Without a Trace (15 page)

‘What do we do now?’ Valter asked.

Annika took the video-camera out of her bag and sat down. ‘Put together a minute or so about Nora’s friends,’ she said. ‘You need to edit out all my leading questions. And mark one bit so that Picture-Pelle can print a still.’

Valter was clearly stunned. ‘But I’ve never edited a news item before.’

‘You’ve done four terms at the College of Journalism?’ she said.

‘Five,’ Valter said, sitting down. ‘Mind you, it’s called the Journalism, Media and Communication Programme these days.’

‘There’s no way you can fail,’ Annika said. ‘The editing program is designed for digital morons. Load it up, edit, compose. Use my pictures of the crime scene if you need to do a voiceover – they’re on the server. One minute thirty, maximum, it’s not worth more than that.’

Now the editor-in-chief was sitting down and talking on the phone.

She reached for her own phone and called Södermalm Hospital, the National Crime Unit and the Nacka Police. There was nothing new to add about the Lerbergs. She wrote a short piece with the suggested heading ‘The Shadow Over Solsidan’, where she described Nora and Ingemar’s life with the children and neighbours (parties, audiobooks, church playgroup), how upset their friends were, and how the brutal crime had affected the entire community.

She stood up and pulled on her coat, put her shoes back on, zipped up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. ‘I’m going home to make a chicken casserole,’ she said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

She headed for the exit without looking back.

The children had installed themselves in different parts of the apartment when she got home. Ellen came rushing out from her room, and Kalle from the television room, where he was evidently in the middle of a car race with Jacob. ‘I keep losing,’ he said, pressing his face to her stomach.

She ruffled his hair. That was the way it was: Kalle always lost to Jacob, and not only in video games.

‘Crash into him from behind,’ Annika said. ‘At least that would annoy him.’

Kalle looked up at her with big eyes. ‘But you’re not allowed to do that,’ he said.

‘Nonsense,’ Annika said, giving Ellen a hug. ‘It’s only a game.’

‘But what if he doesn’t want to play with me again?’

Annika smiled at him. ‘Okay. Overtake him instead. Then you’ll win.’

He trudged back to the television and Annika turned her attention to her daughter. ‘I’ve done a drawing,’ Ellen said. ‘Do you want to see it?’

‘Definitely,’ Annika said. ‘Then would you like to help me make mango chicken?’

‘Yes!’ Ellen cried, and disappeared into her room to get the drawing.

She could hear Serena talking on the phone somewhere further inside the apartment. She was speaking English, possibly to her mother. Annika felt tiredness sweep over her, like a chill wind. Violence and ethical dilemmas were nothing compared to this.

‘Here. It’s
The Dying Dandy
.’

Annika took the sheet of paper. It showed several figures grouped around a sofa on which lay a very tired-looking man. ‘Wow,’ she said.

‘It’s a painting,’ Ellen said. ‘By Nils Dardel. We had to copy it. Do you think he’s really going to die?’ The little girl looked concerned.

Annika had to smile again. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think so. But I think he likes being the centre of attention, with everyone fussing round him. What do you think?’

Ellen giggled.

‘Come on,’ Annika said. ‘Let’s go and do some cooking.’

Mango chicken was Kalle’s invention. He loved savoury dishes with fruit, and always wanted pineapple on his pizza, or apple with pork chops, but most of all he wanted mangoes in everything. The original recipe, which had simply been a variation on her long-standing stir-fried chicken, contained cashew nuts but Serena was allergic to them so she had swapped them for peanuts.

‘Your cousin’s coming over for dinner tonight,’ Annika said, as she got out the chicken fillets, mangoes, coconut milk, onions and fish sauce.

Ellen blinked in surprise.

‘Destiny, you remember her,’ Annika said. ‘Auntie Birgitta’s daughter. Birgitta’s coming as well – they’re going to eat with us.’

Ellen lit up. ‘Destiny’s really pretty!’

She was like a little doll, a carbon copy of her mother as a child. Birgitta was the fair, pretty, cheerful, kind sister. Annika had always been the dark, difficult, smart, tough one.

‘Birgitta asked if Destiny could stay with us for a few nights. What do you think?’

‘She can come in my bed! We can sleep top-to-tail!’

Darling Ellen. She hugged her daughter, feeling her tiredness wash away.

Serena came into the kitchen, then stood in the doorway with her arms folded. ‘Dad’s going to be late,’ she said. ‘He messaged me on Facebook.’

