Vanished Read Online Free PDF Page B

time Annika had hung up. She quickly pulled on her jacket, slung her bag over her shoulder and checked with the attendants at the desk, but no cars were in, so she dialled a taxi service. She wasn’t on the clock, so could do whatever she liked.
    Fill out your own tables, dickhead!
    ‘Are you ready, dear?’
    Thomas Samuelsson’s wife stood in the doorway leading to their recreation room, with her coat on, pulling on her fine leather gloves.
    He heard the surprised tone in his voice as he wondered: ‘Ready for what?’
    In irritation, she yanked at the thin material.
    ‘The trade association,’ she replied. ‘You promised you’d go with me.’
    Thomas folded the evening paper and put his feet down on the heated tile floor.
    ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, it slipped my mind.’
    ‘I’ll go wait outside,’ she said, turning away and leaving.
    He sighed quietly. Good thing he’d already showered and shaved.
    He went up to their bedroom, removing his jeans and T-shirt on the way. Jumped into a white shirt and a suit and draped a tie around his neck. He heard the BMW start outside, revving up imperiously.
    ‘All right, already!’ he said.
    Every single lamp in the house was on, but he certainly wasn’t going to run around and switch them all off. Leaving the house with his coat over one arm, and without tying his shoelaces, he slipped on a patch of ice and almost fell.
    ‘You could sand the walk and the driveway, you know,’ Eleonor said.
    Thomas didn’t reply, simply slammed the car door and held on to the dashboard as she turned out on Östra Ekuddsgatan. He tied his tie on the way – the shoelaces would have to wait until he got there.
    It was dark out. Where had the day gone? It had died before it was born. Had there even been any daylight?
    He sighed.
    ‘What’s wrong, honey?’ she asked, friendly again.
    He stared out the window, out towards the sea. ‘I feel out of it,’ he said.
    ‘Maybe you caught that bug Nisse had,’ she said.
    He nodded without interest.
    The trade association. He knew exactly what they would talk about. Tourists. How many there had been, how to attract more of them, and how to keep the ones that had already discovered their community. They would discuss the problem with businesses that only operated during the brief summer months, taking revenue that rightfully belonged to the resident shopkeepers. The good food at the Waxholm Hotel. Preparations for the Christmas fair, longer opening hours on evenings and weekends. Everyone would be there. Everyone would be happy and committed. That’s the way it always was, no matter which event they went to. Lately, they’d been heavily involved in art. Church affairs had figured prominently too. Lots of talk about the preservation of old houses and gardens, preferably at someone else’s expense.
    Thomas sighed again.
    ‘Cheer up,’ his wife said.
    ‘Annika Bengtzon? I’m Rebecka Björkstig.’
    The woman was young, much younger than Annika had expected. Tiny, slim, a bit like a porcelain figurine. They exchanged greetings.
    ‘I apologize for the somewhat unusual spot,’ Rebecka said ‘Only we can’t be too careful.’
    They crossed a deserted passage leading to a combined lobby and bar. The lights were low and the atmosphere was reminiscent of the state-run hotels of the former Soviet Union. Round brown tables, chairs where the backrests merged with the armrests. Some men spoke in hushed tones in the opposite corner while the rest of the room was empty.
    The surreal feeling that she was starring in an old spy thriller washed over Annika and she felt a strong impulse to get the hell out of there. What was she doing there?
    ‘I’m so glad we could meet so soon,’ Rebecka said as she sat down at a table, glancing cautiously over her shoulder at the men seated further away.
    Annika mumbled an inaudible reply.
    ‘Will this be featured in tomorrow’s paper?’ the woman asked with a hopeful smile.
    Slightly dizzy,