She's Never Coming Back

by Hans Koppel

  ‘Oh, fucking hell.’

  ‘I told you, you didn’t want to know.’

  ‘Oh Jesus fucking Christ.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear you complaining.’

  ‘And it was someone’s better half who did it?’

  ‘I think we can conclude that it was done by someone who wasn’t very fond of our old classmate.’

  ‘And the police think it was a man who committed the murder, but that it was a woman who lured him there?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘But they’ve got no idea who?’

  ‘Not the faintest.’

  Jörgen nodded silently to himself.

  ‘So he was notorious …’

  Calle started.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Anders Egerbladh,’ Jörgen said. ‘He must have been notorious.’

  Calle looked at his friend long and hard.

  ‘Have you been playing around?’ he asked, finally.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You said “notorious” – that’s a dead giveaway, the codeword of someone who’s been unfaithful. In order to play down their own excesses, they’ll demonise others who are that little bit worse. It’s like alcoholics who say they need a lager. Anyone who says “a lager” instead of “a drink” is by definition a serious alcoholic.’

  Now it was Jörgen’s turn to look at his friend long and hard.

  ‘Now you’ve lost me.’

  ‘Jesus, it’s true,’ Calle said.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Jörgen retorted. ‘And no, I haven’t been having a bit on the side.’

  ‘I hope not,’ Calle said. ‘Because I like your wife more than I like you.’

  ‘And if I should ever think about it, I wouldn’t burden you with the knowledge.’

  ‘I thank you for that.’

  ‘Codeword,’ Jörgen snorted. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard.’

  27

  The restaurant had survived. Which was the most astounding thing. The lifespan of trendy, self-conscious cafés was normally short and the cycle was often the same: the place opened, the place was discovered, then the place was abandoned.

  As a rule, the entrepreneur, intoxicated by the invasion, became ambitious and invested large sums in the hope of keeping his customers, but they swam in shoals that suddenly changed direction and disappeared without warning.

  There were three reasons why Bill Åkerman’s restaurant had survived. The first was that he had decided to stick with high-quality food and prices that bordered on indecent, despite an unexpected glowing write-up in the local paper. This made the restaurant an obvious choice for company dinners and people who didn’t often go out but wanted to treat themselves once a year.

  The second was its location. The restaurant was on the ground floor of an old villa just above Margaretaplatsen and had a panoramic view of the sound and the coast of Denmark.

  The third reason was Bill’s wife, Sofia.

  Sofia managed the restaurant, employed people, came up with new menus, organised purchases and made sure that everyone was happy.

  Bill knew that he couldn’t have chosen a better partner. It was just a shame that she’d put on some extra pounds around the hips and, as a result, her self-confidence had plummeted and she had grown suspicious of his every move. But as she already knew about his affair with Ylva – and, like everyone else in Helsingborg, knew that Ylva was missing – Bill made no attempt to hide the fact that the police wanted to talk to him, as it actually reinforced the idea that Ylva was a cunning seductress who would leave any full-blooded man defenceless. Bill had already told them on the phone that he had no idea where Ylva was and had made it quite clear that he was no longer on intimate terms with her. But the police had insisted on speaking to him in person, all the same.

  The meeting took place in the restaurant bar, which was empty despite the lunchtime rush.

  ‘When did you last see Ylva?’ Karlsson asked, having accepted a free coffee.

  ‘Do you mean when did I last sleep with her or when did I last see her?’

  ‘See her. And yes, sleep with her, too.’

  ‘We had a brief affair in June last year. So that makes it, what, eleven months ago? The last time I saw her was on Kullagatan. I think it was in April, but I’m not entirely sure.’

  ‘Did you talk to each other?’

  ‘Yes. It was a bit awkward.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘It’s not a big town, and there’s always someone who’s watching.’

  ‘I see. And what did you say to each other?’

  ‘Nothing in particular. She asked when we could start shagging again.’