Annika went on smiling, even though her cheeks stiffened. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘I know. He’ll just have to eat whenever he gets home. Do you want to help me with the cooking? We’re having mango chicken.’

Serena turned on her heel, her plaits swirling, and went back to her room.

Annika watched her disappear along the corridor. Beyond her sense of inadequacy she felt a flash of fury. Surely the girl could have the decency to reply when spoken to.

‘Can I measure the rice?’

She took three deep breaths with her mouth open, then turned back to Ellen. ‘Sure.’ She got out the rice and the decilitre measure while Ellen fetched a pan from the cupboard.

‘Mummy, why don’t you like Serena?’

The room swayed and she had to grab hold of the gas stove to stop herself falling. She looked at Ellen, aghast. ‘Why do you say that? I like Serena a lot.’

Ellen turned away and concentrated on measuring out the rice. ‘Eight people, that’s four decilitres,’ she said confidently.

‘Why do you think I don’t like Serena?’

Ellen took the pan over to the sink to fill it with water. ‘Your eyes are angry when you look at her.’

Annika gulped. ‘I’m not angry at all,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to help you with the water?’

‘No, I can do it. Eight decilitres?’

‘Seven will be enough.’

As the rice began to boil, Ellen disappeared into the television room. Annika stir-fried the onions and chicken, added some fish sauce and a bit of coriander, then finally the mangoes and peanuts. She laid the table in the dining room, pausing when she got to Destiny’s place: did she eat with a spoon? Did she drink from a normal glass, or did she have one of those plastic beakers? It seemed a lifetime since she’d had a two-year-old.

She sat down at the empty table and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to be on bad terms with Birgitta. She had always felt a sense of her own inferiority in comparison with her sister but it should have gone by now. Yes, Mum loved Birgitta more, but she couldn’t change that: it was just something she had to live with. Annika had done much better as an adult, to put it mildly, but she didn’t need to ram it down Birgitta’s throat every time they met.

She looked at the time. Birgitta was supposed to be there at six. It was five past.

It would be good for their children to get to know each other, so that the cousins could be friends.

No question.

At a quarter to seven, when Kalle and Jacob had managed to fall out in the television room, Annika decided it was supper-time, whether her sister was there or not.

They had eaten, cleared up afterwards and parked themselves in front of the television before Birgitta finally showed up. It was twenty past eight when the doorbell rang. Annika was seething with irritation, but she forced herself to smile as she opened the door.

Birgitta was neatly made-up and dressed very smartly. Destiny was hiding behind her mother’s flared skirt, and looked exhausted.

‘Hello,’ Birgitta said, with a smile. ‘Sorry we’re a bit late.’ She stepped into the hall and pulled off their dripping coats. A little puddle quickly formed on the floor.

‘Not to worry,’ Annika said, crouching beside the little girl, who was still clutching her mother’s skirt. ‘Hello, Destiny. My name’s Annika, I’m your auntie. Do you remember me?’

The child pressed her face into the skirt. Annika noticed that she left a trail of snot on it.

‘Come on, Diny, say hello to your auntie,’ Birgitta said, pulling the child by her arm and making her trip over her own feet. Annika caught her before she fell. The little face contorted and she began to cry. Birgitta sighed. ‘It’s like this all the time,’ she said, picking her up. ‘We’re going to have her checked out to see if there’s something wrong with her. She’s always crying.’

Annika could see how tightly the child was clinging to Birgitta’s neck. All the irritation drained out of her and she, too, was suddenly on the verge of tears. She gulped them back. ‘Come in,’ she said, leading them into the dining room.

Birgitta and Destiny’s dishes were the only ones left on the table.

‘Oh, we’ve already eaten,’ Birgitta said. ‘We went to McDonald’s, and Diny had Chicken McNuggets – you like those, don’t you?’ She bounced her daughter up and down.

‘Coffee?’ Annika asked, aware that her voice was trembling.

‘No, thanks, we’re fine. We won’t stay long.’

She put Destiny on the floor and sank onto a chair. Annika crouched beside the child again. ‘I’ve got a little girl called Ellen. She’s got lots of nice toys. Would you like to go and see them?’

Destiny stared at her open-mouthed. Annika met her gaze. She felt uneasy. Perhaps Birgitta was right. Perhaps there was something wrong with the child.

