earlier this morning. Are you Annika Hermansson?”
The woman nodded.
“I’d like to speak to you about the disappearance of Thomas Bonetti. You had called—”
“It’s about time! I called over and over again, but nobody cared. Apparently it takes years for the police to come out and take a look unless people are telling lies about you. Then you come right.…”
The woman stopped and mumbled something to herself. There was a wine glass on the table, half full, and she took a long drink. “You want anything?” she asked, gesturing at the wine box placed on the kitchen counter.
“No, thank you, I’m on duty,” Irene replied as she forced herself to smile.
Nothing about Annika Hermansson made Irene want to smile any wider. The woman’s hair was dyed black, and a few inches of gray had already grown back in. Her face was slack and doughy and showed obvious signs of long-term alcoholism. Her stomach beneath her dirty T-shirt was a big, round ball, but she had the thin arms and legs of an anorexic. She reminded Irene of a spider. It was difficult to tell how old Annika Hermansson was, but Irene guessed about fifty.
“Well, well, that’s all right. There’s not much left in the box. Billy will be here soon with a new one,” Annika muttered.
“Who’s Billy?” Irene asked the drunken woman, mostly so she could start a conversation.
“My son.”
Irene lifted old newspapers and other scraps from a stool so she could sit down. Angry with the disturbance, the cat hissed at her and jumped to the floor.
With great difficulty, the spider woman got up and walked over to fill her glass from the wine box. As she shuffled back to her place, she spilled some wine on the floor but didn’t bother wiping it up. Breathing heavily, she groaned as she made herself comfortable again.
“What happened that September evening three years ago?” Irene asked.
“I heard that monster of a speed boat coming and thoughtit was odd so late at night and at that time of the year. Those Bonettis never come after September. The boat was their son’s. I’ve never liked that guy. Always boasting and lying. He’s five years older than Billy, but none of the other kids ever wanted to play with him. Not even Billy, for that matter.”
She fell silent long enough to drink a disturbing amount of wine in a single swallow. To help keep track of the conversation, Irene said slowly, “So he wasn’t popular in his circle of friends.”
“Friends? Ha! That boy had no friends.”
Annika’s laugh was raw. Irene glimpsed teeth that were in desperate need of a dentist, if they could be saved at all. They reminded Irene of the blackened remains of a garden shed she’d seen burned down years ago.
“How long have the Bonettis owned their summer cabin?” asked Irene.
“A long time. Long before Thomas was born. His sister was a baby when they moved here. I wanted to babysit her, but they wouldn’t let me. I was just eight-years-old, but I still knew how to take care of an infant. I had two little brothers.”
Irene felt liked she’d been dunked in cold water. Thomas Bonetti’s sister was thirty-five, which meant that Annika had to be just a year or two older than Irene herself. Since Billy was around twenty-eight, Annika had to have been sixteen when she’d had her son.
“Do you have any other children besides Billy?”
“Nah, he’s the only one. He was enough for me.” Again Annika broke into her hoarse laugh. She dug through the clutter on her table, and with a triumphant cry she pulled out a wrinkled cigarette pack. With shaking fingers, she pulled out a long though rather crumpled stub and stuck it between her chapped lips with a sigh of contentment. Her red-rimmed eyes met Irene’s. “Do you have a light?”
Irene shook her head. After another round of digging, Annika found a box of matches. She managed to light thecigarette butt after a few attempts and inhaled deeply before releasing the smoke through her nose.
“I
The woman nodded.
“I’d like to speak to you about the disappearance of Thomas Bonetti. You had called—”
“It’s about time! I called over and over again, but nobody cared. Apparently it takes years for the police to come out and take a look unless people are telling lies about you. Then you come right.…”
The woman stopped and mumbled something to herself. There was a wine glass on the table, half full, and she took a long drink. “You want anything?” she asked, gesturing at the wine box placed on the kitchen counter.
“No, thank you, I’m on duty,” Irene replied as she forced herself to smile.
Nothing about Annika Hermansson made Irene want to smile any wider. The woman’s hair was dyed black, and a few inches of gray had already grown back in. Her face was slack and doughy and showed obvious signs of long-term alcoholism. Her stomach beneath her dirty T-shirt was a big, round ball, but she had the thin arms and legs of an anorexic. She reminded Irene of a spider. It was difficult to tell how old Annika Hermansson was, but Irene guessed about fifty.
“Well, well, that’s all right. There’s not much left in the box. Billy will be here soon with a new one,” Annika muttered.
“Who’s Billy?” Irene asked the drunken woman, mostly so she could start a conversation.
“My son.”
Irene lifted old newspapers and other scraps from a stool so she could sit down. Angry with the disturbance, the cat hissed at her and jumped to the floor.
With great difficulty, the spider woman got up and walked over to fill her glass from the wine box. As she shuffled back to her place, she spilled some wine on the floor but didn’t bother wiping it up. Breathing heavily, she groaned as she made herself comfortable again.
“What happened that September evening three years ago?” Irene asked.
“I heard that monster of a speed boat coming and thoughtit was odd so late at night and at that time of the year. Those Bonettis never come after September. The boat was their son’s. I’ve never liked that guy. Always boasting and lying. He’s five years older than Billy, but none of the other kids ever wanted to play with him. Not even Billy, for that matter.”
She fell silent long enough to drink a disturbing amount of wine in a single swallow. To help keep track of the conversation, Irene said slowly, “So he wasn’t popular in his circle of friends.”
“Friends? Ha! That boy had no friends.”
Annika’s laugh was raw. Irene glimpsed teeth that were in desperate need of a dentist, if they could be saved at all. They reminded Irene of the blackened remains of a garden shed she’d seen burned down years ago.
“How long have the Bonettis owned their summer cabin?” asked Irene.
“A long time. Long before Thomas was born. His sister was a baby when they moved here. I wanted to babysit her, but they wouldn’t let me. I was just eight-years-old, but I still knew how to take care of an infant. I had two little brothers.”
Irene felt liked she’d been dunked in cold water. Thomas Bonetti’s sister was thirty-five, which meant that Annika had to be just a year or two older than Irene herself. Since Billy was around twenty-eight, Annika had to have been sixteen when she’d had her son.
“Do you have any other children besides Billy?”
“Nah, he’s the only one. He was enough for me.” Again Annika broke into her hoarse laugh. She dug through the clutter on her table, and with a triumphant cry she pulled out a wrinkled cigarette pack. With shaking fingers, she pulled out a long though rather crumpled stub and stuck it between her chapped lips with a sigh of contentment. Her red-rimmed eyes met Irene’s. “Do you have a light?”
Irene shook her head. After another round of digging, Annika found a box of matches. She managed to light thecigarette butt after a few attempts and inhaled deeply before releasing the smoke through her nose.
“I
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