Kitabı oku: «The Girl in the Woods», sayfa 2

‘Mamma!’

Marie closed her eyes. Ever since Jessie was born, she’d tried in vain to get her to use her first name instead of that dreadful label. But the child had insisted on calling her ‘Mamma’, as if by doing so she might change Marie into one of those dowdy earth-mother types.

‘Mamma?’

The voice was right behind her, and Marie realized she couldn’t hide.

‘Yes?’ she said, reaching for her glass.

The bubbles prickled her throat. Her body grew softer and more pliant with every sip.

‘Sam and I were thinking of going out in his boat for a while. Is that okay?’

‘Sure,’ said Marie, taking another sip.

She peered at her daughter from under the brim of her sun hat. ‘What do you want?’

‘Mamma, I’m fifteen,’ said Jessie with a sigh.

Good God, Jessie was so pudgy it was hard to believe she was her daughter. Thank goodness she’d at least managed to meet a boy since they’d arrived in Fjällbacka.

Marie sank back and closed her eyes, but only for a second.

‘Why are you still here?’ she asked. ‘You’re blocking the sun, and I’m trying to get a tan. I need to go back to filming after lunch, and they want me to have a natural tan. Ingrid Bergman looked as brown as a gingerbread biscuit when she spent her summers on the island of Dannholmen.’

‘I just …’ Jessie began, but then she turned on her heel and left.

Marie heard the front door slam. She smiled to herself. Alone at last.

Bill Andersson opened the lid of the basket and took out one of the sandwiches Gun had made. He glanced up before swiftly shutting the lid. The seagulls were quick, and if he didn’t watch out they would steal his lunch. Here on the pier, he was particularly vulnerable.

Gun poked him in the side.

‘I think it’s a good idea, after all,’ she said. ‘Crazy, but good.’

Bill closed his eyes for a moment as he took a bite of his sandwich.

‘Do you mean that, or are you only saying it to make your husband happy?’

‘Since when do I say things to make you happy?’ Gun replied, and Bill had to admit she was right.

During the forty years they’d been together, he could recall only a few times when she had not been brutally honest.

‘Well, I’ve been thinking about this ever since we saw that documentary, Nice People, about the Somali bandy team that lives and trains here in Sweden. In my opinion, something similar ought to work here too. I talked with Rolf at the refugee centre, and they’re not having much fun up there. People are such cowards, they don’t dare approach the refugees.’

‘I get treated like an outsider in Fjällbacka because I’m from Strömstad,’ said Gun, reaching for another fresh roll, bought at Zetterlinds, and slathering it with butter. ‘If locals treat people from the next county as foreigners, it’s no surprise they’re not exactly welcoming the Syrians with open arms.’

‘It’s about time everybody changed their attitude,’ said Bill, throwing out his hand. ‘These people have come with their children, fleeing from war and misery, and they’ve had a terrible journey getting here. So the locals need to start talking to them. If Swedes can teach people from Somalia to ice-skate and play bandy, surely we should be able to teach Syrians to sail. Isn’t Syria on the coast? Maybe they already know how to sail.’

Gun shook her head. ‘I have no idea, sweetheart. You’ll have to google it.’

Bill reached for his iPad, which he’d put down after completing their morning Sudoku puzzle.

‘I’m right, Syria does have a coastline, but it’s hard to know how many of these people lived near the sea. I’ve always said, anybody can learn to sail. This will be a good chance to prove I’m right.’

‘But wouldn’t it be enough for them to sail for fun? Why do they need to compete?’

‘According to the documentary, those Somalis were motivated by accepting a real challenge. It became a kind of statement for them.’

Bill smiled. It felt good to express himself in a way that sounded both knowledgeable and reasonable.

‘Okay, but why does it have to be a – what was it you said? A “statement”?’

‘Because it won’t have any impact otherwise. The more people who get inspired, like I was, the more it will have a ripple effect, until it becomes easier for refugees to be accepted by society.’

In his mind, Bill pictured himself instigating a national movement. This was the way all big changes started. Something that began with the Somalis entering the world bandy championships and continued with the Syrians competing in sailing contests could lead to anything at all!

Gun placed her hand on his and smiled at him.

‘I’ll go and talk to Rolf today and set up a meeting at the centre,’ said Bill, reaching for another roll.

