by Mikaela Bley
She turned up the radio to the highest volume. Before she had time to turn onto Tegeluddsvägen, her phone rang. She turned the radio down and answered without checking who it was.
‘Hello.’
‘Is this Ellen Tamm from TV4?’
It was a man’s voice. There was something familiar about it, but she couldn’t place it. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘This is Harald Höök here. Lycke’s father.’
Ellen stepped on the brakes. She’d been trying to get hold of him since the press conference the day before.
‘Could we meet?’ he asked. ‘I have something I’d like to talk about with you.’
ELLEN
9.00 P.M.
Harald showed her into the drawing room, as he called it. It was furnished like a boutique hotel, and she couldn’t understand how small children could live there with everything being out on display. Every little detail had been carefully thought out. It was not by chance that the small silver bowl sat next to the glass sculpture on that particular photography book. The pillows were perfectly placed according to the grey colour scale, and the room just about breathed elephant. The walls were hung with art, and photos in black frames. Above the couch was a large portrait of an elderly man, and on the opposite wall there was a photograph of a little boy in a sailor suit.
‘Sit yourself down.’ He pointed at one of the three armchairs that, along with the couch, formed a circle around the large brass table in the middle.
Ellen did as he said. ‘I’m truly sorry about what you’re going through.’
Harald nodded and sat down on the couch. He was dressed in a round-necked, grey cashmere sweater and jeans. Despite the dark circles under his eyes and a few days of beard stubble, he was attractive. His hair was thick and his posture dignified.
A door opened and a woman came in.
‘Are you back already?’ Harald asked, looking surprised.
Ellen turned around and observed the tall, slender woman. Her perfectly set hair.
‘This is my wife, Chloé,’ he said.
Chloé greeted Ellen before she sat down next to her husband on the couch. A real trophy wife, thought Ellen.
‘I’ve been out on a walk with our son,’ she explained, placing her hand on Harald’s leg.
‘Ellen works at TV4,’ said Harald.
Chloé nodded.
‘Would you mind serving some coffee?’ he asked her.
She quickly withdrew her hand and stood up to retrieve the silver carafe from the round coffee table.
‘Thanks,’ Ellen said, looking around. Her gaze stopped at some photographs on a side table. There were happy and beautiful vacation pictures as well as photos taken in a studio. Lycke was nowhere to be seen in any of the pictures.
‘Do you take milk?’
‘No, thanks,’ Ellen said, allowing her focus to glide over to the large portrait hanging on the wall over the couch. The elderly man looked straight back at her.
‘That’s my dad. He watches over me,’ Harald told her, coughing.
‘Is he no longer alive?’ Ellen took a sip of the hot coffee.
Harald turned around and looked at the portrait.
‘Yes, he sure is. To the very highest degree. I put the picture up there as a reminder to always do my best. Maybe that sounds a bit silly, but it was my father who founded the hotel chain, and I had the honour of taking on the management of the company when he retired. Well, depends on what you mean by “retired” — he’s still on the board, and he’s probably the one who really makes the decisions.’
‘Do you have any siblings?’ Ellen asked.
‘Yes, an older brother.’
‘Does he work for the company, too?’
‘No, he moved to London when our parents got a divorce. He runs a bar or something like that. We’re very different. He’s never had any interest in the family company.’
‘So your parents are divorced?’
‘Yes, whose parents aren’t these days? I had hoped to be able to give my children a different type of upbringing, but …’ He coughed again. ‘But now to the point,’ he continued. ‘I’m sorry that I’ve been hard to get hold of. I’ve heard your messages on my voice mail. You’ll have to excuse —’
‘I understand.’ More than you would suspect.
‘This is going to sound strange, but I need your help.’
‘My help?’
‘Yes.’ He looked at Chloé. ‘Darling, is it okay if you leave us alone for a little while?’
Chloé looked at him with surprise and then at Ellen.
Ellen didn’t know where to look and started picking at a seam in her jeans.
‘Yes, well. I have other things to do anyway,’ Chloé said, abruptly standing up.
Harald’s eyes followed her as she left the living room. He waited until she was out of earshot before he continued. ‘I saw you at the tennis hall last Friday. I was in one of the police cars when you arrived.’
Ellen nodded.
‘I know you were the one who called Missing People there and tried to call out the cavalry. I’m grateful, but I don’t understand — what interest do you have in finding my daughter?’ He fixed his gaze on her.
‘We all want to find her. I just want to help,’ she said, shrugging.
‘I don’t understand why the police can’t find her. With all the modern technology, the internet, media, special forces and all that, they still don’t have a single lead to go on.’
Harald sounded angry, and she could sympathise.
‘No, and unfortunately the tips haven’t produced anything,’ Ellen lowered her eyes.
‘We have to find her. I’ve spoken with Lycke’s mother, and we agree. We want you to announce that we’re offering a reward.’
He continued on before she had time to say anything.
