And Ylva wouldn’t be able to make herself heard, she understood that now. Was there any other way she could attract attention?

Mrs Halonen was the first one to appear on the screen. She went past with her Alsatian, turned into Backavagen. She glanced surreptitiously over at Ylva and Mike’s house, almost guiltily. Ylva realised that she’d heard. And if Mrs Halonen knew, then everybody knew. She was way down the information chain.

Ylva tried to imagine the gossip, comforted herself with the conversations that were happening around town.

Did you hear that Ylva’s disappeared?

Who?

Mike’s wife, the girl from Stockholm.

What?

She didn’t come home. Left work and never came home.

Has she run off?

Don’t know.

She hasn’t been in touch?

No, she’s vanished. Mike’s looking for her. He’s reported it to the police and all that.

But I don’t understand, she just didn’t come home?

Nope.

But that’s crazy. Has she left him?

I don’t know.

What about the girl, she wouldn’t just leave the girl, surely?

Either she’s run away or something’s happened.

Like what?

How should I know?

But she wasn’t depressed, was she?

Things are not always as they seem. My dad had a friend who …

No matter what happened, things always blew over. Became part of life’s great charade. Hundreds of passengers killed in a plane crash? Months later it would be forgotten, and only the anniversary would be marked. Thousands killed in a natural catastrophe? A week of grim news reports and then it turned into something you looked up on Wikipedia. The tsunami, what year was that? That’s right, of course.

No one would save her, she had to escape.

Everyone went quiet when Mike entered Ylva’s workplace. Nour got up and went over to meet him.

‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen.’ Mike immediately started to cry. For the simple reason that a friendly person had seen his impotence and offered comfort.

‘Fuzzy,’ he said, when she asked how he was. ‘It’s like that protective plastic on new mobile phones or watches; if only someone could pull the bugger off, I’d see clearly.’

Nour nodded, wiped away a tear from his cheek with her thumb and handed him some water.

‘Drink.’

Mike did as he was told, looked over her shoulder to check that the door was closed and waved his hand around nervously.

‘Do you think she’s met someone else?’

He looked at her with a mixture of fear and helplessness.

‘Not that I know of,’ she said, in the end.

‘I don’t see what else can have happened.’ He shook his head and continued: ‘She would have got in touch. She wouldn’t just forget Sanna, would she?’

‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Nour said.

‘So what’s happened then? Has she had an accident? Been run over, or met the wrong guy? I don’t get it. Three nights, it’s three nights now. I don’t even know if I want her back, can you understand that?’

‘I understand.’

Mike gulped down some air. Nour handed him a tissue and he blew his nose like a child, with no force.

‘Mike, listen to me. You have to be strong. If nothing else, for Sanna’s sake. She’s a child, you’re an adult. Do you hear what I’m saying, Mike? You’re an adult.’

His telephone rang. Mike wiped his nose and looked at the display. He held it up for Nour to see and turned around.

‘It’s Mike,’ he said.

‘Karlsson here. I wondered if you could come by the station? There’s something we’d like to show you.’

‘Have you found her?’

‘No, sorry. But we’ve got a list of the calls made to and from her phone. And a sound file of her voicemail.’

‘I’m on my way.’

Mike hung up and turned to Nour.

‘The police,’ he said. ‘They’ve got a list of her phone calls.’

Mike was nervous as he drove over. Tense and hopeful, frightened and resigned. He felt as if he was sitting a driving test. He parked outside the police station, just by the slip road to the motorway, and went in.

The woman at reception phoned Karlsson.

‘They’re expecting you,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Third floor, second door on the right.’

She could easily have been working in an advertising agency.

Karlsson was standing waiting in the corridor when Mike came out of the lift. He waved him over.

‘Glad you could come,’ he said, and led him into his office, where Gerda was already parked on a chair. ‘Take a seat.’

Karlsson went round the desk to his computer.

‘You said earlier that you called Nour first? Surely you must have tried your wife before then?’

‘Of course.’

‘And when did you call her the first time? Just so we know where it fits.’ Karlsson pointed at the list in front of him.

‘Don’t remember,’ Mike said. ‘I thought about calling earlier to see if she was coming home for supper, but didn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I didn’t want her to feel guilty. I thought that she should be allowed to go out and enjoy herself on her own for a change.’

‘So when did you call?’

Mike shrugged in exasperation.

‘Before I went to bed,’ he said. ‘Around midnight?’

Gerda waved his hands around in the air, as if preparing himself to ask a difficult question, against his will.

‘And, um, how do you get on, I mean, as man and wife?’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake, get real.’

Karlsson held up his hand in defence.

‘Let’s just listen to this,’ he said, moving the mouse to the right sound file on the screen and clicking.

Mike heard his own voice and was struck by how feeble he sounded, subservient and uncertain.

Hi, it’s me. Your husband. Just thought I’d see how you’re getting on. I assume you’re out with people from work. Anyway, I’m off to bed now. Take a taxi home, please. I’ve had a drink and can’t drive. Sanna’s in bed. Big hug.

Another, more mechanical, woman’s voice said: Received at zero zero fourteen.

Karlsson stopped the recording and turned to Mike.

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