Patrik was rushing to Schyman’s office with a printout fluttering above his head like a battle standard. He thrust the glass door open. ‘We’ve got a murdered young mum on a footpath out in Sätra, stabbed in the neck.’
* * *
My first memory of the sea. I was rocking in it, with it, lying in it, as if it were a cradle. Above me white tufts of cloud floated past. I was on my back in a basket staring up at them. I knew I was on the sea. I don’t know how old I was, but I knew I was in the boat, don’t ask me how. Maybe it was the smell of salt water, the sound of waves breaking against the hull, the light reflecting off the surface of the sea.
It reached all the way in here, into the darkness inside the tin shack. The surf roared and algae stuck to my legs.
I’d forgotten how much I loved the sea.
For some reason that thought made me cry.
I had frittered away so much love and happiness. There were so many people I’d let down, not just myself but all of my nearest and dearest.
And I told them about the money, Annika. I know you were planning to buy a flat with it, but I was so scared, and my right side where he kicked me hurt so much. I know you wanted to use that insurance pay-out to make a future for us together, but you have to help me, Annika. I can’t handle this any more …
And suddenly I was back at sea, in the boat on the way out to Gällnö, in the old sloop my dad had inherited from Uncle Knut, the sail that smelt like laundry and flapped in the wind. Behind me were the jetty and the gravel path up to the village, the unpainted barn, the rusty boathouse. The low, red-grey buildings leaning against each other, as if for support against the wind. The grey rocks, the skinny pines, the shriek of the seagulls on the wind. Söderby farm, the fields and meadows, cows grazing … I was rocking towards the horizon, soft and endless, and felt my tears drying on my jaw.
Outside the guards’ fire was dying. I could hear one of them snoring. It was very cold, and I was so cold I was shaking. Was I getting a fever? Had the malaria mosquito, Anopheles gambiae, installed its parasite in my liver? Was this the start of the symptoms?
I started to cry again.
I was so hungry.
They had given me some ugali that evening, with a little scrap of meat, but the meat was crawling with white maggots and I couldn’t make myself eat it, and the tall man yelled at me and forced the meat into my mouth, but I clenched my teeth and then he held my nose closed until I fainted. When I came round he had vanished, taking the ugali with him.
I breathed hard in the darkness and tasted salt water.
* * *
Annika was sitting on the sofa next to Jimmy Halenius watching the television screen without really registering what was going on. The under-secretary of state, on the other hand, seemed to be following it pretty well, laughing, then tilting his head when things got sad and the violins started up.
The kidnappers hadn’t been in touch. No video, no phone call.
But all the media in Sweden and quite a few from abroad had been calling her mobile non-stop since the news of the Frenchman had broken. It had been on the unit in the hall, vibrating silently, but after an hour or so it had vibrated its way on to the floor and was probably somewhere among her shoes by now.
She glanced at Halenius. He was leaning towards the television: something exciting must be happening. It was incredible that he was supporting her and Thomas like this, quite remarkable. Would any of her bosses have done the same? Schyman, or Patrik Nilsson? She snorted.
She wondered what sort of father he was. She’d never heard him talking to his children on the phone. He probably did that when he was shut in the bedroom. She knew the plane to Cape Town had taken off earlier that evening, but he hadn’t mentioned it and she didn’t want to seem nosy. She wondered who his girlfriend was. Probably one of the lawyers in the department. Where else would a single father of two with a top job meet anyone if not at work?
I wonder if she’s beautiful or intelligent, Annika thought. A combination of the two was rare.
The film was evidently over, because Halenius stood up and said something. She raised her eyebrows.
‘Coffee?’
She shook her head.
‘Is it okay if I have a cup?’
She flew up. ‘Sit down. I’m in charge of supplies.’ She got out a plate of buns from the previous day’s raid on the Co-op, then sat in silence and watched him eat them. The television was on with the volume turned down. It was showing a repeat of some British detective series.
‘Aren’t you rather young to be an under-secretary of state?’ she asked.
