Read Online Silence by Jan Costin Wagner - Free Book Online Page A

idea came into his mind, one that had often occurred to him since Sanna’s death, one that frequently obsessed him and then, suddenly, seemed wrong and entirely meaningless. It was the idea that he was free of everything that tormented other people. In similar situations he had often felt the same as he did now. He sensed the fear and desperate anxiety of the parents, who didn’t know what had become of their daughter, and at the same time felt sure that he himself would never have to fear anything at all, would have no more anxieties of any kind. Because unlike the missing girl’s parents, he had that phase behind him; because he had long ago lost Sanna, the most important pan of his life.
    The idea began to feel vague and uncomfortable, and he obviously made some physical move in the effort to shake it off, because Sundström asked, ‘Everything okay?’
    ‘Hm?’
    Are you okay? You sort of suddenly twitched,’ explained Sundström.
    ‘No, I’m okay. It was nothing.’
    Sundström nodded and surreptitiously, as if doing something wrong, took another chocolate from the dish. He choked on it when the door opened behind their backs.
    ‘Forgive me,’ said Vehkasalo. ‘I’m very sorry; my wife, well, of course she’s very worried. I think … if possible could you speak to her tomorrow? I’m entirely at your disposal myself.’
    ‘Of course. I understand perfectly. I hope your wife will feel a little calmer in the morning. I’d like to clear up just a couple more points and then we’ll be on our way.’
    Vehkasalo nodded and sat down opposite them again.
    ‘What we urgently need is a photograph of your daughter. A recent one if possible. We’ll probably be distributing it to the media as well. A photo that’s … well, as good a likeness as possible, I mean showing her as she looks today. An up-to-date passport photograph would be ideal.’
    Vehkasalo nodded and thought for a moment. He stood up, left the room and soon came back with several photograph albums.
    ‘My wife always puts them straight into albums,’ he murmured, leafing through one of them. ‘They sometimes have group photographs at her school, they take portrait photos as well … yes, here, for instance.’ He handed them a picture showing a girl looking gravely at the camera lens.
    Sundström turned it over. ‘Taken only recently, good,’ he said. ‘Many thanks. We’ll take this away with us, if we may.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Vehkasalo.
    ‘We can talk about everything eke tomorrow,’ said Sundström, rising from the sofa.
    They stood there in silence for a few seconds, then Vehkasalo went ahead of them to the door. ‘I hope you’ll – you’ll find her,’ he said, when they were in the doorway.
    ‘We’ll do our best,’ said Sundström.
    They drove along the urban motorway towards the city centre. Sundström nodded off to sleep several times, waking with a jolt after a few seconds. ‘Terrible,’ he muttered. Joentaa didn’t know whether he meant their conversation with the missing girl’s parents, or his exhaustion, or something else entirely, and he was too tired himself to ask. They parted at the car park outside the police building.
    ‘See you tomorrow,’ said Sundström, clapping him on the shoulder.
    ‘See you tomorrow,’ Kimmo agreed, and got into his car and drove home.
    6
    I t was just after one when he parked his car beside the apple tree outside the little house. Sanna’s house. It was and always would be Sanna’s house, and that thought was there every time, waiting for him, evening after evening when he came home. Sometimes it was strongly present, sometimes less so, sometimes it was a good thought, sometimes a painful one, sometimes just a thought, coming and going.
    His house was Sanna’s house. He had lost Sanna for ever. Sanna would be here for ever. It was as simple as that and he couldn’t understand why some people didn’t understand it. What was so odd about the idea?
    He didn’t talk to many