After a moment’s hesitation he picked up a second roll and tossed it to the seagulls. After all, they too were entitled to food.

Eva Berg pulled up the stalks and placed them in the basket next to her. As usual, her heart skipped a beat when she looked out across the fields. All this was theirs. The history of the place had never troubled them. Neither she nor Peter was especially superstitious. Yet when they bought this farm ten years ago there had been a lot of talk about all the misfortunes that had struck the Strand family, the former owners. But from what Eva understood, a single tragic event had caused all the other troubles. The death of little Stella had brought about the sad chain of events that had befallen the Strand family, and that had nothing to do with this farm.

Eva leaned forward to look for more weeds, ignoring the ache in her knees. For her and for Peter, their new home was paradise. They were from the city, if Uddevalla could be called a city, but they’d always dreamed of living in the country. The farm outside Fjällbacka had seemed perfect in every respect. The fact that the asking price was so low because of what had happened here simply meant it was within their budget. Eva hoped they had been able to fill the place with enough love and positive energy.

Best of all was the way Nea was thriving here. They’d named her Linnea, but ever since she was tiny, she’d called herself Nea, so it was only natural for Eva and Peter to call her that too. She was now four years old and so stubborn and headstrong that Eva was already dreading her teenage years. But it seemed she and Peter were not going to have more children, so they’d at least be able to focus all their attention on Nea when the time came. At the moment, those days seemed very far away. Nea ran around the farm like a little ball of energy, with her fluff of blond hair, which she’d inherited from Eva, framing her bright face. Eva was always worried that the child would get sunburned, but she merely seemed to get more freckles.

Eva sat up and used her wrist to wipe the sweat from her forehead, not wanting to smudge her face with the dirty gardening gloves she wore. She loved weeding the vegetable garden. It was such a refreshing contrast to the work of her office job. She took a childish pleasure in seeing the seeds she’d sown become plants that grew and flourished until they could be harvested. Their garden was intended only for their own use, since the farm couldn’t provide them with an income, but they were able to meet much of their household needs with a vegetable garden, a herb garden, and a field of potatoes. Yet occasionally she felt guilty about how well they were doing. Her life had turned out better than she’d ever imagined. She needed nothing more than Peter, Nea, and their home on this farm.

Eva began pulling up carrots. Off in the distance she saw Peter approaching on the tractor. His regular job was working for the Tetra Pak company, but he spent as much of his free time as possible on the tractor. This morning he’d gone out early, long before Eva was awake, taking along a sack lunch and a Thermos of coffee. A small wooded area belonged to the farm, and he’d decided to clear out the underbrush, so she knew he’d bring back firewood for the winter. He’d no doubt be sweaty and filthy, with aching muscles and a big smile.

She put the carrots in her basket and pushed it aside. The carrots were for the supper she’d cook this evening. Then she took off her gardening gloves and dropped them next to the basket before she headed towards Peter. She squinted her eyes, trying to catch sight of Nea on the tractor. She’d probably fallen asleep, as she always did. It had been an early start for the child, but she loved going to the woods with Peter. She loved her mother, but she adored her father.

Peter drove the tractor into the farmyard.

‘Hi, honey,’ said Eva after he switched off the engine.

Her heart beat faster when she saw his smile. Even after all these years he could still make her weak at the knees.

‘Hi, sweetheart! Have the two of you had a good day?’

‘Er, um …’

What did he mean by ‘the two of you’?

‘What about the two of you?’ she said.

‘What?’ said Peter, giving her a sweaty kiss on the cheek.

He looked around.

‘Where’s Nea? Is she taking an afternoon nap?’

There was a great rushing in Eva’s ears, and as if from far away she heard herself say:

‘I thought she was with you.’

They stared at each other as their world split apart.

THE STELLA CASE

Linda glanced at Sanna as she sat beside her, bouncing in the passenger seat of the car.

‘What do you think Stella will say when she sees all the clothes you’ve bought?’

‘I think she’ll be happy,’ said Sanna with a smile, and for a moment she looked like her cheerful little sister. Then she frowned in that typical way of hers. ‘But maybe she’ll be jealous too.’

Linda smiled as she drove into the farmyard. Sanna had always been such a considerate big sister.

‘We’ll have to explain to her that she’ll get lots of nice clothes when she starts school too.’

She’d hardly stopped the car before Sanna jumped out and opened the back door to take out all the shopping bags.

