‘Teracom?’
‘The national broadcast network, it used to be part of the old nationalized Televerket but got turned into a profit-making public company instead, along with everything else.’
The angels were silent, completely beaten by Anne Snapphane’s despair.
‘And there are no other masts? You’re not allowed to put up your own?’
‘Are you joking? Teracom is heading for bankruptcy even though all the masts already exist.’
Annika relaxed and tried to think of a solution, happily grasping this distraction Anne had provided, and leaving Thomas and Sophia and the children and Vaxholm behind.
‘But hardly anyone can watch digital television,’ she said. ‘You have to have one of those boxes, don’t you? Is it really such a big deal?’
‘In a couple of years digital television is all we’ll have. The government proposition is the big deal. When the terrestrial digital network works with the same criteria as the rest of the business – the world of satellite and cable – then the market will explode.’
Ellen’s excited yell penetrated the bedroom door a couple of seconds before the girl herself ran in, Kalle only a metre or so behind, growling in a deep voice and making claws with his fingers.
‘Mummy, help! The tiger’s after me!’
‘No,’ Annika said, and tried to calm them down with her hand, which was pointless, the children tumbled over her on the bed, laughing hysterically. ‘But I don’t get it?’ she said into the phone. ‘How can the government proposal shut down the channel?’
‘Up to now the government has decided who would have access to the state’s television masts, both analogue and digital broadcasting. There are only three analogue channels, of course, and those are clearly the result of a purely political decision: channels one, two and four.’
‘Ellen,’ Annika said, ‘Kalle, go and get dressed. You’re going to go and see Grandma and Grandad.’
‘Digital transmissions take up much less frequency space,’ Anne said, ‘so when the three analogue channels stop broadcasting there’ll be enough space for twenty-five new digital channels. In this proposal the government is finally acknowledging that they shouldn’t be controlling who broadcasts what, so they’re delegating such decisions to the Radio and Television Authority.’
‘Do we have to, that’s no fun,’ Kalle said, acting as spokesman for them both. ‘We aren’t allowed to run indoors there.’
‘Come on,’ Annika said. ‘Brush your teeth and make sure you put on clean underwear.’
‘None of this is really new,’ Anne Snapphane went on. ‘The proposal spent over a year in committee and out for consultation. That’s why the Americans decided to make this investment, but today’s paper says there’s a new clause in the directive to the Radio and Television Authority that wasn’t there before.’
Annika sent the children out, screwed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate. ‘And?’
‘During the consultation there was a framework of ten points that television companies had to meet, according to paragraphs one, two and four of the third chapter of nineteen ninety-six Radio and Television Act. Now there are suddenly eleven points.’
Annika sank back into the pillows.
‘So Karina Björnlund has squeezed in an extra condition at the very last minute.’
‘Exactly, with only days to go. Point number eleven says: “Applicants with primarily foreign ownership broadcasting to more than one country in Scandinavia but not to other EU states do not have the right to broadcast via the terrestrial digital network.”’
‘And that means … ?’
She could hear Thomas shouting something to the children out in the kitchen.
‘That everyone who meets those conditions can broadcast, but not us.’
‘A law specifically aimed at TV Scandinavia,’ Annika said. ‘She’ll never get that through parliament.’
‘Yes she will; the Greens are in favour.’
‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’
‘The government’s been retreating on road charging. But from next year there’ll be pollution limits on all the roads around Stockholm, just so that Karina Björnlund can put a stop to TV Scandinavia.’
Annika could hear the scepticism in her own voice as she said, ‘But that’s completely unreasonable. Why the hell would she do that?’
‘That,’ Anne Snapphane said, ‘is a bloody good question.’ Then she quietly started to cry.
Thomas yelled something out in the hall and Ellen started to howl. And as the children screamed and the echo of despair came down the line from Lidingö, the angels suddenly started up again, the words tumbling into each other, and she saw the entry in the minister’s correspondence register in front of her like a mirage.
Request for meeting to discuss a matter of urgency.
‘Have you drunk anything today?’ Annika asked, loudly enough to drown out her internal voices.
Anne collected herself for a moment before answering. ‘No,’ she sniffed. ‘But I’ve thought about it. I poured some gin, but flushed it down the toilet. Enough now, you know?’
Her despair seemed to have run its course, ebbing out into single sniffs, and the children stopped screaming out in the kitchen.
‘First Mehmet and then this. I can’t go on.’
‘Yes you can,’ Annika said. ‘Get some clothes on and come over here, leave the car.’
‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘Yes, you can. Thomas and the kids are going to Vaxholm, and I’ve got nothing to do all day. Promise you’ll come.’
‘I can’t stay out here, I can’t bear it—’ A new attack of sobbing bubbled up. ‘That miserable old bastard downstairs always snooping, and Miranda going to and fro between us, and all the snow to clear every winter …’
‘Come here and we’ll look for a new house online. It’s about time you moved into town like everyone with any sense.’
Anne fell silent, breathing down the line, first quickly, then slower. ‘I need to think things over first.’
