Authors: Hakan Ostlundh
Twelve minutes had passed. She had been obedient, she thought, and picked up the cell phone. She tried Maria’s cell first. The phone rang, but no one answered. Without looking up she went over to favorites and selected the home number. It rang, but no one answered.
“No one answers there, either.”
Henrik looked anxiously at her and that made her even more worried.
“Someone ought to answer somewhere, don’t you think?” she said. “Ellen always answers our phone.”
“They’re probably outside,” said Henrik vaguely, sneaking a glance out the window toward the darkening sky.
It didn’t sound especially convincing.
Malin tried to think. No answer in almost fifteen minutes. What could they be up to? No matter how she thought about it she could not come up with any explanation. Maria was aware, of course, of what had happened, the whole situation. She understood that she had to be available.
“I’ll wait five more minutes, then, then…”
Her mouth was completely dry, she reached for Henrik’s glass and took a gulp of mineral water. Her stomach ached. She would not be able to eat another bite until she got hold of Maria.
They sat silently looking at each other with an occasional nervous sidelong glance into the restaurant or out the window. Malin fingered the napkin on her lap as Henrik’s cell phone signaled a message. Malin straightened up, leaned tensely across the table while he fished the cell phone out of his pocket.
He shook his head.
“It’s the assistant who’s going to be there tomorrow.”
Malin could not bear to just sit there. It wouldn’t do.
“I’ll call one more time. If I don’t get an answer we’re going home.”
Henrik did not protest.
Malin went through the same procedure as before. Maria’s cell, then the home phone. No answer.
She stood up abruptly.
“We’re going.”
Once she had made the decision everything suddenly became extremely serious. Her legs felt heavy, her mouth was dry despite the water just moments ago. Panic was lying in wait.
Henrik got up and looked for the waiter to pay. Malin waited by the exit, saw the waiter make an anxious face and say something to Henrik. He talked on and on and gestured, seemed to never be done. Couldn’t he keep quiet and just take payment? Just that would take an eternity, back and forth with credit card, receipts … but suddenly Henrik raised his hand in thanks and left.
“They’ll send a bill,” he explained as he came up to her.
It took them no more than a minute to walk to the car, which they had parked on Hamnplan.
“I’ll call the police,” said Malin when she had shut the door.
“Maybe that’s just as well,” said Henrik, subdued.
He backed out of the parking spot and drove south to go around the inner city. It would take too long to work their way through the labyrinth of alleys.
Malin hesitated with her thumb on
CALL
as she entered 911. She would end up with an operator who did not know the background at all, she would have to make a long-winded, complicated explanation and certainly get a skeptical reception from that person who, in the worst case, was not even on Gotland.
She deleted the three numbers and instead looked for Fredrik Broman’s number, which she had saved in the phone.
What should she do if he didn’t answer? Then she would be forced to go through 911. She counted the rings. Three, four …
Soon the voice mail would start up.
“Fredrik Broman.”
Thank God. After quickly saying who she was, Malin let the words pour forth.
“Henrik and I are in Visby, my sister is at home with the kids, but we don’t get an answer on any of the phones.”
He immediately understood her worry and promised to see to it that a patrol car drove up.
“But it will take awhile before they are there,” he said. “You don’t have a neighbor who can go over and knock on the door? Then we’ll have a quicker sense of the situation.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “I’ll call and see whether they’re at home.”
Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“Call me as soon as you know anything more,” said Fredrik Broman.
* * *
Henrik drove as fast as he dared on the dark road. Malin had tried to call Bengt and Ann-Katrin, but they had not answered. There was nothing to do other than try to tough it out and hope that everything had a trivial explanation. Between Malin’s repeated attempts to get hold of Maria they sat silently and listened to the grinding of the tires against the asphalt. Neither of them could get themselves to turn on the radio.
After forty minutes they were in Fårösund. The ferry was in with the boom up. A minute or two after they drove on a police car rolled on board and right after that the ramp was drawn up and the ferry departed, even though it was five minutes to the hour.