The front door of the house opened, and Anders came out on to the porch.

‘Sorry we’re a little late,’ said Linda. ‘We had to stop for a bite to eat.’

Anders gave her an odd look.

‘I know it’s dinnertime soon, but Sanna had her heart set on going to a café,’ Linda went on, smiling at her daughter, who gave her father a quick hug before running inside the house.

Anders shook his head.

‘It’s not that. I just … Stella hasn’t come home.’

‘She hasn’t?’

The look on Anders’s face made her stomach knot.

‘No, and I rang both Marie and Helen. They weren’t home either.’

Linda let out a sigh and shut the car door.

‘Oh, I’m sure they must’ve forgotten about the time. You’ll see. You know how Stella is. She probably wanted to walk through the woods and show them everything.’

She kissed Anders on the lips.

‘I expect you’re right,’ he said, but he didn’t look convinced.

The phone was ringing, so Anders hurried into the kitchen to take the call.

Linda frowned as she leaned down to take off her shoes. It wasn’t like Anders to get so upset. But he’d had a full hour to wonder what might have happened to the girls.

When she straightened up, she found Anders standing in front of her. The expression on his face brought back the knot in her stomach full force.

‘That was KG on the phone. Helen is back home now, and they’re about to eat dinner. KG rang Marie’s house, and according to him, both girls claim they dropped Stella off around five.’

‘So what are you saying?’

Anders pulled on his trainers.

‘I’ve searched everywhere on the farm, but maybe she went back to the woods and got lost.’

Linda nodded.

‘We need to go out and look for her.’

She went over to the bottom of the stairs and called to their elder daughter.

‘Sanna? Pappa and I are going out to look for Stella. She’s probably over in the woods. You know how much she loves being there. We’ll be back soon!’

Then she looked at her husband. She didn’t want him to let on to Sanna how uneasy they both felt.

Half an hour later they could no longer hide their concern from each other. Anders was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white. After searching the woods next to their property, they’d driven back and forth along the road, slowly passing all the places where they knew Stella usually went. But they hadn’t seen any trace of her.

Linda put her hand on Anders’s knee.

‘We should head home now.’

Anders nodded and looked at her. The worry in his eyes was a frightening reflection of her own.

They needed to ring the police.

Chapter Three

Gösta Flygare riffled through the stack of papers in front of him. It was a Monday in August, so the stack wasn’t very big. He had no complaints about working in the summertime. Aside from playing a few rounds of golf, he had nothing better to do. Occasionally Ebba came to visit him, but with a new baby to care for, she couldn’t get away very often. He understood that. What mattered to him was knowing he had a standing invitation to visit Ebba in Gothenburg, and the invitation was genuinely meant. Even a small dose of what had now become his family was better than nothing. And it was best if Patrik, who had young children, was able to take time off in the middle of the summer. He and Mellberg could sit here like a pair of old horses and handle whatever business came in. Martin dropped by once in a while to check on the ‘old guys’, as he jokingly said, but Gösta thought the real reason was that he needed company. Martin hadn’t met anyone new since Pia died, which was a shame. He was a fine young man. And his daughter needed a maternal influence. Annika, the police station’s secretary, sometimes took the child home with her, giving the excuse that Tuva could play with her own daughter, Leia. But it wasn’t enough. The child needed a mother. But Martin wasn’t ready for a new relationship, and that was that. Love could not be forced, and for Gösta there had only ever been one woman. Yet he thought Martin was a little too young to feel the same way.

He realized it wasn’t easy to find a new love. It was impossible to control such feelings, and the choices were limited since they lived in such a small town. Besides, Martin had been somewhat of a Don Juan before he met Pia, so there was always the risk it would be a second-time around with certain women. And in Gösta’s opinion, trying a second time rarely worked out if the first time hadn’t been successful. But what did he know? The love of his life had been his wife Maj-Britt, with whom he’d shared all his adult years. There had never been anyone else, either before or after.

The shrill ringing of the phone roused Gösta from his brooding.

‘Tanumshede police station.’

He listened intently to the voice on the line.

‘We’re on our way. What’s the address?’

Gösta wrote it down, hung up the phone, and then rushed into the next room without bothering to knock.

Mellberg gave a start, waking from a sound sleep.

‘What the hell?’ he said, staring at Gösta, frantically pushing his comb-over back into place.

