The Cruel Stars of the Night

Forty-two

Gunilla Uhlén, who was closing, had been alternating between concern and anger for the past fifteen minutes. Of course Ann was sometimes late but then she usually called to let them know. This time she hadn’t said a word. Gunilla had even lifted the receiver to make sure the phone line was working. She had also dialed Ann’s cell phone number but had not received an answer.

Erik was not one to whine but now he was starting to make noise. He had asked for his mother probably ten times during the past half hour. Now they were sitting together in the studio, painting-or rather, Erik was dabbing paint on an enormous piece of paper while Gunilla was listening for the sound of a car. At any moment the door would burst open and Ann would rush in, full of apologies.

Gunilla looked at the clock, stood up, walked into the office, and took out Ann and Erik’s file. There were three contacts: Görel, the parents in Ödeshög, and Ann’s supervisor at the police station. Görel, who also had children at the day care, was listed first. Gunilla dialed the number but there was no answer. The next name was Ann’s supervisor. Gunilla hesitated, tried Ann’s cell phone one more time without result, before she called the police station.

“Ottosson!”

The preschool teacher flinched at the sound of the gruff voice, but collected herself and explained that she was trying to track down Ann Lin-dell who had not picked her son up from day care. Ottosson interrupted her immediately.

“When should she have been there?”

“At four thirty. It’s quarter past five now.”

“I know what time it is,” the policeman said sharply.

“Ann comes in late sometimes,” Gunilla said, “and by the way I’d appreciate it if you didn’t snap at me.”

There was silence on the other end until Ottosson apologized in a regretful voice.

“We are both worried,” he said. “I’ve actually been searching for her all afternoon. She hasn’t called in at all?”

“No. I’m going to close up here now. I don’t know what to do about Erik.”

“I’ll send a car over,” Ottosson said quickly. “My wife can take care of Erik. They’ve met and get along well. If Ann turns up then call me immediately.”

“Okay,” Gunilla said, and now she was very worried.

Ten minutes later an unmarked police car pulled up in front of the day care center. Asta Ottosson stepped out. Gunilla and Erik were already bundled up and ready. Erik stared wide-eyed at the woman.

“Hi there Erik, my friend,” Asta said, as she shook hands with Gunilla. “Why don’t we go back to my place and do a little baking. You like cinnamon rolls, don’t you?”

Erik nodded. Gunilla couldn’t help but smile even though she had a heavy weight in her stomach. She remained standing outside the front doors a good while after Asta had taken the boy by the hand and trotted off to the car.

At the same time Ottosson was pulling out the big guns. News of Ann Lindell’s disappearance was broadcast and information abouther dress, type of car, and license plate went out to all authorities. The search was immediately underway. The disappearance of an officer involved in a murder investigation wasn’t your usual fare. Ottosson could easily imagine what an effect this kind of alarm would have.

Thereafter he called in Haver, Sammy Nilsson, Berglund, and Beatrice and told them the news. The silence that followed did not last longer than a few seconds but to Ottosson it felt like an eternity.

They stared at him with a mixture of consternation and disbelief, before Sammy Nilsson opened his mouth.

“She’s been gone all day,” he burst out.

“Not exactly,” Ottosson said, “but all afternoon I guess. I’ve called countless times. No answer. Have left messages. I even called the Savoy. She has simply vanished into thin air.”

It was simple with Ann Lindell. In the daytime she was on duty, always reachable with the exception of those moments when she retreated to the bakery cafe Savoy to think. Then she turned her phone off. In the evenings she was almost always at home. Ottosson had always gotten ahold of her the few times he had dialed her home number.

Everything spoke for the fact that the absence was not voluntary. Lindell was not one to stay away like this, but what clinched it was the fact that she had not picked up Erik at day care.

“What was she doing?” Sammy asked. “She must have said something to someone.”

“You know what Ann is like,” Haver said.

“We went our separate ways after we had visited Allan,” Ottosson said, “and she didn’t say anything at that time. We talked a little about the chess theory and she muttered something about it seeming unbelievable, but don’t you also have the impression that she was keeping something to herself?”

Sammy Nilsson got up abruptly, took a few paces across the floor, and then sat down in Ottosson’s visitor’s chair.

“She found a photograph in Blomgren’s house,” he said. “The picture of a woman who apparently had a relationship with the farmer dude. We know he went to Mallorca with a lady. Maybe it’s her. I think Ann is hunting down this lady.”

“When did she find it?” Bea asked.

“Yesterday,” Sammy said. “She didn’t want to say anything because it would look bad for Allan who had searched the room.”

“Did she say anything about…”

“No,” Sammy said. “Not a thing.”

“Damn,” Haver said, “that she didn’t-”

“Let’s drop it,” Ottosson said firmly, “what matters now is finding Ann and nothing else.”

“And then this damned Silvia visit.” Beatrice sighed.

The five officers discussed the possible directions that Lindell’s investigation could have taken but since they were searching in the dark they only came up with speculation.

“Okay,” Sammy said, “if we assume she’s standing there with the photo in her hand. How does Ann think?”

