Happy New Year by Malin Stehn

Author:Malin Stehn [Stehn, Malin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781405953047
Publisher: Penguin Random House UK
Published: 2022-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

I close the document. The poems still aren’t any help. There are no names, no places. Nothing.

A sudden whim makes me open the web browser and Google my way to an address finder. I want to find some personal information. I type ‘Petter Silvén’ into the search field and discover, as it loads, that my hands are shaking. Must be the lack of sleep.

When the results pop up on the screen, I get goosebumps all over. The man in question lives just a few hundred metres away from us – in one of those linked houses over by the shop. That can’t be a coincidence. Jennifer told people she was going home. But, in reality, she must have planned to meet this Silvén guy. Their conversation on Messenger ended abruptly, but it could have continued by text or on Snap.

I click on the name and learn that Petter Silvén will turn thirty-two on 3 April. If I like, I can send him flowers via Interflora. Apparently he shares an address with someone called Sandra Larsson, but that makes no difference to me. Just because a person lives with a partner doesn’t mean they’re any less likely to commit crimes.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing on the sidewalk outside Petter Silvén’s home and trying to see right through the peach-coloured brick walls. My heart is pounding. Is my Jennifer inside? Is this where she’s being held prisoner? I want to run up and bang on the door, scream at the top of my lungs, wake that bastard up and drag him into the street.

But I stay put, staring at the black windows, which seem to be staring right back. There’s no light on anywhere, no sign of life. Maybe it’s no wonder, given the time of day.

A classic family car, some model of station wagon, is parked in front of the garage. Someone has placed a big grey pot next to the front door and stuck an undersized decorative fir tree in it. The space in front of the linked house is divided into three narrow rectangles: lawn, flagstone and asphalt. Neat but unimaginative.

When a light comes on inside the house, I take a quick step to the side, trying to find a spot behind the hedge where I won’t be spotted. A woman dressed in a long black quilted coat with a hood might seem a little suspicious. Especially if she’s standing stock still and staring at a stranger’s house at five in the morning. I should get out of here before one of the neighbours calls the police.

After a brief trip up and down the quiet street, I’m back in the same spot. At that very moment, an advent star lights up in one of Silvén’s windows and I try without much success to hide. My phone will have to be my alibi. I pretend to look at it even as I sneak glances at the window.

The whole room is lit up now. The kitchen is done all in white: white paint on the walls, white cabinets.

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