Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [60]
She slumped, putting her hands in front of her face. Annika didn’t hesitate this time but put an arm across the woman’s shoulders.
‘Did you say this to the police?’
She collected herself at once, stretched for a napkin and wiped her nose, then nodded. Annika let her arm drop.
‘I don’t know if they were interested,’ she said, ‘but they wrote it down anyway. On Saturday I was so upset I didn’t think to say anything, but I called them yesterday and then they came and collected the armchair and looked for fingerprints on the doors and furniture.’
‘And the gun?’
‘They took that on Saturday, said it was standard procedure.’
‘Kurt was in the civil defence?’
Gunnel Sandström nodded. ‘All these years,’ she said. ‘He did the officers’ course at the Home Guard Combat School in Vällinge.’
‘Where did he keep the rifle?’
‘In the gun cabinet. Kurt was always meticulous about keeping it locked. Even I don’t know where he kept the key.’
‘So he must have taken it out himself?’
Another nod.
‘Have you ever been threatened?’
She shook her head this time, slumping a little further.
‘No strange phone calls before the one on Friday, no odd letters?’
The woman stiffened, tilting her head slightly.
‘There was a strange letter in today’s post,’ she said. ‘Complete nonsense, I threw it in the bin.’
‘A letter? Who from?’
‘Don’t know, it didn’t say.’
‘Have you emptied the bin?’
Gunnel Sandström thought for a moment.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, getting up and going over to the cupboard under the sink. She pulled out the bin and rummaged through the crusts and potato-peelings.
She looked up at Annika. ‘It’s not here. I must have emptied it after all.’
‘You wouldn’t have thrown it somewhere else?’ Annika asked.
The woman put the bin back in the cupboard.
‘Why do you think it’s important?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know if it is important,’ Annika said. ‘What did it say?’
‘Something about the peasants’ movement, I don’t really know. I thought it was something about the Federation of Swedish Farmers.’
‘A mail-shot, a leaflet?’
‘No, nothing like that. Handwritten.’
‘Think for a moment. Is there anywhere else you might have put it?’
‘In the fireplace, I suppose,’ she said, pointing.
In two strides Annika was at the hearth. There were several crumpled balls of paper in there, at least two of them coloured flyers from local shops. She took a piece of wood out of the basket and prodded them.
The woman came over to her, holding out her hand for them.
‘Yes, it might be here, I do throw paper on here sometimes. It’s good for getting the fire started.’
‘Hang on,’ Annika said. ‘Have you got any gloves?’
Gunnel Sandström stopped and looked up at her in surprise, then disappeared into the hall. Annika leaned forward to look at the balls of paper. Three were glossy adverts, one green with black text; the fifth was a sheet of lined A4.
‘Get that one,’ Annika said when the woman came back wearing a pair of leather gloves, pointing at the lined paper.
Gunnel Sandström leaned over, and with a little groan managed to get hold of it. She straightened up and smoothed it out.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘This is it.’
Annika moved to stand beside her as she slowly read out the anonymous text.
‘The present upsurge of the peasant movement is a colossal event,’ Gunnel read in a tone of blank suspicion. ‘In China’s central, southern and northern provinces, several hundred million peasants will rise like a mighty storm, like a hurricane, a force so swift and violent that no power, however great, will be able to hold it back.’
She lowered the letter.