‘A missing child,’ said Gösta. ‘Four years old. She’s been gone since this morning.’

‘This morning? And the parents are only calling us now?’ said Mellberg, jumping up from his chair.

Gösta glanced at his watch. It was a little after three p.m.

They didn’t get a lot of cases involving missing children. In the summer, the police mostly dealt with drunks, burglaries and break-ins, assault and battery incidents, and sometimes rape.

‘Each one thought she was with the other parent. I told them we’d leave immediately.’

Mellberg stuck his feet in his shoes, which he’d discarded on the floor next to his desk. His dog Ernst, who was also awake now, wearily lowered his head having concluded that the commotion had nothing to do with the possibility of going out for a walk or getting something to eat.

‘Where is it we’re going?’ asked Mellberg, hurrying after Gösta, who was headed for the garage.

‘The Berg farm,’ said Gösta. ‘Where the Strand family used to live.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Mellberg.

He’d only heard about the old case, which had happened long before he came to Fjällbacka. But Gösta had been here back then, and for him the situation seemed all too familiar.

‘Hello?’

Patrik had brushed off his hand before he took the call, but the phone still got sand on it. With his free hand he motioned for the kids to come over and then he got out a packet of Marie biscuits and a container of apple slices. Noel and Anton lunged for the biscuits, each trying to grab the packet away from his brother, until it fell on the sand sending biscuits spilling out. Other parents were staring at them, and Patrik could literally feel them snorting. He could understand their reaction. He thought that he and Erica were both relatively competent parents, yet sometimes the twins behaved as if they’d been brought up by wolves.

‘Just a second, Erica,’ he said. With a sigh he picked up a couple of biscuits and blew off the sand.

Noel and Anton had already eaten so much sand, a little more wasn’t going to hurt them.

Maja picked up the container of apple slices and set it on her lap as she sat down to survey the bathing area. Patrik looked at her slender back and her hair curling damply at the nape of her neck. She looked so lovely as she sat there, even though he, as usual, had failed to pull her hair into a proper ponytail.

‘All right, I can talk now. We’re down at the beach, and we just had a little biscuit incident I had to take care of.’

‘Okay,’ said Erica. ‘Is everything good apart from that?’

‘Everything’s great,’ he lied as he again tried to wipe the sand off by rubbing his hands on his swim trunks.

Noel and Anton picked up the biscuits from the sand and continued eating them, causing an audible crunching sound to issue from their mouths. A seagull circled overhead, waiting for the toddlers to take their eyes off the biscuits for a second. But the gull wasn’t about to get any of the treats. The twins could finish off an entire packet of Marie biscuits in world-record time.

‘I’m finished with lunch now,’ said Erica. ‘Shall I come over and join you?’

‘Sure, do that,’ said Patrik. ‘Could you bring some coffee in a Thermos? I’m such a novice at these kinds of outings, I forgot to bring any coffee.’

‘No problem. Your wish is my command.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I’ve been longing for a cup of coffee.’

He smiled as he ended the call. After five years of marriage and three children, he could still feel butterflies in his stomach whenever he heard his wife’s voice on the phone. Erica was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Well, aside from the children. Then again, without Erica he wouldn’t have any children.

‘Was that Mamma?’ asked Maja, shading her eyes with her hand as she turned to look at him.

Dear God, she looked so much like her mother from certain angles. And that made Patrik very happy. Erica was the most beautiful woman he knew.

‘Yup, that was Mamma. She’s on her way here.’

‘Yay!’ shouted Maja.

‘Hold on, someone’s ringing me from the station. I have to take this call,’ said Patrik, using a sandy finger to push the green button on his mobile.

Gösta’s name had appeared on the display, and Patrik knew his colleague wouldn’t call to disturb his holiday unless it was something important.

‘Hi, Gösta,’ he said. ‘One minute. Maja, could you give the boys some pieces of apple? And take away that old lollypop stick Noel is about to stuff in his mouth. Thanks, sweetie.’

He raised the mobile to his ear again.

‘Sorry, Gösta. I’m listening now. I’m at the beach in Sälvik with the kids, and chaos doesn’t come close to describing things.’

‘I’m sorry to bother you when you’re on holiday,’ said Gösta, ‘but I was thinking you might want to know we’ve received a report of a missing child. A little girl has been missing since this morning.’

