by Viveca Sten
Adrian tore off a piece of paper towel and passed it to the girl. “Would you like some coffee?”
It smelled a little burned; it had probably been sitting on the hotplate for too long, but it would have to do.
She blew her nose, then shook her head.
“How about some water, then?”
She nodded, and Adrian filled a plastic cup and handed it to her. “What’s your name?”
“Ebba. Ebba Halvorsen.”
“And how old are you, Ebba?”
“Sixteen. I’ve just finished ninth grade.”
Adrian sat down beside her on the only available chair. “So what’s happened?”
The girl was still on the verge of tears, but she took a few sips of water and pulled herself together. Her voice was quiet as she began. “We came over yesterday, on Midsummer’s Eve, on the boat.”
“Whose boat? Yours?”
“No, it’s Christoffer’s. Or rather his dad’s. We were allowed to borrow it for the weekend. It was fantastic at first; we went to the Midsummer pole and danced and had a picnic on the grass.” She was holding the cup in an iron grip. “Then we partied, but not, like, too much. It was really cool. For a while anyway.”
Adrian’s expression was thoughtful as he watched her. She had tucked one leg under her body, and her hair was loose and messy.
“When did it stop being cool?” he asked her gently.
“The boys just kept on drinking, there was no talking to them. In the end, I got sick of it and left.”
“What time was this?”
Ebba turned her head away. “I’m not sure, maybe six or seven.”
“Where did you go?”
“To the beach—not the one in Trouville, the other one, closer to the village.”
“Fläskberget,” Adrian said.
“Mmm. I sat there for a while, then I fell asleep. When I woke up, I wanted to go home, but there was no ferry for hours. I went back to find my friends, and there was no one there. The boat was empty and all locked up.” Her eyes filled with tears once more.
“What did you do next?”
“I sat in the stern and waited. Then after a while, I went looking for them. I tried calling, too, but none of them answered, and in the end, my battery ran out.”
“And what time was this?”
“After eleven, I think. The sun had gone down. I went over to the security guards outside the bar to ask if any of them had seen my friends, but they refused to help, and they wouldn’t let me go inside to check. I’ve spent the last few hours wandering around the jetties, trying to find them.”
Ebba let out a sob, and Adrian got up to fetch her another paper towel.
“Thanks.”
“How many of you were there? Can you give me the names of your friends?”
“There were five of us.” She fell silent, as if she wasn’t sure how to continue. “There was Tobbe and his older brother, Christoffer,” she said after a while. “And Felicia—she’s my best friend—and her boyfriend, Victor.”
Adrian thought for a moment. The group was probably partying on another boat, maybe with newfound friends. It was easy for young people to make fresh contacts when they’d been drinking and to end up in a different location. Or they might have gone over to the beach at Skärkarlshamn, which was always a popular spot. The police checked the area regularly, but there had been no reported incidents there this year.
If they were very drunk, maybe they hadn’t even heard their cell phones ringing, wherever they were. However, it was odd that they’d all disappeared at the same time.
Anna appeared in the doorway, and Adrian explained the situation.
“This is Ebba. Her friends seem to have gone missing; she hasn’t seen them for several hours, since about six o’clock.”
Ebba wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.
“Don’t worry,” Anna said. “There are so many people around this weekend, it’s easy to lose track of friends, especially when it’s dark.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Could you give us a description? We might have come across them during the evening.”
“Tobbe has red hair—you’d notice him right away,” Ebba said. “It’s really curly and kind of sticks up. Christoffer’s twenty; he has reddish-brown hair, and it’s straighter. But they look a lot alike.”
“And the others?” Anna prompted her.
Ebba ran her fingers over the leather sofa. “Victor’s tall and fit, with blond hair. Felicia’s blond, too, but she’s shorter, about the same height as me. Victor looks a lot older; people always think he’s in college.”
“What was Felicia wearing?” Anna asked.
“A denim skirt, I think.”
