Last Will (38 page)

“Eight o’clock or so, then? Vinterviksvägen, Djursholm?”

The lock whirred and Thomas pushed the door open.

“Vinterviksvägen,” he said, and fled through the foyer.

Annika walked into the newsroom and once again it felt oddly surreal. Everything was familiar yet at the same time different, as if someone had gone through her bag and put everything back in the wrong place. Her eyes lingered on the glass box with the bright-blue curtains: her old office, now the radio studio.

I wonder where all my old files and papers and pens ended up, she thought.

Berit was sitting at her computer with her reading glasses on, writing.

“Anything exciting?” Annika asked, settling onto Patrik’s chair.

“I’m going through all the legislative proposals that restrict the integrity of the individual,” Berit said, staring at the screen. “Exciting probably isn’t the right word …”

She looked up over her glasses and smiled.

“But it’s really good to see you here again.”

“Do you know where all my files went when they emptied my office?” Annika asked, looking around.

“I saved anything I thought you’d want and put it in that filing cabinet over there.”

Berit pointed to a gray cabinet next to the watercooler.

Annika got up and walked over to it, and pulled the top drawer open.

Inside lay all her bundles of papers, for the first time ever in some sort of order. District court judgments, appeal court judgments, government propositions, reports, summons applications, old newspaper articles, and pages of notes. Berit had filed everything by case and date.

“This is amazing!” Annika said, looking over at her colleague. “Thank you!”

“It was actually quite fun going through it,” Berit said, taking off her glasses. “It was a bit of a walk down memory lane. They were all things I didn’t write about, so it was quite useful to get a reminder of them.”

Annika looked through a few files as Berit carried on writing. She found the judgement in the Josefin Liljeberg case and the verdict against her boyfriend Joachim, five and a half years in prison, not for her murder but for dishonesty to creditors, false accounting and tax fraud, tax evasion and obstructing tax control. I wonder what he’s doing now, she thought.

There was a telegram from the Associated Press dated April 7 seven years ago. It was about Ratko, the man who killed Aida and who ran the cigarette-smuggling industry in Scandinavia after the war in Bosnia. The heading was
Man wanted for war crimes sets up private army
, sent out by AP’s South African office.

The Serbian war criminal Ratko, suspected of involvement in the massacres in Vukovar and Bijeljina at the start of the Bosnian war, had set up his own private army in southern Africa.

At least I know what happened to him, Annika thought.

Ratko had been shot and killed in the lobby of a Moscow hotel three years ago. Evidently he hadn’t been able to repay his debts to the Russian mafia.

She put the telegram back and pulled out a cutting from the
Evening Post
, an interview with Anders Schyman when he was appointed as editor in chief in place of that old stiff, Torstensson. It was written by Sjölander.
The fact that the economic unit of Stockholm Police was looking into the suspected insider dealing of the former editor was dealt with in a fact box alongside the interview.

Behind the cutting was a report dated June 27 the previous year. Annika had found evidence that proved that Torstensson had exploited his inside knowledge when he had sold his shares in the company Global Future.

I made Schyman captain of this ship, she thought. Maybe I ought to remind him of that sometime.

One year later Torstensson had been found guilty of insider dealing and was sentenced to one hundred days’ community service. Annika scanned the report of the verdict. The fact that he had been pilloried in the press and had lost his job was regarded as an extenuating circumstance.

“Imagine,” she said out loud, “the fact that we write about crooks in the media is seen as so awful that they don’t have to go to prison.”

“The state wants to have a monopoly on imposing punishment,” Berit said. “And now they want the right to raid our homes without any evidence, and to bug our phones just because they feel like it.”

Annika put the files away in the cabinet and went back to Patrik’s chair.

“If I’ve got this right, all our neighboring countries already have this sort of law,” Annika said. “Norway, Denmark, Finland …”

“Yes,” Berit said, “but they don’t have the same baggage as us. They haven’t had what amounts to single-party government by the Social Democrats for the best part of a century, listening and registering and pursuing people for no other reason than the fact that they parked in the wrong place at the wrong time, like outside a building where a ‘suspect’ meeting was taking place.”

