Last Will

by Liza Marklund

  Her shouting echoed around the little room, and she turned to run again, but another woman was standing right behind her. It was Sophia Grenborg, and she was pale blue and ice-cold and wet. When she opened her mouth there was nothing but a black hole, her throat gurgling like a drain.

  “I’m the one he loves now,” the gurgling said.

  “Annika, what is it?”

  Thomas was leaning over her shaking her shoulder.

  “Can you hear me, Anki, are you ill?”

  Annika turned away from the terrible pale-blue Sophia Grenborg and stared in the other direction, into the tiled wall.

  “What?” she said.

  “Annika, you have to wake up, I’m going to work now.”

  “What about Kalle?” Annika said, screwing her eyes shut.

  Thomas sat on the bed beside her and sighed.

  “He’ll have to stay at home and rest today.”

  She lay still for a few seconds, feeling sleep and the bad dream tugging at her body.

  “Today’s my first day back,” she said in a thick voice. “I can’t stay at home today.”

  “What do you mean?” Thomas said. “You were working all night. When did you finally get to bed?”

  Annika forced her legs over the edge of the bed and threw the covers aside.

  “This is my first day back after six months away,” she said. “I can’t be at home, not today.”

  “But you’re supposed to be able to work from home!” Thomas said, standing up. “You’ve got the laptop and everything!”

  Tiredness was sending flashes of lightning through her head—fuck—she couldn’t deal with this sort of debate the moment she tried to use her brain for something other than housework!

  “I can’t do this!” she shouted. “I can’t deal with this sort of crap the moment I have a good reason to leave the house!”

  She grabbed a dressing gown and marched out to the bathroom, feeling giddy and sick. As she stepped through the door she realized that this was where she had been until a few minutes ago—Caroline von Behring had been lying dead in her bathtub—and she turned in the doorway and went back into the bedroom.

  “You said you were going to be working until you presented the briefing,” she said. “And that was yesterday, and now you’re saying you’re going to carry on with that fucking job. Well, what about me? Who gives a damn about me? When’s it going to be my turn?”

  Thomas walked past her and into the office, his jacket flapping.

  “Your turn?” he said. “You’ve taken over the whole desk—look at this—all your fucking notes all over my memos.”

  “For God’s sake!” Annika yelled, running in and grabbing her notepad. “I’m so sorry! Sorry that I dared to take up the tiniest bit of space, sorry for existing!”

  “I’m going now,” Thomas said, heading toward the stairs.

  Annika moved to stand in his way, arms outstretched, staring up into his face. Her dressing gown slid down so that she was standing there practically naked.

  “Like hell you are!”

  His eyes flashed red with anger.

  “I’m going, even if I have to move you out of the way by force,” he said.

  “I can’t look after this entire household on my own,” Annika told him. “Cleaning and food and washing, and all the responsibility for the children, and working full time, without leaving some kind of sign of it in the office. Surely even you can see that?”

  He was breathing heavily, looking down into her face. His jaw was clenched so tightly his skin was turning white. Then he seemed to relax and took several deep breaths, and it sounded like sobs.

  “Oh God,” he said, turning around and going back into the bedroom again with one hand over his eyes.

  She watched him, the jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, his dark jeans and shiny shoes.

  “Thomas,” she said, going after him and wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to shout …”

  He pulled her to him, kissing her hair and rocking her gently.

  “It’s my fault,” he said. “Sorry. Of course I realize that you can’t be at home today of all days.”

  He held her away from him and looked at her seriously, and she evaded his gaze.

  “But you can hardly have slept at all. You mustn’t burn out the moment you go back to work.”

  She slipped her fingers under the waist of his trousers and pulled out his shirt, finding a strip of red-hot skin, and kissed him on the neck.

  “I love you, you know,” she whispered, unless she merely thought it, because he didn’t answer.

  He slid his fingers through her hair, and for the first time in ages she experienced that feeling again, the one she had felt with Bosse.

  “Why are you shouting?”

  Ellen was standing in the doorway, clutching Poppy and Ludde.

  No, Annika thought, sinking to the floor. Not now.

  “Are you cross?”

  Thomas let go of Annika and went over to pick up the little girl.

  “Not anymore,” he said. “Do you want to go to nursery school today, or would you rather stay at home with me and Kalle?”

  “Home with you, Daddy!” Ellen cried, wrapping her arms round his neck.

  Annika shut her eyes and leaned against the doorframe, and the whole house spun.

  “I’m going to grab another hour’s sleep,” she said, but no one heard her.

  The children were sitting at the dining table, drawing. The sun was shining, and the frames of the windows were casting patterned shadows over the oak parquet floor. The terrace door was ajar, letting in the hum of insects and the smell of grass.

  Thomas sank down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen with the morning paper and a cup of coffee and sighed happily. Cramne had been understanding when he had called and explained that his son wasn’t well, and had even managed to sound sympathetic.

  “Poor bastard,” he had said, although it was unclear whether he was referring to Thomas or Kalle.

  As if staying home with your own child was some sort of punishment, Thomas thought.