‘The police advised me against doing this; they kept saying that it would lead to more nonsense tips. But, unfortunately, I no longer trust their advice. Nothing is happening. I have to do something. Can you help me? Can you announce on TV4 that we’re offering a reward? Then we can go through the tips together?’
He leaned back dejectedly and looked at her. ‘Will you help me?’ he asked hurriedly. ‘Two million to whoever finds her or provides information that leads to us finding her. Can you get that on the evening news?’
Glancing at his gold watch, she realised that two million wouldn’t ruin him. Why not offer more? she thought. If that could possibly help.
There was an hour left until the ten o’clock news. Maybe they could manage to include it in the evening broadcast.
‘I’ll do what I can,’ she answered, taking her phone out of her bag and sending a text to Andreas.
‘What is Lycke’s relationship with your new wife like?’ she said when the message was sent.
‘Good. As good as can be, I assume. It’s not easy to suddenly be taking care of a child that isn’t your own.’
Just as it’s not simple to have to share your dad with a stranger.
‘Tell me about Lycke,’ she said instead.
Harald crossed his legs and took a deep breath before he started. ‘What should I say … She’s good in school.’ He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. ‘She’s quiet and often withdrawn. Shy.’
‘Why is that, do you think?’ asked Ellen.
‘Well, you tell me, we’re all different.’ He shrugged.
‘Does she have a diagnosis, or anything?’
‘Diagnosis? No, no.’ He put his hands up for emphasis. ‘But you know, the divorce and such. It hasn’t been so easy on her. Her mother had post-partum depression, and had a hard time bonding with her daughter, and I, well, I guess maybe I haven’t always been there.’
He leaned his head back.
‘What do you think has happened to her?’ asked
Ellen.
‘If I only knew. I have no idea at all. Believe me, I’ve gone through hundreds of different scenarios, but I don’t understand it.’
‘Do you have any enemies?’
‘No, not that I know of.’
‘No one has demanded money from you?’
‘You know what, I almost wish that were the case, because then I would know she was alive. Right now, I don’t know a thing.’
Ellen nodded.
‘Does Lycke have any friends?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘What’s the name of her best friend?’
Harald fixed his gaze on her. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘I would like to talk with her. Or him.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Maybe to find new leads, who knows? Does she bring any friends home?’ Ellen continued.
‘Yes, I assume so, but what are you getting at?’
‘I talked with some of the parents in Lycke’s class, and no one seemed to have been at your house. How is that? Doesn’t she ever play with her classmates?’
‘I don’t really want you asking around among her friends —’
‘Is she bullied?’
‘Bullied?’ It was as if he’d been struck in the face. ‘Lycke isn’t bullied.’
Ellen’s phone beeped. It was Andreas.
‘You can come with me to Channel Four to do a short interview, too? Time is short. We have to be there no later than fifteen minutes from now. Is it okay if I use the bathroom first?’ asked Ellen.
‘Absolutely. It’s in the hall to the left.’
Harald remained seated on the couch as Ellen went out into the dining room, through the kitchen, and toward the hall.
Chloé was nowhere to be seen. It was completely quiet, except for a dishwasher rumbling in the kitchen.
Ellen continued past the hall and went toward the other part of the apartment.
On one of the closed doors a handwritten note was hanging. Lycke.
Ellen looked around, first knocked quietly and then carefully opened the door and went in. It was cool in the room, and it smelled clean. She turned on the light and closed the door behind her. The room was small in relation to the large apartment. A typical girl’s room, she noted, thinking back to how her own room looked when she was that age. She never had any of that typical girl furniture or the posters that her friends had. It wasn’t seen as appropriate to tape anything up on the hand-painted floral wallpaper at Örelo. Instead, hanging on either side of the bed were portraits of Ellen’s parents.
Lycke’s bed was small, filled with gaily coloured pillows. Beside the bed was a night stand with an alarm clock and a half-filled glass of water. In one corner was a cloth-covered box filled with stuffed animals. Across from the bed was the desk, which was just as messy as Ellen’s. Pencil holders, pens, and drawing pads were scattered everywhere, and on top sat a light-pink piggy bank.
On the wall above the desk hung her class photo. Ellen studied the classmates, thinking how little they looked, but at the same time so determined and worldly.
Next to the photo, newspaper clippings about dogs and rabbits had been taped up. Ellen took down one of the clippings of a sweet little labrador puppy; it resembled the dog she’d had when she was little, called Tessin. She folded up the picture and put it in her pocket.
One of the desk drawers was full of scented erasers. Ellen picked up a heart-shaped eraser and smelled it. Strawberry. Some things today were just as important in an eight-year-old’s life as they had been twenty years ago.
‘What are you doing?’
Chloé suddenly appeared in the doorway.
Ellen quickly put the eraser in her pocket.
‘Sorry, I realised that this was Lycke’s room, and just wanted to see … We have to hurry back to the studio now if we’re going to include that thing about the reward …’ she said, squeezing past Chloé and out into the corridor leading toward the main hall.
‘What do you mean “reward”?’ Chloé asked, following her. ‘And who are the we who have to go to the studio?’
