Missing

the anorak, it’s great. Do you want it back now?’
    ‘You keep it. My sleeping bag is warmer than yours.’
    The clock behind him showed ten minutes past nine.
    ‘When do you start school?’
    He smiled at her.
    ‘Knock, knock, anybody in? It’s Saturday.’
    She smiled too. It was nice to be made fun of like that. His hand emerged from the sleeping bag again, aiming for the grill-bag. He put it in his lap and opened it.
    ‘Urrgh. Spare ribs for breakfast!’
    ‘Do you want some of my crisp-bread? I’ve got some yoghurt too.’
    He liked the idea and shoved the grill-bag back on the floor. Still wrapped in the sleeping bag he hopped across to her.
    ‘Hey, take it easy. The floor could break.’
    ‘Yeah?’
    When he reached her, he settled with a thump. She shook her head and he grinned at her, grabbing a slice of crisp-bread.
    He must have been really hungry. When he was wolfing his seventh slice she put the packet away.
    ‘Tomorrow’s another day.’
    ‘We’ll buy some more. No problem.’
    She just looked at him and he grimaced, obviously realising how silly he had been.
    ‘Sorry. I’ll buy it. I’ll give you the money, if you like.’
    ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’
    This was the right moment. How should she best open up the subject? She steeled herself, taking a deep breath.
    ‘Do you follow the news, read the papers?’
    He shrugged.
    ‘Not a lot. Mum wants me to read a proper paper like Dagens Nyheter , but it’s way too much. Takes hours getting through it. But I do check out The Express . Dad brings it back after work. Why? Do you? Read a newspaper, I mean.’
    ‘I do when I can. When I find one lying about. Or else I go to the Culture House. The reading room there has all the dailies.’
    This was clearly news to him, but he nodded knowingly. She carried on talking.
    ‘Yesterday, did you look at the papers?’
    He shook his head at first.
    ‘Wait, I did. The DN Friday supplement.’
    How should she handle this? Did she have the right to involve him? It had seemed perfectly reasonable while he was asleep.
    ‘Patrik, have you ever been accused of doing something you didn’t do?’
    ‘Suppose so. Have you got some yoghurt, or … ?’
    She sighed and produced her big container.
    ‘Thanks. Can I have it straight from the pack?’
    ‘Sure. Unless you brought a nice plate, of course.’
    He grinned and she started again. The introductory bit was the hardest.
    ‘I have, you see – been accused of something I didn’t do, that is.’
    He seemed focused on the yoghurt. Drinking it was hard, it was really too thick. He kept tapping the bottom of the pack.
    ‘Does the name Sibylla mean anything to you?’
    He nodded, but still seemed more interested in the yoghurt.
    ‘Patrik, you mustn’t feel bad about this. Be cool.’
    She hesitated for one more brief moment.
    ‘I’m Sibylla, you see.’
    He didn’t react first. Then the penny dropped. He stiffened, put the yoghurt down and turned to look at her. There was real fear in his eyes.
    ‘Please, believe me, I didn’t do it. I just happened to be in the Grand Hotel when someone killed that guy. I’m innocent.’
    He was clearly unconvinced. His eyes flickered round the attic for a moment, as if seeking an escape route. She must gain time. Somehow this wasn’t working out the way she’d hoped. The words came spontaneously now, not in the careful order she had practised.
    ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Of course I’m not a serial killer. You wouldn’t have been sitting here now if I had been, after all I’ve had all night to chop you up into little pieces.’
    This was not a good way of putting it. In fact, it was pretty disastrous. Suddenly he made a move to get away, but the sleeping bag trapped him.
    He mustn’t go – not yet.
    She leapt at him, pinning him down against the mat with her knees on his arms. His quick breathing sounded like sobbing. His tears were not far away.
    Oh God no!
    ‘Please. Don’t hurt me.’
    She closed her eyes. What was she doing?
    ‘You must know that I won’t hurt you. Please listen to me. I’m holed up in this freezing attic with every single cop in the country after me. They’ve made up their minds that I’m it. I haven’t got a chance. Like I said yesterday, people like me have no rights. Oh Patrik, you’ve got to believe me. I told you all that personal stuff yesterday because I trusted you. I thought you at least would believe in me.’
    By now the sobs had quietened down.
    ‘I’m