Vanished?

by Christer Tholin

  He parked the car by the side of the road in the same spot where it had stood before. As he got out of the car, he took the roll of cookies he had set on the passenger seat beside him. It was not the most original gift, but he had no wish to make the extra trip to town to pick up flowers. He then walked up the three steps to the front door. There was no doorbell, just a large ring that functioned as a door knocker, which he now put to use. No response. After waiting a short while, he tried again, this time a bit louder. Nothing. Three times he tried, quite forcefully. This knocker was certainly loud enough. Still, not one thing stirred. Martin looked about. The Jeep was sitting in the driveway, and there was no house within visible range, so she wouldn’t be at the neighbor’s. Could she be in the shower? He tried again and shouted “Hello!” Nothing.

  Martin went over to the Jeep. Locked. Cold hood. He walked around the house. In the back was a half-covered terrace with a table and some garden chairs. Everything was deserted. He went up to the terrace door and peered through the glass. Inside was a small dining table, and beside it was an overturned chair. Something was not quite right here. He knocked on the glass and shouted again. The door swung slightly open: it was unlocked. Martin pushed on it some more and took a hesitant step inside the house. He shouted one more time, though by now he no longer expected an answer.

  Aside from the overturned chair, everything here looked normal—a comfortably furnished living and dining room. He ventured farther into the house. Next door was the kitchen, where all was immaculate and tidy. He could see nothing in the way of preparations for coffee, and the coffeemaker was clean. Had Liv forgotten about him? Or had he misunderstood her?

  Martin felt uneasy walking around the place uninvited, and he was debating whether to leave when he decided to look on top of the clothes cabinet in the hallway. There lay her car key and cell phone, which was on. Without these items, she wouldn’t be gone for long, would she?

  The key to the door had been inserted into the lock from inside. Martin tried the handle and found that the door had been locked from inside as well. That meant that Liv had left the house by way of the terrace. Had she gone to a neighbor’s home farther off? There was virtually no other option. Or maybe something had happened to her—she had fallen from a ladder or some such thing.

  Martin decided to investigate. He looked inside the guest half-bath and then climbed the narrow steps that led upstairs, where there was a full bath and tw0 small bedrooms. But Liv was nowhere to be found. Martin headed back downstairs.

  What should he do? Simply leave and try again tomorrow? Or should he wait, after all? Here in the dining room? He could see himself sitting at the table as Liv opened the terrace door. He would say to her with a sheepish look: “Hello there, I decided to let myself in.”

  No, that didn’t appeal to him. Martin exited the house and got in his car, taking the cookies with him. Annoyed, he set them back down on the passenger seat. He then decided to drive to the neighboring houses and inquire there. He started the car and drove farther down the road. Two kilometers later, with still no house in sight, he turned around. At the junction behind Liv’s home, there was nothing but forest for several kilometers in either direction. That much he knew. Where could she have gone—on foot, without her cell phone or bothering to lock her house? Not to mention the fact that forgetting a date from one day to the next was hardly the norm.

  Martin stopped once more before Liv’s house. He got out of the car, this time leaving the package of cookies behind. He decided to knock on the door again. Then, lying to the left of the gate, he noticed a slipper. Its color was plush red, and it was wet. On looking more closely, he detected footprints as well, even if they were faded. And then there was a tire mark that was not from his car, since he had parked on the other side of the road. Could someone have picked Liv up?

  The whole thing was starting to give him an eerie feeling. Still, there had to be a simple explanation: being in a hurry, Liv forgot her key and cell phone and knocked over the chair as she rushed out. The slipper may also have been lying there a long time. Although why she went out the back was still unclear—the front door would have been quicker.

  Martin knocked again, and when he received no answer, he went around the back. Right in front of the terrace on the sodden grass was some sort of trail that he hadn’t noticed before. This was turning more and more mysterious.

  He went back inside to have another look around the living room, but even a closer inspection revealed nothing. On the dining table—by the overturned chair—lay a paperback book, apparently a Swedish novel. There was also mud in several spots on the carpet. Had he tracked it in himself? He had to admit that he hadn’t been overly careful.

  Martin revisited the hallway. There, too, he noticed traces of mud on the linoleum floor. Inside the clothes cabinet hung an array of jackets, including the brown one Liv had worn the previous day. A sporty-looking handbag was hanging there as well. This was getting stranger and stranger. The women he knew would hardly step out of the house without their purse. He took a look inside it. There wasn’t much: just a mix of paraphernalia: a hairbrush, lipstick, and a wallet with cash and credit cards. There was also an ID the size of a credit card. Liv Ulldahl was her full name—it was easy to recognize her from the photo. She must have been in a huge hurry.

  On the wall beside the cabinet hung an old telephone that had a rotary dial with the phone number on it. Martin wrote it down on a notepad that was lying on a shelf by the phone. He tore off the slip. Now he could call the house later on to find out if Liv had returned in the meantime.

  After another thorough look around, Martin finally left the house. But on crossing the terrace this time, his eye caught sight of something red beneath the chair standing closest to the door. It was the other slipper.

