VANISHED?
A Swedish Crime Novel
Stockholm Sleuth Series
Christer Tholin
Copyright © 2018 Christer Tholin
Stockholm, Sweden
[email protected]
www.christertholin.one
2nd English edition 2018
Edited and partially retranslated by Doreen Zeitvogel
Original translation by Dwight E. Langston
Title of the original German edition:
VERSCHWUNDEN?
Published 2016
Cover design by Anne Gebhardt
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Anyone who performs any unauthorized action in connection with this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil damage claims.
ISBN of pocketbook:
ISBN-13: 9781717821034
ISBN-10: 1-7178-2103-0
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For my wife
Contents
Part I
Wednesday, September 16
Saturday, September 19
Sunday, September 20
Monday, September 21
Tuesday, September 22
Wednesday, September 23
Thursday, September 24
Friday, September 25
Saturday, September 26
Sunday, September 27
Monday, September 28
Part II
Monday, November 16
Tuesday, November 17
Wednesday, November 18
Thursday, November 19
Saturday, November 21
Sunday, November 22
Monday, November 23
Saturday, November 28
Tuesday, December 1
Wednesday, December 2
Friday, December 4
Epilogue
Two months later
My Thanks to the Reader
About the Author
SECRETS?
Part I
Wednesday, September 16
1
Now it would soon be over. Maybe another half hour’s drive. Somehow the trip had lasted longer than he had imagined. He had left Berlin in the evening and taken the night ferry from Rostock to Trelleborg. His single-bunk cabin had been basic; the night, short. The ferry had arrived in Sweden at exactly six in the morning, but the route from Trelleborg to the vacation house had proved laborious. First, there was the 110-kilometer-per-hour speed limit on the freeway. Not all of it was freeway, either, and he rarely even reached the 70-kph speed limit on the county roads. Somehow, he always wound up behind some large freight truck. Oh well, it was almost over. At least, his Audi was purring—the route seemed to suit it just fine.
Martin had placed the driving directions from the owner of the house on the passenger seat beside him. “It’s extremely easy to find. Just follow the directions carefully, and be sure to drive very slowly toward the end so that you don’t miss the turnoffs,” the owner had told Martin when he picked up the key in Berlin. All he could do now was to hope the directions were good and would still be easy to follow once he left the main road. At first, his GPS couldn’t even find the address.
At least, the scenery was gorgeous, with lots of forest, lots of lush green meadows, and the occasional lake. There were hardly any towns, and houses appeared only now and then amidst all the nature, and then they were usually painted the typical rust-red and also yellow and light blue. This was Martin’s first trip to Sweden, and his initial impressions confirmed the image he had had: pristine nature with lots of quiet. He needed that—to think, above all. And that meant getting clear on how to proceed from here.
It was already over a year since Martin’s separation from his wife and his little girl Lara. But the divorce hearing took place just three weeks ago, and that formality had affected him more than he expected. Now it would be signed and sealed, complete with visitation rights. On top of that, his wife—no, his ex-wife—was marrying again, which wouldn’t make his relationship with his daughter any easier.
After the meeting with the judge, it became obvious to Martin that he simply could not go on like this. He needed to take a break, to reorient himself. It was then that he happened to notice the following ad: “Vacation home in Southern Sweden: holiday in harmony with nature.” He thought it over for another two days, and then he called and booked, which was never a problem during the off-peak season. Yes, and now he was almost there.
“Start by heading toward Gulsten.” Fine, he did that. The road grew narrower as it wound its way through the woods. Then the landscape opened up again, and a small town came into view. That had to be Tensta, the nearest shopping locale.
Shortly before entering the town, Martin noticed a sign that read “Koloniområde Öst-Tensta.” He turned onto the road, which was narrow but still paved with asphalt. After a few kilometers, the landscape changed. Now it was no longer flat but gradually went uphill. Once again, he entered the woods, just as the landlord had described. At that point, he was supposed to take the third turnoff to the left. But what exactly did “turnoff” mean here? Surely not this tiny road that could barely accommodate a car ... or was that it? All right, he had already passed one. That much was clear. The second was debatable. And so it continued, which unfortunately meant that it was not so obvious where he should turn off and not at all as simple as the landlord had claimed—and that, in spite of the fact that Martin was driving very slowly and carefully checking every junction.
For a long time, the road went on through the woods, continuing gently uphill. Finally, another junction appeared. A right turn would lead to Östergård, but there was no sign for the left turn, only half a dozen mailboxes. What choice did he have? He turned left. In about 100 meters, the asphalt stopped, although the dirt road was entirely passable, and the terrain had leveled off as well. According to the directions, he was supposed to take the second option to the right. Hopefully, something—anything—would appear.
