Missing

She rose, throwing the papers on the floor, it's too much. I won't read any more.' She had raised her voice and Patrik turned to look at her. 'Hey, quiet!'

She sat down again, listening to the machine spitting out many more sheets of print. People had written all that, thinking about her. Nobody had paid any attention to her before and now she was suddenly the most written-about person in Sweden.

It was so fucking hateful.

'Can't stay here. I'm off.'

He turned her way again.

'Oh, yeah? Like, to where?'

She sighed.

The click of a door opening was heard from somewhere in the flat. They looked anxiously at each other, listening intently. They could hear the rushing water when a tap was turned on. Sibylla rose, looking for places to hide.

'Relax, he's probably just in the loo.'

Patrik wasn't reassuring enough. The moment the tap stopped running she dived down under the bed, just in time before there was a knock on the door.

'You in there, Patrik?'

No reply. Sibylla saw his feet disappear and heard him lie down on the bed. The door opened and a pair of naked hairy legs walked in.

'What, are you asleep?'

'Kind of.'

'It's past eleven o'clock, you know.'

The machine on the desk made a humming noise, producing a belated printout. 'What's that?'

The hairy legs stepped closer. The next second, Patrik's jeans-clad legs materialised right in front of her nose. He must have grabbed the paper.

'Just some stuff.'

'Stuff, eh? And why are you in bed with your clothes on?' I was up, really. I felt like lying down for a bit.' 'Aha. What are you printing?' I've been surfing a bit. Nothing special.' The silence lasted for a few unbearable seconds. 'Well, I'm going back to bed now. Are you at home today, or what?'

'Maybe. I'm not sure.'

'If you go out, please don't come back later than ten o'clock. And you must phone to say where you are.'

She could hear Patrik sighing. The naked male legs walked towards the door and then stopped.

'That's not your rucksack, is it?'

Sibylla closed her eyes, while Patrik seemed to take an age replying. Christ, just say something. You've found it. Nicked it. Any bloody thing at all.

'It's Viktor's.'

That's a good one.

'What's it doing here?'

He forgot it in school and I promised to look after it.' Better still. The legs were walking again. 'See you later. Remember, you must tidy up in here before your Mum comes back.' ‘I will.'

Then the door finally closed behind him and Patrik's smiling face was peering at her below the edge of the bed. 'Were you scared now?'

She crawled out. She tried to brush the dust off her front while she hissed at him.

'Can't you lock the door?'

He was sitting on the bed studying the piece of paper he had hidden from his Dad. She looked over his shoulder. HUNTING A KILLER. He seemed thoughtful. 'I know what we've got to do.' She couldn't think what to say.

'Think! The police are after you and nobody else. Question: who's to track down the real murderer?' No idea.

'Don't you see? We'll have to do it. We've got to find the murderer.'

At first she felt simply angry. So angry that she started towards the door, picking up her rucksack in the passing. She stopped with her hand reaching for the door-handle, suddenly uncertain. She didn't dare step outside yet.

She put the rucksack down and sighed.

'Patrik, don't be silly. This isn't some kind of exciting game.'

'I know. It's just – well, do you have any better ideas?'

She turned to face him, but he was picking up the papers she had thrown down. She went to help him and when the papers were stacked in order again, she sat down on the bed.

'What chances do you think we've got?'

He leaned forward, speaking in an eager whisper.

'Sylla, listen. The police are looking for YOU. No one else. It gives us space. We know that there must be another person who's the killer.'

'So what can we do? We've no information.'

He leaned back to be able to meet her eyes.

'Please promise not to be angry.'

'What? I mean, how can I promise?'

He hesitated. By now she was truly curious about what it was that he thought might make her angry. 'Ah… my Mum's in the police.'

She was transfixed. He met her eyes. When the true significance of what he had said dawned on her, her blood seemed to pump faster through her body and she rose.

'I've got to get out of here. Check the hall, please.'

'Cool it.'

'NOW. Please, Patrik.'

She had raised her voice to a dangerous pitch and he obeyed, sighing. After peering outside, he opened the door wide. She got hold of her rucksack and walked swiftly past him.

'Please, Sylla. Please listen!'

She was walking quickly, but he was only one step behind her. When she'd turned the corner and started down Folkunga Street, she hoped she'd lose him. Not one word more from Patrik. 'My Mum's in the police.' Fancy that. He had invited her straight into a hornets' nest. She stopped abruptly. He was unprepared and ran straight into her.

'So what do you think would've happened if your Mum had come home unexpectedly. Fucking what, exactly?'

The adrenaline was still rushing through her veins.

'Come off it. She's on a course!'

She looked at him, shaking her head. He was too young to understand. Maybe she wasn't fair on him.

'Patrik, it's my life we're discussing here. Say she'd caught the 'flu or something and returned a day early or whatever. Anything. There I would've been, in her son's bedroom. Was that what you had in mind?'

He took a few steps back. He looked angry.

'Right. Fine. You don't trust me. Why don't you go and get pissed then? That's the best you can do, isn't it?'

Suddenly her anger melted away. He was her only real friend and here she was, ditching him. It was a chilly day and he hadn't had time to fetch a jacket. He was wrapping his arms round his chest to keep warm.

It seemed impossible to think of a way forward. It wasn't as if it hadn't been hard before, but now she felt responsible for this youngster as well. Of course there was no telling what he might do as soon as he got out of sight, but she had only herself to blame. She had dragged him into this mess. She sighed, really deeply this time.

'Go home. Find yourself a thick jacket.'

He looked suspicious.

'Yeah? Why?'

'Simple. You're feeling the cold.'

'Aha. Don't you think I get your cunning plan? Like, when I come back you'll be gone.' 'Then what?' Their eyes met.

He thought of something, pulled his wallet from his jeans and put in the pocket of her anorak. 'Look after it until I come back.'

In seconds he had disappeared round the corner. That was a clever move. The kid was not stupid. He'd do well. She got hold of his wallet, weighing it in her hand.

Then she closed her eyes and couldn't help smiling.

He was still not entirely convinced that she would stay put. ‘I’ll be hanging about just outside, in Bjorn's Garden.' She realised how uncertain he felt. 'Promise, I'll be here.'

She really meant it this time. He nodded and walked off to cross Got Street. She watched him until he'd disappeared out through the doors of the Citizen Place library.

He had returned wearing his jacket. When he saw her, his face broke into a happy smile that would have enchanted any mad killer on the run. She smiled back, listening gravely as he outlined his plan.

First, he would email the police, giving her an alibi for the night of the last murder. She baulked at that and urged him promise not to give away where they had been and – above all – not to reveal who he was. While she was saying all that, she found him looking at her with his how-fucking-stupid-do-you-think-I-am look on his face. Then he pointed out that if he had wanted to let them know who he was, all he needed to do was to mail from his home computer. He had planned to protect his identity by using the library terminal, of course.