Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [113]
‘Come here and we’ll look for a new house online. It’s about time you moved into town like everyone with any sense.’
Anne fell silent, breathing down the line, first quickly, then slower. ‘I need to think things over first.’
‘You know where I am.’
40
Kalle came up to Annika at the front door, wearing his new green boots with the reflective patches. His cheeks were glowing from the heat inside his overalls, his eyes large and shiny.
‘Why is Daddy cross with us?’
Annika kneeled down next to him and stroked him on the cheek. ‘Daddy’s tired,’ she said. ‘He’s been working hard. It’ll be better soon.’ She smiled into his eyes, conveying calm and security that she didn’t feel.
‘I want to stay at home with you,’ Ellen said.
Annika turned to her daughter, who was sweating from having to wait.
‘Anne’s coming to see me, she’s a bit sad and I’m going to help her with something.’
‘Grown-ups can be sad too,’ Kalle said.
Annika had to look away to hold herself together, the sadness in her chest so painful she thought she might burst. My gorgeous children, my darlings.
‘See you soon,’ she said, getting up and adjusting the belt of her dressing gown.
Thomas came flying out into the hall with his hair in a mess and a little black cloud hanging over his head.
‘What are you looking for?’ Annika said, keeping her voice steady.
‘My mobile. Have you seen it?’
‘Do you have to take it with you?’
He looked at her as if she was an idiot.
‘Have you tried calling it?’ Annika said.
His expression changed from derision to surprise. She swallowed and floated over to the phone and dialled his mobile number. His coat pocket rang.
‘Drive carefully,’ she said as he nudged the children through the door ahead of him.
A dark, wounded look back over his shoulder.
The door closed and she stood there with ice-cold feet in the draught that crept in from the stairwell. She had no floor below her, she was in free fall, the sky rushed around her, the angelic choir thundering. She knew the seeds she had sown were sprouting and growing in the minds of the Federation’s managers.
Sophia Grenborg, she thought. Sophia Grenborg, you miserable bitch; and the angels started shrieking, with an intensity she had never suffered before; they screamed their indignation on an entirely indecent scale.
She clapped her hands over her ears, clenched her jaw and fled, away from the door, away from the draught, back into bed. She pulled the covers over her head, took deep breaths and concentrated on not hyperventilating and cramping.
Ragnwald, she thought. The ruler with divine power. The plane at F21. An explosion. A young man burning. Love for a young athlete, active in the working dogs’ club. Theology studies in Uppsala, awakening courtesy of Chairman Mao. Death as a profession. Benny Ekland, questionable star reporter. Linus Gustafsson, watchful boy with hair-gel. Kurt Sandström, farmer politician with a firm grip on life.
She threw off the duvet, reached for the phone and dialled Q’s direct line.
If he answers, it’s a sign, she thought, and forced the thought away at once, because what would happen if he didn’t answer, what demons would she have let loose then?
But he did answer, and he sounded tired. She sat up in bed and the angels withdrew immediately.
‘Has something happened?’ she asked nervously.
‘Are you thinking of anything in particular?’
She shut her eyes, relieved to hear his voice.
‘I don’t mean whether or not you’ve been fucked.’
‘Okay,’ Q said. ‘And what would you know about things like that?’
She tried to smile towards the phone.
‘Have you found our friend Ragnwald?’
He pretended to yawn.
‘Seriously,’ she said, yanking the phone lead. ‘You must have made some sort of progress. Kurt Sandström, what’s happened with him?’
‘He died. Definitely died.’
She leaned back hard against the pillows, feeling the pain settle down, and almost relaxed.
‘Göran Nilsson from Sattajärvi,’ she said. ‘How can someone vanish for thirty years without you or Interpol or the CIA or Mossad or anyone else