  Which it wasn’t. In fact it was really rather nice.

  A whole day with the paper and some magazines and a bit of Eurosport in the afternoon. Really not bad.

  “Daddy,” Kalle shouted crossly. “She’s taken my pen.”

  Thomas looked up from the editorial and glanced over at the dining table.

  “What’s all the fuss about?”

  “She’s got the brown pen and it’s mine.”

  “But I’m doing trees,” Ellen said, concentrating hard on her drawing.

  The boy leaned over the table and hit his little sister in the head with his fist. The girl dropped the pen and put her hands to her head as she let out a whimper that soon turned into a howl. Kalle snatched up the pen with a triumphant grin.

  “Daddy! He hit me!”

  Thomas put his paper down and went over to the dining area.

  “Listen,” he said, sitting down next to Ellen. “We aren’t going to spend the day fighting, we’re going to have a nice day together, aren’t we?”

  “She started it,” Kalle said smugly, drawing long brown lines with the pen.

  Ellen was crying, and Thomas stroked her on the back.

  “Okay, little one,” he said, picking his daughter up. “Does it still hurt? Do you want me to blow on it?”

  “He hit me, Daddy! He hit me hard!”

  “I know,” Thomas said, blowing on the girl’s hair.

  Annika came downstairs, dressed and made up, with her oversized bag on her shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Thomas said.

  Ellen wriggled out of his arms and ran over to Annika.

  “Kalle hit me really hard, here.”

  She pointed to her head, just above her forehead, and Annika put her bag down to take a closer look.

  “Oh, you’ve already got a bump, darling,” s
he said. “We can’t have that.”

  She kissed the girl, got up and went over to Kalle. Taking hold of his chair, she spun him around, forcing the boy to look at her.

  “You mustn’t hit your little sister,” she said, looking him right in the eyes.

  “But she was the one who …”

  “Quiet!” she said in a loud voice. “You are absolutely not allowed to hit your little sister. You’re not going to turn into the sort of boy who hits girls, do you hear me? Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Kalle said, looking down.

  “Calm down,” Thomas said, but she ignored him.

  “Look at me,” she said to the boy instead, and he looked up at her under his bangs. “Kalle, you’ve got to stop telling lies and saying everything is someone else’s fault, and you’ve got to stop fighting. You don’t like it when other children are mean to you, do you? How do you think Ellen feels when you’re mean to her?”

  He looked down again.

  “Sad,” he said.

  She pulled him to her and hugged him for a few seconds.

  “I’m going to work now,” she said, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her neck.

  “No!” he cried. “Stay at home, Mommy! Stay at home with me today!”

  “But Daddy’s at home,” Annika said, and the boy glanced at Thomas, quickly and shyly, before burrowing his face into Annika’s long hair.

  “I want you to stay at home, Mommy,” the boy said.

  She freed herself from his grasp and looked up at Thomas.

  “It’s a good idea to wipe the table before they start drawing,” she said. “They put their pictures all over the house, and we end up with stains everywhere.”

  A feeling of exhaustion hit him like a cold, wet washcloth.

  “Get off to work now,” he said, standing up and turning away.

  She left without another word. He waited until the door had closed behind her before sitting down with his coffee.

  She just couldn’t help it, pointing out that the table hadn’t been wiped. If it was that damn filthy she could have done something about it. Larsson and Althin’s wives had cleared the dishes from the dining table and put them in the sink last night. He noted with the a sting of irritation that they were still there; no one had put them in the dishwasher.

  What contribution had she made yesterday? She’d picked up some embarrassing ready-made food that she just heated up in the microwave! She made a fool of herself in front of his colleagues and behaved appallingly toward their neighbor. And she’d left him with their guests, and the dishes, and everything.

  He started to feel heated as he thought about it, the way she had shouted at their neighbor, and the way the other wives had looked at him, and how the men had started talking about something else. To his surprise, they had all stayed until past one in the morning. Cramne had downed his cognac and asked for another one before Althin had pulled on the brakes and reminded everyone that they all had to work the next day.

  Maybe it was because the undersecretary of state was there. Thomas understood that he had slipped up by inviting Halenius, but he was an easy-going sort and his presence had probably contributed to the fact that the party had gone on so late. Things had been a bit different, simply because he was there.

  Unless they had all been waiting for Annika to get home and cause another scandal?

  He poured himself some more coffee, now cold and unpleasant.

  And she never wanted to have sex anymore.

  He had never been so utterly starved of sex before, not even when things had been at their worst, with Eleonor. At least his ex-wife used to go through the motions every now and then for the sake of it, but ever since that Red Wolf business Annika had hardly even touched him. It was as if she hated him, as if he was no longer good enough for her.

  And now she was going to start working again, as if things weren’t tough enough for him already. First she wanted to move, and now, just when he really needed to focus on his career, there was a whole load of painting and decorating to do.

  Is this what it’s going to be like from now on? he wondered.

  Am I going to spend the rest of my life sitting here?

  Isn’t there more to it than this?