“Do you think they’re on their way to our place?” said Malin, glancing backward.
“Presumably.”
Good Lord, she thought, that’s as far as they’d gotten?
“I’ll go and ask.”
Before Henrik could answer she had opened the door and was on her way out of the car. She went up to the driver’s side and knocked on the window. She recognized the bald policeman at once who rolled down the window. He had been there outside the school when Ellen disappeared. Alongside him sat a female police officer with braids.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you the ones who are on the way to our house?”
“That’s us,” Leif Knutsson confirmed.
He got out of the car and greeted her.
“You still haven’t heard anything?”
“No, I keep on calling,” said Malin. “I’ve tried the neighbors, but they’re not at home.”
“Okay, but then we’ll drive ahead.”
“That’s good. We’ll follow as fast as we can.”
“Just drive carefully,” said Leif Knutsson, with a little smile.
“Of course,” she promised.
“Is there anything else we ought to know?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. My sister is at home with our two children, Ellen and Axel.”
“Yes, we know that,” he said. “What does she look like, your sister?”
“Like me except blond,” she said.
“I see, that was easy.”
Malin was about to turn around and leave when she thought of something.
“Perhaps you want my key, so that you can get in if that should be necessary.”
“Yes,” said Knutsson a little hesitantly. “Just wait a moment.”
He stuck his head in the police car and exchanged a few words with his colleague, then he was back.
“Maybe it’s best that you ride with us. If you don’t have anything against that?”
Malin did not need to think about it. The sooner she got home, the better. She valued every second.
“I’ll just tell my husband.”
* * *
The police car drove with blue lights on, but without sirens. They had rattled across the first two cattle guards. Two left. They had left Henrik far behind them. The car jumped and shook from the high speed. The headlights swept over the dark forest and the enclosed pastures, reflected suddenly in an animal’s eyes.
They would soon be there. Still, she could not keep from thinking that she and Henrik got to the ferry ahead of the police. It was that far to help and rescue if you lived on Fårö. She was starting to understand more and more the older Fårö residents’ attitude to the world beyond the water’s edge. Here you had to rely on yourself.
Malin fingered the cell phone, but had stopped calling. She had lost count of how many times she tried before they got to the ferry. Why didn’t they answer?
She tried to keep from thinking about what the reason could be, scared that her imagination would bring up something she could not handle. Instead she concentrated on the back of Leif Knutsson’s neck. He had not said much during the drive from Broa. The woman, on the other hand, whose name was Gunilla Borg, had asked a number of questions about Maria, the children, and the house. She got a feeling that it was mostly to keep her in good spirits.
The third cattle guard rumbled under the tires and shortly after that the fourth.
“Now it’s up on the right,” said Malin.
Leif Knutsson slowed down, but the gravel still sprayed around the tires as he took the curve up toward the house. The big pile of timber was outlined against the still-not-completely-black sky.
His colleague made a radio hail and said to someone who responded with a numerical code that they were at the address. Leif Knutsson stopped right across from the gate, next to Malin’s Honda. He turned around and asked her to wait in the car while they went down to the house.
Malin could only nod, felt that her throat was paralyzed, and mutely handed over the key. Leif Knutsson took it and winked at her with both eyes. This would probably work out.
As the police officers opened the doors and got out, she heard music from a distance. Before they closed, Malin was able to recognize the artist. Rihanna, one of Maria’s favorites.
She watched as Gunilla Borg released something from her belt and the next moment the ground in front of her and her police colleague was lit up by a cold light. Malin slid closer to the door and stared out the window toward the house, but could see no more than the upper half of the bottom floor. The police and the beam of light disappeared below the rise and soon it was only their heads and shoulders that stuck up.
She wanted to rush out and follow them; she wanted to stay sitting there; she wanted to hide. Were the doors locked?
