Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [105]
She crossed the street and stood in the doorway opposite, pulled out her mobile and dialled directory inquiries, then asked for Sophia Grenborg’s number, Grev Turegatan, and was put through. If Sophia had a caller-display phone then her number wouldn’t show, only the number for directory inquiries.
The phone rang. Annika stared at the building. Somewhere in there it was ringing and ringing, a telephone beside a bed where her husband had been last night.
After the fifth ring an answerphone clicked in. Annika held her breath, listening to the woman’s happy, breezy voice. ‘Hello, you’ve reached Sophia, I can’t take your call right now, but—’
Annika hung up, the breezy voice ringing in her ears, the stone in her chest starting to glow and spit.
She went back to the door, pressed one name after the other until an old lady finally answered.
‘Electricity,’ Annika said. ‘We need to read the meter in the basement, can you let us in?’
The lock buzzed and she pushed the door open on well-oiled hinges.
The stairwell was all gold and black marble, wooden panels of heavily polished oak reflecting the light from bronze lamps. A thick dark-blue carpet swallowed all sound.
Annika ran a finger along the beautiful grain of the dado rail as she walked towards the list of occupants beside the lift.
Sophia Grenborg’s name was listed in splendid isolation for the sixth floor.
Slowly she started to climb the stairs all the way up to the attic floor, soundlessly, slightly giddy.
Sophia’s front door was more modern than the others in the building – white and minimalistic.
Annika stared at the brushed bronze nameplate, her feet wide apart, anchored to the marble. Her chest rose and sank, the stone tore and pulled. Then she took out her mobile again and dialled directory inquiries again, this time asking for the number of the Federation of County Councils.
‘Sophia Grenborg, please,’ she said.
The voice that answered sounded just as breezy as it had on the answer machine.
‘My name’s Sara, and I’m calling from the journal County Council World,’ Annika said, staring at the nameplate. ‘I’m calling a few people before Christmas to see if I could just ask one quick question.’
Sophia Grenborg laughed, a light, tinkling sound. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I suppose so . . .’
‘What would you like for Christmas?’ Annika said, running the palm of her hand over Sophia’s front door.
The woman at the other end laughed again. ‘A kiss from my beloved,’ she said, ‘although some bath salts would be good, too.’
Everything went black before Annika’s eyes, a dark sheet drifting past through her brain.
‘Beloved?’ she said in a flat voice. ‘Would that be your husband?’
More laughter. ‘He’s a bit of a secret at the moment. County Council World, you said? That’s a decent magazine, you cover the things that matter in our field really well. Which issue will this be in?’
Annika closed her eyes and ran a hand over her forehead, the stairwell was starting to tilt, a sucking wave shifting from wall to wall.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘The questionnaire! Will it be out before Christmas?’
She was forced to crouch down, leaning her back against the door.
‘We don’t quite know how much space we’ve got, it depends on adverts.’ Did County Council World have adverts? She had no idea.
The line fell silent. Annika could hear Sophia Grenborg breathing, listened to the other woman’s rhythmic intake of air.
‘Well,’ Sophia said, ‘if there wasn’t anything else . . .’
‘My surname’s Grenborg too,’ Annika said. ‘Do you think we could be related?’
The laughter was less hearty this time. ‘Hmm, what did you say your name was?’
‘Sara,’ Annika said. ‘Sara Grenborg.’
‘Which branch of the family?’
Was she imagining things, or had Sophia’s accent got a bit posher?
‘Södermanland,’ Annika said.
‘We’re from Österbotten, from the Väse manor-house. Are you descended from Carl-Johan?’
‘No,’ Annika said. ‘From Sofia Katarina.’
All of a sudden she could no longer be bothered to listen to Sophia La-di-da bloody Grenborg, and