Red Wolf: A Novel (11 page)

This last detail was new.

He left her sitting among the readers’ letters about rubbish collections and dogshit, with the distinct suspicion that she had been given more than just a scoop.

Slowly she filled in the letters she had missed in her notes.

There is no construction without destruction
.

True enough
, she thought.

If you concentrate on destruction first you get construction as part of the process
.

God knows.

The taxi-drivers’ voices cascaded over her as she walked through the small airport, making her feel slightly hunted. Didn’t they ever work? Maybe they just stood by the entrance, in the warm air coming out of the doors of heated buildings, protected against the arctic cold in their dark-blue uniforms and gold buttons.

She got a seat at the back of the plane, next to a woman with two young children. The woman had one of them on her lap, while the other clambered about the cabin. Annika felt the stress rising beyond her tolerance level: this was her only chance to get anything written.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to the stewardess once they were in the air. ‘I have to work. Is it okay if I move forward a bit?’

She stood up and gestured a few rows ahead in the half-empty cabin. The toddler in its mother’s lap started to scream in her ear.

‘You’re booked into this seat, so I’m afraid you can’t move. You should have booked Business Class,’ the stewardess said curtly, turning back to her drinks trolley.

‘I’m sorry,’ Annika said, louder this time, ‘but I did. Or rather my employer did. Can I move, please?’

She struggled past the mother and blocked the aisle. The stewardess squeezed past the trolley with irritated little steps.

‘You heard what I said. After September eleventh, you can’t just change seats.’

Annika took a long stride closer to the stewardess, breathing right in her face.

‘So throw me off,’ she whispered, taking her laptop from the overhead locker and moving five rows forward.

With stress raging through her veins she wrote three articles before the plane touched down at Arlanda: an account of Luleå the day after the murder announcement, the sorrow of Benny Ekland’s workmates, and the police questioning of the witness at the crime scene. The night crew would have to put together the overview and factual box-outs. She held back the details about Ragnwald and the F21 attack. She wasn’t going to let go of them that quickly.

She hurried across the terminal and disappeared underground with her heart racing. She called Spike from the Arlanda Express and gave him an update, then he put her through to Pelle on the picture desk so they could talk about illustrations. The newly established collaboration with the
Norrland News
gave the
Evening Post
full access to the whole of their picture archive, both new and old, which saved them having to send someone up or use a freelancer.

‘Hmm, you’re not going to find picture of the year among this lot,’ the pictures editor said, as Annika heard him clicking through the transferred material, ‘but they’ll do for tomorrow’s edition. At least some of them are decent resolution, and even in focus.’

With her coat flapping, she walked from the central station to the place her six-year-old spent his days. The
wind was damp and full of the smells of soil, leaves and car fumes; the grass was still green and half-dead leaves clung to a few branches. The light from a million lamps overpowered the Nordic autumn evening, giving the illusion that reality could be controlled, tamed.

There are never any stars in the city
, she thought.

Annika’s son threw himself at her as if she had been away six months. He pressed his sticky face against hers and ran his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck.

‘I missed you, Mummy,’ he said in her ear.

She rocked the boy in her arms, stroking the stiff little back, kissing his hair.

Hand in hand they walked off to Ellen’s nursery school, until the boy pulled himself free and ran the last ten metres to the door.

Ellen was tired and reserved when she came over. She didn’t want to go home, didn’t want a hug. Wanted to carry on cutting out pictures, Daddy would pick her up.

Annika clenched her jaw to stop herself exploding, noting that her boundaries had evaporated.

‘Ellen,’ she said firmly, ‘Kalle and I are going now.’

The girl stiffened, her face contorted, eyes open wide, and a desperate cry came out.

‘My oversall,’ she screamed. ‘I haven’t got my over-sall!’

She dropped the scissors and ran over to her peg, searching frantically for the overall. Annika could sense the disapproving stares of two other mothers further down the corridor.

‘Well, come on now,’ she said, going over to her daughter. ‘I’ll help you, but you’ve to stop being cross.’

‘It’s called an overall,’ Kalle said.