“Do you remember what else?”
“A pink top and a white denim jacket.”
Anna exchanged a glance with Adrian, which Ebba noticed. Her eyes widened. “Did something happen?” she whispered.
CHAPTER 11
Nora had dozed off in the wicker chair. When she woke up, the sun was noticeably higher in the sky; a couple of hours must have passed since Jonas set off to look for Wilma.
She’s probably had too much to drink and doesn’t dare come home until she’s sobered up, Nora tried to tell herself. The hard knot of anxiety in her stomach had grown bigger. Maybe she’s fallen asleep somewhere.
There was no mistaking Wilma’s admiration for her older friends, and it made Nora think about what just one year’s difference could mean at that age. When you were in eighth grade, everyone in ninth grade was much more exciting than your own classmates. The right clothes and the right gang to hang out with were more important than ever.
She got up and went into the kitchen. The birds were singing outside the window, but apart from that, everything was quiet. The roller blinds were pulled down in the Falu red houses down below the Brand villa; no doubt the neighbors were sleeping at this time of day.
Simon had dropped his bicycle on the other side of the fence, even though she had reminded him to put it away so it wouldn’t get stolen.
It was a beautiful morning, but Nora felt chilled to the bone and ill at ease. The house was cool, but that wasn’t why she was shivering.
Suddenly the shrill sound of the telephone sliced through the air.
Jonas came out into the harbor area by the Strindbergsgården café. This was where the locals had their berths; the boats were considerably more modest than the luxury vessels moored by the Royal Swedish Yacht Club.
There wasn’t a soul in sight; however hard he looked, Jonas couldn’t see any sign of life. His lungs were aching with the effort, and he bent forward to catch his breath.
It was after four in the morning and the air was chilly, but he was still sweating.
He had started with a quick circuit of the harbor; then he had checked out the narrow alleyways in the old part of the village. He had moved on to the area around the Mission House, the churchyard, and over as far as Fläskberget. However, when he got there, the shore was deserted. All he could see was a few empty beer cans bobbing back and forth on the water’s edge.
On the way back, he cut across Adolf Square, where the Midsummer pole had been raised thirty-six hours earlier; hundreds of people had danced around the pole to the sound of accordion music, and Wilma had worn a garland of flowers in her hair, despite her earlier assertion that wearing flowers in your hair was just sooo lame.
Jonas pictured his daughter singing along to the traditional Midsummer songs, her blond hair flying as she jumped up and down to “Little Frogs,” her hands swinging from above her head to behind her back. She had blown him a kiss as she danced past. He had been standing with his arm around Nora and had cheerfully waved back.
Now she was missing.
Once again, his gaze swept the area, as if Wilma might suddenly appear.
A scruffy dog slunk by and started rooting in a plastic bag that was lying on the ground. It let out a happy bark, then ran off with something in its mouth, possibly the remains o
f a roast chicken.
Jonas straightened up and headed for the Royal Swedish Yacht Club marina. He soon reached the long wooden quay in front of the stalls and kiosks. He stopped dead. In the faint light of dawn, the place was a complete mess. The trash cans lining the promenade were overflowing, and there was garbage scattered all over the ground: empty cans, fast-food wrappers, and discarded coffee cups lay everywhere. The air stank of stale booze.
He sat down on a bench and tried to think. Hadn’t Wilma said that her friends’ boat was moored at the Via Mare jetty on the edge of the marina? He frowned, trying to remember these friends’ names. Wilma had only used their first names. Without more information, he could neither call their parents nor get someone’s cell phone number.
He swore to himself. How could I be so naïve? he thought. I have nothing to go on, nothing. The fact that she has her cell phone with her is no use if she won’t answer it.
Her battery might have run out; maybe it was nothing more serious than that. She could have lost it or left it behind somewhere. But however hard he tried to focus on logical explanations, all kinds of disturbing images kept coming into his head.