“Undeniably an aggravating circumstance,” Annika said.

“Now the Social Democrats are claiming that they’re all being nice and kind and that these tools would
never, ever
be used for anything other than the very best of reasons. They’re saying that they won’t carry on doing what they did when it was illegal, as long as they can make it legal. Do they think we were born yesterday?”

“Annika!” Spike called from the news desk. “What the hell are you doing over there? You’re not in crime now. Come over here!”

Annika pulled a face and stood up.

“Lunch?”

“Definitely,” Berit said.

Annika walked over to Spike and put her bag demonstratively on top of his work. He pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to her without looking at her.

“Robbery in a shop out in Fittja,” he said. “Can you take a look?”

She picked up her bag again and hoisted it onto her shoulder.

“Nice to see you too,” she said. “I don’t start until tomorrow. I’m here to pick up a new battery for my computer. Apparently you’re supposed to have it.”

Spike put the sheet of paper back on the pile again, pulled out his bottom desk drawer, and passed Annika the new battery for her laptop.

“How are we going to do this from now on?” Annika said. “I won’t be coming in every day, after all. Will you call me, or shall I call you?”

At that moment Spike’s phone rang and he grabbed at it.

This could turn out to be rather trying, she thought, as she headed toward the cafeteria.

Feeling relaxed after lunch, Annika drove slowly toward Fridhemsplan, heading for the indoor market at Östermalmshallen.

Fresh mussels, she thought, prawns from Smögen, sole, Norwegian salmon, tuna, some really creamy aioli, lots of saffron, and some medium-dry white wine. Strips of lemon peel and some thyme, onions, and tomatoes. Lobster stock, of course, masses of dill, and freshly baked garlic bread with flakes of sea salt and plenty of basil.

Thomas had already bought the wine. He didn’t trust her with that, which was a fairly justifiable attitude.

She crossed Barnhusbron and headed along Tegnérgatan. The traffic lights changed to red and she pulled to a stop.

Did she have any bay leaves at home? Any whole white peppercorns?

She had thrown away a lot of old herbs and spices when they moved.

Probably best to buy some more.

A car pulled up alongside her and she glanced at it.

A red Volvo station wagon, with a woman behind the wheel.

She looked up at the traffic light again, still red.

She looked back at the car alongside her once more … wasn’t that Ebba? Ebba Romanova, had she come back early? Wasn’t she supposed to be away until tomorrow?

Annika waved, but the woman didn’t see her.

Still red.

Annika fished her cell phone out of her bag on the seat beside her so that she could call her. Damn, it was still switched off after her visit to the lab.

A large truck blew its horn behind her and she dropped the phone and drove off across the junction. The red Volvo turned left and disappeared from view.

She hit another red light up on Västmannagatan and took the chance to tap in her PIN to unlock the phone, and seconds later it bleeped to tell her a text had arrived. Then another, and another, and so on.

What the … ?

The text at the top of the list was from her message service.

You have … eight … new messages. To listen to your messages, press one.

She pulled up at a pedestrian crossing outside the Enskilda secondary school.

“Hello Annika, this is Lotta. Kalle’s had a fall and is bleeding quite badly—can you call as soon as you get this?”

Peep
.

“Annika, Kalle seems to be getting worse—we think he may have a concussion, and the cut looks like it needs stitches. Can you call us, please?”

Peep
.

“Kalle’s not well at all. Can you call us? We’re about to call an ambulance …”

Her hands started to shake, she put the car in gear and drove off.

“Mommy, where are you, I … I fell off the jungle gym and it really hurts …”

Peep
.

“Annika, where the hell are you? I’ve left the briefing and I’m in A&E at Danderyd Hospital with Kalle—call me!”

She started to cry as she drove, listening all the way through the messages.

Peep
.

“You’d better be doing something really fucking important. Call me.”

Peep
.

“I’ve been to see the doctor now, Mommy, and I’ve got a big white bandage on my head, it’s really big. When are you coming to see me, Mommy?”

Peep
.

