The Girl in the Fog Page 7

  The gym being used as an operations room was in ferment. The number of police officers had increased fivefold. The school desks had been replaced by real desks, with computers and telephones that never stopped ringing. Instead of the old slate blackboard, there was now a large white screen and a video projector. The huge noticeboard had filled up with reports, photographs and forensics results. In the centre of the room was a scale model of the valley, updated every so often with indications of the areas being searched by the crime scene teams, who had been able to work twenty-four-seven thanks to special night-vision equipment.

  ‘Sir, the people from Alpine Rescue have just finished checking the northern crevasses,’ a policeman in shirtsleeves and tie reported to Borghi, who was supervising activities.

  ‘Good, now they need to move to the eastern slope.’ Borghi turned to another officer sitting at a desk, making an animated phone call. ‘What happened to the helicopter we requested?’

  The officer moved the receiver away from his mouth for a moment. ‘They say it’ll be here by midday.’

  ‘They said that yesterday. Stay on that phone and don’t hang up until they give you a specific time.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The helicopter was important, Vogel had emphasised that several times. It made much more of an impression than a pack of dogs busily sniffing around. And it would be visible from every vantage point. The cameramen would be kept busy all day long staying with it. By now, Borghi had embraced Vogel’s philosophy in full. But as he walked over to the scale model to update the positions of the units on the ground, he had to admit that this strategy and all the effort they were making were proving to be in vain. Apart from the boy on the skateboard, they didn’t yet have a concrete lead. And there was still no trace of Anna Lou Kastner.

  Borghi reached the scale model and paused. He had noticed something. He stopped a passing officer and pointed discreetly to the fire door. ‘How long has he been there?’

  The officer turned and also noticed Bruno Kastner standing by the wall with what looked like a letter in his hands. He was looking around with a humble, disoriented air, as if waiting for someone to notice him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the officer replied. ‘Maybe an hour.’

  Borghi dropped what he was about to do and went up to the man. ‘Good day to you, Signor Kastner.’

  Kastner nodded in return.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  The man seemed lost. He couldn’t find the words. Borghi decided to help him. He went closer to him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘It’s just that … I’d like to talk to Special Agent Vogel, please.’

  Borghi sensed that this wasn’t a simple request. It was an appeal for help. Vogel’s prophecy that Kastner was dying to tell them something echoed in Borghi’s head. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

  In the changing room that was serving as his office, Vogel was sitting with his feet up on the desk, busy reading documents with great attention, a hint of a smile hovering over his lips.

  The documents weren’t police reports, they were TV ratings data.

  Every day he received viewing figures for the talk shows and news bulletins that featured the Kastner case, as well as a round-up of what was happening on the internet. They had gained two points in the total share. That meant the disappearance would still be in the headlines of the leading newspapers. In addition, the case remained at the top of the list of trending topics on social networks, and was being taken up and commented on by all the bloggers.

  As far as the numbers went, the public hadn’t yet tired of the case. But Vogel knew that if he didn’t give the media something else soon, their interest would diminish and they would move on to juicier stories.

  The public was a fearsome beast. And it was ravenous.

  When he heard a knock at the door of the changing room, Vogel took his feet off the table and hid the documents away in a drawer. ‘Come in,’ he said.

  Officer Borghi appeared in the doorway. ‘The girl’s father is here. Do you have a moment?’

  Vogel motioned to bring him in. Bruno Kastner entered behind Borghi, still clutching the envelope in his hand.

  ‘Please, Signor Kastner,’ Vogel said, going to meet him. Then he motioned him to one of the benches in front of the lockers and sat down next to him. Borghi remained standing by the door, arms folded.

  ‘I don’t want to disturb you,’ Kastner said.

  ‘You’re not disturbing me at all.’

  ‘The afternoon she disappeared, I wasn’t there. I was a long way away, with a customer. And I keep thinking that if I’d been at home, all this might have been avoided. When my wife called to tell me that Anna Lou hadn’t come home, part of me already knew.’

  ‘These are needless regrets,’ Vogel said, encouragingly. He didn’t tell him that they had checked his alibi and taken him off the list of suspects.

  ‘We heard what they’re saying on TV,’ the man went on. ‘Is it true that someone took my Anna Lou? Is that what happened?’

  Vogel gave a slight smile, followed by a look of feigned compassion. But he couldn’t help glancing down at the envelope. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything the reporters say.’

  ‘But you are looking for someone, aren’t you? Can you at least tell me that?’

  Once again, Vogel was evasive. ‘In my experience, it’s best if the relatives don’t know all the developments in an investigation. That’s partly because we don’t want to leave any stone unturned, so we’re constantly following new leads. It can be confusing to an outsider.’ It can also create false hopes, he would have liked to add.

  Bruno Kastner didn’t insist. He started fiddling with the envelope. It took him a while to open it and take out the contents. Vogel and Borghi exchanged questioning glances.

  Inside the envelope was a photograph. It was the one showing Anna with her best friend.

  Kastner held it out. Vogel took it and looked at it, uncomprehendingly.

