Lifetime

by Liza Marklund

  Annika stared at the person who had stepped out of the doorway of number 30 Västerlånggatan. Tall, blonde, not exactly thin, with a shocked and reproachful expression on her face. ‘Anne!’ she gasped. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Anne Snapphane smiled nervously. ‘I’d like to talk to you. It’s important.’

  Annika closed her eyes and felt anger and impotence flooding through her, everything she had kept dammed up from previous snubs and insults. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I don’t give a damn about what’s important to you. Frankly, I couldn’t care less.’

  ‘I understand that, Annika,’ Anne said, ‘and that’s what I’d like to talk to you about.’

  ‘Go away,’ Annika said, feeling in her jacket pocket for her keys.

  ‘If you just give me a chance to explain—’

  Something snapped inside Annika’s head and she spun round and pushed Anne away with her uninjured hand. ‘Go to Hell,’ she shouted. ‘I hope you die, you egocentric little parasite.’

  Somehow she managed to get the door open and pulled it shut behind her, then ran up the stairs without turning the lights on. She stopped outside her front door and listened for any sounds from below, but everything was silence and dusty shadows.

  She unlocked the flat and went into the living room without turning on the lights, as had become her habit. She stood still on the wooden floor and waited as the cares of the day gradually subsided and died. There was something comforting about the darkness and silence. The darkness didn’t scare her, it never had. On the contrary, it hid her and gave her the space to explore new paths.

  The telephone rang, shredding the silence.

  She went to her mattress, which she had left unmade that morning, and hesitated over whether or not to answer, then picked up the receiver.

  It was Thomas. ‘Sorry to call so late, but things are a bit of a mess.’

  Sober this time, calling from home.

  She sat down by the window and looked up at the dark sky between the buildings. ‘In what way?’

  ‘Ellen’s not well, so I’ll have to work at home tomorrow, which isn’t really a problem but we’re supposed to be going out tomorrow evening. It’s Sophia’s mother’s birthday and we’ve got tickets to the opera. I can’t leave the children alone and the babysitter has just called to say that she isn’t well either, and you did say … Well, I was wondering if you could maybe look after the children tomorrow night …’ He said all this without taking a breath.

  He means well. He sounds desperate.

  ‘How is Ellen?’

  ‘She’s been sick and she’s got a temperature, but she’s always like that when she gets ill, isn’t she?’

  ‘Have you spoken to a doctor?’

  ‘It’s nothing serious, but I don’t want to move her. I was wondering if you could maybe come here.’

  Come … where?

  ‘Here, to Grev Turegatan. That way she won’t have to leave her room.’

  Her room? Her room is here. With a pink duvet!

  ‘Perhaps they could come here,’ Annika said.

  ‘Well, this is my week, and she’s got a temperature …’

  Sophia Fucking Bitch Grenborg is starting to get tired of the kids. She wants me to take more responsibility to let Thomas off the hook.

  ‘Okay,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll come. What time?’

  He told her the address and she hung up, with a feeling of failure in her chest.

  I want you to be drunk with longing when you call. Drunk! From the pub!

  She suddenly felt that she was going to be sick. She was just about to get up and go into the bathroom and stick her fingers down her throat when the phone rang again.

  ‘Shut up, for God’s sake!’ Annika threw it across the floor. The receiver flew off and bounced as far as the wire would reach. She covered her eyes, fighting to stop herself panicking.

  ‘Hello? Hello?’

  A voice from the phone: it sounded like a woman’s.

  If it’s Anne, I’m going to Artillerigatan to strangle her.

  She shuffled over to the phone, holding her hand to her chest, and picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’ she said quietly.

  ‘Hello?’ a high female voice said. ‘Is that Annika Bengtzon?’

  ‘Yes,’ Annika whispered.

  ‘This is Julia Lindholm. They told me you called, that you wanted to visit.’

  Annika stood up, trying to breathe properly. ‘Hello,’ she managed. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘I had a boy,’ Julia said. ‘What about you?’

