Vanished?

by Christer Tholin

  “What do you think I am? Already done. Just check your email!”

  “Thanks! Have a great night! Call me as soon as you hear anything about Åre.”

  “Right. Talk to you then.”

  16

  His cell phone rang. This late at night? The screen showed it as being Lars. There was also a warning that Martin needed to charge the battery. Earlier that evening, he had spoken with his partner Jürgen and had forgotten to charge the phone after the call. Of course, Jürgen had been glad that Martin had followed his advice and hired a private investigator. What Martin had learned in that one day was also the subject of their long talk. Jürgen now thought he should stick with it for a while.

  Martin picked up the phone. “Hello, Lars.”

  “Good evening, Martin. Hope I’m not calling too late?”

  “No, no problem. I haven’t gone to bed yet.”

  “I tried several times earlier, but the line was always busy. I also want to get an early start tomorrow. I have news for you.”

  Lars summarized Elin’s findings. “Elin is now trying to find out if there’s anyone staying at the ski cabin. She’s very clever. She’ll find a way. Liv is apparently not in Danderyd, so all we have left are the houses in the Archipelago and in Dalarna. Dalarna is the Bavaria of Sweden in a way. That’s where the small red horse figurines come from, the ones they sell in every souvenir shop. It’s about a four-hour drive from Stockholm, which is why I think it’s unlikely that Liv is there. But tomorrow morning, I’ll be driving over to the house in the Archipelago to see if anyone is staying there. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good. How will you get there? Do you have to take a boat?”

  “No, it’s on one of the islands that’s reachable by car. You drive over the bridge to Värmdö, and then you take a car ferry. It will probably take an hour and a half, provided I don’t have to wait too long for the ferry. I should hopefully be back around noon, and I’ll give you a call at that time.”

  “You know, I’d also like to do something to help. Do you think I could check out the house in Dalarna?”

  “Hmm, that’s a long way out in the woods. I’m not too thrilled with the idea of having you poking around there all by yourself. Besides, I don’t think Liv is there. The house belonged to her husband’s family, and she has better options.”

  “Yes, but if she’s not there, then nothing can happen. And I’d also love to do something. Stockholm is nice, but I didn’t come here to sightsee.”

  “Right, well, if you absolutely want to, but you’ll be on the road all day. Maybe you’d better plan on spending the night.”

  “That’s no problem. That way, I’ll get to see more of Sweden.”

  “OK, I’ll email you the directions. Your GPS won’t be able to find it. And if you can’t figure it out, give me a call!”

  “OK, great! Any tips on what I should do when I’m there, Lars?”

  “It’s important to maintain a hands-off approach, Martin. Be sure to park your car a good distance away and then walk from there. Keep an eye out for any indication that someone is staying at the house. You can also talk to some of the neighbors, assuming there are any. If you find anything at all—for instance, if there’s a car there—call me! Do not do anything before talking to me, please!”

  “OK, got it.”

  “Good. Then we’ll hear from each other tomorrow. Have a good trip, and lots of luck!”

  “Ciao.”

  Martin hung up and placed the phone on the charger. He would be needing a fully loaded battery tomorrow. He was looking forward to the coming day so that he could finally be doing something again, even if nothing came of it. To search for the house on his own and look around there would be exciting.

  Martin took another beer out of the minibar and thought about the best way to organize his trip: four hours to drive there, two to find the house and look around, and then he would find a place to eat. It was possible to do all of that and drive back in one day. But it would be a long day, and the thought of eight hours of driving didn’t exactly send him into raptures. He decided to check out in the morning and spend the night in Dalarna. He was on vacation, after all.

  Friday, September 25

  17

  Martin’s GPS had indicated two possible routes, so he decided on the longer route with a larger section of freeway. It was supposed to be quicker than the shorter route by county road. Of course, it took him half an hour to get through the rush hour traffic. This was obviously not the vacation season. Friday was a regular workday, and at eight in the morning, there was plenty of action on the streets. After finally making it out of Stockholm, Martin headed straight north, past the airport and through several cities with funny names: Uppsala, Gävle, and Falun.

  The second half of the route passed into much higher altitudes, similar to the Central German Uplands. There seemed to be a lot of winter sports activity here. Shortly before leaving Falun, Martin noticed a ski jump and a large number of parking spaces to his right. For some reason, the name Falun rang a bell. Hadn’t the Nordic World Ski Championships taken place there the year before?

  Martin then stopped in a place called Bjursås to fill his gas tank and have lunch at a small restaurant. That went fairly quickly. You went up to the counter, picked out your meal and drinks, paid at the end, and carried everything on a tray to a table. The food was all right. He had opted for the famous köttbullar, or meatballs. Oddly enough, they were served with cranberries—a strange combination.

  After lunch, he still had an hour’s drive. Shortly after Bjursås, he had to exit the county road, and at that point the roads got narrower and narrower. He now found himself on a dirt road in the middle of the forest. Martin was glad he had gotten directions from Lars. His GPS hadn’t been able to find it, so he had driven to the nearest village and followed Lars’s directions from there. Unfortunately, he only had them on his cell phone, which was a bit inconvenient because of the small screen. Nor did the fact that it was raining make things any easier.