But then Destiny nodded, little polite nods. She wiped her nose on her jumper and took Annika’s hand. Annika led her along the corridor to Kalle and Ellen’s room.

Ellen was sitting in there, drawing. She beamed and dropped her crayon when Annika and the little girl came into the room.

‘Destiny! Hello! Oh, you’re so pretty!’ She ran over and gave the child a hug. The little girl stiffened, then hugged her back.

‘Serena!’ Ellen called. ‘Come and see who’s here! Destiny’s arrived!’

The little girl blinked her long eyelashes. Annika was afraid she was about to start howling again, and held out a protective hand. ‘Maybe you should be a bit careful with her.’

Serena came in and, to Annika’s surprise, she looked happy. ‘Oh, isn’t she sweet!’ She knelt down beside her.

Destiny looked at the bundle of plaits in astonishment.

‘Is it okay for her to be in here with you for a bit?’ Annika asked. Neither of the older girls answered, which she took as agreement, so she went back to the dining room. Birgitta was standing by the window, looking out. ‘The weather’s just as bad in Norway,’ she said. ‘Nothing but rain there too.’

Annika sat at the table. There was something sad and restless about Birgitta that she hadn’t seen before, a hint of darkness that had appeared over the past few years. She ought to ask her how she was. How their mother was. She ought to ask after Steven and their old friends in Hälleforsnäs, but when she tried to formulate the question her throat felt oddly constricted.

Birgitta glanced at the art on the walls, modern and abstract (charitable purchases from local party groups, Jimmy had explained), the crystal chandelier above the table, the hand-woven rug on the floor (from a women’s cooperative in Turkey, a great idea, the sort of thing that really deserved support). ‘You’ve got a very smart home.’

There was a hint of acid in the remark.

‘We might be moving soon,’ Annika said. She bit the inside of her cheek. Why, why,
why
did she feel the need to be so superior with her sister?

Birgitta raised her eyebrows in curiosity, exactly the same gesture that Annika knew she herself used. She smiled to counteract the effect of her words. ‘Jimmy’s been offered a new job,’ she said. ‘It’s not official yet, but if he takes it, we’ll be moving to Norrköping.’

‘Norrköping?’ Birgitta said. ‘Do people actually live there?’

Asks the woman who lives in a rented three-room flat in Hälleforsnäs …

‘Jimmy grew up on Himmelstalundsvägen. It would be like going home for him.’

‘What about your job? Are you going to commute?’

Annika looked out of the window. She could just make out the stone façade of the building opposite and the grey sky through the rain-soaked glass.

‘I’ve been at the
Evening Post
all my working life. I’ve written every article so many times now that I no longer have to interview people to write them.’

‘I thought you lived and breathed for that paper.’

There was definitely envy, and a hint of malice, in Birgitta’s tone.

‘It’s not a bad job, but there’s nothing magical about it now. I’ve reached the same stage as my colleague Berit. She goes to work and does what she has to, then hurries home to her husband and grandchildren, and that’s enough.’

Birgitta’s smile became cruel. ‘Clever Annika and her lovely job, and now she’s got the perfect home-life too.’

The anger in those words hit Annika in the gut with such force that it knocked the air out of her. She stood up and gathered together the last remaining dishes from the table. ‘What was it you wanted help with?’ she asked.

Birgitta smiled. ‘Steven’s in Oslo, looking for work.’

‘Yes, so you said.’

‘There’s loads of places to try in Norway. We’re thinking of moving there – he wants me to go as well. We’re going to see if we can find somewhere to live.’

Annika looked at her. ‘And you’re wondering if I can look after your daughter?’

Birgitta’s smile faded.

‘When are you going?’

Birgitta sat down, as if all the energy had drained out of her. ‘Friday afternoon.’

‘So you’re going to be looking for a flat and applying for jobs on Norway’s National Day and over the weekend?’ Annika said, aware of how sharp she sounded.

Birgitta stood up hastily. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

‘Why can’t Mum have her? Or is she going through one of her phases?’

A shadow crossed Birgitta’s face and she brushed her hair back. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Is she drinking again? Is that why she can’t look after Destiny?’

Birgitta didn’t answer. She was standing nailed to the parquet floor, staring blankly ahead of her. Annika could hear the girls laughing in Ellen’s room. Suddenly she felt close to tears again. ‘Of course she can stay here,’ Annika said quietly. ‘Bring her round on Friday afternoon. I’ll make sure I’m home.’