I hurried back to the sidewalk and peered down Pilegatan.
Why did that neighbor claim to have seen Stella here last Friday? Who was she, and how could she be so sure of herself? If she was lying on purpose, someone needed to inform her of the potential consequences.
And if she wasn’t lying? What if Stella had been here?
I found the yellow turn-of-the-century building Christopher Olsen had lived in at the end of the street. I gazed up at the beautiful windows and elegant balconies. Then I tried the door. It was open.
I didn’t know if there were any legal reasons I couldn’t talk to the witness. From a moral standpoint, of course, it was utterly reprehensible, even if I promised myself I wouldn’t try to influence the girl. I just wanted to understand what she had seen. And she had to realize that Stella was a real person with loved ones who were about to go to pieces with worry. Someone had to make sure she knew this wasn’t a game. She needed to see that I existed.
19
I slowly made my way up the stairs, stumbling a little as I went. I stopped on the first landing and read the nameplates. There it was: C. Olsen, in script on shiny metal. There were two more apartments across from his door. To the right lived someone called Agnelid, and on the left-hand door was a hand-written nameplate that said My Sennevall. I recognized the name immediately.
The doorbell jangled and I tried to think of what to say. I had to make her understand why I was here. Soon I heard scuffing footsteps on the other side of the door; the floor creaked, but then everything was as quiet as it had been before. I rang the bell again.
Was she standing behind the door listening?
“Hello?” I said, my voice low. “Is anyone there?”
I heard the lock turning, and very slowly the door opened. The crack was so narrow that I had to lean to the side to catch a glimpse of the figure inside.
“Hi. Sorry for just showing up like this.”
I couldn’t see much more than a pair of eyes glowing in the darkness.
“My name is Adam Sandell.”
“Okay…”
“May I come in?”
She cracked the door a little more and stuck out her nose.
“Are you selling something?”
Her voice sounded like a child’s.
“I just want to ask a few questions about Stella,” I said. “I’m her dad.”
“Stella?” She seemed to be thinking back. “That Stella?”
“Please, I have to know.”
With great hesitation, she undid the security chain and held open the door so I could step into the dimly lit hall. There was a cap on the hat rack, and a windbreaker and an umbrella hung from the hooks. Otherwise the hall was perfectly empty.
“You’re My, aren’t you?” I asked. “My Sennevall?”
The girl backed into the wall and fixed me with a jittery glare. She was small and dainty, with hair that hung like a veil to her waist. She couldn’t have been much older than Stella.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she said. “I’ve already told the police everything.”
“I won’t stay long,” I promised, craning my neck to see into the apartment.
The walls were bare, and a lone floor lamp cast a dull light over the otherwise dark room. In front of the window was a dark-blue wingback chair that could have used some rehabilitation. I couldn’t see a TV or computer. On the IKEA bookcase were a few mismatched porcelain figurines, the kind you find at flea markets. There was no desk, no chair, no other furniture. Just an unmade twin bed in the corner.
“Okay, but tell me why you’re here,” said My Sennevall.
I didn’t quite know why I was there myself.
“Could you just tell me where you saw her? I need help understanding what happened.”
My Sennevall blinked a few times.
“I usually sit by the window there,” she said, pointing at the wingback chair. “I like knowing what’s up.”
“What’s up?”
“What’s going on.”
That sounded odd. What sort of person was she?
“When you saw Stella…，” I began, “are you sure it was last Friday?”
She snorted at me.
“The first time was at eleven thirty.”
“The first time?”
She nodded.
“Stella came zooming up on her bike. She yanked open the door down there and ran inside.”
My Sennevall took a few slow steps into the room, stood by the chair, and pointed out the window. She had an excellent view of Pilegatan.
“Then I saw her again. About half an hour later. She was standing down there on the sidewalk, across the street. Under that tree.”