Her head was rocking, light and heavy at the same time. She leaned her forehead against the window, vaguely heard bass tones from the music. Then a light came closer. She stared out into the evening. It was Leif Knutsson who had come back up the slope. He waved to her. For her? Should she come? Yes, it appeared that way.
She quickly opened the car door and got out, pointed to herself with a questioning expression. Leif waved again. Malin hurried over and opened the gate. At the same moment she heard the familiar engine sound of the Mercedes SUV from the road below, but continued toward the house.
She had not gone far before she caught sight of Maria, who was talking with the other police officer. And the children? Why weren’t the children there? She ran down to the house with pounding heart and stopped in front of Maria.
There they were. Axel and Ellen sat perched on the lowest branches in one of the apple trees. They caught sight of her and Ellen jumped down from her branch and came running. Axel took it a little more carefully. For him it was farther down to the ground, although the branch was up just as high. Malin wanted to hurry over and help him when she saw how he uncertainly sought a foothold, but she was prevented by Ellen, who was already clinging to her leg.
The music was booming from speakers that were set out on a little table outside one of the windows. Maria held her hand in front of her mouth in an unhappy gesture.
“Do you think we can turn that down a little?” Leif Knutsson said as he came up to them.
“Sure, of course,” said Maria, waving her hands nervously.
She looked at Malin with big regretful eyes.
“Forgive me, I’m so sorry, forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking. We’ve been outside playing and I set out the speakers to … well, so we could have a little music. Forgive me, Malin. You must have been completely—”
Leif Knutsson had clearly had enough of Rihanna. He went into the house himself, and after a little while the music stopped.
“I didn’t bring the cell phone out, but I don’t understand that I didn’t hear anything. The window is open, after all.”
Maria pointed at the living room window, which was propped open with the hasp. But the phone was in the study and the music no doubt took care of the rest.
Now Axel had wriggled down from the tree and came toward her with outstretched arms. She leaned down and lifted him up. He looked tired. She did not know what she should think about Maria’s blunder. Mostly she was just happy that everything was as it should be, even if she was a little embarrassed in front of the police.
She heard steps in the grass. Henrik approached with a big question etched on his face. He looked at Malin and the kids, the police, and his sister-in-law.
“Everything’s okay,” said Malin.
Henrik furrowed his brow, did not really understand.
“Everything’s okay,” Malin repeated. “Maria didn’t hear the phone.”
Henrik’s facial features smoothed out and he smiled with relief.
Maria had turned to the police officers.
“I’m so sorry, truly … I don’t know what to say. Forgive me. I can’t even bear to think that you drove all the way from Visby.”
“It’s no problem,” said Leif Knutsson. “The most important thing is that you’re all safe and sound.”
It took awhile before they could go to bed, but at last they were lying there, side by side in the Fårö darkness and the Fårö silence. The alarm was on, the misunderstandings explained and apologies made.
Henrik turned on his side. Malin felt four fingertips against her hip. The light touch was like a cautious question. They had not made love since they came home from vacation. That was almost two weeks now. Henrik had not been at home, of course, for some of that time.
The four fingertips became a hand stroking her belly. Malin felt desire coming. There were a lot of things moving around in her head, an unusually large number of negative thoughts. Worry, paranoia, irritation. Not sexy at all. But the desire came anyway, heavy and demanding, almost a little unwelcome. She reached out her hand and felt that he was already hard. She slowly moved her hand as she wriggled out of her underpants with the other. Henrik was panting against her neck. When he stuck his tongue in her ear, such a strong shudder passed through her body that she was forced to turn her head aside.
* * *
It only took a few minutes from the fingers on the hip until he came. But that didn’t matter. She had come, too. It was more discharge than drawn-out pleasure they needed.
In the new, more relaxed silence Malin told that she had forced Stina Hansson off the road outside the ICA in Fårösund. And that Stina reported her. Presumably she would have to pay a fine. It was most likely she would have to pay a fine.