  4

  Dealing with this policeman was a major headache. His English was painfully slow, and otherwise, too, he was hardly the sharpest tack. From the looks of him, there were just a few more years between him and his retirement. And yet, his epaulets sported three stars.

  “Maybe Ms. Ulldahl got a ride from someone else,” he had just finished saying.

  “That’s possible, but we had a date at three.”

  “Well, she could have forgotten.”

  “Yes, that’s true, but it’s been at least three hours since she’s been gone. Look, I got there at three, and she was already gone. Then I waited at home for two hours and tried again.”

  Martin had also called several times, but of course no one had picked up.

  “She was still out,” he continued, “and her cell phone, key, and bag were in the house the whole time. Not to mention the bit with the slippers.”

  “Mr. Petzold. First of all, what you did is illegal. You cannot just break into someone’s house. That aside, I can understand why you’re worried, but there’s probably a good reason for it all. There’s unfortunately nothing we can do at the moment. We would first have to file a missing person’s report.”

  “But that’s exactly what I want to do,” Martin protested.

  “You have to be family a member. And then you have to wait at least twenty-four hours.”

  “All right, but it seems her family members don’t live anywhere near the area. How are they supposed to fill out a report?”

  “In a case like that,” the policeman replied, “a friend or neighbor could also file a report.”

  “Then I can do it. I’m a neighbor.”

  “But you said you lived several kilometers away.”

  “Right, but it’s actually the closest house.”

  “I see.” The policeman was ruminating. “Then you can do it. We just have to wait twenty-four hours.”

  “Couldn’t you at least try to get in touch with her family members?” Martin asked.

  “Do you have an address or phone number?” the policeman responded.

  “Of course not,” Martin replied, exasperated. “But I’m sure you could find that out.”

&nb
sp; “It’s not that simple.”

  In the end, Martin was able to persuade the policeman to at least give it a try. He left him his cell phone number and address, and they made an appointment for the following day.

  Martin had an odd feeling as he was driving back to Solplats. Somehow this day had not turned out as he had imagined, and he had a bad feeling about the whole story. His neighbor’s house was totally dark as he passed the junction. He decided to return there first thing in the morning.

  Monday, September 21

  5

  It was the first thing Martin thought of on awakening. He had called two more times the previous evening, with no answer either time. He checked the clock: it was 7:30 a.m. Should he call again this early? He decided to have breakfast first.

  After breakfast, there was still no answer, so Martin got in the car and drove to the house again. Everything appeared unchanged. Knocking at the front door brought no response, so he went out back to the terrace, where the door was still open. This time, he decided to do a meticulous search of the house. There had to be some kind of clue.

  The purse, cell phone, and key were still in the same place as before. Yesterday, Martin had felt uncomfortable walking around uninvited inside the house. Today, his inhibitions were gone. A night had passed, and he was convinced that something was off, though he also had to admit that investigating the matter was exciting.

  Martin went upstairs. The beds were untouched. One of the rooms appeared to be Liv’s bedroom. There was a blouse draped over the chair and a pair of pants on a hanger that was hooked on the wardrobe. In the corner stood a suitcase. Martin opened the wardrobe. Hanging and lying inside it was every possible type of garment that would fit Liv.

  On the other side of the room stood a chest of drawers. The top drawer contained all sorts of knickknacks, scarves, small bottles, ballpoint pens, and a notepad. Martin was about to open the next drawer when he heard a noise that clearly came from downstairs. He dashed out of the room and shouted: “Hello, is someone there?” No answer. But then he heard the noise again, as though someone were walking around down there. He went downstairs and shouted “Hello!” once more. As he turned toward the living room, he sensed a movement behind him. But before he could turn around, something struck him, and darkness wrapped itself around him.

  Martin was freezing. His head hurt. It was pitch black and smelled of must. He couldn’t move—his hands and feet were tied. He was lying in some unknown place on something soft.

  It took some time for his senses to come into focus, but now he could feel that something was stuck in his hair at the back of his head. A tiny bit of light was filtering through the cracks in the door. Martin looked around. He was able to discern the outline of various objects. Was that a lawnmower? Some poles and sacks were propped against the wall. It was a small room, and he could see that he was lying on a pile of chair cushions, probably for outside furniture. He seemed to have landed in a garden shed.

  Now he recalled that someone had assaulted him inside Liv’s house. Was the sticky stuff on the back of his head blood? It hurt a lot in any case. Martin struggled to sit, which was not so easy to do with his hands tied behind his back. His feet hit against something hard. Yes, there was in fact a lawnmower standing before him. From the bit of light that shone through the narrow cracks, he could make out what looked like a double door to his left.