‘You know where I am.’
40
Kalle came up to Annika at the front door, wearing his new green boots with the reflective patches. His cheeks were glowing from the heat inside his overalls, his eyes large and shiny.
‘Why is Daddy cross with us?’
Annika kneeled down next to him and stroked him on the cheek. ‘Daddy’s tired,’ she said. ‘He’s been working hard. It’ll be better soon.’ She smiled into his eyes, conveying calm and security that she didn’t feel.
‘I want to stay at home with you,’ Ellen said.
Annika turned to her daughter, who was sweating from having to wait.
‘Anne’s coming to see me, she’s a bit sad and I’m going to help her with something.’
‘Grown-ups can be sad too,’ Kalle said.
Annika had to look away to hold herself together, the sadness in her chest so painful she thought she might burst. My gorgeous children, my darlings.
‘See you soon,’ she said, getting up and adjusting the belt of her dressing gown.
Thomas came flying out into the hall with his hair in a mess and a little black cloud hanging over his head.
‘What are you looking for?’ Annika said, keeping her voice steady.
‘My mobile. Have you seen it?’
‘Do you have to take it with you?’
He looked at her as if she was an idiot.
‘Have you tried calling it?’ Annika said.
His expression changed from derision to surprise. She swallowed and floated over to the phone and dialled his mobile number. His coat pocket rang.
‘Drive carefully,’ she said as he nudged the children through the door ahead of him.
A dark, wounded look back over his shoulder.
The door closed and she stood there with ice-cold feet in the draught that crept in from the stairwell. She had no floor below her, she was in free fall, the sky rushed around her, the angelic choir thunde
ring. She knew the seeds she had sown were sprouting and growing in the minds of the Federation’s managers.
Sophia Grenborg, she thought. Sophia Grenborg, you miserable bitch; and the angels started shrieking, with an intensity she had never suffered before; they screamed their indignation on an entirely indecent scale.
She clapped her hands over her ears, clenched her jaw and fled, away from the door, away from the draught, back into bed. She pulled the covers over her head, took deep breaths and concentrated on not hyperventilating and cramping.
Ragnwald, she thought. The ruler with divine power. The plane at F21. An explosion. A young man burning. Love for a young athlete, active in the working dogs’ club. Theology studies in Uppsala, awakening courtesy of Chairman Mao. Death as a profession. Benny Ekland, questionable star reporter. Linus Gustafsson, watchful boy with hair-gel. Kurt Sandström, farmer politician with a firm grip on life.
She threw off the duvet, reached for the phone and dialled Q’s direct line.
If he answers, it’s a sign, she thought, and forced the thought away at once, because what would happen if he didn’t answer, what demons would she have let loose then?
But he did answer, and he sounded tired. She sat up in bed and the angels withdrew immediately.
‘Has something happened?’ she asked nervously.
‘Are you thinking of anything in particular?’
She shut her eyes, relieved to hear his voice.
‘I don’t mean whether or not you’ve been fucked.’
‘Okay,’ Q said. ‘And what would you know about things like that?’
She tried to smile towards the phone.
‘Have you found our friend Ragnwald?’
He pretended to yawn.
‘Seriously,’ she said, yanking the phone lead. ‘You must have made some sort of progress. Kurt Sandström, what’s happened with him?’
‘He died. Definitely died.’
She leaned back hard against the pillows, feeling the pain settle down, and almost relaxed.
‘Göran Nilsson from Sattajärvi,’ she said. ‘How can someone vanish for thirty years without you or Interpol or the CIA or Mossad or anyone else getting hold of him? How is that possible?’
Q was silent for several long seconds. ‘We haven’t exactly been dragging our feet, whatever you might think.’
‘No?’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘You knew he lived in France; how hard can it be? Surely it’s just a question of getting out the vacuum cleaner and pressing the on button?’
‘The French police have big vacuum cleaners that suck up almost every sort of particle. This one kept getting through the filter, for all those years.’
Reality clarified and her free fall stopped. She was floating weightless and secure, calm.
‘How could he do that? If he’s as dangerous as you think, if he really was an international killer who took on assassinations for loads of money, how could he possibly get away with it? Why didn’t anyone catch him?’
‘We don’t know how much money was involved, or if there was any money at all. Maybe he killed out of pure, unadulterated conviction.’
‘But how do you know it’s him?’
‘There are a number of cases where we’re convinced, and several more where we’re pretty sure, and a whole heap of bodies where we’ve got nothing but our suspicions.’
She was safe now, secure in her work.
‘But why Ragnwald? Did he leave fingerprints? Little napkins with lipstick kisses at the crime scenes?’
‘Undercover agents,’ Q said. ‘The security apparatus.’
‘Ah,’ Annika said. ‘You mean rumours and speculation.’
‘Now you’re just being silly.’
They were silent for a few moments, her chest felt warm, as did the stone.
‘But there’s something I don’t understand,’ Annika said when the silence had grown so large that she suddenly feared that she was alone on the line. ‘Someone must have had some way of communicating with him, because otherwise how would he contact his employers?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Someone must have hired him for all those messy jobs. How did they get hold of him?’