“We’re home now. I’m getting us some lunch. I have to get back to work, so it would nice if you could call as soon as you hear this.”

This last was from Thomas, his voice ice-cold.

I have to be able to go about as I like, she thought, wiping her tears. I have to be able to switch my phone off for four hours without the world coming to an end. This isn’t fair.

She drove far too fast all the way home, skidding to halt in the driveway, throwing the door open and running into the house.

“Kalle!” she called, rushing upstairs to the boy’s room. “Kalle, where are you? How are you feeling?”

He was sitting on the floor of the office, painting as Thomas sat at the computer.

“Hello Mommy, look at my huge bandage!”

The boy got up and went over to her, and she knelt down and took him in her arms. She rocked him gently as she struggled to hold back her tears.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I was out and I didn’t have my phone on, so I didn’t know you’d hurt yourself. What happened? Did you fall?”

She loosened her grip on him and stroked his hair, looking intently at his forehead. The boy’s lip started to tremble and his eyes filled with tears.

“Is it hurting? Are you feeling sick?”

The boy shook his head.

“What’s the matter?” she said. “Tell Mommy, what happened?”

“They were being mean,” he said. “The other boys are mean to me. They pushed me and made me fall off.”

Annika looked at Thomas, who was getting up from his chair.

“Is that true?” she said. “Did those little jerks at the nursery school do this?”

“Think about your choice of words,” Thomas said. “But yes, it looks like it. I’ve spoken to the staff, and they’re going to talk to the children about it this afternoon.”

She let go of her son and stood up.

“Right,” she said, “that does it. I’m going to …”

Thomas took a long stride toward her and grabbed her upper arms.

“Annika,” he said sharply. “Calm down. The staff are going to talk to the parents of the boys involved. We don’t want to make things any worse.”

Her tears brimmed over.

“I can’t bear it,” she whispered. “I can’t stand being so impotent.”

Thomas let go of her and sighed.

“The doctors did a tomography and couldn’t find any swelling or bleeding in the brain,” he said without looking at her. “But you’ll have to keep an eye on him this afternoon—the symptoms can take a few hours to develop. He’s allowed to sleep, but you’ll have to wake him up at regular intervals to make sure he isn’t unconscious.”

“Do I have to give him any medicine?”

Thomas looked at his watch.

“They gave him some painkillers at the hospital, but he can have another acetaminophen in an hour’s time. I’m going back to work.”

He walked out of the room and down the stairs without looking back.

Kalle slept for a while once Thomas had left, and when he woke up he was lucid and bright-eyed. He didn’t want to rush about, and clung close to Annika, helping her lay the table nicely out on the terrace. They used the dark-blue tablecloth, the best glasses, and the plain white china. He said it didn’t hurt, and he wasn’t feeling sick.

Afterwards Annika read him a story about Alfie Atkins, letting
the child’s heavy warmth fill her own body as she rocked him in her arms.

Thank you, Someone, for the fact that it wasn’t worse, thank you for letting him be here with me, thank you for the fact that he’s here at all.

They drove out to Arninge and bought some ready-made fish soup that just needed warming up, some baguettes, and a large bunch of lilies.

Then they went to pick up Ellen, ten minutes before the nursery school shut. All the other children had already left. Just like in the city, everyone out here seemed to play
whoever picks up first is the winner,
and Annika always seemed to lose.

“Who were the boys who pushed Kalle?” Annika asked quietly as Ellen clambered into the backseat.

Lotta, who had been working a double shift, sighed deeply.

“Benjamin and Alexander,” she said. “You know who they are, don’t you? They didn’t mean any harm, not really.”

“Of course not,” Annika said calmly. “Have you spoken to them?”

“Yes, and to their parents …”

She let the sentence fade away.

“And?” Annika said. “How did they react?”

Lotta looked at the ground.

“They wanted to see it as an accident,” Lotta said, kicking a plastic ball toward the storage cupboard. “They thought I was making too much of it. Boys will be boys, and all that rubbish. I told them exactly what happened, that their boys pushed Kalle off the jungle gym. There’s no doubt in my mind that they did it on purpose.”