The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [129]
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.”
Sammy nodded energetically.
“Let’s call her right away. What’s her last name?”
“I’ll call,” Bea said and walked over to the phone.
It was quickly done. Bea shook her head during the conversation. Ot-tosson looked at his watch.
“Sammy,” he said, “search Ann’s office. Ola, see to it that Alsike is checked out. Maybe she went out to Andersson’s cottage. The same goes for the stables and Palmblad’s relatives. Berglund will have to call Andersson’s niece in Umeå. Ann may have contacted her.”
He paused for a few seconds before he continued.
“Berglund, you’ve been at this a long time, what would you do?”
There was a note of pleading in Ottosson’s voice that made the others start. They looked at Berglund, who had not said anything up to this point.
“We’ll contact all the taxi companies and ask the drivers to keep an eye out for Ann’s car. Maybe we’ll even ask Radio Uppland to appeal to the public to do the same. It’s a drastic move, I know, but we’re fumbling in the dark. Ann is out there somewhere and we need to find her, and fast.”
Ottosson and Berglund exchanged glances. Bea closed her eyes for a moment. Sammy Nilsson imagined she was praying. Haver drummed his pencil against the back of the chair.
“Taxi companies are fine,” Ottosson said, “but the radio?”
“We can wait on it,” Berglund said.
Sammy Nilsson sighed heavily.
“Can you please stop tapping like a woodpecker?” he said to Haver.
Sammy Nilsson turned on Ann Lindell’s computer. He knew the password and typed it in: “Viola.” He knew she kept a daily log of notes. Many times they had leaned over her computer screen together, discussing various cases. Her system of note taking was somewhat difficult to understand, with many abbreviations and words that did not always relate to the main text. It seemed as if she freely jotted down her associations even in the middle of her notes. Sammy had read some poems by a famous Swedish poet—at the urgings of his