  He felt his pulse throb in his neck and pushed the questions aside, too tired, too hungover. Instead he picked up the paper again and turned to the editorial.

  Maybe this evening she would come home and get the meal and then want to have sex and everything would be the same as it used to be.

  The editorial was about the responses to the consultation about his bugging proposal. The Association of Lawyers was against, as was the Parliamentary Ombudsman. They were making a big deal out of this, suggesting that these were objective reasons for abandoning the whole proposal.

  We knew this would happen all along, Thomas thought. The papers have no idea what they’re writing about.

  “Daddy,” Ellen said.

  Thomas sighed.

  “What?”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  He swallowed, put the paper down, fetched a glass and filled it with water. He put it in front of his daughter and went back to his paper.

  “I want soda.”

  “You’re not getting soda,” Thomas said. “You can drink water if you’re thirsty.”

  The editorial went on to criticize the measures, saying they were an attack on individual integrity, and claiming that the proposed methods were unnecessary because they were ineffective. They said the entire EU directive on the storage of data was ill-considered, and …

  “Daddy!” Ellen said.

  “What is it now?!” Thomas shouted, throwing the newspaper down.

  The little girl stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She didn’t say anything, just grabbed Poppy and Ludde and went upstairs to her room.

  “What are we having for lunch?” Kalle asked.

  Thomas put his hands over his eyes and groaned.

  Spike was sitting at the news desk with both feet up on his desk.

  “What’s the deal with this dead guy, then?” he said without looking up at her.

  “The second chair of the Nobel Committee to be murdered in six months,” Annika said.

  He sighed theatrically.

  “Yes,” he said, “I can see that from the paper. Anything else?”

  “I’ve only just got here,” Annika said. “About fifteen seconds ago.”

  He threw her a quick glance and dropped his feet to the floor, grabbed the desk and pulled himself toward it on his wheeled office chair.

  “Personally, I think it’s a pretty dead story,” he said. “Keep an eye on it today, but don’t expect to write a novel about it for tomorrow.”

  “I thought I wasn’t supposed to cover crime?” Annika said, picking up a pear that was lying beside Spike’s phone.

  The head of news leaned over with surprising speed and snatched the fruit from her hand.

  “Leave that alone,” he said.

  Annika stared at him for a few seconds, and realized that he was actually slightly less fat than before.

  “Spike,” she said, “you’re on a diet!”

  “Berit’s busy on another story,” he said, biting into the pear. “A really good lead. Maybe you could have a word with her, pick up a few tips …”

  Annika picked up her bag and went over to see Berit.

  “Hi,” she said, flopping down on Patrik’s chair. “What’s going on?”

  Berit looked up over her glasses.

  “Great job last night. We left the competition at the starting gate—that guy of theirs, Bosse, didn’t manage to get anything. Was he even there?”

  Annika felt herself start to blush.

  “Yes,” she said, “but they got there too late.”

  “Who’s the person they’ve taken in for questioning?” Berit asked.

  “Another professor at Karolinska,” Annika said. “He’s a bit of a nut—he’s got it into his head that it’s his duty to mak
e threats against people and tell them what they’re doing wrong. And he’s a creationist as well.”

  “What?” Berit said.

  “Thinks there ought to be more God in science. So what’s this story you’ve got on the go?”

  “Jemal,” Berit said. “The father from Bandhagen.”

  Annika nodded—yes, she remembered.

  “It’s completely crazy,” Berit said. “The Swedish government decided that Jemal should be deported from Sweden, and they didn’t waste any time. The CIA picked him up from Bromma Airport the same night.”

  Annika gave her a skeptical look.

  “The CIA?” she said. “That sounds like a bad film.”

  Berit took off her glasses and moved her chair closer to Annika’s. When she spoke, her voice was low and intense.

  “American agents with hoods over their heads picked him up from a room inside Bromma Airport. They cut off his clothes, dug around in his mouth and backside, drugged him with suppositories, and put a diaper on him. Then they put a hood over his head and dragged him out to their private chartered plane. They chained him to the fuselage and left him like that all the way to Amman.”

  Annika’s mouth was hanging open.

  “Who on earth sanctioned that?” she whispered, hearing the shock in her voice.

  “The government took the decision to deport him, and the foreign minister was informed about the means of transport, but the Foreign Ministry claim that she wasn’t aware of the involvement of the CIA, or of any abuse. It was just a run-of-the-mill deportation for a run-of-the-mill terrorist, and the nice Americans offered to give him a lift.”

  “So the American Secret Service can just go round picking up people from our airports and no one’s allowed to have any say in the matter?” Annika said, far too loudly.

  Berit looked round.

  “The government isn’t allowed to dictate how the police should conduct their business, and the Security Police are blaming one unfortunate officer who was sent out there to oversee the deportation,” she said quietly. “It’s all his fault, apparently. The problem is that he handed over control of the deportation to the Americans, but do you know what else he did after that?”

  “What?” Annika asked.

  Berit sighed, as if she were collecting her thoughts before answering.

  “When the abuse got too painful to watch he went out and threw up. So the plane took off without him having any idea of what had happened.”