Martin had driven maybe two kilometers when he came to a clearing. Here the road forked, with the right turnoff leading to one end of the clearing. There stood a house, yellow in color. He drove up to it. There was a Jeep sitting in the driveway, and on the garden gate, a large sign boasted “Hjärtats plats.” Martin stopped the car. Should he ring the doorbell and ask?
As he got out of the car, Martin realized that he had no need to ring the bell: there was a woman working in the garden to the right of the house. She had looked up and was leaning on her spade. About his age, she was wearing work clothes and had woven her blond hair into a braid.
“Excuse me, madam, could you please help me?” Martin asked in English. The woman came over to the fence and looked at him inquiringly. She had beautiful blue eyes, and her skin was covered with freckles. Tiny beads of sweat stood out on her forehead.
“You can speak German with me as well,” came the answer in fluent German.
“Oh, I didn’t realize I had such a pronounced accent.”
“It’s not that. I happened to notice your license plate.”
“Ah, right. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m not sure I’ve gone the right way.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I’ve rented a vacation house. I
t’s called, uh ...” He looked at the piece of paper. “... ‘Solplats.’ Is that anywhere near here?”
“Solplats.” She pronounced it “Soolpluts.” “Yes, you’re not too far off. All you need to do is to drive back a little way to the last junction, take the other road, and then veer right after about three kilometers. It’s the third or fourth house on the right, I think. You can’t miss it. The name is on it in big letters.”
“Great! I’m so relieved. I wasn’t sure if I’d even gone down the right dead end. According to this paper, it’s the fourth house. But thanks so much for your help—and in German, too. Where did you learn to speak it so well?”
“Oh, thank you. I do a lot of business with Germany.”
“No, I should be thanking you. If I take another wrong turn, I’ll be back. Goodbye!”
“I’m sure you’ll find it. Goodbye!” She had a lovely Swedish accent.
Martin got in the car and turned it around. They waved at each other, and then he drove back to the last junction and took the other road at the fork. He found himself heading back into the forest. Everything went like clockwork after that: first, the road to the right; then the three houses—red, blue, and red; and finally, the fourth house, “Solplats,” also painted red. The name was written in large letters on a small sign that sat enthroned on a pole in front of the house. The owner had explained to him that the name meant “sun place.” And it made sense: the road ran up the hill, and the house stood on a rather precipitous spot in a clearing. From there, you had a beautiful view across the meadow to a little lake.
The house itself was small, a single story with a nearly black roof and white window frames. The natural garden was covered with tall grass and a few rocks sprinkled here and there. There was no fence, at least not on this side. Martin drove into the small parking space beside the house. He had arrived.
Saturday, September 19
2
Martin was warming his hands on his mug of coffee. Mornings on the terrace were brisk, but the panorama was breathtaking. The lake lay, calm and quiet, between the green tops of the trees. On the near side lay a long stretch of meadow that was home to a herd of deer. Every morning, Martin would watch them, and on one day, there were even several stags. Good thing he had packed his binoculars.
The house itself was furnished for comfort and convenience, and by now, Martin was feeling quite at home. He had spent the first two days settling in and looking around, and now he could devote himself entirely to relaxing and taking walks. He had already done a fair amount of walking, although there were hardly any road signs, so he had to pay close attention to avoid getting lost. The weather had also been somewhat capricious, but he was enjoying it all the same. This area was like a wasteland, with not a soul in sight. Even the neighboring houses appeared to be empty. But that was good—it would give him plenty of room to think.
To Martin, one thing was already clear: he would stay in touch with his daughter and take full advantage of his visitation rights. Back home, he had considered completely breaking off contact to give his wife’s new family a chance. But that had been a knee-jerk reaction, and he knew now that that choice would have caused him a great deal of torment. Besides, he didn’t think his daughter would accept it. It was true that she was much more attached to her mother, but her father meant a lot to her as well.
Martin had no intention of meddling in his ex’s new relationship. He had already done that with his daughter’s upbringing—he and his ex had quarreled a lot over that. The image of men that his wife—no, ex-wife—had already conveyed to the four-year-old girl was far too negative. Not all men were chauvinists, after all. But Martin no longer had any desire to discuss that. In the time that he had with his daughter, he would try to give her a realistic image of himself, and that would at least be different from the picture his ex-wife had painted. Oh well, it still wouldn’t be easy.
Today, Martin’s goal was to shop. The provisions he had bought at a small shopping center in Tensta on his first day there were already running low. This particular supermarket was open every day, and he liked the convenience of not having to worry about what day of the week it was. Meanwhile, he had gotten used to the road through the forest and down the mountain, not to mention the fact that he rarely encountered another car.