Should he ring Margot? No, he had to find Wilma first. Waking his ex and scaring the life out of her wouldn’t help.
A movement by one of the jetties made him turn around. A boy in his underpants had staggered sleepily to the stern of a yacht to take a piss.
Jonas ran over. “Excuse me,” he called out.
No reaction.
“Hello!” he shouted, louder this time. “Hello!”
The boy looked around, blinking groggily.
“Have you seen a blond girl, fourteen years old, with shoulder-length hair?”
The boy waved a hand dismissively. “What?”
Jonas repeated his question, but the response was a shake of the head before the boy disappeared back into the cabin without another word.
Jonas remained standing where he was. There were hundreds of boats moored at dozens of jetties. If Wilma had gone off with a stranger, she could be on board any one of them.
In which case, how was he ever going to find her?
CHAPTER 12
Nora hurried over to the phone, which was on a small table in the hallway. It was an old-fashioned black Bakelite model, the kind that hadn’t been sold for decades.
It rang again and her stomach contracted. But it couldn’t be Jonas; he would have called her cell. She forced herself to pick up the receiver.
“Nora, it’s Monica,” said a familiar voice.
“Monica?”
Nora couldn’t hide her surprise. Her ex-mother-in-law wouldn’t be calling at four in the morning unless it was serious.
Nora made a huge effort to keep her voice steady as she gripped the receiver. “Has something happened to Henrik?”
A brief silence. Nora held her breath.
“Henrik? No, no. What makes you think that? That’s not why I’m calling.”
Nora couldn’t suppress a nervous giggle as the tension eased. She had been so sure it was about Henrik.
“I need your help,” Monica went on in her usual authoritative tone. “The grandchild of some good friends of ours has been picked up by the police. Can you imagine? The police!” A sharp intake of breath. “Do you remember Karin and Holger Grimstad? You’ve met them at our house, I’m almost sure of it. Holger is honorary consul to Iceland—he’s a very eminent man. They have a wonderful place right by the sea in Torekov, with a fantastic view.”
As Monica rattled on, Nora tried to switch her brain from her concern over Henrik to the real reason for the call. Eventually she had to interrupt. “Monica, please. What’s going on?”
“As I said, the Grimstads’ granddaughter has been picked up by the police. Apparently she’s in a terrible state, and her parents are in Torekov over the Midsummer weekend. Karin just rang me—she’s desperate. None of the family are in the Stockholm area.”
“Oh.” Nora still had no idea what Monica wanted.
“I need you to contact the police and take care of the girl until her parents can get there. She has a friend with her at the moment.” Monica paused for breath, but before Nora could speak she went on: “Karin’s daughter and son-in-law are catching the first available flight today, but apparently the service from Ängelholm to Stockholm isn’t exactly frequent.”
“Are you saying the girl’s on Sandhamn?”
Monica sighed impatiently, and Nora closed her eyes. Just as so many times in the past, Monica had made her feel stupid. She was an expert when it came to diminishing the people around her; Nora had learned that during her marriage to Henrik.
“Of course she’s on the island. Why else would I ring you?”
Nora wished she could make allowances, but as usual, she just felt irritated. It wouldn’t even occur to Monica to apologize for calling at such an early hour. As far as she was concerned, it was obvious that Nora, along with the rest of the world, should dance to her tune.
“Now listen to me,” Monica went on before Nora could protest. “The girl can’t look after herself, and you’re the only person I know on Sandhamn at the moment.” An audible sigh. “It would have been so much easier if you and Henrik were still married. I could have relied on him to deal with this unfortunate business.”
Nora thought about Wilma and about Adam and Simon. What if Adam had drunk too much and gotten sick in a place where he didn’t know a soul? Or if Simon had been in trouble? She had to help.
“OK, what do you want me to do?”
“It would be good if you could collect the girls and let them stay with you until the parents get there. Apparently the police want to get rid of them as soon as possible. It’s disgusting, when you think about it.”