  That made Karlsson and Gerda sit up, they weren’t sure whether he was kidding or not.

  ‘That’s what she said,’ Bill assured them. ‘And I told her: never.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to. But I didn’t say that. Spurn a woman, and you’ve got an enemy for life. You have to play it careful.’

  ‘So what did you say?’

  ‘I said that I didn’t want to risk my marriage.’

  ‘But that wasn’t the real reason?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, why didn’t you want to?’

  Bill looked at them, shrugged.

  ‘We like different things.’

  The police officers were wide-eyed with dry throats, like two adolescent boys. Karlsson pulled himself together first.

  ‘What do you mean, “different things”?’ he spluttered, leaning forward with interest.

  ‘She liked drama. She’d throw herself down, going, Take me, take me – that kind of thing.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘She wanted to be dominated.’

  ‘You mean, tied up?’ Karlsson asked, with the peeping-tom interest of a secret teenage masturbator.

  ‘Not necessarily. But I don’t think it’s got anything to do with her disappearance. I’m just saying that she liked a bit of rough. Even though she looks so sweet. But that’s sex for you. What’s on the inside doesn’t always match what’s on the outside. Swings and roundabouts. The tough guy can be a gentle lover, skinny ones have more to prove.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gerda asked.

  Bill Åkerman took a sip of coffee.

  ‘She should have chosen a skinnier guy,’ he said.

  Karlsson threw the papers nonchalantly down on to the desk, pushed back his chair and stretched his legs.

  ‘Okay,’ he said and clasped his hands behind his neck. ‘We’ve got a missing, horny away-player and a husband who’s been cheated on. Conclusion?’

  ‘She comes home late, it gets out of hand?’ Gerda suggested.

  ‘Yep,’ Karlsson said and sighed. ‘We’d better talk to the neighbours. They might have seen when she came home.’

  ‘In the middle of the night?’

  ‘Someone’s always awake.’

  ‘I thought we could talk to the girl,’ Gerda said, and checked the time. ‘She should be at school right now.’

  ‘If we’re lucky.’ Karlsson nodded.

  They parked behind the cafeteria and asked a passing pupil where the staffroom was. They were greeted by a large woman who had once been attractive and now tried to hide the fact that she wasn’t any more. Karlsson and Gerda explained why they were there, and the woman knew immediately what it was about. Like the rest of the school staff, for the past couple of days she had talked of nothing but Ylva’s disappearance. She asked Karlsson and Gerda to wait in the staffroom and went herself to fetch Sanna from her class.

  When the woman came back, she was holding the girl’s hand, apparently oblivious that the police could see how she cared for the children. The woman introduced Sanna to the policemen and said that they wanted to talk to her, maybe ask a few questions.

  ‘It’s nothing to be scared of,’ she assured her, in her kindest child-friendly voice, and then turned to Karlsson an
d Gerda. ‘Maybe it would be just as well if I stay?’

  Karlsson nodded his consent and the woman sat down on the chair beside Sanna, without letting go of her hand.

  ‘We’ve been talking to your dad,’ Karlsson said, in the same voice that he always used, no matter who he was talking to. ‘And he said that your mum’s missing. Do you remember when you saw her last?’

  Sanna nodded.

  ‘When was that then?’

  Sanna shrugged. Gerda gave it a try. He spoke in a softer voice than his colleague.

  ‘Do you remember when you last saw your mummy?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sanna said.

  ‘And where was that?’

  ‘At school, here.’

  The woman filled them in. ‘Ylva dropped Sanna off at school on Friday morning. She spoke to the teachers. Mike was going to pick her up.’

  Gerda gave a thoughtful nod and turned to Sanna again.

  ‘And you haven’t seen your mummy since then?’

  Sanna shook her head.

  ‘What did you and Daddy do at the weekend?’

  ‘We went to Väla and McDonald’s. And got out some films.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Sanna nodded. ‘The Parent Trap.’

