Her car had been fixed, but it was Sandra herself who felt like she wasn’t roadworthy. She was afraid of the cold, potential slipperiness, unpredictable manoeuvres by fellow motorists, and driving in the dark. She was highly strung and low spirited—far from her usual easygoing, good-natured self.

The thought of contacting the police was gnawing away at the back of her mind. Sandra wondered whether doing it would make her feel better or have the opposite effect. Of course, she ought to do her duty as a responsible member of society. Ensure that that man was stopped and punished, and that no one else was affected. At the same time, if the police managed—against all probability—to find him based on her vague description, then she would have to come face-to-face with him. That was something that horrified her rather than tempted her, even though it ought to be the other way around. She would have to testify against him in court, unless the case was dropped—which in all truth was the likely outcome. Because she had no idea what his name was, what car he drove, where he worked, or where he lived. And it was doubtful whether she would even be able to pick him out in a lineup with any certainty.

And what would the point be of using up police resources and taxpayers’ money, if any investigation would eventually be discontinued?

This was why Sandra came to leave such thoughts where they were. She pushed herself onwards in order to return, as far as possible, to an ordinary life. And the days passed.

8

Jeanette

IT WAS MORE than two weeks later when the missing man’s photo was published and he was named in the local press. At first, Jeanette couldn’t believe her eyes, rereading the article several times before putting the newspaper down and putting her hands to her head.

Missing? What did that mean?

Investigations had met a dead end, according to the journalist—there was apparently nothing to go on.

In one way this was a good thing, but it was a bad thing in many other ways.

“Headache?” her husband asked from across the breakfast table.

She was so dazed by the traumatic news that she wasn’t aware of his presence, so lonely in this that she had forgotten she wasn’t alone in the room.

She said yes, excused herself, and went to the bathroom where the medicine cabinet was. She quickly gulped down a couple of painkillers, double the dose set out in the printed instructions on the box. Then she sat on the toilet seat lid with her head in her hands and tried to structure her thoughts.

In one stroke her entire already turbulent existence had been turned upside down. The police were asking for help; family and friends knew nothing. No one knew anything.

Except her. Jeanette had the answer to everyone’s questions; she was sitting on the opportunity to untangle all the knots and give the chief mourners some peace of mind.