Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [24]
‘Can we play on the computer, Daddy?’
‘If you can sort it out yourselves.’
‘Hooray!’ Kalle said, running off into the library.
He settled down with the various sections of the morning paper he hadn’t had time to read earlier; new terrorist attack in the Middle East, stock market falls, profit warning in the pharmaceutical industry. Suddenly he noticed that the unpleasant smell was much stronger now.
He put the paper down, got up and looked around the kitchen. When he opened the cupboard under the sink the smell practically floored him.
Fish scraps.
He instantly remembered that Annika had reminded him to put the rubbish out before she left yesterday morning. He was bent double, ready to throw up, when his mobile rang out in the hallway. He quickly shut the cupboard door, pushing it hard to make sure, then went to take the call.
It was a colleague of his from the Association of Local Authorities.
‘I’ve got the brochures from the printers,’ Sophia Grenborg said. ‘I know you’ve gone home, but I’m guessing you want to see them straight away.’
It was like champagne corks going off in his brain.
‘God, thanks so much for calling,’ Thomas said. ‘I’d love to see them. Can you courier a few home to me, Hantverkargatan?’
He went back to the kitchen and opened the window to air the room and get rid of the smell of fish.
‘Aha,’ Sophia said distractedly, as though she was writing something down. ‘On Kungsholmen, isn’t it?’
He told her the door-code so the courier could get in.
‘They just rang from the department,’ she went on, ‘Cramne’s wondering if we can bring forward the evening meeting and do it tomorrow instead.’
Thomas stopped, looking down into the back yard. He’d miss his tennis.
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘My wife’s away, back tomorrow afternoon. Next Monday would be much better.’
‘He was pretty insistent that Monday didn’t work for him,’ Sophia said. ‘Do you want us to go ahead without you?’
The thought of being left out made him speechless at first, then offended.
‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘no, that’s all right. Annika should be back soon after five, so seven o’clock will be fine . . .’
‘Okay, I’ll pass that on. See you tomorrow evening . . .’
He sat down, still clutching the mobile, the humming sound of the ventilator in the back yard filtering gently through the gap in the window.
The department, again. This new project was a real stroke of luck. After the investigation into the question of regional representation, which had been a huge success, he had pretty much been able to take his pick among the new jobs at the Association. It had been Annika who had suggested he look into threats to politicians. There had been other, more prestigious areas that he could have taken over, but she had seen the bigger picture.
‘You want to move on,’ she had said in her usual unsentimental way. ‘Why piss about with some pretentious project at the Association if you’ve got a chance to make a load of good contacts in the wider world?’
So he had opted for social openness and access to politicians, and the threat inherent in this.
There was a cold draught around his feet. He got up and closed the window.
The reason behind the project was a survey that had shown one in four local authority heads and one in five committee chairs had suffered either violence or the threat of violence in the course of their political activity. The threats were mostly made by individuals, but threats from racist or xenophobic groups were also relatively common. The results of the survey led to the formation of a high-powered group to investigate threats and violence aimed at politicians.
He sat down heavily on his chair, thought about picking up the paper again but decided against it.
The project had no great status within the Association, and several eyebrows had been raised when he’d chosen that one. The task of the group was to promote an open and democratic society and to come up with suggestions for how elected representatives should behave in threatening