‘Since this morning?’

‘Yes, we don’t have any further information yet, but Mellberg and I are on our way to see her parents right now.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘That’s the thing. She disappeared from the Berg farm.’

‘Oh, shit,’ said Patrik, his blood turning cold. ‘Wasn’t that where Stella Strand used to live?’

‘Yes, that’s the place.’

Patrik looked at his own children who were now playing relatively peacefully in the sand. The mere thought of one of them going missing made him break out in a sweat. It didn’t take him long to make up his mind. Even though Gösta hadn’t specifically asked for his help, Patrik knew he would like someone to assist him other than Mellberg.

‘I’ll come,’ he said. ‘Erica should be here in fifteen minutes or so, and then I can leave.’

‘Do you know where the farm is?’

‘I do,’ replied Patrik.

He knew all right. Lately, at home, he’d been hearing a lot about that particular farm.

Patrik pressed the red button to end the call and leaned forward to pull all three children close. They protested, and he got completely covered with sand. But he didn’t care.

‘You look a little funny,’ said Jessie.

The wind kept blowing her hair into her face, and she reached up to brush it back.

‘What do you mean by “funny”?’ said Sam, squinting up at the sun.

‘Well, you’re not exactly a … boating type.’

‘So what does a boating type look like?’

Sam turned the wheel to avoid another sailboat.

‘Oh, you know what I mean. They wear deck shoes with tassels, navy-blue shorts, a polo shirt, and a crew-neck sweater draped over their shoulders.’

‘And a captain’s hat, right?’ Sam added with a little smile. ‘How do you happen to know what a boating type looks like, anyway? You’ve hardly ever been out on a boat.’

‘Sure, but I’ve seen films. And pictures in magazines.’

Sam pretended not to know what she was talking about.

Of course he didn’t look like a typical boating type. With his ragged clothes, his raven-black hair, and kohl-rimmed eyes. With dirt under his fingernails that were bitten to the quick. But she hadn’t meant it as a criticism. Sam was the cutest guy she’d ever seen.

Jessie shouldn’t have said that stuff about boating types. Every time she opened her mouth she said something stupid. That’s what everyone had told her at the series of boarding schools she’d attended. They all said she was stupid. And ugly.

And they were right. She knew that.

She was fat and clumsy. Her face was spotty, and her hair always looked greasy, no matter how often she washed it. Jessie felt tears well up in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away so Sam wouldn’t notice. She didn’t want to disgrace herself in front of him. He was the first friend she’d ever had. And the only one, ever since the day when he’d come over to her as she stood in a queue outside the Central Kiosk in town. He’d told her he knew who she was, and then she’d realized who he was.

And who his mother was.

‘Shit, how come there are so many people out here,’ said Sam, looking for an inlet that didn’t have two or three boats moored or anchored off shore.

Most of the best places were already taken by morning.

‘Fucking swimmers,’ he mumbled.

He managed to find a sheltered cleft on the back side of Långskär Island.

‘Okay, we’re going to pull in here. Could you jump ashore with the mooring line?’

Sam pointed to the rope lying on the deck in the bow of the boat.

‘Jump?’ said Jessie.

Jumping was not something she ever did. And definitely not from a boat on to slippery rocks.

‘It’s not hard,’ said Sam calmly. ‘I’ll stop the boat right before we get there. Crouch down in the bow so you can jump ashore. It’ll be fine. Trust me.’

Trust me. Was she even capable of such a thing? Trust someone? Trust Sam?

Jessie took a deep breath, crawled forward to the bow, took a tight grip on the rope, and crouched down. As the island got closer, Sam slowed their approach, and they slid gently and quietly towards the rocks where they would moor. Much to her own surprise, Jessie leapt from the boat on to the rocks, landing lightly, and still holding the rope in her hand.

She’d done it.

It was their fourth trip to the Hedemyr department store in two days, but there wasn’t much else to do in Tanumshede. Khalil and Adnan sauntered around the top floor among all the clothing and accessories on display. In the beginning Adnan had a hard time dealing with all the looks levelled at them, and the suspicion. By now he’d accepted that they attracted attention. They didn’t look like Swedes or talk like Swedes or move like Swedes. He probably would have stared too if he’d seen a Swede in Syria.

‘What the hell are you looking at?’ snapped Adnan in Arabic, turning towards a woman in her seventies who was staring at them.