  Gerda didn’t understand.

  ‘It’s really good,’ Sanna said.

  ‘Oh, I see, it’s a film. Okay. Did Daddy watch it too?’

  ‘He was talking on the phone.’

  ‘When did he tell you that Mummy was missing?’

  ‘When Granny came. Then the police.’

  ‘Sanna, these gentlemen are also policemen.’

  Sanna nodded obediently, but without much conviction.

  ‘But the other ones were real policemen,’ she said eventually. ‘Daddy said that Mummy would come back when I was asleep, but she didn’t. He said that she’d be back when I woke up. But she wasn’t.’

  Gerda sat on the edge of his chair and leaned forward towards Sanna, in an attempt to gain her confidence.

  ‘And your mummy and daddy, do they argue a lot?’

  Gerda stared out through the car window.

  ‘I just hope it was him. If not, we’ve ruined his life. Mrs Mutton-Dressed-up-as-Lamb won’t rest on her laurels.’

  He was referring to the plump teacher who had sat in on the interview, savouring every word.

  ‘You’re the one who wanted to go there,’ Karlsson said.

  ‘So, conclusion,’ Gerda said. ‘Either she shows up with her tail between her legs when she’s finished screwing around, or he’s killed her. There’s no other option. And if he didn’t do it himself, he hired someone.’

  Karlsson chewed the skin at the side of his nail nervously.

  ‘He could get us put away for something like this,’ Karlsson said. ‘And I’d report it, if it was me. Too bloody right, I would.’

  ‘You know what?’ Gerda said. ‘He’s got other things to think about.’

  Karlsson turned on the radio. A presenter with an affected voice was talking unnecessarily fast and loud.

  ‘Bloody talk radio,’ he said, and switched it off again.

  ‘It’s all so strange, so hard to understand.’

  Kristina had been sitting in front of the TV all evening. She’d seen what had happened and heard what was said, even though it had all gone over her head. She couldn’t take any more of it. She blocked out the outside world.

  A person couldn’t just disappear?

  A single thought occupied her mind, a single thought that prevented the TV images and sound from registering on her optic nerve or eardrums.

  It was a thought that she mustn’t think, didn’t want to think – a horrid thought, which for that very reason refused to go away.

  The thought that her son might have had something to do with Ylva’s disappearance.

  She couldn’t get it to fit. She’d never known Mike to be violent. Quite the opposite; he was the quiet sort.

  Had it been the last straw?

  And if so, what did the future hold? Who would look after Sanna? Kristina imagined that everyone would keep their distance, too scared to get close. It would be hard for Sanna to find friends she could trust.

  Kristina wanted to conjure up the image of some seriously disturbed psychiatric patient who might have stabbed her daughter-in-law to death on the street. She tried to imagine Ylva giggling irresponsibly in another man’s bed, or laughing evilly. So that Mike would finally realise the kind of woman she was and free himself from her spell.

  But none of these imagined scenarios succeeded in erasing the thought that she wanted to avoid at all costs. That Mike knew more than he was saying, that he’d had something to do with Ylva’s disappearance.

  Kristina heard the phone ringing. It had been ringing for a while, but she hadn’t counted the number of times. Finally her brain clicked into gear and she got up and went to answer it. She looked at the display and saw that it was Mike.

  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and said: ‘Any news?’

  Her son was crying on the other end.

  ‘I’ve got no one to talk to,’ he snivelled.

  Kristina held her breath. She was prepared. For anything. It didn’t matter. Mike was her son, nothing could change that.

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said. ‘Carry on.’

  She waited for him to pull himself together sufficiently that she could understand what he was saying.

  ‘They went to the school,’ he finally managed to squeeze out.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The police. They talked to Sanna.’

  Kristina didn’t answer.

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ Mike sobbed. ‘They think it’s me. They think I killed her. How can they even think that?’

  His voice was helpless and desperate, but she couldn’t hear any lies. Kristina felt the tension leave her muscles.