He swallowed a piece of bun. ‘You’re wondering who I had to sleep with to get this job.’ He grinned. ‘There’s only one likely candidate, the minister himself. He selects his under-secretary of state personally. It’s not a party appointment.’
She smiled back. ‘So what do you actually do? When your staff aren’t getting kidnapped.’
‘The minister’s work is focused outside the department, and the under-secretary of state deals with what goes on inside it. You have to get on very well together. There’ve been some real horror stories where it hasn’t worked at all.’
‘You must end up practically merging. You sound just like him now. But what do you actually do?’
He laughed gently and took another bite of the bun. ‘Sometimes I have to answer to the media, but only when we’re trying to play down something really difficult, really bloody awful.’ He was chuckling now.
‘And the minister chose you specifically because?’
He washed down the bun with a gulp of coffee. ‘I didn’t know him particularly well. We’d met at a party and played football a few times, but he must have needed someone with my particular abilities.’
‘Which are?’
‘I got my Ph.D. in administrative law when I was twenty-eight, and was working at the Supreme Court when his secretary called and asked me to go for an interview.’
She looked at him, trying to see him as a legal bureaucrat at the Supreme Court. It wasn’t easy. She had the impression that everyone there was dusty and had threadbare suits and dandruff, not spiked hair and faded jeans. ‘So if you lose the election next year, you’ll have to resign?’
‘Yep.’
‘And then you’ll end up in charge of some obscure authority?’
Halenius stiffened. ‘Did the lift just stop up here?’ he said quietly.
Annika got to her feet. She went towards the door in her stockinged feet without breathing. It certainly sounded as if someone was out there – she could hear scraping sounds and muttering. The lift went back down. The bell rang. She stood beside the door, trying to hear through it to the stairwell.
‘Anki?’
She took a step back out of sheer astonishment.
‘Who is it?’ Halenius whispered.
Annika stared at the door. ‘My sister,’ she said. ‘Birgitta.’
The bell rang again. Someone tried the handle.
‘I’ll pull back to Kidnap Control,’ Halenius said.
Annika waited until he had gone, then opened the door.
Her little sister was swaying in the darkness of the stairwell beside a large man in a denim waistcoat.
‘Hello, Anki,’ Birgitta said. ‘Long time no see. Can we come in?’
Annika’s sister and her husband, presumably the Steven Annika had never met, had clearly had a bit to drink. She hesitated.
‘Or am I going to have to piss out here?’ Birgitta said.
Annika took a step back and pointed to the bathroom. Birgitta hurried in and closed the door. The large man filled the hall. Annika went round him and stood in the kitchen doorway, folding her arms over her chest, a gesture that clearly signalled defence and mistrust, but she couldn’t help herself. They stood in silence until Birgitta emerged. In spite of the gloom in the hall, she could see that her sister hadn’t managed to lose the weight she’d gained while she was pregnant. Her hair was longer than ever, reaching to be
low her waist.
‘This is something of a surprise,’ Annika said. ‘To what do I owe the honour?’
‘We’ve been to a concert,’ Birgitta said. ‘Rammstein. In the Globe. Brilliant.’
She’s got exactly the same voice as me, Annika found herself thinking. We sound exactly the same. She’s blonde and I’m brunette, but we’re so similar. I’m her dark shadow.
‘I thought you were working this weekend?’ Annika said. ‘Mum said she was going to be looking after … your daughter.’
She wasn’t sure she could remember the name. Destiny? Crystal? Chastity?
‘I don’t work evenings, do I? When Steven got hold of a couple of cheap tickets online, we decided to go for it.’
Steven went into the living room. Annika started and hurried after him. Before she knew it he’d blunder into the bedroom and find Halenius sitting there with his computer and recording equipment and loads of Post-it notes on the wall with reminders for when the kidnappers called: suggested code-words, different negotiating tactics, facts that Halenius had dug out, transcripts of the conversations with the kidnappers …
‘What exactly do you want?’ Annika asked. Steven was a head taller than her, with thinning hair and liver spots on his forehead. So far he hadn’t said a word.