The commissioner was quiet for a moment.
‘Off the record,’ he said, and she swivelled her head, ‘through ETA. For years the Spanish police have suspected a doctor in Bilbao of being his go-between, but they’ve never had enough evidence to charge him. This is sensitive stuff in the Basque Country. If their colleagues start openly harassing and accusing decent members of the civilian population, the whole region could ignite. The doctor in question is an unimpeachable family man, a professional with his own practice specializing in internal medicine.’
‘Couldn’t you have hired Ragnwald for something yourselves?’ Annika asked. ‘Lured him into a trap?’
A moment of hesitation.
‘Attempts may have been made, but I know nothing about that.’
So that’s where the boundary of his openness was. She decided not to press him, and rubbed her feet together, feeling the circulation coming back again.
‘But if he wasn’t in France, where was he?’
‘He most likely spent a lot of time in France,’ Q said, back on solid ground again, ‘but he didn’t live there. We don’t think he settled anywhere.’
‘So he’s spent thirty years camping?’
A short, weary sigh. ‘We believe he pretended to be from north Africa,’ Q said, ‘as part of the group of illegal immigrants who drift around the countryside looking for seasonal work.’
‘A farm labourer?’ Annika said.
‘They move from place to place, from country to country, wherever the crops are ready to harvest.’
Annika nodded unconsciously. ‘And no one says anything about anyone else,’ she said.
‘Total loyalty,’ Q said. ‘No one cares if someone disappears for a few weeks, or a few months, or for ever.’
‘And aren’t surprised if you turn up again,’ Annika filled in.
‘No questions,’ Q said.
‘Cash in hand at the end of the day.’
‘No bank accounts,’ Q said.
‘No rent to pay, no family to provide for.’
‘A lot of the seasonal labourers have families,’ Q said. ‘Some of them provide for their extended family as well, but not our Ragnwald.’
‘He picks grapes and oranges and shoots politicians in his spare time.’
‘When he’s not working in the docks or mines or somewhere else where he can be invisible and, in practical terms, unpaid.’
They were silent for a while.
‘But why haven’t you got him if he’s back in Sweden now?’
Q gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s not as easy as you seem to think,’ he said. ‘Killers who kill with no apparent motive are the hardest to catch. Take the Laser Man, he shot ten randomly chosen people in Stockholm over the course of a year and a half before he was caught, and he lived in the middle of the city, had his own car, said hello to his neighbours on the stairs. In other words he was a rank amateur. The man we’re dealing with now has killed four people that we know of. There’s nothing to connect them apart from the boy witnessing the first murder. The methods are completely different, Ekland was run over, the boy’s throat was cut, Sandström was shot. No fingerprints, the fibres we found don’t match from one crime scene to the next.’
‘That could just mean he changed his clothes and wore gloves.’
‘Exactly,’ Q said.
‘No witnesses?’
‘The best witness, the boy, is dead. Nothing else had contributed anything significant at all.’
Annika listened back to these latest comments in her mind.
‘Four,’ she said. ‘You said four.’
Q was blank. ‘What?’
‘There’s been another murder,’ she said, sitting up in bed without thinking. ‘He’s done it again. Who?’
‘You must have misheard me. I said thre
e.’
‘Rubbish,’ Annika said. ‘Someone’s been killed in the last couple of days and another Mao quote has been sent to the relatives. Either you tell me exactly what’s happened or I start ringing round.’
He laughed. ‘An empty threat. If someone’s been killed the media would already be circling like vultures over the story.’
She responded to his laughter with a snort. ‘That’s crap. Not if it’s a woman who’s been killed. Her husband has probably already been arrested, and it would surprise me if even the local paper gave it their standard couple of lines.’
‘Standard?’
‘Family quarrel ends in tragedy. Not nice, not interesting, and impossible to write about. Tell me what you know and we can come to an arrangement.’
The silence was thick with thought for several seconds.
‘I’ve said it before,’ he said eventually. ‘You’re slightly creepy. How the hell could you know that?’
Annika leaned back on the pillows again, a fleeting smile crossing her face.
‘And she’s got no connection to the other three?’
‘Nothing we’ve found yet. Margit Axelsson, a nursery teacher in Piteå, married, two adult daughters, strangled on the landing of her home. Her husband was working shifts and found her when he got home.’
‘And was immediately suspected of the murder?’
‘Wrong. The time of death was before midnight, and he was in the liaison office at F21 with his colleagues until he finished his shift at one thirty.’
Annika felt the adrenalin reach her brain and automatically stretch her legs out, forcing her to sit up straight.
‘F21? He works at F21? Then there is a connection: the explosion of the Draken.’
‘We’ve already checked. He did his national service at I19 in Boden, wasn’t attached to the airbase until nineteen seventy-four. The fact that a murder victim’s husband’s employer happens to coincide with a crime scene which may have a connection to Ragnwald isn’t enough to get my pulse racing; unlike yours, apparently.’
Red Wolf Page 27
