‘Maybe,’ Annika said quietly.
‘It’s probably not a good idea for you to see the same therapist as me, but I can ask if she could recommend someone.’
‘Mm.’
There was silence on the line.
‘Annika?’
‘Yes?’
‘Take care on the drive back to Stockholm, and get in touch when you’re back. I’ve got Miranda next week – she’s really missed Ellen and would love to see her.’
Tears welled in Annika’s eyes again, this time tears of relief. ‘Definitely,’ she said.
‘Well, let’s speak soon.’
She stayed in the pizzeria for a while, drinking coffee that was surprisingly good and listening to a song on the jukebox in the corner, ‘Losing My Religion’ by REM. Breathing started to feel a bit easier: it had been the right decision to swallow her pride.
She paid (the red-haired man worked on the till as well) and went out into the hesitant twilight. The air was clearer and colder, the skies were less cloudy and there was a stiff wind.
She got into the car and had just turned on to the road to Örebro when her mobile rang. It was on the passenger seat beside her and she glanced at the screen. Number withheld. Probably the paper again. She sighed and answered it.
‘Annika? This is Q. Where are you?’
Suddenly the fear was back, big and black, sucking all the oxygen from the air.
‘I’m driving. Has something happened with the investigation into the fire?’
‘Julia Lindholm got the envelope with your pictures.’
Oh, no. Fucking hell.
‘The prison staff called me after she’d spent an hour screaming.’
Annika slowed the car and pulled in at the verge.
‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s really bloody irritating to have you poking about in our investigation.’
She closed her eyes tightly and felt her cheeks colour. ‘I’m really sorry if I’ve made a mess of things.’
‘It says on the back of the picture that one of the women owns a cottage somewhere near Garphyttan. Is that your information?’
‘Er, yes, she lives there. In a cottage not far from the Lybacka Pits. I was talking to her about an hour ago.’
‘You were talking to her? Bloody hell. Where are you?’
Her voice was little more than a squeak when she answered: ‘In Garphyttan. And I’m really sorry I left those pictures. It was all a misunderstanding.’
‘Julia says she recognizes Yvonne Nordin. She says it was Yvonne Nordin who was in their flat that night. That she was the one who took Alexander.’
‘I’m so sorry I’ve made a mess of everything,’ Annika said. ‘I really am. It’s all wrong. There’s no child up at the cottage. Yvonne Nordin has nothing to do with this.’
‘I intend to make up my own mind about that,’ Q said. ‘I’ve just sent a patrol from Örebro Police to bring her in for questioning.’
‘Oh, no,’ Annika said. ‘But it isn’t her. Everything she said was true.’
‘What? What was true?’
‘When she bought the house, and that her partner died. The company she runs, and the car she drives. She’s a decent person.’
She could hear Q groan.
‘Anyway, she probably isn’t there,’ Annika said. ‘She was just about to leave. She said she was going away on a job.’
‘Where? Did she say where?’
‘Abroad, I assume, because she mentioned her passport. Has the patrol set off?’
‘They’ll be leaving any minute. Do me a favour and keep out of the way.’
‘Sure,’ Annika said. ‘Of course. Absolutely.’
She was left sitting with the phone in her hand, wishing the ground would swallow her.
She’d made Julia think there was hope. Yvonne Nordin might end up missing her flight … God, she was such a loser.
She put her hand on the ignition key, then stopped.
Miss her flight? Tickets? Isn’t it silly that we always pack so much. All I really need are passports and tickets.
She let go of the key.
Passports and tickets?
Why did Yvonne Nordin use the plural? And why did she need several suitcases if she was going away for work?
Because she wasn’t going alone.
Because she was going to be taking a child with her.
She forced herself to get a grip on her thoughts.
I’m getting carried away again.
You couldn’t keep a child locked up for six months. It wasn’t possible to hide a four-year-old boy in a house in the woods without someone finding out about it.
Or was it?
In that case, he wouldn’t have been out in the fresh air for six months. Hadn’t been allowed to build dams in streams or dig in the mud with a spade. He hadn’t been allowed to eat sweets in the car or pick films from the video-store …
The satellite dish! He’s been watching Cartoon Network!
She looked at the time. A quarter past two. In an hour or so it would be completely dark.
But Julia had actually recognized her.
It would take her a couple of hours to drive back to Stockholm, although the car didn’t have to be back until the following morning.
She paused with her hand on the key. What if she gets away before the police arrive? I’ve got half an hour’s head start on them.
She started the engine, turned the car round and headed back towards the town. She drove through the centre and past the football pitch, up through the forest and the cleared patches of woodland without meeting a single car.
Could there be any other roads? Of course there must be. Forest tracks, and you don’t even need those with a vehicle like hers.
The Toyota Land Cruiser 100 was the sort of vehicle that American special forces used when they’d invaded Iraq – she’d seen them on the news footage. Thomas had commented on it once, that the US used Japanese cars when it really mattered.
Yvonne Nordin could drive straight through the forest all the way to Norway if she wanted.