On the way home Ellen let out occasional little sobs.

‘We go on the bus with Daddy,’ the boy said as they stood huddled on a traffic island at the traffic lights on Kungsholmsgatan.

‘It’s too crowded and hot on the bus,’ Annika said, feeling suffocated at the very thought of it.

She had to carry Ellen from Bergsgatan. Once they were home, she quickly lit a fire in the stove to force the cold back from the draughty windows, and ran down to the yard with the stinking bag of rubbish, her hands and legs moving without her even being aware of them. Then she put the rice on as she fished her laptop out of her bag and turned it on, switching the cable from the phone in the kitchen, and putting a pack of cod into the microwave to defrost.

‘Can we play on the computer, Mummy?’ Kalle asked.

‘It’s Daddy’s computer.’

‘But Daddy lets us. I know how to start it.’

‘Watch some cartoons instead, they’ll soon be on,’ she said, connecting to the paper’s server.

The boy went off, shoulders drooping. She cut the cod into slices as her laptop signed in, turned the slices in salt and flour, then put them in a heavy pan with a bit of melted butter. She listened to the frying sound as she sent over the three articles, then splashed some lemon juice over the fish, dug out some frozen dill and scattered that over the top, then poured in some cream, warm water, fish stock, and a handful of frozen prawns.

‘What are we having for tea, Mummy?’ Ellen said, looking up at her from under her fringe.

‘Darling,’ Annika said, leaning over to pick her daughter up. ‘Come here, come and sit up here.’

Her daughter cuddled into her lap, put her arms round her neck.

‘Oh, sweetie,’ Annika said, rocking her, breathing into her hair. ‘Are you hungry?’

The girl nodded hesitantly.

‘We’re having fish in cream sauce with rice and prawns. You like that, don’t you?’

She nodded again.

‘Do you want to help me make the salad?’

A third nod.

‘Okay,’ Annika said, putting her on the floor and pulling a chair over to the worktop next to the cooker. ‘Have you washed your hands?’

The girl ran into the bathroom, there was the sound of running water, and Annika suddenly felt giddy with tiredness.

She took out an apron and a fruit knife, tied the strings behind Ellen’s back and showed her how to hold the knife. She let her cut some cucumber while she dealt with the lettuce and a handful of tomatoes. She poured over some olive oil, balsamic vinegar and some Italian salad herbs, and let Ellen toss the salad.

‘Brilliant!’ she said, putting the bowl on the table. ‘Can you lay the table? You know how, don’t you?’

‘You’re missing
Björne
,’ Kalle yelled from the television room, and the girl dropped the cutlery and ran off. Annika noted how filthy her socks were as she ran out.

Then came the sound of the front door being unlocked. She heard the children’s jubilant cries and the noise of Thomas’s briefcase being dropped on the bench in the hall.

‘Hello,’ he said as he came into the kitchen and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Who have you been talking to?’

She reached up on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips, wrapping her arms round his neck and holding him
close. For some reason the image of Forsberg, the police officer, popped into her head.

‘I haven’t been talking to anyone,’ she said to her husband’s neck.

‘You’ve been engaged for half an hour.’

She let go of him abruptly. ‘Shit. I’m still online.’

She hurried to the laptop, pulled out all the wires and plugged the phone back in.

‘We can eat straight away,’ she said.

‘I don’t want anything,’ Thomas said. ‘We’ve got a meeting with the department this evening so I’ll be eating with the working group.’

Annika stopped, the pan of fish in her hand.

‘I thought you were playing tennis tonight,’ she said, bewildered.

She was burning her fingers in spite of the oven gloves, and quickly put the pan down.

‘The bloke from Justice wants a quick run-through over a bite to eat.’

‘You could have a bite with us first,’ Annika said, pulling out a chair for Ellen.

She looked up at her husband, saw him sigh soundlessly, and put the rice on the table.

‘Kalle,’ she called towards the television room. ‘It’s ready!’

‘But I want to watch this,’ the boy shouted back.

She spooned out rice and fish for Ellen, and put the salad next to her.

