Missing

walls with cladding tiles. Presumably the same person had built a porch in corrugated green plastic round the front door. It was the final insult to the house, which now looked totally charmless.
    Stopping at the gate, they looked at each other and Sibylla shook her head sadly, to show what a lousy idea she thought it was. That decided Patrik, who at once started strolling along the garden path.
    Sighing, she followed him. She couldn’t just stand there, after all.
    ‘What are you going to say?’
    Before he had time to answer, a window was opened in the neighbouring house and a middle-aged woman popped her head out.
    ‘Is it Gunvor you’re looking for?’
    They exchanged a quick glance.
    ‘Yes,’ they chorused.
    ‘She’s gone to the cottage. It’s in Segersvik. Shall I tell her you called?’
    Patrik went up to the hedge separating the two properties.
    ‘Is it far to Segersvik?’
    ‘Twenty-odd kilometres, I suppose. Are you driving?’
    Patrik showed no hesitation.
    ‘Yes, we are.’
    ‘Right. Take the old road towards Gamleby, past Piperkärr and then carry on for another ten kilometres or so. I think there’s a sign to Segersvik.’
    ‘Thanks a lot.’
    He turned, dispelling any other questions the woman might have wanted to ask. They walked down the path and heard her close the window. He spoke very quietly.
    ‘That’s where he was killed. The news stories say he was killed while staying in his summer cottage.’
    They kept walking until they were outside the range of the woman next door. Sibylla stopped at the end of the street.
    ‘Now what do we do? If we set out walking, we won’t get back in time for the bus.’
    ‘Sure. We’ll take a taxi. I’ve got money.’
    This sounded worrying.
    ‘How come you’ve got such a lot? I mean, at your age one usually doesn’t. Or have times changed?’
    He said nothing, just kept his eyes fixed on the street.
    ‘For fuck’s sake, Patrik – you haven’t nicked it, have you?’
    ‘No, I haven’t. Borrowed some, though.’
    ‘Who lent you money?’
    There was a taxi rank at the bus terminal and he started walking back. Sibylla didn’t move.
    ‘I won’t take another step until you tell me where you got the money.’
    ‘I borrowed some. Back home, from the household kitty. Relax, I’ll pay it back before anyone notices.’
    ‘Will you? With what, exactly?’
    ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’ll think of something.’
    He walked on but she still didn’t move from the spot. Turning, he shouted irritably at her.
    ‘What’s wrong, do you just want to stand here bullshitting? Or what?’
    ‘How much did you take?’
    He hesitated.
    ‘One grand.’
    She took another sacred thousand-kronor note from her purse.
    ‘Here, take it. And if you ever nick one single thing again, I’ll leave. I mean it.’
    He nodded, looking surprised.
    ‘Do you get that?’
    ‘ Yes !’
    He grabbed the note.
    She set out for the bus station and when she turned her head, he was still standing there.
    ‘Hey! What do you want, more bullshitting? Come on!’
    He hesitated for another second and then, unwillingly, started running after her.

    She was appalled when the meter clocked up more than two hundred kronor. Going places by taxi was grossly wasteful. Unheard of.
    They had left Piperkärr far behind. The tarmac road had turned into a narrow gravel track through forest, now and then interrupted by farms and fields. The land was hilly, even rocky at times. They didn’t speak. The driver luckily was a silent man and Patrik seemed to have withdrawn after being told off.
    It made her feel better, because now she was back in charge.
    Then they reached the lakeside. There was a small marina. The jetty was empty and the boats were hauled up on land, resting under tarpaulins and waiting for the spring. Afterwards, the road went through more forest until the landscape opened up towards the lake again. The sun was sinking, colouring the western sky an intense pink.
    ‘Do you want the farm?’
    The driver nodded his head in the direction of a group of buildings just ahead. Sibylla glanced at Patrik, who sat turned away and looking out through the window. He wasn’t going to help, that much was clear. She leaned forward.
    ‘I’m not really sure. We’re visiting someone called Gunvor Strömberg. She’s staying in a cottage somewhere near here.’
    The driver sounded sour.
    ‘You’ve got to do better than that. Don’t you have her address?’
    He drove on slowly, past