  Annika closed her eyes. ‘A girl. Her name’s Ellen.’

  ‘Does she live with you?’

  She stared into the shadows dominating the flat. ‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘We’re … getting divorced.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Yes, well …’ She cleared her throat and tried to pull herself together. ‘I still work for the Evening Post. I know your sentence is being pronounced tomorrow, but no matter what happens, I don’t believe you did it. I’d like to talk to you about that.’

  Silence on the line.

  ‘What makes you think I’m innocent?’

  ‘Long story. I’d be happy to tell you, if you’d like to hear it.’

  ‘You can come early tomorrow morning, if you like. I’m allowed visitors from eight o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Annika said.

  Thursday, 2 December

  25

  Anne Snapphane walked down Västerlånggatan and stopped outside number thirty. She looked up at the building and saw lights on in some of the windows on the second floor. Maybe Annika was in those illuminated rooms because she lived somewhere in this building.

  She’s bound to be up: she’s always been a morning person.

  She had walked past here all autumn, every day since she’d started renting space in the office shared by freelance journalists in Tyska Brinken. She had looked up at the building and stopped at its entrance almost every day, wondering if she should go up and knock on her door. She really did miss Annika. Every time she ground to a halt with an article or couldn’t get hold of someone she wanted to interview, she had to stop herself phoning her friend. Annika could always find anybody in a flash. Anne had never been able to work out how she did it. And whenever life got messy and men let her down, she missed Annika particularly: she always had coffee and dark chocolate in the house, and usually a pair of new boots to cheer her up.

  Her career as a lecturer had stagnated during the autumn: she hadn’t had any new bookings and the agency had stopped getting in touch. Which was just as well. She needed time to herself to think things through. Her eagerness to be seen in the media and become a famous face was just superficial: she had made up her mind to try to find some inner values, the things that made her a good person. She wanted to live the very best life she could, and to do that she had to get to grips with the people who sapped her energy.

  Annika was the person she really needed to talk to. She had actually tried to arrange a conversation since the summer, emailing and phoning, but never got any answer.

  She shivered, not just because of the raw early morning.

  Their encounter the previous evening had left her feeling wretched. She had been working late and was on her way home to Artillerigatan, and as usual she had stopped at number thirty and looked up at the building, thinking about important things. She had stood there for a minute or so, two minutes maybe, when she saw Annika coming towards her, all the while looking back over her shoulder.

  It hadn’t been a good meeting: Annika had been incredibly cruel, and Anne didn’t want to have to put up with that sort of thing any more.

  She took a deep breath, pulled out her mobile phone and dialled Annika’s familiar number. The call went through, one ring, two, three, four, and then she was there. ‘Hello, it’s Anne. I’d like to talk to you.’

  ‘What for?’ She sounded very tired, but not newly woken.

&nb
sp; ‘Yesterday was all wrong … Listen, I’m standing outside your door, can I come up?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m not stalking you, I share an office with a few other people in Tyska Brinken, you know, in that building I used to live in …’

  ‘Really.’ She was curt and dismissive.

  ‘Can you spare me a few minutes?’

  ‘I’m just on my way out.’

  ‘At half past seven in the morning?’

  She didn’t reply.

  ‘I’ll wait down here. You can choose to go past me if you like.’ Anne ended the call.

  It really was dreadful weather, damp and penetratingly cold. She stamped her feet and rubbed her hands together. Darkness was still clinging heavily to the rooftops. The sound of the traffic on the Munkbro highway skirting Gamla stan stood no chance of finding its way through the cold and the stone buildings. The medieval streets were eerily silent and deserted.

  God, I couldn’t live here. I can’t imagine how Annika puts up with it.

  The lights in the stairwell came on. Thirty seconds later the door opened.

  Annika stepped on to the pavement with her mobile in her hand. She was pale, and her hair was a mess. ‘What do you want?’ she said, without looking at Anne.

