?’

  Maybe it was her guilty conscience that made her let him in, offer him a glass of wine. Either way, now he was there, sitting at the kitchen table where Betty and Mattias had planned for his arrival so enthusiastically.

  Johan took a sip of wine.

  ‘Interesting taste,’ he said and looked at the glass.

  ‘It’s been ageing for a long time,’ Charlie replied.

  They carried on talking about his dad. Johan was moved when she told him about how he had fought to get his son back. His mother hadn’t exactly described his dad as someone who would fight for his child. All her life, she had stood by her claim that Mattias was a half-mad junkie. He wasn’t even capable of taking care of himself, she had explained, so how was he supposed to care for a child? For a moment, Charlie considered letting Johan think his mother had lied, to show him only the part of the picture that was beautiful: the family in the countryside which would be complete with him, his sister, the cherry tree forest and the lake. But she was sick of lies.

  ‘Your mum was right,’ she said. ‘Mattias was a crazy junkie. Betty, my mother, was exactly the same. They were both mad. But Mattias really did miss you. They both really wanted you to come here.’

  ‘Is that true?’

  Charlie nodded. It was the truth.

  ‘I can’t get my head around,’ Johan said, ‘that you used to live here with my dad.’ He looked around the room as though he were trying to picture them all: Charlie, Betty and Mattias. ‘What was he like to you?’

  ‘He tried,’ Charlie said. ‘But I guess our relationship wasn’t great. It might not have had all that much to do with him; I mostly wanted my mother to myself. I wanted things to be the way they had always been.’