Missing

against his wall, while the newcomers settled behind the desk. No one started the tape recorder.
    ‘We had hoped that you would feel strong enough to tell us about what happened last night.’
    Feel strong enough? What was this soft approach meant to achieve? Sibylla sighed and leaned against the back of the chair. Thoughts were tumbling about inside her head. It seemed impossible to arrange any of them in an orderly sequence.
    She stared at the desktop.
    ‘I was in the cemetery. I met Rune Hedlund’s widow. Ingmar turned up afterwards and I went away with him.’
    ‘Is he the person who beat you up?’
    She looked up.
    ‘Yes, he is. With a chair. I think one of my ribs is broken.’
    ‘What about the scratches on your face?’
    ‘I got them when I was running away from him. Through the forest.’
    The man looked at his woman colleague.
    ‘You were lucky, you know.’
    Oh, yeah? Super-lucky is the word.
    Suddenly, Anita Hansson spoke up.
    ‘I believe you know Patrik.’
    A small ray of hope was coming through the thick cloud of dejection.
    ‘Did you find him?’
    ‘He’s my son.’
    Sibylla stared at her. Patrik’s mum, she who was ‘in the force’. Nothing in Anita Hansson’s face revealed her feelings about the matter.
    ‘This morning, when the news broke, he told me all about it.’
    For a moment, Sibylla thought she was dreaming.
    ‘I phoned the National Bureau once I’d convinced myself that he was telling the truth. It all hung together, except the name Thomas Sandberg, of course. A bit confusing, that.’
    ‘I wanted to keep Patrik away from the case at that stage. He had helped me enough, I thought.’
    Patrik’s mother nodded. She clearly thought so, too.
    Per-Olof Gren began to explain.
    ‘We searched Ingmar Eriksson’s house this morning. He kept the … remains in his fridge.’
    ‘… What a shame. I’ve forgotten about the shopping. I’m afraid you’ll have to be content with just coffee, after all.’
    Again, self-defence came first.
    ‘I didn’t put them there.’
    Per-Olof Gren spoke soothingly.
    ‘Sibylla, calm down. We know it wasn’t you.’
    She scarcely dared to believe her ears. This couldn’t be true. Not now, when she had finally accepted her fate.
    ‘He has confessed. He cracked when we found the glass jars in his fridge. He was going to bury the lot in Hedlund’s grave.’
    The room was silent. Sibylla was trying to get her mind round this completely new situation, but she was far too tired to manage.
    ‘It would have been helpful if you had come to us a little earlier. We could have avoided all this.’
    This was Patrik’s mother speaking again. Sibylla understood only too well what she meant. Her inner ear was tuned in to the row Patrik had been given.
    She looked at them, speaking quietly.
    ‘You wouldn’t have believed me. Or would you?’
    No one replied.
    ‘Only Patrik did. Maybe he is the only one who has trusted me. Ever.’
    A long silence. Per-Olof finally broke it.
    ‘Well, there you are. You’re free to go. What do you plan to do?’
    Bergström stepped away from his wall.
    ‘I know what Miss Forsenström is doing next. She’s coming with me to Vetlanda. We’re going to have a little talk with her mother.’
    Sibylla shook her head.
    ‘No. I can’t face her.’
    ‘Sibylla, I don’t think you know what you’re saying.’
    ‘I want 300,000 kronor. That’s all I need.’
    Bergström smiled condescendingly.
    ‘My dear Sibylla, we’re talking many millions here.’
    Their eyes met and, after a while, it seemed that he had almost accepted that she meant it.
    ‘But you shouldn’t let her get away with it. She’s keeping back an entire fortune.’
    Sibylla thought about a fortune, but couldn’t imagine what she would do with it.
    ‘OK. Seven hundred grand. Tell her where to put the rest, why don’t you?’

T he lock whirred, even before she had time to take her finger off the bell. She wondered if he always stood next to the buzzer. Just like the last time, he was waiting by his open front door when she reached his landing. Neither of them spoke before she’d stepped inside and he’d pulled the door shut behind them.
    ‘You’ve done well – from notorious serial killer to popular heroine in just one week. It’s impressive, no other word for it.’
    She walked into the room, straight to his computer. This time he did not stop her.
    ‘Did you find him?’
    He nodded.
    ‘How much did you say you wanted this time? Five