  ‘I want to say I’m sorry,’ Anne said. ‘I’ve been behaving like an idiot, and I hope you can forgive me.’

  Annika looked at her now, with her enormous eyes, so open and vulnerable and trusting.

  She doesn’t know how revealing they are.

  Anne wanted to reach out a hand and touch her, but resisted. Annika wasn’t good at physical contact. ‘You’ve helped me in every way a person could,’ Anne said, noting that she felt tense and nervous. ‘You’ve helped me with work and contacts, you’ve given me money and childcare and friendship. You were always there and I took you for granted.’ She stopped and took a deep breath.

  ‘You were always there, and I muddled myself up with you. I thought I should have everything that you had. And when I didn’t get everything that you had, I thought it wasn’t fair.’

  Annika was standing completely still, not saying anything, just looking down at the ground. Anne noticed that she had a few grey hairs.

  ‘That was wrong, I see it now, but I didn’t before.’

  Annika looked along Västerlånggatan. ‘I’m on my way to a meeting,’ she said.

  ‘I miss you,’ Anne said. ‘I’m very sorry if I’ve hurt you.’

  Annika gave her a quick glance with those naked eyes. ‘I have to go now,’ she said.

  Anne nodded.

  Annika walked away, her mobile phone still in her hand, wearing a thick padded jacket, her skinny legs inside a pair of black cowboy-boots.

  Communication wasn’t Annika’s strong point.

  Oh, well, I’ll just have to be the communicator. She can’t be the best at everything, after all.

  Annika walked quickly towards Kronoberg Prison.

  Over the past six months, since the terrible night of the fire, she had blocked Anne Snapphane from her mind. She had turned her into a non-person, a stranger. She had started to forget about Anne, and the fact that she had suddenly turned up to say sorry had shaken things up.

  I made myself into her curling assistant, someone who ran ahead sweeping the course to make it easier for her to glide along.

  She stopped at a crossing and swallowed the feeling of injustice. She admitted to herself that she had only swept the course as she had wanted to, and had sent Anne in the direction she herself had thought best.

  And their friendship had capsized. Anne had taken for granted that Annika would sort everything out for her, from money, clothes and a flat to lectures and new jobs. Annika in turn had assumed that Anne was an inferior loser who was incapable of doing anything for herself.

  As if I wanted her to become dependent on me, so that I could feel important.

  The lights went green and she hurried over the road.

  Anne refused to be there for me when my life was falling apart. She sent me out on to the street with the children when Thomas left me and the house had burned down.

  Her anger was still sharp and white-hot.

  She arrived at Kronoberg Prison at a minute to eight, went into Reception, showed her ID, put her things into a locker and took the lift up with just her notepad and pen.

  No metal-detector, no X-ray machine.

  She was shut into a windowless room containing a table and four chairs. Annika stared at the walls.

  Imagine, we’re still locking people up like this for breaking rules imposed by someone else. It’s utterly barbaric.

  The door opened. The prison officer stood to one side and a petite blonde woman came in. She was wearing jeans, slippers and a grey top, and her hair was tied up in a ponytail. A few locks had escaped and were dancing round her face. She stopped inside the door and pulled at the sleeves of her top. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Hello,’ Annika said.

  ‘You look just the way I remember you.’

  ‘So do you.’

  That isn’t true. She’s shrunk. Older and smaller. Unless the uniform made her seem bigger last time.

  They shook hands and sat down at opposite sides of the table. Annika put her pen and notepad down. The weak low-energy lamp in the ceiling was casting deep shadows under Julia’s eyes. Her top hung limply on her shoulders.

  ‘So, you had a girl,’ she said. ‘Is she sleeping okay?’

  Annika nodded. ‘Always has done. My first, Kalle, used to scream every evening until he was six months old. I got so tired I thought I’d go mad.’

  Julia relaxed. ‘I know what you mean. Alexander didn’t go through the night until he was two. Do you think it’s easier with girls?’

