hunting me.’
She closed her eyes to shut out the newsroom and leaned forward, slumping over her desk.
‘I’m a refugee from Bosnia,’ the woman said. ‘He’s trying to kill me.’
Bloody hell. Was she suddenly responsible for all the ills of the world?
The woman muttered something, it sounded like she was on the verge of losing consciousness.
‘Hello?’ Annika said, opening her eyes. ‘What sort of state are you in?’
The woman started to cry. ‘I’m ill,’ she said. ‘I daren’tgo to hospital. I’m scared he’ll find me. Can’t you help me?’
Annika sighed silently, looking round the newsroom to see if there was anyone she could pass the call on to. No one.
‘Have you called the police?’ she said.
‘He’ll kill me if he finds me,’ the woman whispered. ‘He’s tried to shoot me more than once already. I can’t run any more.’
The woman’s strained breathing echoed down the line. Annika felt a growing sense of impotence.
‘I can’t help you,’ she said. ‘I’m a journalist, I write articles. Have you tried social services? Or a women’s refuge?’
‘Frihamnen,’ the woman whispered. ‘The dead men at Frihamnen. I can tell you about them.’
Annika’s reaction was purely physical. She gave a start and sat upright with a jolt.
‘What? How?’
‘If you tell me what you know, I’ll tell you what I know,’ the woman said.
Annika moistened her lips and tried to catch sight of Sjölander, but couldn’t see him anywhere.
‘Come out here,’ the woman panted. ‘Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Don’t take a taxi. Don’t tell anyone who I am.’
Jansson was standing in front of her when she hung up.
‘The Frihamnen murders,’ she said by way of explanation.
‘Why didn’t Sjölander take it?’ Jansson asked.
‘It was a woman who called,’ Annika said.
‘Ah,’ Jansson said, answering his own phone.
‘I’m going out. I may be gone a while.’
Jansson waved her away.
Taking a copy of the Yellow Pages with her, Annika got the keys to one of the paper’s cars from Tore Brand’s son in reception. She took the lift down to the garage and eventually found the right car. She rested the phone book on the steering wheel and worked out where the hotel was. It was long way out, in a suburb she had never been to before.
There wasn’t much traffic, but the roads were slippery. She drove carefully, pretty sure she didn’t fancy dying in a crash.
It will all work out
, she thought.
It’ll be fine
.
She glanced up at the sky through the windscreen.
Someone’s watching over me
, she thought.
I can feel it
.
Thomas changed the channel to get away from the news, only to find an ill-tempered discussion programme instead. He carried on past an American soap and reached MTV. He realized he was staring at the singers’ breasts, their tanned stomachs and flowing hair.
‘Darling?’
He heard Eleonor close the front door behind her and stamp the snow from her feet.
‘In the recreation room,’ he called back, quickly changing back to the news again.
‘God, what a day,’ his wife said as she came down the stairs, pulling her silk blouse from her skirt and undoing the mother of pearl buttons on her cuffs. She fell onto the sofa beside him.
He pulled her to him and kissed her on the ear.
‘You work too hard,’ he said.
She pulled out her hairclip and shook her hair loose.
‘You know it’s the management course this evening, don’t you?’ she said. ‘I did tell you several times.’
He let go of her and reached for the remote again.
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘Was there any post?’
She got up and went back up to the hall. He didn’t reply. He heard her stockinged feet on the wooden steps, squeak, squeak, squeak. The sound of envelopes being opened, the drawer where they kept bills being opened and closed, the door of the kitchen cupboard where they put paper for recycling.
‘Have there been any calls?’ she shouted.
He cleared his
She closed her eyes to shut out the newsroom and leaned forward, slumping over her desk.
‘I’m a refugee from Bosnia,’ the woman said. ‘He’s trying to kill me.’
Bloody hell. Was she suddenly responsible for all the ills of the world?
The woman muttered something, it sounded like she was on the verge of losing consciousness.
‘Hello?’ Annika said, opening her eyes. ‘What sort of state are you in?’
The woman started to cry. ‘I’m ill,’ she said. ‘I daren’tgo to hospital. I’m scared he’ll find me. Can’t you help me?’
Annika sighed silently, looking round the newsroom to see if there was anyone she could pass the call on to. No one.
‘Have you called the police?’ she said.
‘He’ll kill me if he finds me,’ the woman whispered. ‘He’s tried to shoot me more than once already. I can’t run any more.’
The woman’s strained breathing echoed down the line. Annika felt a growing sense of impotence.
‘I can’t help you,’ she said. ‘I’m a journalist, I write articles. Have you tried social services? Or a women’s refuge?’
‘Frihamnen,’ the woman whispered. ‘The dead men at Frihamnen. I can tell you about them.’
Annika’s reaction was purely physical. She gave a start and sat upright with a jolt.
‘What? How?’
‘If you tell me what you know, I’ll tell you what I know,’ the woman said.
Annika moistened her lips and tried to catch sight of Sjölander, but couldn’t see him anywhere.
‘Come out here,’ the woman panted. ‘Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Don’t take a taxi. Don’t tell anyone who I am.’
Jansson was standing in front of her when she hung up.
‘The Frihamnen murders,’ she said by way of explanation.
‘Why didn’t Sjölander take it?’ Jansson asked.
‘It was a woman who called,’ Annika said.
‘Ah,’ Jansson said, answering his own phone.
‘I’m going out. I may be gone a while.’
Jansson waved her away.
Taking a copy of the Yellow Pages with her, Annika got the keys to one of the paper’s cars from Tore Brand’s son in reception. She took the lift down to the garage and eventually found the right car. She rested the phone book on the steering wheel and worked out where the hotel was. It was long way out, in a suburb she had never been to before.
There wasn’t much traffic, but the roads were slippery. She drove carefully, pretty sure she didn’t fancy dying in a crash.
It will all work out
, she thought.
It’ll be fine
.
She glanced up at the sky through the windscreen.
Someone’s watching over me
, she thought.
I can feel it
.
Thomas changed the channel to get away from the news, only to find an ill-tempered discussion programme instead. He carried on past an American soap and reached MTV. He realized he was staring at the singers’ breasts, their tanned stomachs and flowing hair.
‘Darling?’
He heard Eleonor close the front door behind her and stamp the snow from her feet.
‘In the recreation room,’ he called back, quickly changing back to the news again.
‘God, what a day,’ his wife said as she came down the stairs, pulling her silk blouse from her skirt and undoing the mother of pearl buttons on her cuffs. She fell onto the sofa beside him.
He pulled her to him and kissed her on the ear.
‘You work too hard,’ he said.
She pulled out her hairclip and shook her hair loose.
‘You know it’s the management course this evening, don’t you?’ she said. ‘I did tell you several times.’
He let go of her and reached for the remote again.
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘Was there any post?’
She got up and went back up to the hall. He didn’t reply. He heard her stockinged feet on the wooden steps, squeak, squeak, squeak. The sound of envelopes being opened, the drawer where they kept bills being opened and closed, the door of the kitchen cupboard where they put paper for recycling.
‘Have there been any calls?’ she shouted.
He cleared his
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