Free The Disappeared by Kristina Ohlsson

sorry, I had no idea it was such a sensitive issue.’
    Silenced descended inside the car. Fredrika breathed deeply to stop herself from boiling over. Obviously, she realised that her private life aroused a certain amount of curiosity, but surely people could be tactful? She would have been. At least she thought she would.
    ‘This is where she lives.’
    Cecilia pulled up by the kerb.
    ‘We can’t park here,’ Fredrika said, pointing to a sign.
    Cecilia stuck a note on the windscreen to indicate that this was a police vehicle.
    ‘We can now.’
    That wasn’t true, but Fredrika couldn’t face making herself even more unpopular than she already was. The note could be used only when officers were involved in an operation, which was hardly the case at the moment.
    Daniella lived on the second floor, and there was no lift. Fredrika had checked up on her before leaving the station. Rebecca’s ex had a colourful past. While she was still at secondary school she had spent time in both child and youth psychiatric units on a number of occasions. She also had a criminal record and had been a suspect in other cases, but these involved only minor offences such as theft and vandalism. After leaving school, she had spent a term at college, and since then she had either been working or signed off due to ill health.
    Rebecca and Daniella had got together when Rebecca returned from studying in France. Fredrika found it difficult to imagine what the two girls would have had in common, apart from the desire to experiment. Rebecca was a sensible girl who lived a structured life and had clear-cut ambitions – at least on paper. Although that might have been the problem, of course. When structure and ambition become too suffocating, a desire to push the boundaries often grows stronger.
    Cecilia rang the doorbell.
    No reply. She tried again. They heard the sound of running feet from inside the apartment, heavy footsteps heading for the hallway. The latch clicked and the door opened.
    ‘Daniella?’
    Fredrika edged in front of Cecilia and showed her ID.
    ‘Police – we’d like to speak to you.’
    Daniella backed away from the door and Fredrika and Cecilia stepped inside.
    ‘Coffee?’
    They both refused. ‘We won’t keep you for long,’ Cecilia said.
    ‘That doesn’t mean you can’t have a cup of coffee, does it?’
    Daniella led the way into the kitchen, where she flopped down on one of the mismatched chairs. The apartment was sparsely furnished; it was obviously a sublet. The bare walls were covered in photographs, all showing the same person: a young boy staring into the camera with a defiant expression.
    ‘Who’s this?’ Fredrika asked, pointing to one of the photos.
    ‘My brother.’
    ‘It looks as if you’re the same age.’
    ‘Wrong. He was ten years older than me. He’s dead.’
    Fredrika sat down at the table, well aware of Cecilia’s triumphant expression as she gloated over Fredrika’s faux pas.
    ‘I’m very sorry,’ she said quietly.
    ‘Me too.’
    Daniella didn’t look the way Fredrika had expected. She was more powerfully built, bordering on fat. Her hair was spiky and as black as coal, contrasting sharply with the pale eyes.
    ‘I presume this is about Rebecca?’
    ‘Yes, we’ve found her.’
    ‘I saw it on TV.’
    ‘Are you glad she’s been found?’ Cecilia asked.
    Daniella shrugged indifferently.
    ‘I didn’t care at the time and I don’t care now. She was a complete fucking bitch.’
    The language was far removed from anything Fredrika would normally use.
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘She was just playing with me, making me think what we had was real.’
    ‘When was this?’
    ‘A few years ago, when she got back from France.’
    A few years ago. And she was still a fucking bitch.
    ‘You must have really loved her,’ Cecilia said gently.
    Instead of replying, Daniella got up to fetch a glass of water. This time she didn’t bother asking them if they wanted a drink.
    ‘How did it