Once in Tensta, Martin drove straight to the shopping center, which was situated on the main road. There was a large parking lot that gave direct access to the stores, which lined it in the form of an L. The supermarket was at the short end.
Martin took a shopping cart and trundled off. He found the store’s selection somewhat limited, apart from the bewildering array of dairy products. His first time there, he had bought some Filmjölk because of the large cow depicted on the carton. It turned out to be buttermilk, which he wasn’t overly fond of and which wasn’t at all suitable for coffee. This time, he bought Mellanmjölk, even though there was no cow on it. The store had a large selection of fish as well, so Martin picked up several jars of herring in different sauces and placed them in his cart.
At the checkout stand, the lone woman ahead of him was embroiled in a discussion with the cashier. Martin recognized her. It was the nice lady who had told him the way to the house. She seemed to be having a problem with her credit card. Since she hadn’t noticed him yet, he addressed her.
“Excuse me, can I be of any help?”
The woman turned and looked at him. She had a serious expression on her face, but the wrinkles on her brow soon melted into a smile of recognition.
“Oh, it’s you! Hello! Yes, the card reader won’t take my card, and I didn’t bring enough cash.”
“I’d be happy to help. How much do you need?”
“Oh, that would be so kind of you, and I’ll pay you back right away. It’s not much—just 260 kronor.”
“Ah, that’s no problem. I have enough.” Luckily, he had taken out plenty of cash since he hadn’t expected to be able to pay with his card wherever he went.
Martin’s blond neighbor explained the situation to the cashier, and both women looked relieved. As Martin handed the attractive neighbor the money, their fingers touched. That brief contact sent a chill down his spine. He froze, unable to do anything but stare. After several seconds that seemed like minutes, he shook himself loose from his petrified state and paid for his purchase. Had the woman noticed his reaction?
Having placed their items in plastic bags, Martin and his neighbor walked to the exit together.
“I’m so grateful to you for helping me out,” she said, “and without even knowing me at all.”
“It’s not a problem. At the very least, it gave me a chance to repay you for your help earlier.”
“You’re very kind.” Her blue eyes were sparkling. “I know! I’ll use a different card to get some cash, and then I can have you over for coffee tomorrow. Would that be all right? I can give you the money then. What do you think?”
“I’d love to. What time should I be there?”
“Around three o’clock. Can you find your way to my house?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure. I’ve almost driven past it several times already.”
“All right, then I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it!”
“Me, too.”
“My name is Liv, by the way.”
“Martin.”
“Great. In Sweden, we say hejdå for goodbye.”
“Heydoh.” Martin gave it a try.
“Not bad for a first attempt. Hejdå!”
They headed in different directions as they walked back to their cars. Martin turned to look at Liv. She was an attractive woman from the back as well.
Now on his way home, Martin was contemplating their accidental meeting. He was looking forward to their get-together and to spending time with another person. He was a bit lonely, after all, being all by himself in his cabin. Besides, he found her interesting. He wondered if she lived alone.
The day passed quickly. Martin had spent the afternoon i
n the woods, somewhat longer than he meant to after trying a new path and getting lost. Then, to make matters worse, it started to pour so that he returned home drenched and exhausted. But after a hot shower, he already felt better.
For supper, he made fish and also indulged in a bottle of wine. His thoughts turned to his daughter once more. He missed her, and in that moment, he truly regretted that it had come to this. Maybe he had also made it too easy for himself. Was there nothing more he could have done to save his marriage?
At some point, Martin finally quit making compromises, and he chose to ignore his wife’s perpetual complaining to the extent that he could. Yes, all right, if he were honest, you could probably see that as chauvinistic. For the brief time he was home, he had dealt exclusively with his daughter, and otherwise, he had focused on his job. He and a colleague had started a law practice together, and that took a lot of work, especially in the first year. His indifference had infuriated his wife, and there was constant bickering, even over trivial matters. And so, Martin buried himself even more in his work.
And then his wife met Gerhard, and Martin could no longer forestall the end. Not that he had particularly tried. Somehow, he hadn’t cared too much because he didn’t believe that his wife would ever push to the point of divorce. But she did—and fast, too.
Right, so there he was. Another sip of wine, and he would be ready to drop into bed.
Sunday, September 20
3
The engine failed to properly warm up on the short stretch to his “neighbor” Liv’s, but Martin had no desire to walk. The rain was still coming down, and the road was muddy.
Martin was looking forward to seeing Liv again. She was an interesting and attractive woman. He thought of his response in the supermarket the day before, and he wondered whether he would experience a similar sensation today—upon shaking hands, for instance.
Vanished? Page 1