As luck would have it, Ellen didn’t need to answer, because Harald intercepted them in the hall.
‘I’ll have to explain later,’ he said, kissing Chloé quickly on the cheek before pulling on his oilskin coat. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
Ellen picked up her bag and raincoat and followed him out into the stairwell.
‘We’ll take the stairs,’ he said, starting to trot down. ‘The elevators take a lot of time.’
Ellen’s car was parked right outside the entry.
‘If you take your car we’ll meet at Channel Four. Follow me so I can show you where you can park.’
Before climbing into the car she looked up at the building. In one of the windows she saw Chloé standing there, staring down at them.
ELLEN
10.30 P.M.
The interview with Harald exceeded expectations. He had been emotional, but calm and focused. Exactly the opposite of how Ellen herself felt. She and Philip were in the car on their way from TV4.
‘“Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head”,’ Philip sang, drumming in time on his legs, but then he stopped abruptly. ‘Wait now,’ he said, sounding disappointed. ‘I don’t remember any more. “Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head”, then what?’
Ellen concentrated on manoeuvring the car between the deep puddles of water.
‘Drip drop drip drop — no, that’s another song, isn’t it?’
A red light by Stadion forced her to stop. She tapped the steering wheel impatiently.
‘“Raindrops … keep on falling in and out …”,’ Philip sang under his breath.
‘You’re mixing up the rain song with Alicia Keys.’
Philip looked away, never able to admit that he was wrong. But soon he was back on track again.
‘This one then?’ he said. ‘“Here comes that rainy-day feeling again …”.’
‘Oh, knock it off, I don’t feel like singing,’ said Ellen.
Now, they both sat quietly, absorbed in their own thoughts. Philip stared out the passenger window. Ellen looked straight ahead.
‘She’s worth two million,’ said Ellen. She couldn’t help wondering what her own father would have paid. ‘Two million.’ But it’s easy to be wise in hindsight, she thought.
‘Death, death, death,’ she whispered, hoping that Philip wouldn’t hear her.
But he turned his head toward her. She had the strong sensation of his gaze burrowing in under her skin, analysing everything it saw.
‘Do you know what I think is so strange about you, Ellen? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. As your best friend,’ he spoke plainly, his voice calm and measured, as if she were twelve years old. ‘You have to change jobs. You’re supporting yourself on death, while at the same time going to a psychologist to learn how to handle your emotions about death. It doesn’t fit together. You’re like a ticking bomb that’s about to explode. You have to deal with it. Do you understand? You babble that mantra or whatever you want to call it and snap your fingers and get your anxiety attacks and God knows what. How long can you go on like that? I —’
‘Okay. That’s enough. Let’s sing instead,’ Ellen said, not looking at him.
‘No, I don’t intend to let this go. I’ve been thinking about something. Listen now. I saw a documentary the other day about soldiers in Afghanistan or whatever country they were in. They were good-looking anyway. But do you know what they call blood that looks like rain after someone has been shot in, let’s say, the head. Do you know what they call it?’
Ellen shook her head, failing to understand what this had to do with anything.
‘Pink mist.’
‘Pink mist?’ She glanced over at him.
‘Do you get it?’
‘No. I don’t even know if I want to get it.’
‘You drive around in a pink Porsche. You’re driving around in death. Death is everywhere around you. It’s actually kind of unpleasant.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how his eyes were fixed on her.
‘What? Who’s really the sick one here?’ she asked. ‘So you think I drive around in the blood spray from dead people? Are you saying that I shouldn’t have anything to do with pink? That I don’t deserve pink? I should stick to yellow … which is ugly.’
‘Easy now, don’t get me wrong, you know that I love you, but this thing with the missing girl — it’s not good. You have to deal with your own shit first. No one can understand what you’ve been through, but this doesn’t help. Nothing is going to change simply because you find this girl. Or don’t find her,’ he added.
‘Maybe that’s just why I do the kind of work I do; it’s my way of dealing with it.’
‘Not a brilliant strategy. Look at me. It looks like you’ve lost several pounds in just a few days. You hardly sleep, and you have developed these strange tics —’
‘But you don’t really think I have a pink car because blood spray is called pink mist? I wonder which of us really needs help.’
‘I don’t know, Ellen. I don’t know.’ Now he sounded like a real drama queen. ‘It’s a frozen sorrow you’re carrying. It has to thaw out.’
‘Wow, is that from Dr Phil, or what?’
There was a beeping from her phone.
‘That was mine. Can you check it?’ Ellen said, turning the car down Sturegatan.
‘Do I look like your secretary?’ he said, turning his head away again. ‘Can you turn down the heat, it’s Bikram-yoga-hot in here.’
‘Check my phone, it may be important!’
Philip sighed, but took her phone out of her bag and looked at the display. ‘Oh, boy. Too much!’ He grinned.
‘What is it? Who is it?’ She tried to grab hold of the phone, but Philip held it away from her.
‘What?’
‘It’s from Jimmy.’
‘What does it say?’ she asked impatiently.