Typical Monica. She was mad about both the fact that the police had picked up the girl and that they didn’t want to keep her. Nora couldn’t help smiling.
“When did you say the parents would be here?”
“As soon as possible, but it won’t be before lunchtime—maybe even later.”
Nora did a quick calculation. If they landed at Bromma airport, it would take at least an hour to drive to Stavsnäs and catch the ferry to Sandhamn. The crossing was around forty-five minutes.
“What are their names?”
“The mother is Jeanette. Jeanette and Jochen Grimstad.”
“Do you have their phone number?”
“No, only Karin’s, but she’s given them your number, so I’m sure they’ll be in touch very soon.”
“And what’s the name of their daughter?”
“Felicia.”
CHAPTER 13
When Adrian got back to the motor home, Harry Anjou had taken over from Jens Sturup. Harry was from Norrland, and Adrian knew him only in passing.
Adrian went over to the coffee machine and poured himself the last of the burned coffee. He drank it standing up, his body aching from lack of sleep. He had been on duty for almost eighteen hours.
He sank down on the sofa, exhausted. It was after four o’clock in the morning, and the team would soon stand down. Most officers had already gone off duty as the island’s nightlife ebbed away.
“I managed to contact the parents of that girl in the outreach center,” Adrian informed Harry, who was sitting facing away from him, reading something on the computer screen. On the notice board above his head, the tally of the night’s activities had increased significantly.
“Are they on their way?” Harry asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Adrian shook his head. “They’re on the other side of the country, down in the south, but they know someone who has a house on the island. She’s promised to come and collect the girls as soon as possible. Anna’s over there, waiting for her.”
“How is the girl?”
When Ebba was reunited with her friend, she had started crying again. Then she curled up next to Felicia, who was still out of it and had barely noticed Ebba.
“She’s not great, but she’ll b
e fine by tomorrow,” Adrian said. He finished his coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste.
“What are we going to do about their friends?” he asked. “Has anyone seen them?”
“They’re probably sleeping it off somewhere,” Harry said. “Like all the others who didn’t have the sense to go home on the last ferry. Drunken bums.”
He didn’t seem bothered by the surprised expression on Adrian’s face. Harry came from a district in the far north of Sweden, and he had been with the Nacka police for only six months. It was obvious that things were expressed with considerably less finesse up north.
Adrian wondered if he should take one last stroll to look for the missing boys, but Harry was probably right. They could have passed out just about anywhere. No doubt they would turn up in the morning, hungover and with bloodshot eyes. And with a lot less to say than when Ebba had left them.
He stretched and gave an enormous yawn. “OK, I think it’s time I got some sleep,” he said. “Is it at ten o’clock that we’re meeting up in the morning?”
The transport taking them back to the mainland was due to leave at one, and everything had to be packed away before then. He wasn’t going to have many hours’ rest.
Harry nodded. He, too, looked exhausted; his eyelids were drooping.
“I’ll close up shortly,” he said over his shoulder. “If anything happens, I’m available on the phone.” He pointed to the cell phone on his belt.
Adrian couldn’t suppress another yawn. He stood up and put his mug by the sink.
“See you tomorrow.” He glanced at his watch. “Or, rather, in a few hours.”
“OK,” Harry said, without taking his eyes off the screen.
CHAPTER 14
Molly had been whimpering for quite some time. Eventually it became impossible to ignore, and Pelle Forsberg pushed back the covers with a sigh. His eyes felt gritty, and he shook himself in an attempt to wake himself up; it was only four o’clock in the morning.
“Come on, then,” he said in a voice that sounded kinder than he was feeling. It was far too early for a morning walk, but Molly was getting old, and she was finding it more difficult to control her bladder. They had stuck together for many years, but deep down, Pelle knew it was only a matter of time before they’d have to take that last visit to the vet. He couldn’t bear to think about it. Sometimes, like during the divorce, when he and Linda had done nothing but quarrel, the dog had been his greatest consolation.