Missing

continuing past the pink and yellow tulips to bend over a stone a little further along.
    Sibylla returned to her bench with a sigh.

    By that afternoon she was feeling real hunger pangs. Taking money from her savings had almost become a habit and it didn’t bother her any more. With a last look at the deserted cemetery, she went off to the handy garage. She used the toilet again, just in case, and bought two grilled hot dogs with plenty of mustard and ketchup.

    When she returned, a man wearing a brown suede jacket was crouching in front of Rune Hedlund’s grave. The hair on the back of his head was thinning.
    It might be awkward, but she couldn’t afford to pass up this opportunity. She had been watching round the clock for days to find out more and, whoever he was, he must have known Rune Hedlund well. He was bending deep over the grave in prayer or contemplation. Shoving the last piece of sausage into her mouth, she walked closer, all the time chewing and swallowing carefully. In passing, she grabbed a fresh-looking bunch of daffodils from a nearby grave. Necessity knows no law.
    Hopefully, the spirit of Sigfrid Stålberg wouldn’t mind too much.
    She stopped just behind the man, who had shifted position and was sitting on his haunches by the grave, just as she had a couple of days ago. He was fiddling intently with something near the tombstone and seemed not to have heard her. She couldn’t see what he was up to. Watching him made her suddenly feel very ill at ease. If she was to gain his confidence, sneaking up on him like this was hardly the way to go about it.
    She cleared her throat.
    His reaction was rather similar to her own earlier. He momentarily lost his balance, but steadied himself by leaning on one hand. She smiled apologetically.
    ‘I’m sorry I startled you.’
    He was younger-looking than she had expected. Recovering quickly from his confusion, he turned his face up and smiled back at her.
    ‘You’re a right menace, creeping up on people like that. I might’ve had a heart attack.’
    ‘Honestly, I didn’t mean to. It’s the soles on my shoes.’
    He looked at her sturdy, comfy walking boots. Then his gaze wandered to her face. He sniffled a little, wiping his nose with his hand. Then he looked at the grave.
    ‘Are you here for Rune?’
    Damn it! He had got his question in first and that was bad.
    She moved her head about in a way that could have signified either a reluctant Yes or a muddled No, whatever the circumstances called for.
    ‘Did you know him?’
    She got her question in quickly, trying to take over control.
    He looked her over, neither suspiciously nor unpleasantly, but with interest. Apparently, he was feeling genuinely curious about her. Then he shook his head a little.
    ‘Know and know. We were workmates, down in Åbro village.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘And you, what about you? Are you a relative?’ ‘Oh no.’
    Her answer had sounded far too pat. He smiled a little.
    ‘Now you’ve really made me curious. I’m sure you’re not from round here.’
    She shook her head and looked down. The daffodils caught her eyes. She would get a little respite if she fetched a vase and some water.
    ‘Hey, I’d better look after these.’
    Without giving him a chance to say any more, she walked across to the small fenced-in maintenance area. He was quick – fast on the draw and inquisitive. She realised she couldn’t get rid of him without telling him who she was.
    So, who was she?
    She took her time. She picked a sharp-tipped plastic vase from the box and rinsed it carefully under running water. Fragmented thoughts were rotating wildly in her brain, as if spun in a centrifuge. How to avoid raising his suspicions? Why had she approached him anyway?
    With the vase filled for the fourth time, she walked back. She drew a deep breath. He was crouching near the grave again and pushed apart the stems in a clump of crocuses. There were paint-stains on his hands. The fingers were long and slender. He wore no rings.
    ‘Why don’t you put your flowers here?’
    She followed his advice. A crocus flipped forward and she pushed it back. He reached out and put his finger on her watch.
    ‘What an unusual watch.’
    She felt a little silly and pulled her sleeve down to cover the watch.
    ‘It’s old. It doesn’t even work any more.’
    She glanced sideways at him. His eyes were suddenly fixed on the tombstone.
    ‘Ingmar!’
    This time they both practically fell over backwards. ‘What are