  ‘There are days when I can’t get it out of my head,’ Kastner said, putting his big hands together and wringing them until the skin over the knuckles turned white. ‘Why her? I mean, Anna Lou isn’t … beautiful.’

  The statement had cost him an enormous effort, Borghi thought. What father could say something like that about his little princess? The man really must be in desperate search of an explanation.

  Vogel studied the photograph. The difference between the two girls was obvious. One looked like a woman, the other like a child. That was precisely why he had chosen her, he would have liked to tell Kastner. An invisible girl, the kind you can watch from a distance without arousing suspicion. The kind you can spirit away on a winter evening, a stone’s throw from her house, without anyone noticing a thing. But then Vogel realised that there was something else. Kastner’s powerful shoulders slumped in a gesture of surrender.

  ‘I did something I’m ashamed of,’ Kastner said in a thin voice. It sounded like the beginning of a confession. ‘The other girl in the photograph is called Priscilla. One day, I looked for her number on Anna Lou’s mobile phone. I started to call her. As soon as she answered, I would hang up. I don’t think she knew it was me. I don’t know why I did it.’

  Vogel and Borghi looked at each other again. A tiny tear appeared on Bruno Kastner’s anxious, weary face and slid rapidly down to his chin. He sniffed and with an almost childish gesture rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

  Vogel took him by the arm and helped him to his feet. ‘Why don’t you go home now and forget all this? Believe me, it’s better this way.’ He motioned to Borghi to take hold of the man.

  Borghi approached, but Kastner hadn’t finished yet. ‘My wife has faith, the brotherhood … It’s hard to be a perfect father and husband with such an example of rectitude by your side. Sometimes I envy her, you know? Maria never wavers, never has doubts, never. Not even now that this has happened to us. On the contrary, she belie
ves it’s part of a design, that God has thought it would be better for us to be confronted with grief. But what kind of grief is this? Should we be in mourning? If someone told us that Anna Lou is dead, at least we could resign ourselves. But like this … And I’ve been an unworthy father, because I should have taken care of her, protected her. Instead … I’ve been weak. I’ve fallen into temptation.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re a good parent,’ Vogel said reassuringly, but only to convince him to drop this aspect of the case. If the media got wind of it, they would crucify him. Even though what he’d done amounted to very little, in everyone’s eyes Bruno Kastner would become the father who molested young girls. A monster. That would harm the image of perfection that Vogel had constructed around the family. And distract attention from the real culprit, whoever he was.

  ‘There was a boy,’ Kastner said as they were almost at the exit.

  Vogel’s interest was immediately aroused. ‘What boy?’

  Kastner kept his eyes down as he spoke. ‘Her mother would never have let her see him anyway, he doesn’t belong to the brotherhood. But it’s possible Anna Lou liked him.’

  ‘What boy?’ Vogel insisted.

  ‘I don’t know who he is, but I used to see him hanging around outside our house. A black hooded top and a skateboard.’

  Borghi was alarmed by the revelation. Vogel, though, was merely angry. ‘Why are you only telling me this now?’

  At last, Kastner looked up at him. ‘Because it’s hard to point the finger at someone else when you think it’s God’s will to punish you for your sins.’

  31 December

  Eight days after the disappearance

  The name of the boy on the skateboard was Mattia.

  The police had already identified him some days earlier, well before Bruno Kastner had gone to see Vogel to clear his conscience.

  To be precise, it had happened at about midnight on the night of the pilgrimage to Anna Lou’s house, when the boy had taken one of the cuddly toys that people had left spontaneously outside the house. A pink kitten.

  But Vogel had put a blackout on that area of the investigation. The name of the teenager and what had happened that evening absolutely mustn’t get through to the reporters, or it would irredeemably compromise what they had achieved.

  Vogel, however, was conscious that the reporters were still trying to buy information. He feared that one of the local officers would be attracted by the prospect of a Christmas bonus to supplement his wretched salary. But he had been good at preventing anything like that, instilling in his men the terror of being discovered. He had simply had to tell them that any leak would be punished with dismissal.

  Mattia was sixteen years old, like Anna Lou. He was something of a problem child.

  ‘I spoke to the boy’s psychiatrist,’ Borghi said, bringing Vogel up to date on the latest developments. ‘The doctor’s name is Flores, and he’s been treating him since Mattia and his mother moved to Avechot nine months ago. Apparently, the family have moved around a lot in the last few years. The reason is always the same: the boy’s character disorders.’

  ‘Tell me more,’ Vogel said, apparently very interested.

  Borghi had taken notes. ‘Mattia is a solitary boy, incapable of integration and communication. In addition, he has sudden aggressive impulses. In the places where he’s lived with his mother, he’s always got into trouble. An attack on another teenager, or an uncontrollable fit of anger. He once smashed everything in a shop for no reason. Each time, the mother has felt obliged to abandon everything and move.’

  She probably thought that was the best medicine for her son, Vogel told himself. She must have hoped a radical change of place and habits would sort things out. In reality, it had only made them worse. Perhaps because the mother was ashamed, or perhaps because she felt guilty towards her son, who had grown up without a father figure, running away and starting again was a constant in their lives.

