Missing

didn’t care anyway.
    She got up. Walking past the reception on her way out she waved to Henrik, who was on the phone, gesturing to show that she was slipping out for a smoke. He waved back.
    Getting the rucksack out from Left Luggage turned out to be simplicity itself. There was no one about, so she walked unseen round the counter and lifted it off the shelf.
    She changed back into jeans and sweater in the Ladies’ Room. It was silly to use the green suit too often and besides it required dry-cleaning, which was an unforgivable luxury. The next train to Stockholm Central departed at 10.48, so she settled down on a bench to wait.

C oming home that afternoon, she sensed that something was wrong the moment she crossed the threshold. She called out but there was no response. In the drawing room she saw her mother sitting on the sofa, reading a book with her back turned to the doorway.
    ‘Mummy, I’m home.’
    Silence. Her heart was beating hard now. What had she done?
    After hanging up her jacket, she slowly walked into the drawing room. Even though she couldn’t see her mother’s face, she knew what it would tell her. Her mother was upset. So upset and disappointed, darling. As she walked round the sofa, a lump was growing in Sibylla’s stomach.
    Beatrice Forsenström did not look up from her book. Sibylla forced herself to say something, but could scarcely find her voice.
    ‘Mummy, what is it?’ No sound came from her mother who carried on reading as if Sibylla did not exist, let alone had actually spoken to her.
    ‘Why are you angry with me?’

    Silence.
    By now the lump in her stomach was so big it made her feel sick. Who had told her mother about this afternoon? Had someone seen her? She swallowed.
    ‘What have I done?’
    Still no reaction from Beatrice, who just turned a page in her book. Sibylla stared at the carpet. Its twisting oriental pattern began blurring in front of her eyes and she bent forward to make the tears fall straight down without leaving any traces on her cheeks.
    Her ears were ringing. The shame of it all.
    She went upstairs, knowing full well what to expect. Hours of anxious waiting for the explosion, hours more of guilt, shame, regret, longing to be forgiven. Please, please, dear God, let the time pass quickly. Please let her tell me soon what’s up so I can say sorry – forgive me. But whatever You do, don’t let her have found out everything.
    God, don’t take today away from me.
    But sometimes God is hard. When the downstairs dinner-bell rang, Mrs Forsenström still had not deigned to appear in Sibylla’s room. Sibylla was feeling really sick now and the smell of fried potatoes made her want to vomit. She knew what would come next. She would be made to beg and plead to be told what she had done wrong. Beatrice would speak only when sated with her daughter’s self-abasement.

S he arrived at Stockholm Central at 12.35. The Grand Hotel murder was definitely not in the news that day. The posters ran an animal welfare story, which had raised a storm of public indignation. After a few years in Sweden, a chimpanzee had been sold to a zoo in Thailand, where he had been confined in an unsuitable cage that was apparently far too small.
    Leaving the station, she walked on past the Culture Centre at Sergel Square, where she usually spent many hours going through the newspapers in the reading room. She didn’t feel like reading the papers. Never cared much for monkeys. She could do with a no-news day and above all no Grand Hotel murder stories.
    Even so, she suddenly found herself sitting on a bench on the Ström Quay, her back to the water and her eyes fixed on the façade of the Grand Hotel just opposite. The cordons had gone. A limousine had drawn up in front of the main entrance and the chauffeur was chatting with the door porter. It was looking exactly as it had three days ago when she had innocently stepped inside.
    ‘Hey, what’s this? Sitting here contemplating your sins?’
    She jumped, as if struck. It was just Heino, who had crept up behind her. He had brought all his worldly goods along, mostly plastic carrier bags full of empty cans. She knew that somewhere underneath the load was a rust-coloured hooded pram, because she had been around when he nicked it. Now only the wheels were showing.
    ‘Christ, you really scared me!’
    He grinned and sat down next to her. The odour of ingrained dirt immediately overwhelmed every other smell. She backed off as little as