  Martin had been following the dirt road for more than eight kilometers now, and only once did he pass a small cluster of houses. Otherwise, there was nothing but forest. But the road was fairly straight, and apart from the occasional small rise, it was also flat. It seemed to run between two mountains, which was probably why it was called Dalvägen. Martin had looked that up. It meant exactly what he thought: Valley Road.

  Here came another couple of houses up ahead. You could always tell from the mailboxes, which were mounted on a wall specifically constructed for that purpose and which served all the properties in the area. The wall was right on the main road, and from there, several small roads led to the individual plots. Here, too, the houses were set far apart. He could see only two showing through the trees—all the others must have been situated farther back.

  Martin stopped by the row of mailboxes, some of which were held shut with rubber bands. Those houses were probably vacant after the summer months, and the rubber bands were supposed to discourage junk mail. Above the wall were the words “Dalvägen/Moskogen.” That was right. But there were no names at all on the mailboxes. They were simply numbered 1 to 12. That was bad, because he was looking for 16 Dalvägen.

  Should he keep driving? Maybe “Dalvägen/Moskogen” still had a part two, even though the directions said it was the second settlement after about ten kilometers on the dirt road. Martin picked up his cell phone to call Lars. Crap—no connection. Well, no wonder. He was out in the middle of nowhere.

  Martin took a closer look at the mailboxes. Sure enough, on one of them—the one with the number 6—was a small sticker that read “Melander, Dalvägen 12.” So he was right, after all. Number 16 must be close by.

  Martin looked around. Two small roads, just wide enough for a car, branched off from the dirt road on the other side, and there by the two roads were some small signs with the numbers 8 and 10. Martin kept driving. After a while, there were more small turnoffs, not all of them with numbers
. Finally, he saw the number 14. Martin decided to park the car there. He drove a short way down the little road and left his Audi there. He pulled on his rain jacket, walked back to the dirt road, and followed it farther down. Another dead-end road appeared, but unfortunately with no number. After the next turn came a sign with the number 18. So the road before it had been the right one, after all.

  Martin walked back and followed the turn onto the dead-end road with no sign. After about 200 meters, the forest opened into a clearing, and he found himself before a cabin. It was constructed of sturdy wooden beams and painted black with green shutters. Farther to the left was another small house that probably had only one room. There was also a shed. They were all built in the same style, with the same black color. The whole place looked utterly deserted. There were no cars, everything was locked, and the property was all tidied up. Martin walked around, peering through the windows, but the buildings were all dark inside, and there was no one in sight.

  All right, so this was probably it. He and Lars hadn’t expected Liv to be there, anyway, assuming this was the right house. There was no number, no sign with a name, and no other clues as to the owner. And trying to find the neighbors was futile—it seemed the homes were all vacant summerhouses.

  Martin felt disappointed now. He hadn’t imagined that his search would end up so solitary and fruitless. He slowly walked back to the dirt road.

  Shortly before reaching it, he heard the sound of a motor. Through the trees, he could see a black pickup truck come off the narrow road on the other side of the main dirt road, turn onto the same road, and hit the gas. Someone apparently lived there. As Martin came to the dirt road, all he could still make out were the taillights of the pickup truck. What should he do? He decided to try the neighbor’s house, the one that the pickup truck had come from. That sign also had no number.

  Martin got back in his car and veered onto the narrow road, driving cautiously because the road made a number of turns. He had expected a house to appear after several hundred meters, but that wasn’t the case. Not for another three kilometers would he see the house in the distance. At that point, there was a slight widening of the road, so he decided to leave the Audi there. He wanted to avoid driving onto the property.

  As he walked the final hundred meters, Martin was glad he had worn his boots. The ground was rather muddy.

  18

  Liv awoke once again. She still felt somewhat dazed from the sleep medication and needed a few minutes to clear her head. Then she sat up. On the small table before her were a plastic water bottle, some sandwiches, and a glass. She stared at the glass. This couldn’t be. Had he found it? She needed to check right away. She walked over to the window, opened it, and reached through the bars. She carefully felt around to her right—and there it was. She took hold of the glass and slowly pulled it in.

  Yes, her plan had worked. The glass was nearly half filled with rainwater. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She drank it down in one gulp. Then she placed the glass back in the air shaft in front of the window. She had set it so that no one could see it from inside. That way, she had bought herself time—time when she wasn’t asleep. Each time she had awoken, she was thirsty, and every time she had drunk from the bottle of water, she had soon grown drowsy again. Now she should be able to get by for a while without drinking. Besides, it was still raining. That meant the glass would fill some more.

  Finally—she could dig into the sandwiches. She was hungry, but she felt better with a bit more control over the situation. Once she was done eating, she planned her next move. She was betting on her kidnapper expecting to find her asleep, so she arranged the blanket and pillow on the bed so that it would look at first glance as though she were wrapped inside the covers. Then she positioned herself on the other side of the door, although she quickly realized that she needed something to use as a weapon. She looked around. Unfortunately, there was very little in this room. Then she hit upon an idea: the small table.

