Read Online Without a Trace by Liza Marklund - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Liza Marklund
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can’t even see that they’re related.
They’re part of me. I created, carried and gave birth to them, but ever since they began to breathe they’ve been entirely themselves. I’m replaceable, just like their father. The thought makes me feel breathless. Could I live without them?
*
The man shifted position among the low fir-trees at the edge of the forest. There were still forensics officers working inside the house. At least three, possibly four, he could see their shadows move behind the net curtains. He actually felt great respect for the methodical way they went about their work, the pride they took in it. By extension, it was a reflection of the value of his own contribution, and their regard for his professionalism.
He was patient. There was no hurry. Sooner or later she would appear. As he waited he focused on his breathing. He liked to live each moment consciously, and breathing anchored him in the here and now.
But in his mind he wasn’t there at all.
He was in a restaurant in Stockholm. He had invited a work colleague to dinner and was discussing the purchase of some forest in Hälsingland. They had come to the conclusion that the amount of timber available was considerably higher than the survey had indicated – it had probably been carried out during the winter, the depth of the snow not taken into account.
He moved deeper among the trees.
He was aware that he was leaving footprints in the soft snow, but the cheap trainers he was wearing could never be traced back to him, or to his mirror-image. He would get rid of them as soon as he left Solsidan.
He looked upwards, peering through the branches of the firs. The rain had stopped, but the wind was tugging at the branches, and dark clouds were scudding across the sky. He regretted not being able to hear the rustling of the treetops. Tomorrow would be another cold, wet day. That would make things more difficult, considering what he was probably going to have to do. Not insurmountable, just slightly more complicated.
But he wasn’t the sort of person to dwell on negatives. He saw possibilities where other people focused on problems. Maybe she was on her way. Maybe she was just waiting for the forensics team to pack up and leave. He was patient. There was no hurry. He saw one of the forensics officers inside the house straighten his back and yawn.
Maybe it was almost time.
Sooner or later she would come.
TUESDAY, 14 MAY
The meeting room was at the end of the corridor on the eighth floor. Nina stepped through the door at nine o’clock sharp, not sure whether she should have been a little early or a few minutes late. The room was large and light, with windows on both sides, and was crowded with furniture. Straight ahead, a blank wall acted as a huge noticeboard. It was covered with information about ongoing cases she knew nothing about, one of them apparently called PLAYA.
The others had already arrived, three of them – evidently the recently convened investigative team. Commissioner Q was one of them, today dressed in a pink Hawaiian shirt. A large man, with a bald head and serious sideburns, introduced himself to her as Johansson, the group’s secretary. He looked mournful. Nina shook his hand. The Barbie doll from yesterday, who had supplied her with a passcard and a computer and had shown her to her desk, was also there. Her name was Lamia Regnard, and she worked as an investigator and researcher. Her face was lit up like a sunrise.
‘Have you had coffee?’ Q asked, passing Nina a mug. She took it and sat down. The others were at neighbouring desks, surrounded by pads and sheets of paper, which they leafed through and read as they drank from similar mugs. Lamia was staring intently at a laptop.
‘Why do you think Turkey are going to win?’ she asked. ‘They haven’t won since Sertab represented them in 2003.’
‘It’s the final on Saturday,’ Johansson explained, glancing at Nina.
The Eurovision Song
They’re part of me. I created, carried and gave birth to them, but ever since they began to breathe they’ve been entirely themselves. I’m replaceable, just like their father. The thought makes me feel breathless. Could I live without them?
*
The man shifted position among the low fir-trees at the edge of the forest. There were still forensics officers working inside the house. At least three, possibly four, he could see their shadows move behind the net curtains. He actually felt great respect for the methodical way they went about their work, the pride they took in it. By extension, it was a reflection of the value of his own contribution, and their regard for his professionalism.
He was patient. There was no hurry. Sooner or later she would appear. As he waited he focused on his breathing. He liked to live each moment consciously, and breathing anchored him in the here and now.
But in his mind he wasn’t there at all.
He was in a restaurant in Stockholm. He had invited a work colleague to dinner and was discussing the purchase of some forest in Hälsingland. They had come to the conclusion that the amount of timber available was considerably higher than the survey had indicated – it had probably been carried out during the winter, the depth of the snow not taken into account.
He moved deeper among the trees.
He was aware that he was leaving footprints in the soft snow, but the cheap trainers he was wearing could never be traced back to him, or to his mirror-image. He would get rid of them as soon as he left Solsidan.
He looked upwards, peering through the branches of the firs. The rain had stopped, but the wind was tugging at the branches, and dark clouds were scudding across the sky. He regretted not being able to hear the rustling of the treetops. Tomorrow would be another cold, wet day. That would make things more difficult, considering what he was probably going to have to do. Not insurmountable, just slightly more complicated.
But he wasn’t the sort of person to dwell on negatives. He saw possibilities where other people focused on problems. Maybe she was on her way. Maybe she was just waiting for the forensics team to pack up and leave. He was patient. There was no hurry. He saw one of the forensics officers inside the house straighten his back and yawn.
Maybe it was almost time.
Sooner or later she would come.
TUESDAY, 14 MAY
The meeting room was at the end of the corridor on the eighth floor. Nina stepped through the door at nine o’clock sharp, not sure whether she should have been a little early or a few minutes late. The room was large and light, with windows on both sides, and was crowded with furniture. Straight ahead, a blank wall acted as a huge noticeboard. It was covered with information about ongoing cases she knew nothing about, one of them apparently called PLAYA.
The others had already arrived, three of them – evidently the recently convened investigative team. Commissioner Q was one of them, today dressed in a pink Hawaiian shirt. A large man, with a bald head and serious sideburns, introduced himself to her as Johansson, the group’s secretary. He looked mournful. Nina shook his hand. The Barbie doll from yesterday, who had supplied her with a passcard and a computer and had shown her to her desk, was also there. Her name was Lamia Regnard, and she worked as an investigator and researcher. Her face was lit up like a sunrise.
‘Have you had coffee?’ Q asked, passing Nina a mug. She took it and sat down. The others were at neighbouring desks, surrounded by pads and sheets of paper, which they leafed through and read as they drank from similar mugs. Lamia was staring intently at a laptop.
‘Why do you think Turkey are going to win?’ she asked. ‘They haven’t won since Sertab represented them in 2003.’
‘It’s the final on Saturday,’ Johansson explained, glancing at Nina.
The Eurovision Song
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