by Will Dean
‘I can’t,’ I say.
The cat hisses and jumps from Freddy’s fingers.
‘Bound feet are beautiful.’ He squeezes his eyes shut and corrects himself. ‘Were beautiful. So delicate,’ he says. ‘You want a glass of milk? Such a baking hot day.’
‘Just water.’ I don’t want his water but I need to keep looking.
I try to sneak a look around the back of the bookshelf when he’s not in the room and then I start walking up the stairs. I need to look.
‘You need the bathroom?’ he says.
‘Yes, please,’ I say, pointing up the stairs. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
I have a stun gun and a knife and a scream that will alert neighbours. I can do this. I have to search.
‘Just down here,’ he says, opening a cupboard under the stairs, passing me a glass of water. It looks like there’s something fizzing in the bottom of it.
‘Is that a room?’
‘It’s a bathroom,’ he says, smiling.
I move past him and he smells of talcum powder. It’s a tiny bathroom with a sloping ceiling.
He closes the door. I lock the door and stare into the mirror. Jesus, I look like a wreck. Sunburnt skin and bad hair and bags under my eyes. I flush the avocado-coloured toilet and wash my hands in the avocado-coloured sink. The water has stopped fizzing. Smells normal. I pour it down the plughole. There are magazines stacked neatly on a table next to the toilet. The top one is a consumer magazine comparing different cameras and video equipment. I lift it.
Right there.
A copy of Tam’s takeout menu.
Folded and placed under the magazine.
I almost cry at the sight of it, at the sight of her name in print and of her telephone number that I know off by heart and of her logo and directions to her van. Her food options.
I start to sweat in this small under-stairs cupboard of a bathroom. It smells of damp and old potpourri. Probably Freddy’s late mother’s. I move another magazine, this one about women’s shoes, and there’s an audio-equipment guide and a Big Boy Book of Brainteasers. I look underneath. Another of Tam’s menus. Ten more. There are menus pressed between each magazine like Midsommar flowers pressed between the pages of a family bible.
A noise outside the door.
A bang.
I unlock and step out, my hand on my stun gun.
It’s just a cat, a different cat, there are seven or more in this entrance hall now, all meowing and rolling around as if high on catnip.
Freddy runs down the stairs.
‘Thanks for stopping by,’ he says, flustered, ushering me to the front door.
I step close to him, closer than I want to be. There’s something dark red under his thumbnails.
‘Do you know where my friend is?’
His face is glazed with sweat and he scratches his button nose with a long finger and says, ‘No. But if I see her around I’ll pop by and let you know.’
His perfect blue eyes, the whites pure and untroubled by blood vessels or puffiness, they look like they are telling the truth. Do I go to Thord with the menus? Is that a thing you can take to the police?
On the table by the door I see his keys and his Jurassic Park wallet.
And a black revolver.
26
I get in my Hilux and drive straight to the cop shop.
Thord needs to hear all about this. Needs to check Freddy. They can do forensic analysis on a gun, right? Ascertain if it’s been fired recently? God, I hope it has not been fired.
I cross Storrgatan and Benny Björnmossen’s standing outside his hunt store watching me. Watching the media vans. Watching the other journos walk into the station. He has a bandage around his forearm and one of the windows above his shop is cracked.
Thord smiles as I go inside. He hands me my ID badge and I wait for the other hacks to file through into the conference room.
‘Freddy Bom,’ I say.
‘What about him?’
‘I was just at his house. Found a revolver and a whole stack of Tammy’s takeout menus hidden between magazines.’
Thord frowns at me and says, ‘Takeout menus?’
‘Takeout menus.’
He rubs at his eyes. ‘Tuvs, I probably have about fifteen of Tammy’s menus all over my own house. Same will go for the Chief and my sister-in-law and half the people in Gavrik, the ones who’ve got any taste. Now, what about this revolver. Can you describe it to me?’