‘We were wondering if we could spend the night here,’ Birgitta said. ‘The last train to Flen has already left, and we can’t afford a hotel.’
Annika looked at her sister and tried to work out her own reaction. They hadn’t seen each other in how long? Three years? Four? Now Birgitta had turned up in the middle of a hostage crisis because she’d missed the train?
‘I don’t know if you’ve heard,’ Annika said, her voice thickening, ‘but my husband’s been kidnapped. He’s being held captive somewhere in East Africa. They’re threatening to execute him.’
Birgitta looked round the living room. ‘Mum said. That’s so awful. Poor you.’
The husband sat on the sofa with a thud. His upper body immediately began to lean alarmingly. He was on the point of falling asleep, and Annika felt her brain short-circuit. ‘You can’t stay here,’ she said loudly. ‘Not tonight.’
The man was making himself comfortable on the sofa, putting his feet up, shoes and all, on the armrest, and stuffing one of the scatter cushions under his head. Birgitta sat down beside him. ‘What difference does it make if we …?’
Annika put her hands over her ears, hard, for several seconds. ‘You have to go,’ she said, grabbing the man’s arm. ‘Get out, both of you!’
‘Calm down,’ Birgitta said, sounding small and frightened. ‘Don’t pull him like that. He might get angry.’
‘Haven’t you a shred of decency in you?’ she said. ‘Forcing your way into my home in the middle of the night because you’re too drunk to catch the train home? Get out!’
‘Don’t talk to Steven like that!’ Birgitta squeaked.
The man opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Annika. ‘You, you fucking …’
Annika felt the draught as the bedroom door opened. Then Jimmy Halenius was standing right behind her – she could feel his chest against her back.
‘You’ve got a man in your bedroom?’ Birgitta said.
‘Andersson, from the crime squad,’ Halenius said, holding up his pass card from Rosenbad. ‘This flat is a crime scene. We’re in the process of investigating a serious crime. I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately.’
The effect on the thickset man was striking. He sobered instantly and stood up with surprising agility.
‘Steven, come on,’ Birgitta said, pulling at his arm.
This isn’t the first time, Annika thought. He’s been spoken to by the police like that before, and it’s left its mark on him, the sort of mark that cuts through a lot of drink.
‘This way,’ Halenius said, taking the man’s other arm.
Annika saw them disappear into the hall, heard the front door open and close, then the clatter of the lift. She stood in the light of the television, heart pounding.
Birgitta, the darling daughter, the favourite child, the fair, pretty one. Mummy’s little angel, the girl of distinctly average talents who always got picked to be the star of the annual Lucia festivities in December.
Annika had been Daddy’s girl, dark and edgy even as a child, with her precocious breasts, big eyes and top marks in every subject without having to try.
Halenius came back into the living room.
‘Andersson, from the crime squad?’ Annika said.
He sighed and sat down in an armchair. ‘Impersonating a public official,’ he said. ‘I confess. Could be fined ten days’ wages if I’m found guilty. So that was your sister and brother-in-law?’
She felt her knees give way and sank on to the sofa.
‘Thanks for your help,’ she said.
‘I remember her from school photographs,’ he said. ‘She was the year below you, wasn’t she? Roly had a bit of a crush on her as well, but you were the one for him.’
‘Everyone had a crush on Birgitta,’ Annika said, leaning her head back. ‘I think she actually went out with Roly for a while, in high school.’
‘True,’ Halenius said. ‘But only because he couldn’t have you.’
‘That’s her real hair colour,’ Annika said. ‘Different shades of blonde. People pay a fortune to look like her.’
‘How old is she? Thirty-seven? She seems older.’
Annika raised her head and looked at Halenius. ‘How the hell did you remember that she went out with Roly? I’d be surprised if she herself remembered that.’
He smiled and shook his head.
She leaned towards him. ‘How well did you know Roly?’ she asked. ‘How much time did you really spend together?’
‘A lot.’
‘And he talked about me and Birgitta?’
‘Mostly you. All the time, in fact.’
Annika looked at Halenius. He didn’t look away.
