She could imagine what was going on up there. Despite her predicament she felt a twinge of envy toward Laura. This must be the man she had talked about, the married colleague. What was it Laura had said his wife’s name was? Jessica. Laura said something about it being her task to solve the problem, to separate the two of them, that the man was too weak and afraid for something like that.
Suddenly Lindell was convinced that Laura was going to murder Jessica. In light of what had transpired and in light of Laura’s complete lack of empathy her comment could not be interpreted in any other way. Was the man in on this? Perhaps two people had been involved in the murders of Blomgren, Andersson, and Palmblad?
When the sounds of intercourse had ceased Lindell thought about resuming her attempts of trying to make herself heard, but realized the senselessness of screaming to the point of exhaustion. She would not be heard and perhaps it wouldn’t matter anyway if the man was part of it.
Then it struck her: Laura turned on the music to cover her screams. The man was unaware that Laura was keeping Lindell imprisoned in the basement. The music could not be interpreted any other way.
She summoned her courage, started beating on the door with her left hand, and screamed.
Stig Franklin stepped out onto the stairs. He carefully closed the door behind him. The music was still thundering in the house. He smiled to himself. The fact was that it worked with the music. After the initial shock and displeasure over the volume he found that opera was a great background for making love.
He checked the time. A quarter to five. Jessica usually came home around five. Now is the time, he thought and walked swiftly to the car.
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.”