No doubt she was keeping an eye on them to make sure they didn’t shoplift. Khalil could have told her that they would never take anything that didn’t belong to them. They wouldn’t dream of it. They weren’t brought up like that. But when she snorted and headed for the stairs to the ground floor, he realized it would be pointless.

‘What kind of people do they think we are? It’s always the same thing.’

Adnan continued cursing in Arabic and waving his arms around so he almost knocked over a lamp on a nearby shelf.

‘Let them think whatever they like. They’ve probably never seen an Arab before,’ said Khalil.

Finally he got Adnan to smile. Adnan was two years younger, only sixteen, and sometimes he still seemed like a boy. He couldn’t control his emotions; they controlled him.

Khalil hadn’t felt like a boy for a long time now. Not since the day when the bomb killed his mother and little brothers. The mere thought of Bilal and Tariq brought tears to his eyes, and Khalil quickly blinked them away so Adnan wouldn’t notice. Bilal was always getting into mischief, but he was such a happy kid, it was hard to be mad at him. Tariq was always reading and filled with curiosity; he was the boy everyone said would be something great one day. In a split second they were gone. Their bodies were found in the kitchen, with their mother lying on top of the boys. She hadn’t been able to protect them.

Clenching his fists, Khalil looked around, thinking about how his life was now. He spent his days in a small room in the refugee centre, or he roamed through the streets in this strange little town where they’d landed. Such a quiet and desolate place, lacking all smells and sounds and colours.

The Swedes went about in their own world, barely even greeting one another, and they seemed almost frightened if anyone addressed them directly. They all spoke so quietly, without gesturing.

Adnan and Khalil went downstairs and out into the summer heat. They paused on the pavement outside the department store. It was the same thing every day. So difficult to find anything to occupy their time. The walls of the refugee centre seemed to close in, as if trying to suffocate them. Khalil didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Here in Sweden he had a roof over his head and food in his belly. And he was safe. There were no bombs falling here. People lived without the threat of either soldiers or terrorists. Yet even in safety it was hard to live a life in limbo. Without a home, without anything to do, without purpose.

This was not living. It was merely existing.

Adnan sighed as he stood next to Khalil. In silence they headed back to the refugee centre.

Eva stood as if frozen to the spot, hugging her arms around her torso. Peter kept rushing around. He’d searched everywhere at least four or five times, lifting up bedclothes, moving the same boxes, calling Nea’s name over and over. But Eva knew it was pointless. Nea wasn’t here. She could feel her absence in her body.

She squinted her eyes, noticing a dot way off in the distance. A dot that got bigger and bigger, becoming a white splotch as it approached. Eva realized it must be the police. Soon she could clearly see the blue and yellow markings on the car, and a chasm opened inside her. Her daughter was missing. The police were here because Nea was missing. She’d been missing since this morning. Her brain struggled to take in the fact she’d been missing since the morning. How could they have been such bad parents not to notice their four-year-old had been gone all day?

‘Are you the one who called?’

An older man with silver hair had got out the police car and now came over to her. She nodded mutely, and he reached out to shake her hand.

‘Gösta Flygare. And this is Bertil Mellberg.’

An officer about the same age but significantly heavier shook her hand as well. He was sweating copiously and raised his arm to wipe his brow on his shirtsleeve.

‘Is your husband here?’ asked the thinner officer with greyer hair as he scanned the yard.

‘Peter!’ called Eva, alarmed at how weak her voice sounded.

She tried again, and Peter came rushing out of the woods.

‘Have you found her?’ he shouted.

Then he caught sight of the policemen and his heart sank.

It all seemed so unreal to Eva. This couldn’t be happening. She expected to wake up at any second, relieved to find she’d simply been dreaming.

‘Why don’t we sit down and talk over a cup of coffee?’ said Gösta calmly as he touched Eva’s arm.

‘Of course. Come in. We’ll sit in the kitchen,’ she said as she led the way.

Peter stayed where he was, standing in the middle of the farmyard, his long arms hanging limply at his sides. She knew he wanted to keep searching, but she couldn’t handle this conversation on her own.

‘Peter, come on.’

With heavy steps he followed his wife and the police inside. Turning her back on the others, Eva began fiddling with the coffee machine, but she was very aware of the officers’ presence. Their uniforms seemed to fill the whole room.