Missing by Karin Alvtegen Read Free Book Online Page B

the effort the woman at the other end was putting into formulating what she planned to say.
    â€˜How do I know that I’m actually speaking to Sibylla?’
    â€˜What’s that you said?”
    â€˜Could you give me your ID number?’
    Sibylla almost laughed. For Christ’s sake, now what?
    â€˜My ID number?’
    â€˜Lots of people phoned today, saying that they’re Sibylla. How do we know that you’re the right one?’
    She was open-mouthed with astonishment.
    â€˜Listen, I am Sibylla Forsenström. I’ve forgotten my ID number, I’ve had no reason to use it for a long time. I just wanted to say “Please mind your own business, leave me in peace”.’
    She had forgotten the waiting man, but when she turned he looked away, pretending not to watch her.
    â€˜Where are you?’
    Sibylla snorted and stared into the receiver.
    â€˜None of your business, mate.’ She finished the call and held out the receiver to the waiting man. He hung back, looking anxious.
    â€˜Come on, it’s all yours.’
    He gestured defensively.
    â€˜No, no, it’s all right.’
    â€˜No? And you were so fucking keen a moment ago?’
    His rolled-up evening paper stuck out from his coat pocket. It was The Express . She spotted one of her own eyes under that appalling fringe.
    â€˜Whatever.’ She put the receiver back.
    The man smiled nervously, then turned and left.
    She had to get away now. Better being angry than scared. Above all, she mustn’t ever stick her neck out. From now on she couldn’t be sure who knew her by name and why. Christ, of all the names in the world, why did they have to pick Sibylla ?
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    It had been easy to find out where Mrs Grundberg lived. The papers had printed so much information about Jörgen Grundberg that she could have written his biography.
    The train journey to Eskilstuna didn’t take long. She started off hiding in the toilet, but once the conductor had done his first ticketround and unlocked the toilet door from the outside, she went to find a seat. No one registered surprise at her sudden appearance in the compartment. Ever since discovering that one of the fittings on her hair-curling kit was ideal for opening locked toilet doors on trains, she had been treating herself to the odd excursion. She’d been caught just once and ordered off the train in Hallsberg, which wasn’t too bad a place anyway.
    She felt happier now, for some strange reason. Maybe it was because she was determined to take control over what was happening to her. Or maybe spending her last kronor on a hamburger had cheered her up.
    Â Â Â Â 
    The Grundbergs’ large villa was surrounded by a chest-high wall of the same white, glazed bricks that covered the fac¸ade. Mock-Victorian lamps lit the driveway to the mahogany-style front door that contrasted with black-stained window frames. One of the largest satellite discs she’d ever seen was perched on the roof.
    The whole place was screaming more- money-than- taste .
    For a while she hung about on the pavement, hesitating. Then she walked round the block to avoid attracting attention by loitering and the walk helped her to make up her mind. She had better start trying to find an explanation here and now.
    The decision was easy to reach in her head, especially on the far side of the block, but her legs were not keen on taking her along the drive. Looking at the large house, her courage was faltering again. The dark windows, framed in black and with black shutters, seemed to be observing her like so many hostile eyes.
    Someone opened the door and called to her.
    â€˜Are you from a newspaper?’
    â€˜No.’ Sibylla swallowed hard, closed the gate behind her and walked down the last part of the drive without looking at the woman in the doorway. Halfway to the front steps she passed a water-feature with a vaguely classical marble female, which presumably