  Annika studied the woman’s eyes behind the shadows. They were wide and so empty that a shiver went down her spine.

  This isn’t at all healthy.

  ‘I think it’s easier with a second child,’ Annika said. ‘You’ve had time to practise. And you know it’s all going to pass, the colic and sleepless nights and all the bad stuff …’

  Julia shook her head. ‘I don’t know if I’d ever dare have any more children,’ she said. ‘I felt so terrible after Alexander.’

  ‘Maybe that wasn’t just the result of the birth or him,’ Annika said, ‘but other things as well.’

  Julia’s eyes stopped at a point on the wall. She sat in silence for a long time. ‘They think I killed him,’ she eventually said.

  ‘I know that’s what they’re saying,’ Annika said, ‘but I don’t believe that.’

  The shadows under Julia’s eyes deepened as she pulled back against the wall. ‘Nina says I’m going to prison. Do you think that too?’

  Annika felt her throat go dry. ‘The experts seem to think so,’ she said, ‘and if they’re right, I believe a great injustice will have been done. I don’t believe you did it. I think there was another woman in the flat, and I think she took Alexander.’

  Julia was sitting completely still. ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I think there’s a connection between David’s murder and that terrible triple murder we stumbled upon the night I was with you in the patrol car. Do you remember Filip Andersson?’

  Julia Lindholm leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling. ‘No one believes me,’ she said. ‘Not even Nina. They just keep asking what I did, not what the other woman did.’ She turned her eyes towards Annika. ‘You know Nina, don’t you? I feel rather sorry for her. She’s so alone. She lived with her mum in a little cottage outside Valla. She had brothers and sisters but they were much older. Her mum was a real hippie – she lived in some commune on the Canary Islands when Nina was little. She was nine when she started at Valla School, and she couldn’t read or write. She used to stay with us on the farm most nights. Has she ever mentioned that?’

  She leaned forward over the table. ‘There’s one guy at the station, a really great officer called Pelle Sisu
lu. He’s been in love with Nina for years, but she refuses to take it seriously. She doesn’t think she’s worth loving. I wish I could help her …’ She leaned back in the uncomfortable chair again and looked closely at Annika. ‘I feel so sorry for people,’ she said. ‘David grew up without his dad – he only had a step-father who kept coming and going. When David was nineteen he disappeared and never got in touch again. I think that’s why David went into the police.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Should I feel sorry for you, Annika?’

  Annika took a deep breath. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘So you’ve got someone who loves you?’

  Yes, the children.

  ‘Should I feel sorry for myself?’ Julia asked.

  Annika nodded.

  ‘Is that why you believe me?’

  ‘No,’ Annika said. ‘There are several connections between the murders, and I don’t think the police have investigated them properly.’

  ‘So you believe there was another woman?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘That’s what I’ve been telling them all along!’

  ‘I know. The question is: who is she, and where could she have taken Alexander? Do you have any ideas?’

  Julia shook her head slowly.

  ‘Do you remember Filip Andersson? The axe murderer?’

  Julia shivered. Her gaze slid along the wall.

  ‘I went to visit Filip Andersson in Kumla Prison a few days ago,’ Annika said. ‘I think he might be innocent too. Someone else might have committed those murders, and if that person got away then he, or she, could have murdered David as well …’

  They sat in the visiting room without speaking for a long while. The ventilation hummed somewhere up in the ceiling. Julia was sitting completely still, staring into the wall.

  ‘I know someone was there when I woke up.’

  Annika sat in silence, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Julia was fiddling with a strand that had come loose from her ponytail, tucking it behind her ear.

  ‘There was a bang,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘I think it was the bang that woke me up. I didn’t know what it was – I thought I might have been dreaming.’

  She looked up at the ceiling. ‘There was a funny smell. Something horrible, not the way our bedroom usually smells. A bit burned, maybe … Someone was moving about in the room. I think I said something.’