‘Wooden handle.’
‘Wooden grip,’ he says. ‘Any kind of sight on the barrel?’
I nod.
‘Sounds like a pistol, I reckon it’s an air pistol. Benny’s been selling plenty this past week and he already told me Fredrik from the shoe shop bought one. I’m keeping tabs on recent gun purchases. Just an air pistol, Tuvs.’
‘I have a gut feeling about him. A bad one.’
Thord sniffs and says, ‘Well, me too but that doesn’t mean he’s done a single thing wrong. Chief’ll start in about thirty seconds time if you’re in there or if you ain’t, so go on now.’
I walk into the room.
Journalists from Stockholm, Gothenburg, Malmö. One nods to me. I can see a woman from Falun and a guy with a limp who works in Visberg, the next town over, the forgotten place up the hill. I never take my seat too early at these things because the size of the room and the number of voices means I can’t hear much of anything. I place my digital Dictaphone with the others on the lectern and then I walk back. Most people are staring at their phones. Sebastian Cheekbones smiles at me. He’s lost some of his new-boy glossiness and in some ways that’ll help him but in other ways it’s a shame.
Chief Björn walks in flanked by two dour looking guys in grey suits.
He clears his throat.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming at short notice.’
He touches his tie pin and clears his throat one more time.
‘Pertaining to the missing persons investigation of Tammy Yamnim and Lisa Svensson, we have, despite extensive searching of the local area, not made any substantial progress in the past forty-eight hours. I would like to reiterate our plea for all local Gavrik residents to report to us, in confidence, any information which may lead to us finding the missing women. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank local people for their efforts and to request that they continue to search for the missing women over the Midsommar weekend.’
Someone coughs at the back and Chief Björn pauses and sips from his plastic cup of water.
‘Regarding the discovery of a deceased individual in Utgard forest, I can confirm that there have been some key developments.’
The room wakes up and I can hear fingertips on laptop keys. Necks are arching to get closer to the front.
‘Colleagues at the National Forensics Centre in Linköping have now positively identified the deceased. I will not be revealing the identity at this time but I can tell you that the deceased individual was a woman in her twenties.’
Someone behind me whispers, ‘It’s Yamnim.’
The Chief stares him down like a sheriff might stare down a gunslinger in a western.
‘Police believe the deceased woman died approximately eight years ago.’ My body slackens with relief. It’s official. She wasn’t Tam. ‘The positive ID was made by cross-referencing dental records with other key information retrieved from the Utgard forest site. I can tell you that two key pieces of physical evidence were discovered at the hollow tree site and I can tell you that we are working on the basis that this was a tragic suicide.’
A collective intake of breath.
Suicide? Inside a tree?
Someone at the back tries to interrupt and the Chief looks at Thord by the door and Thord steps towards the back and the Chief continues.
‘The Gavrik police force will be talking with specific individuals pertaining to this investigation but at this time we are not looking for any suspects. Now,’ he removes his glasses and lets them rest do
wn by his gold tie pin. ‘I’d be happy to take your questions but I would urge you to be considerate and I would reiterate that I may not be able to discuss certain matters.’
Sebastian’s hand shoots up and the Chief nods to him.
‘Chief Björn, are you connecting the case of the woman in the tree with the two missing women?’
The Chief chews his lower lip for a moment and then says, ‘Not at this time.’
My hand’s raised but the Chief points to a woman at the back and says, ‘Malin.’
‘Chief, what do you say to people who want transient berry-pickers and lumberjacks questioned about the missing women? Since a woman’s body was found in a shallow grave up near Östersund.’
He frowns. Then he says, ‘Police will continue to question anyone we have due cause to question. That goes for politicians and powerful businessmen as much as it goes for berry pickers.’
The Chief points to me and says, ‘Tuva.’
‘Chief Björn, what more can police and local residents do to help find Tammy Yamnim and Lisa Svensson?’