She reached the red post showing the way to the Lybacka Pits, the flooded quarries where iron ore had been mined even in prehistoric times. She turned off and parked behind a fir tree, pulled on the handbrake and switched off the engine. She sat in silence in the car, listening to her breathing. There was quite a gale blowing now.
I don’t have to go all the way. I can just take a look. The police should be here in thirty minutes at most.
She got out of the car and closed the door carefully.
Yvonne’s house ought to be about a kilometre away through the forest. She hoped that the sound of the car engine hadn’t made its way to the cottage.
She pulled out her bag and started to walk, having the sense to put her mobile on silent. Her footsteps crunched on the path, and she frowned and went in among the trees instead. The moss swallowed her steps with a soft, sucking sound.
It was getting dark very quickly, particularly down among the bases of the trees. She was forced to tread carefully.
Soon she caught sight of the turning circle ahead of her. The Land Cruiser was gone.
She bit her lip. Shit!
Then she noticed that the barrier was open.
Maybe she’s driven up to the house to put her things in the car.
Annika jogged through the trees, found the little stream and decided to follow it through the forest towards the house. She was panting in the wind, partly from exertion but mostly from tension. She stumbled on a rock and fell head first into the moss, picked herself up and hurried on.
The car was standing in front of the house, its headlights on and engine running. Yvonne Nordin was just coming out of the house with a suitcase in each hand. They looked heavy.
Annika pressed her light-coloured bag into the moss and crouched behind a narrow fir tree.
Yvonne Nordin walked to the side of the car and put the cases on the back seat, then closed t
he door and went into the house without shutting the front door.
Annika waited in the darkness and tried to control her breathing.
The woman came out again with another two cases. This time she went to the other side of the car and disappeared from view. The light inside the vehicle went on when the rear door on the passenger side opened, and Annika saw her put these bags on the back seat as well. Then she returned to the house, and this time she closed the front door.
Annika sat in the darkness staring at the car, at the house, at the door, at the shadows inside the windows whenever someone moved. It was damp and windy in the forest, making the trees and branches sway.
I’ve got to stop her leaving. Can I get any closer than this?
To the left lay the outhouse from which Yvonne Nordin had fetched the suitcases, and to the right, tyre tracks disappeared into the forest.
Halfway towards the house there was a well with a bucket and a traditional hand-pump, and from there it was just a few metres to the car.
She looked for shadows in the windows. No movement.
She took three deep breaths, grabbed her bag and ran in a crouch to the well.
How was she going to stop a Toyota Land Cruiser? She didn’t know the first thing about cars.
She opened her bag and felt about through the mess inside. Was there anything she could use?
Her hand landed on the penknife she’d used to shred Sophia Fucking Bitch Grenborg’s bra.
I’ve got to stop thinking of her like that. It’s beneath me.
She took out the knife, hesitated for half a second, then rushed out and stuck it into the rear left-hand tyre. The rubber gave way and started to let out air with an audible hiss. She moved two steps to the right and pierced the other rear tyre as well. Then she ran back to the well in a crouch and had just crept behind it when the front door opened.
Yvonne Nordin stepped on to the porch, holding a little girl’s hand. The child was wearing a pink dress, and had blonde curls that hung down over her shoulders. She dragged her, making her stumble on the steps, but she didn’t protest and followed her obediently to the car.
Why isn’t she wearing a coat? It’s freezing out here.
Annika curled into a little ball as they approached the vehicle, and held her breath when they passed the two side doors and stopped at the rear. She didn’t dare poke her head out, but she heard the door open and Yvonne Nordin say: ‘Get in.’
She stuck her head out far enough to see the child crawl into the car and lie down in the boot. Then Yvonne Nordin pulled the grey fabric over the compartment and shut the door.
Then the woman paused and looked around. Annika ducked behind the well and screwed her eyes shut.
As long as she doesn’t discover the punctures! Don’t look down!
Then she heard footsteps going away and peeped out cautiously.
The woman was on her way back into the house, presumably to turn out the lights and lock up.
Annika took a deep breath and ran to the car. She opened the rear door, folded back the cloth covering the boot and stared at the child lying there.
The child stared back with eyes that seemed utterly dead, and Annika realized at once that it wasn’t a little girl. It was a boy, and he was pale and frightened. He had a vivid red scar along one side of his face. Annika gulped, felt in her jacket pocket and found a bag of sweets. ‘Hello,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Would you like some sweets?’
The child’s eyes flickered.
‘I’ve got a whole bag,’ she said. ‘They’re really good. Here!’
She put a bright green sweet in his mouth and the boy chewed and sat up.
‘Come with me and you can have some more,’ she said, holding out her arms to him.
And before she knew it the child was in her arms and she put the grey cloth back in place. She closed the rear door and rushed towards the well, abandoning her bag to its fate, then raced towards the forest.
She crouched beside the little fir tree again as the lights inside the house went out and the front door opened. She put the boy in the moss, took off her coat and wrapped it round him.
‘Here,’ she said, giving him another sweet. ‘There are different-coloured ones. I think the pink ones are best.’