‘I grew up with you,’ he said. ‘You were Utopia, a mirage, the dream girl no one could ever have. Why do you think I came to dinner at yours that time out in Djursholm?’
Her mouth had dried.
‘I wanted to see who you were,’ he said quietly. ‘See what sort of adult you’d become.’
‘And shatter the dream?’ she said hoarsely.
He looked at her for a few seconds, then stood up. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said, then put on his outdoor clothes and left.
DAY 5
SUNDAY, 27 NOVEMBER
Chapter 12
I woke up when the tall man walked into the shack. His smell washed over me, like the waves around Gällnö. I experienced a few seconds of utter panic before I realized what he wanted.
He had brought tea, water, ugali and a fresh tomato. He was doing an unusual amount of smiling and talking, ‘Kula ili kupata nguvu, siku kubwa mbele yenu.’ He leaned over me and untied the thick rope binding my hands behind me. It was a blessing to be able to massage my wrists and try to get a bit of circulation back into my fingers. When I reached cautiously for the tomato, he nodded encouragingly. ‘Kula vizuri,’ he said, then walked out. He had left my hands untied, but they usually did when I was eating.
The tea was strong and sweet and tasted of mint. This was the nicest meal I’d had since I got there. The water was cool and tasted fresh, and the ugali was still warm.
Perhaps I was doing something right. Perhaps they’d understood that I didn’t want to be a problem, that I really would co-operate, and this was the reward. Maybe from now on I would be better treated.
The thought filled me with confidence.
Perhaps Annika had had something to do with this. I’d worked out that they had been in touch with her. I knew she’d do anything to get me released. Perhaps the ransom had already been paid. Soon they’d drive up in that big Toyota and take me back to the plane on the runway in Liboi.
I have to admit, I was crying with relief.
When I thought about it, the
guards hadn’t treated me too badly. Kiongozi Ujumla, the thickset man in the turban, had kicked me pretty viciously, but that was because I was lying. Of course I was a rich man in their eyes: to say anything different was ridiculous. The right side of my chest hurt, making me wince every time I took a deep breath, but that was just one of those things. The Dane wasn’t their fault: he’d been asthmatic and, well, what could I say about the Frenchman? There had been moments when I’d felt like chopping his head off.
I hadn’t seen or heard anything of the Spaniard or the Romanian since they’d been taken from the shack. Perhaps they’d be coming back with me to the landing strip in the Toyota. Maybe our governments had got together and negotiated our release in return for some sort of political gesture.
I’d gobbled the tomato first. Now I was eating the last of the ugali, finishing the water, and licking the inside of the tea mug to get the last of the sugar. My stomach felt completely full. If it hadn’t been for the itching of the insect bites and the throbbing pain in my right side, I was actually doing pretty well.
I sat down in the corner and leaned against the tin wall, diagonally across from the dark stain where the Dane had died. I’d made that corner of the shack the toilet, not as a sign of disrespect, purely for sanitary reasons.
The tin was still cool against my back. It would get much hotter during the day.
Then I heard voices out in the manyatta, male and female. One was Catherine’s, she was talking loudly in English, pleading.
I sat bolt upright and sharpened my senses. Weren’t there other voices too? The Spaniard’s? And the Romanian’s?
Maybe Catherine would be coming back to the plane with us in the Toyota.
‘Please, please,’ I heard her say. I thought she was crying.
I stood up as best I could in the low shack. At the top of the wall, just under the roof, there was a fairly large gap. I closed one eye and put the other to it, cupping my hands over my forehead to see better. The wind blew sand into my eye. I blinked and tried again. I could see three huts, all made of cracked clay rather than tin, and there was a smell of fire and mould. The sun was still low, the shadows long and deep. I couldn’t see the people whose voices I’d heard, but they had to be outside somewhere. Their words were being carried by the wind – they had to be behind one of the other huts. I looked all round, but couldn’t see anyone. So I sat down and listened again, trying to hear what Catherine was saying, what she wanted. Wasn’t a man talking as well? Answering her? And then she cried, ‘No, no, no,’ and the screaming started.
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