  ‘Mattia was treated at a clinic in the past,’ Borghi went on. ‘This Dr Flores told me that currently he’s taking drugs to control his anger.’

  Now that he knew of Mattia’s tormented past, it immediately struck Vogel that the mystery of Anna Lou’s disappearance might be on the verge of being solved.

  So far, they hadn’t gathered much information about the boy. They knew only that the mother got by with humiliating and ill-paid jobs, that she had been hired by a cleaning firm, and in addition washed dishes in one of the few restaurants that had remained open in Avechot. Mother and son lived in a modest little house on the outskirts of the village. Vogel had already had it put under discreet surveillance.

  Mattia, though, hadn’t been seen again.

  He had vanished into thin air, and all trace of him had vanished with him, just like Anna Lou Kastner. But the circumstances of his sudden disappearance were different.

  The mother was carrying on with her life. She went to work and returned home every evening, as if nothing had happened. And she hadn’t felt the need to report her son’s disappearance – a sign that the boy was hiding and she was protecting him. That indicated that she knew Mattia had done something wrong. Not the usual fist fight with a classmate. Something more serious.

  They knew the boy wasn’t at home: the bugs they had placed around the building hadn’t picked up any suspicious noises when the mother was out. Vogel hadn’t yet ordered a search, because that would alert the woman. Instead, he was having her followed, hoping she would lead them to her son.

  But so far that hadn’t happened.

  It looked as if any contact between the two had abruptly ceased. In addition, the boy’s mobile phone was constantly off.

  Wherever he was, Mattia couldn’t hide much longer without food and with the police combing the area in search of Anna Lou. Vogel knew that, which was why he preferred to wait for the boy himself to step out of the shadows.

  The frogmen were inspecting a sewage well near the mine. According to the maps that Borghi had got from the town hall, there were at least thirty such wells, some operational, some now disused. Not to mention those not listed. In addition, the valley was criss-crossed by a host of underground tunnels, a real spider’s web.

  They were perfect for hiding a body. And it would take an eternity to search them all.

  The sky was a single block of cast iron enclosed by the mountains. The effect was like a vice slowly squeezing everything. Borghi parked the car a few metres from the spot where the frogmen were hard at work. He watched them from behind the veil of condensation that covered the windscreen. The silence inside the car and the thin diaphragm of steam gave the scene an unreal quality, as if it were part of a fairy tale. An evil fairy tale, where the only possible ending is an unhappy one.

  Borghi was conducting the search without much expectation of success: the frogmen would take turns going down into the muddy water and each would re-emerge after fifteen minutes, shaking his head. That same gesture, that same choreography, was being repeated incessantly.

  The saloon was parked in the middle of a bare field. The cold of the morning was sharp. Borghi put his hands together in the shape of a shell and blew on them to warm them. The relief only lasted a moment. For the first time since the beginning of the investigation, he felt a sense of frustration. Part of him was thinking that they would never get to the bottom of it, that all that remained of Anna Lou Kastner would be a name on a list of people who had gone missing without a reason.

  After a while, it was as if they had never existed.

  But there was another reason he was troubled, something that really bothered him. He kept thinking about something that Vogel had mentioned during the first briefing, almost fleetingly. Which was that Anna Lou had only five numbers in the contacts list of her mobile phone.

  Mummy, Daddy, home, grandparents’ house and parish church.

  Vogel had mentioned this to emphasise how far above suspicion the girl’s usual behaviour was. That brief list of names and places was also the extent of her life,
of her world. It was all simple and comprehensible, no subterfuges, no secrets. Everything exposed to the light of day.

  Mummy, Daddy, home, grandparents’ house and parish church.

  Anna Lou’s whole universe was concentrated in those places, among those people. There was also the school, obviously, and the skating rink. But the things that really counted were on that list. They were the numbers she usually called, and it was from them that she would look for help or comfort when in need.

  But seeing Bruno Kastner the day before had aroused a doubt in him. A suspicion that had started when he had seen the photograph the man had brought with him.

  Anna Lou with her best friend, Priscilla.

  In all this time, their investigation had been concentrated elsewhere. They had devised tricks to involve the media and receive more funds. Then they had used those resources to intensify the search. They had managed to identify the boy with the skateboard and were now hunting him in secret. But it hadn’t occurred to anybody, even the media, to talk to Priscilla and see if she knew anything that could help them. The reason was simple. It wasn’t just carelessness.

  Mummy, Daddy, home, grandparents’ house and parish church.

  If Priscilla, as Bruno Kastner claimed, was Anna Lou’s best friend, why wasn’t her number in the address book on the mobile phone?

  Borghi lifted the sleeve of his coat to the windscreen and used it to wipe off the condensation. Then he started the engine. The time had come to discover the answer.

  Avechot was preparing to greet the New Year in a sober manner. People would celebrate at home because the mayor had cancelled all the planned public events.

  ‘There can be no joy if a member of the community is unable to celebrate with us,’ he had declared to reporters, following his heartfelt words with an emotion-filled silence.

  In the last few days, he had been very active in providing the media with a positive image of the valley’s inhabitants. To silence any slander, he had even recruited local volunteers for the search parties. They were beating the woods inch by inch, alongside the police.