Kjell Eriksson - The cruel stars of the night

Has your father shown any signs of depression lately?

Detective Sergeant sa Lantz-Andersson dropped her gaze as soon as she uttered the question. The woman sitting across from her had such a fierce expression on her face that it was hard to look at her. It was as if Laura Hinderstens eyes nailed her to the wall, saying, I dont think you will find my father and for this reason: you are a bunch of incompetent bunglers dressed up in uniform.

No, she said with determination.

sa Lantz-Andersson unconsciously let out a deep sigh. The desk in front of her was overrun with folders and files.

No signs of anxiety?

No, as I said, he was like he always was.

And how is that?

Laura Hindersten gave a short laugh. It was a quick, dry salvo that reminded the officer of a teacher she had had in elementary school, someone who had poisoned the childrens existence. She had emanated pride mixed with embittered exasperation at having to put up with such thickheaded pupils.

My father is a professor and researcher and devotes all his time to his lifes work.

Which is?

It would take us too far off track to explain it in detail, but I can summarize it by saying that he is one of the nations leading experts on Petrarch.

sa Lantz-Andersson nodded.

I see, she said.

Another dry cackle.

So he left the house on Friday. Had he said anything about his plans for the day?

Nothing. As I said, when I came home from work he was gone. No note on the kitchen table, nothing in his calendar. Ive checked.

Are there signs that he has packed, brought things with him?

No, not that I can see.

His passport?

Still there in his desk drawer.

Your father is seventy years old. Is he showing any signs of confusion, that he... ?

If youre asking if he is senile or crazy, youre wrong. His intellect is completely intact.

Im glad to hear it, sa Lantz-Andersson said. Is he in the habit of taking walks, and if so, where? The City Forest isnt so far from your house.

He never takes walks.

Was there any conflict in the family? Had you had a fight?

Laura Hindersten sat completely silent, lowered her gaze for a moment, and sa Lantz-Andersson thought she muttered something before looking up again. Her voice was ice-cold, free of any attempt to sound agreeable.

We had a very good relationship, if you can imagine such a thing.

And why wouldnt I be able to do that?

Your work can hardly be very inspiring.

No, youre right about that, sa Lantz-Andersson said with a smile. Its depressing, banal work, but of course we will do everything we can to locate your father.

She gathered up her notes, but paused for a moment before getting to her feet.

Thank you, she said and held out her hand.

Laura Hindersten remained seated.

Arent you going to...

Thank you, Lantz-Andersson repeated. As I said, well do everything we can.

He may be dead, murdered.

What makes you think that?

Laura Hindersten stood up. Her thin body didnt appear to want to hold her up. She teetered momentarily and Lantz-Andersson put out a hand to steady her.

Its a front, that haughtiness, she thought, and was suddenly gripped by a pang of conscience and pity.

Laura Hindersten was thirty-five, only a couple of years older than Lantz-Andersson, but she looked older. Maybe it was the clothes she wore, a gray skirt and an old-fashioned hip-length beige coat that gave that impression, for her face was the face of a young woman. There was no gray in the full, dark hair gathered into a ponytailquite the opposite, in fact. Lantz-Andersson noted with a twinge of envy how shiny her hair was.

Her thin face was pale. The somewhat too-large front teeth led to thoughts of a rabbit especially when she laughed, but many would probably have said that Laura, with her mixture of forceful dark and delicate light, was an attractive woman. The eyes under the strong, dark eyebrows were light blue, and the small ears set close against her head had a classically rounded shape, like little shells.

On the desk, the photograph of her father taken a few years ago showed that Laura had inherited several of her features from him.

One last question: was there any woman in your fathers life?

Laura shook her head and left the room without a word. Lantz-Andersson did not think they would find her father alive. Three days had gone by. After the first twenty-four hours you could still be optimistic, after two days the chances were fifty-fifty, but after three days at the end of September, experience told her that all hope was lost.

Lantz-Andersson tried to think past conventional explanations, but gave up. All rational explanations had been tested. Already on Saturday they had gone door-to-door in the neighborhood. A search party had combed the nearby City Forest, without results. The only thing they found, hidden under a spruce, were the stolen goods from a theft on Svea Street.

It was as if Professor Ulrik Hindersten had been swallowed up by the earth. No one had seen him, not his neighbors nor anyone in the few kiosks and shops in the area.

At the literature department, where Hindersten had earlier been an active member but of late had only visited once or twice a month, no one showed any concern over the disappearance. Lantz-Andersson had talked to a former colleague who made no bones about his intense dislike of the retired professor.

He was a pain, was how the man summarized his opinion.

The impression from the door-to-door questioning in the area yielded the same weak results. No one actually expressed any regret at the old mans disappearance.

The old man must have gotten lost in his own garden, the nearest neighbor said flippantly.

The latter was a professor of some subject Lantz-Andersson had never heard of, but she gathered it was something to do with physics.

She read through her notes. Ulrik Hindersten had been a widower for about twenty years and had lived alone with his only child during that time. Neither Ulrik nor Laura appeared in the police register nor did they appear to have any debts.