  What should he do? Call for help? Try to free himself? Of course, there was the risk that the person who had struck and bound him was still nearby, in which case shouting was not such a good idea. He tried pulling one hand free, but they were both bound fast. He thought for a moment. If this was a garden shed, there had to be something here that he could use to cut the rope. He carefully raised himself up and edged past the lawnmower to the door. It was slow going. With his feet still tied, he could do no more than shuffle back and forth. On top of that, his left thigh hurt. Maybe he had fallen on something when he was knocked down. But he made it to the door and was able to lean against it for better support. Slowly, he inched his way along the wall to where the poles were standing. They were actually garden tools: a hoe, a rake, and some miscellaneous items. And there it was—a pair of pruning shears that were hanging on the side of the shed. Except that they were hanging at shoulder height, and he had an impossible time reaching them with his hands behind his back. Only one other option remained: he cautiously took the shears between his teeth and let them drop to the ground. Then he turned around with care and slowly squatted down. Somehow in doing so, he hit the hoe, and the pole fell on his head. One more pain to deal with. He clenched his teeth and held the pole between his head and shoulder so that it wouldn’t fall on the lawnmower and make a racket.

  Finally, Martin was able to squat down low enough to find the shears. He grabbed them with one hand and felt around. Of course, they had some kind of locking mechanism that he would have to undo. Despite his hands being numb, he found the lever and, after working it a bit, the shears released. He carefully turned them around and positioned them so that he could cut the rope. Squeezing the shears shut in this position was not easy, but he somehow managed to do it. He had apparently placed them correctly, because he felt no pain, and after a bit of resistance from the rope, he was able to push the shear completely through and loosen the rope. Relieved, Martin dropped the shears, freed his hands from the rest of the rope, and rubbed his wrists. That felt much better already. The blood flowed back into his hands with an unpleasant sensation of pins and needles. He quickly undid the ties around his feet.

  There. Now he was finally starting to regain some control over his situation. He felt his pants pockets. Yes, cell phone, car key, and wallet were all there, so the assault had not been a robbery. A look at his cell phone showed that he had reception. Should he call the police? Actually, the first thing he wanted to do was to get out of wherever this garden shed might be. Martin used his phone as a flashlight and studied the double door. It appeared to be locked. He shone the light on the other side, where he found one bolt each at the top and bottom and was able to unlatch them both with ease. Now he could push both doors outward, which he did as slowly and carefully as possible. In spite of his efforts, he couldn’t avoid making a scraping noise. Hopefully, no one heard it!

  Martin peered outside through the crack. It was no longer morning in any case, so he must have been unconscious for several hours. From the crack in the door, he could see a vegetable bed. He slowly stuck out his head and looked around. To the left, he saw Liv’s house, with his Audi sitting out front. Whew, at least that much was good. He cautiously stepped outside the shed and tried to determine whether anyone else was nearby. There were no other cars, nor could he see or hear anything else that pointed to the presence of other people. Martin plucked up his courage and crept over to his car. He opened the door, sat down, locked the car, and started the engine. So far, so good. He turned around and hit the gas. Time to get the hell out of there!

  Martin was on the phone with that numbskull again. He had driven straight back to his vacation house and first taken a look at the places that were hurting. His head had a wound that had bled quite a lot, and his thigh had a large bruise. Standing in the shower, he had carefully washed the blood from his hair, and then he had put on clean clothes. After that, he raided the refrigerator—he was starving. The clock read two in the afternoon. Once he felt halfway revived and had collected his thoughts, he called the number he had gotten from the policeman at the station. And now, for the second time, he was explaining what had happened.

  “Yes, I know I went into the house again. But it was still unlocked. I just wanted to make sure that nothing had happened to Liv. Besides, that’s not the point. I was knocked out cold and tied up. That’s surely a statutory offense. I’m a lawyer in Germany, and I know that the police have to take action under such circumstances.”

  “Now calm down—we’re taking care of it. I’m sending a patrol car to Ms. Ulldahl’s house and to yours after that. We already ha
ve your address. You’ll probably have to come back here so that we can take your statement.”

  “All right, thanks.”

  The patrol car never showed, of course. Instead, the policeman called Martin shortly before five o’clock and asked him to come to the station the next morning. He wouldn’t give him any more information but put it off until the following day. Martin was sure the man was about to call it a day.

  Martin resolved to have a quiet evening, but that was easier said than done with the day’s events going around and around in his head.

  Tuesday, September 22

  6

  Martin drove to the police station right after breakfast the following morning. It was not yet nine o’clock when he arrived. The policeman greeted him somewhat wearily and immediately brought him to a back room.

  “Mr. Petzold, we need to take your statement.”

  “Yes, of course, but what did you discover yesterday after sending a patrol car?”

  “Let’s go through the statement first!”

  The policeman gave Martin a penetrating look. The last time they spoke, Martin had failed to notice what bushy eyebrows the man had. Maybe he noticed today because the policeman was frowning and looked almost threatening behind those brows.

  “Surely you’re not going to keep me in the dark. Please tell me whether they’ve found Liv!”

  “We’re going to take your statement now.”

  This man was evidently stubborn. Martin complied, explaining for the third time what had happened the day before. The policeman recorded everything with a microphone that was attached to his computer.

  When he was done, Martin asked him, “Can you tell me now what you found at Liv’s house?”