Missing

breakfast. After putting it on, she held her hands under the tap and flattened the creases with her wet palms. It helped with the worst ones, anyway.
    Putting the rucksack into Left Luggage meant that she’d have to pay to get it back later, but she’d fix it somehow. Food was top of the agenda now.
    Surveying the scene from the station steps, she decided on the nearby City Hotel. She hurried across the street, then drifted into the foyer at a much slower pace. The male receptionist hurried towards her at once and she smiled at him.
    ‘Goodness, it’s so chilly today,’ she said and shivered.
    He smiled back. His golden name-tag told her that he was called Henrik.
    ‘I just popped across to the station to check the train times, but I really needed a jacket.’
    ‘Do ask us here in the reception next time, we’ve got all the timetables.’
    She leaned confidingly towards him across the counter.
    ‘Don’t tell, but to be honest I took the chance to smoke a cigarette.’
    He looked benignly at her, as if to reassure her that her secret was safe with him. The guest is always right.
    So far, so good.
    The hook for the key to room 213 was empty, but 214 was still in place. She looked at her watch.
    ‘Please phone room 214 for me.’
    ‘Of course.’ He handed her the receiver. The signals rang out, but nobody answered. Henrik turned to check the keys.
    ‘He should be in, his key is still here. Perhaps he’s already gone down to breakfast?’
    He nodded in the direction of a corridor.
    ‘It’s unlike him to be early, I must say. There’s a first time for everything I suppose … But thanks. Have you got a morning paper I could have, please?’
    He gave her a copy of Dagens Nyheter and she walked off towards the corridor, which would surely lead to the breakfast room. Easy-peasy.

    Half an hour later she leaned back in the chair feeling full and relaxed. There were four other guests, all at separate tables and engrossed in their newspapers. Nothing new, it seemed, or at least Dagens Nyheter ran only a small column on an inside page referring to the police search for the woman who got away from the Grand Hotel.
    The breakfast buffet was generous. She went up for a refill of coffee and managed to smuggle several breakfast rolls and three bananas into her handbag.
    Back at her table, she thought about the excursion to Eskilstuna. Had she gained anything by coming all this way to let Jörgen Grundberg’s widow insult her? She drank another mouthful of coffee, looking vacantly through the window.
    Actually, she knew perfectly well what her trip had been in aid of. She had made herself believe that, equipped with some first-hand information and a contact with somebody who knew Jörgen Grundberg, she would be able to explain the whole story of their encounter in the hotel. The misunderstandings would be sorted out and the case closed, as far as she was concerned.
    Instead, the outcome had been the opposite of what she had hoped. They were all utterly convinced that she had done it. No other candidates. What were her options now?
    She could simply go into hiding. After keeping out of sight for the best part of fifteen years, it shouldn’t be impossible. The published picture was the only one they had, which made her pretty unrecognisable now. As usual, her name spelt trouble and there were people who knew her usual hang-outs. Still, hardly any of them cared much for the police.
    In other words, everything might sort itself out if she lay low, avoiding a few obvious places until they caught the real murderer. Then she could live normally again. Goodness, never in her wildest fantasies had she thought ‘back to normal’ would be her aim in life.
    After drinking some more coffee, she realised what was still disturbing her so much.
    The humiliation. She had been so determined to take no more of it, ever. No more shit.
    She had a clear vision of her mother’s rage on hearing that her daughter had disgraced the family again. What’s wrong with the girl? Being truly her own mother’s daughter, the expression in her eyes would soon also say ‘I told you so – don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
    The gossip would be soaking through every layer of society in Hultaryd. You’ve heard about the Forsenströms’ daughter, haven’t you? She’s a murderess.
    Her father would probably … but no, she couldn’t begin to imagine how he would react. She had never understood how he really felt about things.
    By now she