Read Online The Long Shadow by Liza Marklund - Free Book Online Page B

logic about the places she was supposed to aim for either – the girl at the Helle Hollis desk had warned her about that. In order to get to Marbella, she should aim for Cádiz or Algeciras, and take the toll motorway to start with, but then she had to head for San Pedro de Alcántara. That was important because otherwise she’d end up in Estepona.
    ‘And that’s a terrible place. I’ve heard about it,’ Annika had said, thinking of Julia.
    The girl gave her a blank look. ‘I live there,’ she said.
    Annika passed Torremolinos far below on her left, an endless grotesque chaos of shabby white buildings strung out along the Mediterranean coast. She overtook several VW camper-vans with French plates that seemed to have all their occupants’ belongings strapped to the roof, and was herself overtaken by a German-registered Mercedes. A Spanish BMW was weaving between the lanes and came close to hitting a Seat. She clung to the wheel and wondered what
lackanyarda
was.
    When she reached the toll-paying section of the motorway, the traffic decreased radically. She could relax a bit and admire the dramatic scenery.
    Thousand-metre-high mountains stretched all the way to the sea. The four-lane motorway, broad and smooth, clung to the mountainsides and leaped across valleys. Large advertising hoardings for nightclubs and estate agents lined the road, sometimes beside the abandoned ruins of old farm buildings. Newly built residential areas with boldly coloured villas started to pop up as soon as she passed the toll-booth. She had to dig her sunglasses out of her bag, the colours so bright they hurt her eyes: the clear blue sky, the green of the valleys, the pastels of the houses, and the sea glittering like a shattered mirror.
    Just outside Marbella, next to a shopping centre that reminded her of the one at Kungens Kurva outside Stockholm, the motorways merged once more, and the traffic was as crazy as before. She kept to the right and managed to be in the correct lane when they split again. She didn’t want to end up in Estepona.
    By the slip-road to Istán the motorway made a broad sweep towards the sea. There were more houses. She thought she should probably turn off soon and try to find a hotel. At the next moment she saw one to her left. ‘HOTELPYR.com,’ she read on the sign that stood outagainst the sky. She turned off towards a bullfighting arena.
    The Pyr was in the middle of Puerto Banús. She got a corner room on the third floor with a glorious view of the motorway.
    ‘Do you know something called
lackanyarda
?’ she asked the receptionist.
    ‘La Cañada? It’s a shopping centre. It’s huge, on the way to Málaga. You can’t miss it. Turn off towards Ojén.’
    Ah, she thought. The thing that looked like Kungens Kurva. It was half past one. She went back out to the car.
    Naturally, she missed the turning. She saw the development flash past on her left just as she realized she’d gone too far. After a moment of panic she managed to avoid ending up back on the toll motorway. She searched the jungle of incomprehensible Spanish advertising slogans, road signs and electronic messages for a slip-road that would let her turn round and head back the way she had come. She found one just after the Costa del Sol hospital.
    It was only as she was pulling into the jam-packed car park at the shopping centre that she noticed her shoulders were hunched somewhere near her ears. She forced them down into their normal position, squeezed the car past a British-registered Jaguar and parked beside the exit.
    Inside, the mall was thick with people. On the flight, she had read in the guidebook that the days before
el día de Reyes
, Epiphany, were among the busiest shopping days of the year. Most Spanish children didn’t get their Christmas presents until Twelfth Night, and it looked like every single last-minute gift in southern Spain had to be bought here.
    The temperature was the same inside as out, shenoted, as she headed across