Twenty minutes later, Tom sat parked in front of the Karlssons’ farmhouse, sipping his hot coffee. The caffeine shot through him, refueling his tired brain. With his notepad in his suit jacket’s pocket, he got out of the car and trudged toward the house’s porch. He stopped short, looking for anything out of place.
It was a quiet morning; the clouds hung low, gray and unmoving as the breeze stopped completely. The house was on elevated land, and from the top of the hill, he could see an expansive field in the distance, and he could also see the condo building that sat alone like a beacon in the old orchard. Instead of heading for the door, Tom walked to the side of the house, toward the fence there. To his left was a pasture with cows lowing randomly.
To his right was a bare field, the one you could walk through to get to the condo building and the old orchards. He stared in that direction and tried to guess how far away it was. A mile? A mile and a half?
“Can we help you?” a voice asked, and Tom spun around, his hand going to his holster on instinct.
The man was tall and thin, thick blond-gray hair showcasing his Scandinavian heritage.
“Mr. Karlsson?” Tom asked, and the man nodded. His eyes were blue and watery.
“Are you here to find my son?” he asked, and Tom glanced over the man’s shoulder to see a woman approaching. She was breathtakingly beautiful, pale skin and bright green eyes accented by wavy blonde hair. Tom blinked and switched his gaze to her husband.
“I’m hoping so. What can you tell me?” Tom was holding the notepad, hoping they had something for him. He took a sparing glance across the field at the condo building before they spoke. It felt like he was being drawn to the orchard. He’d used his gut a lot on the force and had learned to trust it. It wasn’t always one hundred percent accurate, but he didn’t care. Something there was worth further investigation.
“I’m Sven, and this is Astrid.” They shook hands, hers warm and her husband’s ice cold. “Come inside. We’ll pour you a tea.”
Tom followed them, and Astrid was now crying, clearly not for the first time today. Sven wrapped an arm around her as they walked up the three steps to the porch leading inside.
Tom’s face was solemn as they entered the home, and he was greeted by a warm, perfect house. It smelled of flowers and cedar, beams ran across the living room ceiling, and wide-planked oak floors stretched over the entire house. He kept his opinions to himself. They didn’t want to hear about how nice their home was; they wanted their son back.
They sat on the couch, and Tom took a standalone chair, more for its appearance than for its function. It was firm and stoic. Maybe he could get used to it.
“I’m sorry to have to be here. I know the deputy already went over some things, but I wanted to come as soon as I heard. When did you notice Fredrik was missing?” Tom asked.
Mrs. Karlsson was sobbing loudly, and her husband began to answer for them, but she set a hand on his arm, stopping him. “This morning. He’s a good boy. I tucked him in last night at eleven. He’s allowed to stay up late on Friday nights, now that he’s thirteen. I still checked on him and kissed him goodnight.”
Tom smiled, happy to hear that kind of parenting still existed. “Then you checked on him this morning?”
“And he was gone,” Sven said.
“Can I see the room?” Tom asked, and they nodded.
“The deputy asked us to leave it as it is, so we did.” Sven led Tom down the hall, past the kitchen and toward the side of the house. It was a farmhouse, and though it wouldn’t have a basement and had no second floor, the floor plan was wide, giving the house a lot of square footage. They stopped at the end of the hall, and Sven motioned to the door on the right.
Tom pulled a pair of nylon gloves from his pocket and stretched them on before turning the crystal handle and pushing the solid wood door in. The parents stayed in the hall as he entered the room. One of the floorboards creaked under his weight, and he flinched. This case had him on edge. Children disappearing into thin air. He hated everything about it.
The bed was unmade, and the boy’s pillow was on the floor. Tom got on his knees beside the bed and crouched low, peering under the twin frame. He saw a balled-up pair of socks and a baseball glove, but nothing more.
Next he went to the edge of the room. Superhero posters lined the walls, and the kid had bookshelves full of comic books and graphic novels. One of them was on the nightstand, and Tom picked it up, flipping through the pages before setting it down. It was a horror comic, and Tom thought that was a little too on the nose.
The windows were large on this side of the house, and he pulled the curtains wide to see the field beyond. The condo was visible from that vantage point too. The house was older, likely from the forties, and the windows were original. Tom tapped the single-pane glass and examined the window sash lock. The right one was unclasped.
“The window was open. Did you know that?” Tom asked, and they both shook their heads from the hallway. Astrid’s hand flew over her mouth as she began sobbing again.
Tom pressed the window, and it hinged out. He leaned over, looking for signs of a struggle, but didn’t find any. He moved now, waiting for the couple to step aside as he jogged down the hall and out the front door. He arrived at the window from outside, and squatted under it. The grass was thin and dry,