‘Ellen made the salad,’ she announced to the room in general. ‘You can help yourself, can’t you?’

Then she went into the television room and switched off the set, making her son howl with annoyance.

‘Stop that,’ Annika said. ‘Food before television, you know that. Go and sit down.’

‘What are we having?’

‘Fish stew with rice and prawns.’

The boy made a face. ‘Prawns, yuk.’

‘You can pick them out. Hurry up, before it gets cold.’

Thomas was eating contentedly when she went back into the kitchen.

‘How is it?’ she asked, sitting down opposite him.

‘The prawns are a bit tough,’ he said. ‘You always put them in too early.’

She said nothing, merely helped herself to the food, realizing that she wouldn’t be able to eat a single mouthful now.

Thomas pulled his woolly hat down over his ears as he left the building, and took a deep breath of the cold air. He was full to the point of bursting, a feeling he had come to appreciate more and more.

The good life
, he thought vaguely.
Pleasure and love, on every level
.

He stretched his limbs, confident, calm. It was good to have Annika back. Everything was so nice and comfortable when she was home, and she was great with the kids. They had it pretty good.

He stopped outside the door with his briefcase, not sure if he should take the car. They were meeting on Södermalm, at a bar on Hornsgatan where they could get a function room. They’d probably have wine, and he’d have to either stay sober or take a chance on driving home. On the other hand, it was Thursday, the night the street was cleaned, so he’d have to move the car anyway.

He turned left, then left again into Agnegatan.

Hope the bastard starts
, he thought, opening the door of the Toyota with a rough tug.

He was so pissed off with the car. It was already old
when he met Annika, but she refused to take out a loan against the flat so they could buy a new one.

‘I take public transport,’ she said. ‘That’s good enough for you as well. Only idiots insist on driving in this city.’

She was quite right about that, but that wasn’t the fault of drivers, but the politicians.

He drove along Hornsgatan. The street was supposed to be closed to cars, but he did it anyway. All the streets in the area were due to be cleaned that night. With a sinking heart and a rising pulse he drove round trying to find a street that wasn’t going to be cleaned that had any parking spaces left. Nothing.

He stopped right outside the bar. Annika would go mad if she found the parking fine charged to their shared account, so he’d have to remember to pay it in cash.

He stood for a moment, checking out the bar.
A dive
, he thought.
Just a cheap lousy bar
. He sighed, pulled off his hat and stuffed it in his coat pocket, took out his briefcase and went in.

The bar was smoky and noisy, with some sort of generic mainstream rock on the speakers and dart boards on the walls. Old adverts for various beers were evidently meant to strike a cultural note. A jukebox glowered silently from one corner.

‘Thomas, over here!’

Sophia Grenborg was sitting in a booth to the right of the bar, and he headed gratefully towards her. Greeting his colleague warmly, he felt only a small pang of guilt. Three years ago they had applied for the same job. He had got it, even though she was better qualified. Whenever they had met over the years since then he always felt a little bad, which made him act more friendly than usual.

‘Where’s Cramne?’ he asked, pulling off his wax jacket.

‘He’s not here yet,’ Sophia replied, moving to make space on the bench. ‘I wonder what was going through his mind when he arranged to meet in a place like this.’

Thomas burst out laughing; he’d been thinking exactly the same thing. He settled down next to her, noting that she was drinking beer. She followed his gaze, shrugged and smiled.

‘Seemed to make sense here,’ she said.

He raised a hand and stopped a young waiter and ordered a large glass of beer.

‘What do you think of the brochure?’ she said.

Thomas pulled up his briefcase and put a pile of papers on the table, the leaflet at the top.

‘It’s pretty much okay,’ he said, putting the briefcase back down. ‘There are a few things that are a bit woolly, though. We have to spell out exactly what politicians should do if they’re threatened, not to frighten them, just so they take it seriously and think about it. Maybe give a few statistics on how they usually behave, and some figures from the National Council for Crime Prevention.’

This was basically what Annika had said when she looked through the brochure just before he set out. Sophia Grenborg blinked, seeming quite impressed. He puffed out his chest.