The boy took the sweet in his hand and popped it into his mouth, then snuggled up to Annika with the coat wrapped tight around him.
Yvonne Nordin went to the car, put her handbag on the passenger seat, then walked round to the back of the vehicle.
Don’t open it! Don’t open it! Just go!
Annika tried to send thoughts to the woman through the darkness, but it didn’t work. Yvonne Nordin opened the rear door, pulled the cloth aside and saw that the child was gone.
She moved incredibly fast.
She tore back to the house, opened the front door, turned the light on and disappeared inside.
Annika picked the boy up and rushed in the other direction, among the trees, the wind and the shadows. It was now completely dark. She couldn’t see a thing and kept stumbling and almost falling. The treetops above her were whistling and singing, and the cold was biting.
Yvonne Nordin would have a gun, and quite possibly night-vision goggles.
I have to get away, as far away as possible, preferably towards the car.
She ran, the boy bouncing in her arms, following the little stream down towards the turning-circle. The moss was soft and slippery, she stumbled and fell. Is this the right direction? Am I going the right way? She stood up again, clutching the boy to her, one arm round his body, the other round his fair head.
The first shot hit a tree-trunk a few metres to her right.
Don’t panic, just don’t panic. Run, run!
The second shot was closer, to the left.
It’s a hunting rifle, or some other heavy-duty gun. Hard to aim properly.
The third shot whistled past close to her head.
She won’t miss next time. I have to get out of sight.
She ducked down behind a stump, holding the boy close.
‘I know you’re here,’ the woman screamed, through the darkness, the wind carrying her words. ‘It’s hopeless. Give yourself up and I’ll let the child live.’
Where the hell are the police?
‘Are there any more sweets?’ The boy was looking up at her with shining eyes.
‘Of course,’ she said, pulling another out of her jacket pocket. Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly keep hold of it.
A fourth shot hit the stump in front of them, throwing shards of wood up into her face. She felt a splinter pierce her cheek and had to clench her teeth to stop a scream.
The boy started to cry. ‘She’s horrid,’ he said. ‘She’s really horrid.’
‘I know,’ Annika whispered, and at that moment the forest was lit by headlights. A police car was heading slowly up the gravel track towards Yvonne Nordin’s cottage. Another shot rang out and the windscreen of the police car exploded. Annika heard a yell of pain. The car stopped and reversed, leaving the forest as suddenly as it had arrived.
Come back! Don’t leave us – she’s shooting at us!
She sat completely still with the child beside her, utterly still, as a whole minute came and went. There was no movement, no sound. Another minute passed, then another.
Her legs were on the point of going to sleep because of the uncomfortable position she was sitting in and she tried to move her feet to bring back some feeling.
‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve got a car – we’ll go to my car.’
The boy nodded and took a firm grasp round her neck.
She stood up carefully and looked towards the house. Then she heard a car engine start up, and far off in the trees she saw the headlights go on.
She can’t drive and look through the rifle-sights at the same time.
Annika stood up straight and felt her coat slide to the ground. She ignored it and ran like the wind towards the road, the boy clasping her neck,
towards the turning-circle, towards the police.
A headlamp was shining right in her face, blinding her, and she fell.
‘There are guns aimed at you,’ she heard a man say, from where she lay on the ground with the boy beside her. ‘Are you armed?’
‘No. But she’s getting away, Yvonne Nordin – she’s just got in her car …’
‘Are you Annika Bengtzon?’
She nodded towards the light.
‘Who’s the girl?’
The light vanished, leaving her in complete darkness.
‘He’s not a girl. This is Alexander Lindholm.’
The wind was singing in the trees. The stars were visible in the gaps between the clouds and the moon was rising. Annika was sitting wrapped in a thick blanket behind the police car without a windscreen. Alexander had fallen asleep with his head on her chest. She leaned her head back and gazed up at the sky, then closed her eyes and listened to the song of the wind.
She could hear the police radios crackling and men muttering.
The ambulance would soon be here to pick up the police officer who had got splinters of glass in his face. The rapid-response unit and dog patrol were also on their way, and the police helicopter was coming from Stockholm with floodlights and heat-seeking cameras.
‘And you’re sure she won’t get far in the car?’ the police officer asked her.
‘She might be able to change one tyre,’ Annika said quietly, without opening her eyes, ‘but not two. And you can’t drive off-road on your wheel-rims for long.’
A comprehensive approach was being carefully planned: the suspect was evidently prepared to shoot at the police. Annika let herself be rocked by the sounds around her, as she sat with the child, feeling his warmth and regular breathing.
When the rapid-response unit arrived in their van they helped her up and put her into the back with the boy. They left the engine on to keep the inside of the vehicle warm. Annika tipped the rest of the sweets out on to the blanket.
‘Do you think the pink ones are best too?’ she asked, holding one up. For some reason she knew that each contained nine calories – Anne Snapphane must have told her.
Alexander shook his head. ‘I like the green ones.’
Lifetime Page 33