He takes a sip of water and licks his lips.
‘Police will continue to do everything in our power to trace the whereabouts of Ms Yamnim and Ms Svensson. We are being assisted by specialists, including communications specialists, from other forces.’ The two suits standing either side of him adjust their postures a little. ‘And we would again urge local residents to stay vigilant and to report anything out of the ordinary.’
A guy behind me moves his chair and says, ‘Chief, with all that has occurred in Gavrik Kommun under your years of leadership don’t you think it’s time to offer up your resignation.’
The room cools and falls quiet.
Björn scowls and loosens his tie. ‘Thank you, everyone.’
The Chief and the two suits leave the room to a barrage of follow-up questions none of which I can decipher. Flashbulbs explode and hacks jostle past me to collect their recording devices.
Ola, the slick-back from Aftonbladet, leaves the room with me. He’s talking but I cannot hear him.
‘Outside,’ I say.
We step out into the sun and he says, ‘You know anything more about the Östersund body?’
‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,’ I say, my face expressionless.
He smiles. ‘She was an admin assistant at a hydroelectricity company. Renewables, green energy. Used to be a hair model, no known enemies. No debts apart from on her car. No criminal record. Her boyfriend’s being questioned but he has a strong alibi. Apparently she was a handball coach and an amateur beekeeper.’
‘Old news,’ I lie. ‘Anything I don’t already know?’
‘I guess not. Hey, you were local here for years. You know where I can get a decent pair of boots? If I’m going to be trekking through woodland I can’t do it in these.’
He sticks out a tanned, un-socked foot sporting an expensive leather loafer.
I think about telling him Benny Björnmossen has a small range of high-quality boots. And then I think about recommending ICA because they’re cheaper. But instead I say, ‘Shoe shop down the road, next to the health-food store. Ask for Freddy, he’ll fit you personally. Almost bespoke.’ I think of Ola in there getting measured by Freddy Bom, wearing no socks. ‘Can’t beat that kind of personal service.’
Thord walks out and the hacks setting up to record pieces to camera look at him. He steps to me and ushers me away. He says, ‘Noora came back early. She’s up at the reservoir.’
27
I leave Toytown.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Noora and I were due to meet up for a special weekend next month. Nice Airbnb. Little cottage on the coast. To talk. To listen. To reconnect and come up with some kind of plan. Now I’m driving towards her with a sunburnt forehead and supermarket clothes. But the main thing is she’s here. The local police force has grown by fifty per cent. I feel sick with nerves and I feel as awkward as I was as a fifteen-year-old but she is here to help find Tam and Lisa. That’s what’s important.
I drive past a horse in a field just beyond the sewage works. The horse is wearing a black angular anti-fly mask that covers its whole head and it looks like some kind of equine executioner, its eyes totally concealed.
My guts are floating up inside me. I feel giddy and panicked at the thought of seeing Noora again. We’ve spoken on the phone. We’ve texted. But we haven’t seen each other since I left a snowy Gavrik back in February.
The reservoir gleams up ahead. A thousand fibreglass caravans and a hundred nylon tents and one giant man-made lake.
The owner’s house is in the distance. She runs the place, which basically means she has to work around the clock for two months to make enough money to survive the following ten. Because, sure, right now this place looks like fun with its pedal boats and fishing areas and campfire and the stage where local folk groups come to perform. But in autumn and winter this whole area is a frozen fog-blighted hellhole, a damp and unforgiving place where no tourist would ever choose to set foot.
I park and see Noora standing alone. Police uniform, short-sleeved shirt, police issue hat. She’s holding an iPad and she’s staring out at the lake.
As I walk closer I can see it’s not an iPad. Noora’s flying a drone. She’s using the control panel to direct it and she’s watching the view from its camera on her screen.
‘Need a co-pilot?’ I say, standing beside her.
‘Oh,’ she says, glancing my way, flustered, ‘I didn’t think you’d come all the way up here.’