“She went to see the neighbor, Dorotea,” Bea said, “to see if she could identify the woman in the photograph.”

Sammy nodded energetically.

“Let’s call her right away. What’s her last name?”

“I’ll call,” Bea said and walked over to the phone.

It was quickly done. Bea shook her head during the conversation. Ot-tosson looked at his watch.

“Sammy,” he said, “search Ann’s office. Ola, see to it that Alsike is checked out. Maybe she went out to Andersson’s cottage. The same goes for the stables and Palmblad’s relatives. Berglund will have to call Andersson’s niece in Umeå. Ann may have contacted her.”

He paused for a few seconds before he continued.

“Berglund, you’ve been at this a long time, what would you do?”

There was a note of pleading in Ottosson’s voice that made the others start. They looked at Berglund, who had not said anything up to this point.

“We’ll contact all the taxi companies and ask the drivers to keep an eye out for Ann’s car. Maybe we’ll even ask Radio Uppland to appeal to the public to do the same. It’s a drastic move, I know, but we’re fumbling in the dark. Ann is out there somewhere and we need to find her, and fast.”

Ottosson and Berglund exchanged glances. Bea closed her eyes for a moment. Sammy Nilsson imagined she was praying. Haver drummed his pencil against the back of the chair.

“Taxi companies are fine,” Ottosson said, “but the radio?”

“We can wait on it,” Berglund said.

Sammy Nilsson sighed heavily.

“Can you please stop tapping like a woodpecker?” he said to Haver.

Sammy Nilsson turned on Ann Lindell’s computer. He knew the password and typed it in: “Viola.” He knew she kept a daily log of notes. Many times they had leaned over her computer screen together, discussing various cases. Her system of note taking was somewhat difficult to understand, with many abbreviations and words that did not always relate to the main text. It seemed as if she freely jotted down her associations even in the middle of her notes. Sammy had read some poems by a famous Swedish poet-at the urgings of his sister-in-law who had a fondness for the incomprehensible-and Ann’s creations reminded him strongly of the cryptic, hard-to-interpret lines.

He opened this morning’s document, created at 8:51, which consisted of three words: “Mallis,” “Sorrow,” and “Threat.”

He understood “Mallis” or Mallorca immediately. That was where Petrus Blomgren had gone on vacation over twenty years ago. “Sorrow” and “Threat” were not as easy. Who felt the sorrow? Petrus seemed the most likely candidate. He had written a farewell letter. Did he also feel threatened? Sammy was struck by the fact that they had found the telephone number of a man who installed alarm systems. He had denied all knowledge about the farmer and that might have been true. Blomgren might have looked up the number in the phone book with the intention of calling but changed his mind.

Had Andersson and Palmblad felt threatened? Nothing they had turned up indicated this.

“Okay,” Sammy muttered. This Petrus guy felt threatened, wanted to install a burglar alarm but instead decided to commit suicide because of his grief.

Who threatened him? The murderer, of course. The woman in the snapshot? He sighed. Ann had gone a step further. Her sleuthing had led her into a minefield and now she had disappeared. Had she been killed? Sammy pushed the chair back from the desk. He didn’t even want to think the thought.

He studied Ann’s desk. As usual it was covered in loose papers, transcripts of witness questioning, and files. It was a miracle that she ever found anything. Sammy maintained a very different level of order, he sorted and filed, threw out or archived material that was no longer relevant. Among the piles on the desk Sammy caught sight of files that pertained to cases they had worked on over six months ago.

He rolled closer to the desk again and started to look through the papers. A manila folder was lying on top. It concerned a man who had gone missing in September. Åsa Lantz-Andersson had written the report. Ulrik Hindersten, seventy, had disappeared without a trace from his home in Kåbo. Åsa had added a few notes. The man’s daughter had called several times during the past month.

Sammy’s cell phone rang. Before he answered he silently prayed for it to be Ann or at least a message that she had turned up, but it was Ottos-son who reported that Ann had not been seen either in Alsike or in Palmblad’s stables in Skuttunge.

Nor had any of their relatives heard from her.

“Are you finding anything?”

“No, Ann wasn’t exactly the best in the world at keeping notes, she…”

He had said, “wasn’t.” To judge from Ottosson’s silence he had also caught the use of the past tense.

“She’s alive,” Sammy said. “Isn’t she, Otto?”

His commander was not able to respond immediately.

“Of course she is,” he said finally.

They ended the call. Sammy got up and walked back and forth anxiously although his gaze kept being pulled back to the picture of Erik. It was an enlargement of a day care photo that Ann had pinned to the wall. The boy was looking right into the camera and laughing. He had some of Ann’s features but the dark, curly hair had to be from the unknown father. Sammy had the feeling that Erik was looking at him and following his snooping.

He continued his search of the desk. Under several files there was a newspaper that had run a photo of Ann. Someone, probably Ann herself, had doodled horns and a goatee on her face and written in a speech bubble: “Kiss my ass.”

Sammy smiled. Why not, he thought, and put the newspaper aside. If Ann really was gone for good he wanted to keep that picture.