He heard Tilberg call out some sleepy response, then stepped inside and reached up to find the light switch as he closed the door behind him. Light flooded into the room, which was large and strewn with clothes and various student staples. The double mattress, like student places the world over, was on the floor.
Hailey was almost completely hidden under the duvet on the far side of the bed. Tilberg was sitting up, reaching for his watch, trying to adjust his vision to the sudden light. Then he saw Finn, realizing it was no one he knew, and he tensed and spoke angrily in Swedish and looked ready to jump out of bed.
Finn raised his hand and said calmly, “I wouldn’t do that.”
Tilberg responded to something in Finn’s voice, easing back onto his elbow, briefly confused as to what his next move should be. He still sounded outraged as he said, “What are you doing, man? This is a private house—I’m calling the police.”
He reached for his phone but stopped when Finn said, “No, you don’t want to call the police.”
Suddenly, Hailey’s head emerged from the duvet, staring at Finn in horror as she said, “Oh God!” She fell back onto the pillow, pulling the duvet back over her face, repeating, “Oh God, oh God!”
Tilberg turned to look at her, staring at the relief of her face beneath the duvet as he said, “Hailey, what’s up?” She was silent, but even under the covers it was clear that she was shaking her head.
“Hailey and I know each other, that’s what’s up.”
Tilberg didn’t get it and said, “What difference does that make? You know, man, you just can’t come into someone’s bedroom like this, and who let you into the house?”
“Anders, stop,” came Hailey’s muffled voice.
Finn hesitated, wondering if it was better to leave her to do the telling, but he guessed it was like removing a Band-Aid—and the very fact that she was hiding her face suggested she was desperate to avoid doing it herself.
“My name’s Finn Harrington. I’m here because Hailey’s parents asked me to find her and bring her home.”
“Oh God.” It was Tilberg this time, hit by dread at the thought of what those words meant. He sat up and covered his face with his hands.
“Hailey’s fifteen years old, Mr. Tilberg.”
Tilberg let his hands slip down his face, and looked visibly sick with worry as he said, “I had no idea, I . . .”
“It’s okay, they’re aware that you were tricked. They don’t want any fuss and they don’t want to take this any further. They just want their daughter back.” Tilberg nodded, looking absurdly grateful, or perhaps not so absurdly given how this might have panned out for him. “I’ll wait in the kitchen.”
Finn left, closing the door behind him, and he heard nothing from the room as he descended the stairs and found his way to the kitchen by following the drug-like smell of coffee.
There was a girl sitting at the kitchen table in what looked like running gear, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. It took him a moment to place her as the first girl who’d come down the restaurant stairs the night before, her appearance transformed in these clothes. She looked remarkably fresh.
The girl looked at him, confused but unthreatened as she said, “Hej!”
“Hello. Anders knows I’m here.”
“Okay. Coffee?”
“I’d love some, thank you.”
She got up and filled a mug for him. He thanked her as he took it, and sat across the table from where she’d been sitting.
“I’m Camilla.”
“I’m Finn. How do you do?” He reached across and shook her hand.
“I’m sorry, would you like something to eat?” She herself only had coffee, and he guessed she was running carb-free.
“No, I’m fine, thanks. Are you going for a run?”
She nodded, like someone admitting to a secret vice. He wished he could offer to go with her. The thought of setting out in that fresh snow, the cold air burning his lungs, blood prickling beneath his skin, it all held infinitely more appeal than the endurance test he had ahead of him.
Camilla finished her coffee, washed the mug and said, “Okay, nice to meet you, Phil.”
“Likewise,” he said, not bothering to correct her.
She left and there was a brief influx of cold air from the front door, then the house became silent again. He sipped at his coffee—not quite as good as the aroma had suggested, but still welcome. Through the silence, he picked up movement on the floor above, and one hushed voice—Tilberg’s. There were pauses, too, filled by Hailey’s responses, he imagined, though he couldn’t hear her.
Someone went to the bathroom, then back to the room at the front. There was no conversation this time, no movement, a stillness that lasted a minute and seemed so potent that Finn found himself holding his breath. Finally, a door opened and closed, there were soft footsteps on the stairs, and Tilberg came into the kitchen wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
He looked grim-faced, and nodded at Finn as if they were both caught up in the same tragic situation. Finn had his own small collection of miniature tragedies to live with, but this wasn’t one of them. He nodded back all the same.
“She’s taking a shower, getting her stuff together.”