  28

  Karlsson and Gerda went from door to door and talked to the neighbours. Had anyone seen or heard anything that might shed light on Ylva’s disappearance? Cars that had stopped nearby or left the Zetterbergs’ house in the relevant time frame, which was probably between nine in the evening and the following morning.

  Karlsson and Gerda were aware that every question they asked pointed suspicion in the same direction.

  The result of two days’ fieldwork was a couple of unconnected witnesses who had heard a car leave Bäckavägen and disappear up Sundsliden at around half past two in the morning. But unfortunately this lead came to nothing when it turned out that the car had been driven by a sober eighteen-year-old who had spent Friday evening round at his girlfriend’s.

  ‘Just our luck,’ Karlsson said. ‘Why couldn’t he have stayed over? That’s what we did in my day.’

  ‘If I had a fifteen-year-old daughter, I wouldn’t let an eighteen-year-old stay over, believe me,’ Gerda retorted.

  ‘No, I guess it’s different if you’ve got girls. What d’you want?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  They were standing in a queue by an ice-cream kiosk.

  ‘Maybe a soft ice,’ Gerda said.

  ‘Go for it.’

  ‘With hundreds and thousands.’

  ‘Hey big spender.’

  ‘You only live once.’

  ‘True. I think I’ll go for three scoops. With strawberry sauce and cream.’

  ‘So now you’re going the whole hog?’

  ‘Because I’m worth it. If you’re going for hundreds and thousands, I’m having strawberry sauce and cream.’

  They got their ice-creams and ate them leaning against the car in the sun.

  ‘Doesn’t get any better,’ Karlsson said.

  ‘Speak for yourself. My hundreds and thousands are finished.’

  ‘Where would you dump the body?’

  ‘Don’t know. You?’

  ‘In a lake,’ Karlsson said. ‘With weights.’

  ‘Too much hassle,’ Gerda concluded. ‘You’d have to pull
and drag the body around and have a boat. And then you’d be worrying that the body would decompose and float up to the surface. Bury the shit, I say.’

  ‘But you’d have to dig bloody deep. There’s always some animal that’s rooting around in the dirt. God, it’s so good when the cream kind of freezes on the ice cream and goes hard.’

  ‘When it goes kind of lumpy, I know what you mean.’

  ‘We’ll have to talk to him again. It’s been a few days now. Maybe his conscience has been doing its thing.’

  Mike Zetterberg wondered what else he could do. He tried to think constructively, find a loose thread to pull at.

  She hadn’t been on the bus. Wrong, he didn’t know for sure. What he did know was that none of the bus drivers or passengers could remember seeing her. It was of course possible that no one had noticed her, but Mike found that hard to believe. Ylva attracted attention and had the sort of open smile that invited contact. She normally listened to her iPod so she wouldn’t have to talk to people.

  IPod in her ears? Could she have walked out into the road and been run over without anyone seeing it? And the driver had panicked and taken her lifeless body and buried it somewhere or thrown it into the sea. Not likely. She would have walked through the town, people everywhere. Extremely unlikely, almost impossible.

  The most likely thing was, and he had to agree with the police here, that she had arranged to meet someone. She had said one thing to Mike and something else to her colleagues. To cover her back. The question was, who had she gone to meet?

  Her phone records didn’t provide any clues. He had gone through them himself with Karlsson and Gerda. Her emails at work were just as useless. No saved cyber flirts. She might of course have deleted them to avoid the risk of being discovered, or alternatively have a secret mail address, but Mike didn’t think so. Middle-aged women who slept around were seen as liberated, they didn’t need to skulk about. The opposite applied when you were a teenager: the girls got the bad reputation, the boys became heroes.

  Ylva had been missing for four days. She hadn’t just gone off for a dirty weekend with a hot lover. And her passport was still in the chest of drawers, so she hadn’t taken a last-minute charter flight.

  Her mobile …