  She set the glass and plastic water bottle on the floor. What could her kidnapper have thought when he saw the glass was missing? That had been the weak point in her plan. There was a chance he could have looked for it or become suspicious in some other way. But he didn’t. The plan had worked. He had merely put a new one in its place.

  Liv picked up the table and swung it around in the room. Yes, you could definitely slam someone with that. It might be a bit heavy, but she would only have to swing it once. Now, however, it was time to wait.

  For a long time, nothing happened. Liv must have been waiting at least an hour when she heard an engine start outside and a car drive off. She opened the window to hear better. The car was apparently leaving, because the sound of the engine rapidly faded until she could no longer hear it. The rain also appeared to have stopped. She checked the glass—a small mouthful of rainwater had collected inside it. Liv drank greedily. She wouldn’t be able to go far on that before having to resort to the water bottle again.

  She leaned against the wall. What did this mean now? Someone had just driven away. She didn’t know how long the drug lasted—probably several hours. Worst case, that meant it would be another few hours before her kidnapper returned to check on her. Crap, she couldn’t hold out that long without water. It didn’t matter. She would try.

  Liv shut the window and sat down beside the door with the table close at hand. Then she waited. With any luck, someone would soon come. When that happened, she would put every ounce of strength she had into the blow. She knew it was her only chance. She would see what she did after that. Of course, if there were several guards, her chances were bleak. Never mind. She would have to risk it, anyway.

  Suddenly, she heard a noise at the door. Were there two guards, after all? If so, it was a good thing the other had driven away—she would only need to worry about one. She got in place, reached for the small table, and prepared to strike.

  The key turned. Liv held her breath. Slowly, the door opened. The guard could now see the bed. Hopefully, the crumpled blanket would fool him. Yes, the man stepped into the room. Liv saw a blue parka and swung. The blow didn’t hit as planned—the table was too heavy. But she caught him on the shoulder, and the force of the blow made him lose his balance, fall, and land near the bed. Liv didn’t lose one moment. She threw open the door, dashed out, and slammed it behind her with a loud bang. The key was still in the lock, so she quickly turned it. Done. The guard was locked inside. Her sole hope now was that no one else was there.

  Liv looked around. She found herself in a large basement with shelving on the walls. It was a big mess, with cartons, bottles, old furniture, and lampshades strewn around. There was a strong smell of must. Some steps led upwards, and there was another door on the same level. Maybe that one led outside. Liv tried the handle. Locked. But there was even a key here. She turned it, and the door opened, though with some difficulty. No, this was just another room in the basement, smaller than the one she was in and utterly filthy. She closed the door again. All that remained were the steps that led upstairs.

  It was a stone stairway, so at least it couldn’t creak. At the top was a door that was halfway open. Liv peered inside. There was a corridor with a kitchen at the end. This was the only way out. She looked around and cautiously continued. Not a sound could be heard, but her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Someone, she thought, must be lurking around every corner. But when she looked, there was no one there. Once she calmed down, she went to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. She drank directly from it—for a long time. How good that felt! It tasted like iron, but at least it contained no sedatives.

  It was the same view from almost every window: the house was apparently in the middle of the forest. It was quite large for a summer cabin. There was even an upper story, but Liv had no wish to explore. She just wanted to get away from there. Who knew when the other guy would return?

  The furniture was old, and the house was messy and not exactly clean. There
was an open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. And then she spotted her things: her leather jacket, shoes, and purse, complete with her wallet, all her credit cards, and her ID. Oh, and then there was her cell phone, but of course the battery was dead. She pulled on her jacket, slipped on her shoes, and took her cell phone and purse. She opened the front door and hurried down the three steps to the yard. There was chaos here, too: old cars and machines, broken lawn furniture, all lying around helter-skelter. But then she spied her Jeep. She ran over to it. Locked. She looked inside her purse and in the pockets of her jacket. No, the key wasn’t there. It must be somewhere inside the house. She would have to go back in and look. She didn’t like that, but the car was important. Reluctantly, Liv returned to the front door.

  19

  Martin was coming to. He could not have been out for long. He had fallen and hit his head on the bed. His forehead ached, and his shoulder hurt. He was lying on the cold floor, a small table beside him. Someone had used it to knock him down. Was this becoming a habit? Slowly and painfully, he raised himself up.

  Martin thought he had found Liv. First, he had recognized her car and then the leather jacket in the living room. The front door had been open. He had moved stealthily around the house, not knowing who was there. When he first opened the door to this room, he was sure someone was lying in the bed. Now he pulled off the covers—but there was no one there. It was a damn trap! What was going on here? Liv must have been here. Had she been locked up?

  Martin stood up. His body ached. Maybe Liv was still in the house. He pounded against the door with his fists.

  “Liv Ulldahl, do you hear me? It’s me, Martin Petzold. Please help me!”

  He called three more times. Then he heard Liv’s voice on the other side of the door.

  “Do you speak German? Who are you?”