And suddenly I am deflated. She didn’t think I’d come here to find her, just thought I’d wait? I would have crawled through Utgard forest to see her; I would have swum across Snake River.
‘I needed to come out here anyway,’ I say.
Noora turns her head and smiles. I guess she can’t put her controls down, she’d crash the drone, but she moves closer to me. Her arm touches mine and something floods into my blood. The warmth from her transfers into me and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and we both stand there, her in uniform, me in my ICA T-shirt, her looking down at her screen, me looking out at the water.
‘It’s great to see you, Tuva. But I am so, so sorry about Tammy.’ She moves her forearm a little. It could be to increase the drone’s altitude or it could an intentional stroke.
‘Are you up to date?’ I ask.
She nods and says, ‘The woman in the tree, the body in Östersund, the search efforts; yeah, I am.’
‘You were in Gotland?’
She focuses on her screen, zooms into part of the image, then says, ‘Retreat in Gotland. It was a social media and technology break, but for me it was really a break from Gavrik life.’
‘I hear you.’
‘It’s been tough adjusting,’ she says.
‘Not sure anyone ever adjusts to Gavrik.’
‘I mean adjusting to you not being here.’
‘I’m sorry, I…’
‘No, she says, straightening up. ‘I’m sorry. Let’s chat about this once we’ve found Tammy and Lisa Svensson. With any luck this tech will help us.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again.
‘Drone’s from Karlstad police,’ she says, ignoring me. ‘They use it over Lake Vänern. Amazing piece of kit – and I’m the only Gavrik officer trained to use it. Should help over Utgard forest, over farmland, over difficult terrain.’
‘You can see a person on that screen?’ I say.
‘A person, a piece of clothing. Or clues like tyre tracks leading somewhere. It gives us another perspective.’
I look at her and I want to kiss her. Because she’s helping to search for Tam when she should be on holiday, because she came back, but also I just want to.
‘I missed you,’ I say.
She blinks five or six times in succession.
‘Look out there,’ she says.
I look.
‘Two boats searching the water, searching the reed beds.’
‘Has there been a tip-off? Is she in the water?’
‘No, no,’ she says. ‘No specific intel. We’re searching everywhere. The community is really pulling together, Tuva. Upside of this being such a small, cut-off place. Tomorrow there will be hundreds of people out searching. We’ll find them.’ She looks at me and then she removes her hand from the drone controls for a moment and she cups my cheek with her palm and I almost collapse with it. The pressing of her hand up to meet my face, the support. I let my head loll on my shoulders for a second, her cupped palm holding me upright, and then she pulls away gently to return to the controls.
‘I need to get back to the office,’ I say. ‘Help Lena fix for the print. Important front page tomorrow.’
‘I’m back full-time. And we’re all working on Midsommar tomorrow,’ she says. ‘Was going to just be Thord with it being a red day, but we’re all in.’
The phrase ‘red day’ takes me back to London. When I first used the term with my friends they thought I was talking about my period rather than a public holiday.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
She nods and smiles. The dimple forms on her cheek. A single stitch pulled tight through a piece of fine silk. I start walking away.
‘I missed you, too,’ she says, her head still facing the reservoir.
I walk back to my Hilux with my heart swelling: full of appreciation for Noora, of thanks and friendship, but also full of yearning. The feel of her palm against my face. And at the same time my heart is dying a little with each passing Tam-less day. It is swelling and dying all at once.
I drive away, dizzy. Disorientated.
Storrgatan is clear of journalists. They’re all heading out to their summer houses on the Stockholm archipelago or on Lake Vänern to celebrate the solstice with family and friends. To drink schnapps and sing songs and dance around the Midsommar pole. Their Midsommars will be beautiful. Fun. The continuation of a beloved Swedish tradition. Just as important as Christmas. More important in some ways. And they’re leaving us here in Toytown to search by ourselves.