Part 23 (1/2)

Once he had pulled on his coat and found his briefcase she slid up behind him, a light shadow of perfume and apple-scent. She wound her arms round his waist, laid her cheek against his back.

'Thanks for this evening,' she whispered.

He blinked a few times, turned round and kissed her gently.

'Thank you you,' he whispered.

She locked the door behind him, and he could feel her watching through the spyhole in the door until the lift carried him down with it.

His taxi glided up soundlessly through the thickening snow, and he jumped in when he suddenly noticed it. From the back seat he told the taxi-driver his address, Hantverkargatan 32.

He must have dozed off, because the next moment they were there. He fumbled for his business account card and paid, gathered his things with some difficulty, pushed the door shut and stopped to look up at the house.

The lights in the flat were still on. He glimpsed a shadow moving inside.

Annika was still up, even though she was always so tired in the evening, after all those years on the nights.h.i.+ft.

Why wasn't she asleep? What was she doing, wandering from room to room?

There were only two reasons. Either she was still working or else she suspected something, and once these thoughts had formulated themselves in his head the result was inevitable.

Guilt and regret hit him in the guts like the kick of a horse, the utterly fundamental paralysis that comes from unwelcome awareness. He couldn't breathe; his diaphragm contracted and made him collapse.

Oh, good G.o.d, what had he done?

What if she found out? What if she understood? What if she already knew? Had someone seen something? Had someone called? Maybe someone had tipped off the paper?

He was breathing raggedly and with some difficulty, forcing himself to be sensible.

Tipped off the paper? Why the h.e.l.l would anyone tip off the paper?

He was on the verge of losing his grip.

Slowly he straightened up, and looked up at the windows again. The sitting-room light was out now. She was on her way to bed.

Maybe she knows I'm coming, he thought. Maybe she's trying to fool me into thinking she doesn't know, even though she knows everything. Maybe she'll pretend to be asleep when I go in and then kill me in my sleep Maybe she's trying to fool me into thinking she doesn't know, even though she knows everything. Maybe she'll pretend to be asleep when I go in and then kill me in my sleep.

And he saw her in front of him with fire for hair, clutching an iron bar with both hands, poised to strike.

He felt like crying as he unlocked the front door, unable to think how he could bear to look at her. He walked up the two flights of stairs with silent steps and stopped outside the door, their door, the big double doors with the stained gla.s.s that Annika thought was so beautiful. And he stood there with the keys in his hand, shaking, a vibration in his stomach like a jamming jazz band, looking at the doors with strange eyes until his breathing was calmer, something like normal, and he could move again.

The hall was dark. He crept in and closed the heavy door quietly behind him.

'Thomas?'

Annika popped her head out of the bathroom, and took the toothbrush out of her mouth.

'How did it go?'

He collapsed on the hall bench, feeling utterly empty.

'It was a devil of a meeting,' he said. 'Everyone's in shock.'

She vanished into the bathroom again; he heard water running, the sound of spitting. The sounds rolled into the hall and were amplified, growing until he had to put his hands over his ears.

She came out of the bathroom, in a pair of black tanga briefs, her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s swinging.

'It may have been a devil of a meeting,' she said, settling down next to him and putting her hand on the back of his neck, 'but I don't think this death has anything to do with the devil's political views. I'm pretty sure you can all relax.'

He looked up at her, feeling her breast against his arm, realized he had tears in his eyes.

'How can you know that?'

'No one really knows anything at all yet,' she said, 'but there's something bigger behind this than just the local council in osthammar.'

She kissed him on the cheek, stroked the arm of his coat and stood up.

'I'm buzzing like an idiot tonight,' she said. 'I've drunk two hundred litres of coffee this evening.'

He let out a deep sigh. 'Me too,' he said.

'You smell of smoke and drink as well,' she said over her shoulder as she went into the bedroom.

'I hope so,' he said, 'because the taxpayer was paying.'

She gave a flat little laugh.

'Are you coming?' she called.

I can do this, he thought. I'm going to be able to do this I'm going to be able to do this.

Tuesday 17 November

27.

The news boards shrieked out their bright yellow messages about serial killers and police hunts all the way along Fleminggatan, standing out like sunflowers against an iron-grey lawn in the morning light. Annika saw them flash past from the window of the bus and felt the same strange effect as usual a fascination at having put something into the world that goes on and lives its own life. Her articles could reach hundreds of thousands of people whom she would never meet, her words could generate emotions and reactions that she would never know about.

The journey to work pa.s.sed quickly, accompanied by the screaming sunflowers.

In the newspaper's lobby, a whole wall was papered each morning with that day's newsbills, forming an entire enthusiastic choir.

Up in the newsroom she noted a change in temperature as she sailed out. Her lowered head was met with rea.s.suringly warm glances where she usually encountered blocks of ice. She was back on track, dominating that day's paper, someone to be reckoned with. All the old stuff was forgotten because things were happening again, nineteen hours to deadline and she had the picture byline on page six.

She turned her back on her colleagues' ingratiating glances and pushed the gla.s.s door of her office shut behind her with a bang.

Goran Nilsson, she thought, throwing off her outdoor clothes, frowning with tiredness. Born 1948 in Sattajarvi, emigrated, professional killer since 1969. No point looking him up on national databases. He would have been erased from the National Population Address Register decades ago.