Missing

'What have I done?'

Still no reaction from Beatrice, who just turned a page in her book. Sibylla stared at the carpet. Its twisting oriental pattern began blurring in front of her eyes and she bent forward to make the tears fall straight down without leaving any traces on her cheeks.

Her ears were ringing. The shame of it all.

She went upstairs, knowing full well what to expect. Hours of anxious waiting for the explosion, hours more of guilt, shame, regret, longing to be forgiven. Please, please dear God, let the time pass quickly. Please let her tell me soon what's up so I can say sorry – forgive me. But whatever You do, don't let her have found out everything.

God, don't take today away from me.

But sometimes God is hard. When the downstairs dinner-bell rang, Mrs Forsenström still had not deigned to appear in Sibylla's room. Sibylla was feeling really sick now and the smell of fried potatoes made her want to vomit. She knew what would come next. She would be made to beg and plead to be told what she had done wrong. Beatrice would speak only when sated with her daughter's self-abasement.

She arrived at Stockholm Central at 12.35. The Grand Hotel murder was definitely not in the news that day. The posters ran an animal welfare story, which had raised a storm of public indignation. After a few years in Sweden, a chimpanzee had been sold to a zoo in Thailand, where he had been confined in an unsuitable cage that was apparently far too small.

Leaving the station, she walked on past the Culture Centre at Sergei Square, where she usually spent many hours going through the newspapers in the reading room. She didn't feel like reading the papers. Never cared much for monkeys. She could do with a no-news day and above all no Grand Hotel murder stories.

Even so, she suddenly found herself sitting on a bench on the Strom Quay, her back to the water and her eyes fixed on the facade of the Grand Hotel just opposite. The cordons had gone. A limousine had drawn up in front of the main entrance and the chauffeur was chatting with the door porter. It was looking exactly as it had three days ago when she had innocently stepped inside.

'Hey, what's this? Sitting here contemplating your sins?'

She jumped, as if struck. It was just Heino, who had crept up behind her. He had brought all his worldly goods along, mostly plastic carrier bags full of empty cans. She knew that somewhere underneath the load was a rust-coloured hooded pram, because she had been around when he nicked it. Now only the wheels were showing.

'Christ, you really scared me!'

He grinned and sat down next to her. The odour of ingrained dirt immediately overwhelmed every other smell. She backed off as little as possible, in case he would notice.

Heino was looking at the Grand Hotel.

'Did you do it?'

Sibylla glanced at him, surprised at how fast the rumour had gone the rounds. Heino wasn't the newspaper-reading type. 'No. I didn't.'

Heino nodded. He clearly felt that that the subject had been exhausted.

'Got anything then?'

She shook her head.

'Nothing to drink. Fancy a fresh roll?'

He rubbed his filthy palms together, smiling happily.

'Now you're talking. A nice, fresh roll is a thing of beauty.'

She rooted around in her rucksack for her cache of breakfast rolls and gave him one. He ate greedily. The few teeth left in his mouth were struggling bravely with the roll.

'Great stuff. A chaser would be something else, though.'

She smiled, wishing she had any kind of drink for him. Preferably alcoholic.

Two smartly dressed ladies were approaching, leading a small dog kitted out in a tartan coat. It looked like a large pampered rat. Catching sight of Heino, one of them started whispering to her companion and both speeded up. Heino had been watching them and, just as they were passing, he rose and leaned towards them.

'Good afternoon, ladies. Would you be wanting a bite?'

He was holding his half-eaten roll in his hand, politely presenting it to them. They walked past without a word, obviously eager to get out of harm's way without humiliating themselves by breaking into a run.

Sibylla was smiling broadly as Heino settled back on the bench.

'Watch out,' he shouted after them. 'A rat's coming after you!'

The ladies walked very fast all the way to the main stairs of the

National Museum, stopping only when they got there to check that no one was pursuing them. They were talking agitatedly. When a police car came driving across Skepp Bridge, the ladies' body language told Sibylla that they were going to hail the police. Her heart was beating faster.

'Listen Heino, please do something for me.'

The police car had pulled in by the kerb now. The two women were talking and pointing towards their bench.

‘If the pigs come here, you don't know me.'

Heino looked at her. The police car started up.

'Don't I know you? Sure I do. You're Sibylla, Queen of Småland.'

'Please, Heino. Not now. Please. You don't know me.'

The police car pulled in near their bench. Two uniformed police climbed out, a man and a woman. They left the engine running. Heino stared at them, stuffing the last piece of roll into his mouth.

'Hi, Heino. Did you annoy the ladies over there?'

Heino turned to look at the ladies. They were still standing at the entrance of the National Museum. Sibylla was peering into her rucksack, hoping to avoid police scrutiny.

'Me? No, I'm just quietly eating my roll.'

To prove his point he opened his mouth wide, displaying what was in it.

'Just as well. Keep eating, Heino.'

Heino shut his mouth, muttering crossly to himself.

'Easy for you to say.'

Then he carried on chewing. Sibylla was taking an intelligent interest in a side-pocket on her rucksack.

'Now, has he been bothering you at all?'

Sibylla realised the policeman was talking to her. She looked up, rubbing her eyes as if a piece of grit was troubling her.

'Who, me? No, not at all.'

She opened another side-pocket and started rummaging again, ‘I'd never bother queens. Specially not the Queen of Småland,' Heino said earnestly.

Sibylla closed her eyes, but kept fiddling with the rucksack. One more side-pocket to investigate. 'I like that, Heino. That's the ticket.'

The woman constable was trying to round off their chat. To her relief, Sibylla could hear them both walk away and open the car door. Glancing at them, she saw the male PC still holding the door handle.

'What's you problem, why are you spying on honest citizens peacefully eating their stuff? So the old hags are out walking their rat and start making a fuss, taking offence at nothing whatever – is that my fault?'

'Shut up,' Sibylla hissed.

Heino was becoming heated. The police stopped in their tracks.

'Let me tell you something you don't know, right? Like, you might just have been of some use if you'd turned up here on the twenty-third of September, in the year of eighteen hundred and eighty-five.'

The policeman was approaching now, but the woman stayed in the passenger seat of the car. Sibylla began closing the various compartments of her rucksack. Time to beat it.

Heino rose, pointing towards the Grand Hotel.

'That's where she was standing, on the Grand's balcony.'

Sibylla stopped to listen.

'Down here it was packed with people, all the way across to the Kung Garden. They were waiting for her to sing.'

Now Sibylla and the policeman were both staring at him. The policeman was curious.

'Who was singing from the balcony?'

Heino sighed and shrugged, spreading his dirty palms.

'Don't you know anything? Christina Nilsson, that's who. The Nightingale from Småland.'

Heino stopped dramatically. The policewoman began to get impatient. She lowered the car window to shout at her colleague.

'Janne, come on!'

'Hang on a minute.'