by Viveca Sten
Moore was shuffling down to the fence on top of the wall above the freeway, the last obstacle.
Cars were zooming along the E4. The speed limit here was forty-five miles per hour, but most were traveling at fifty or sixty.
Thomas tried to cut across the slope in order to gain time, but got stuck in the thick snow. It had been a mistake to leave the track; with every step he took, he sank deeper and deeper.
The deafening roar of an engine behind him; a huge truck was approaching. He was no more than twenty yards from Moore, but the other man had already reached the fence. Thomas watched as he began to scramble over. At that point the wall wasn’t quite so high, because the freeway itself was sloping upward, reducing the distance.
The truck was now level with Thomas.
He realized Moore was getting ready to jump, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop him.
CHAPTER 96
Alice groped around in the darkness for her phone; it had to be on her bed, but where was it? With trembling fingers she scrabbled at the sheets, under the laptop.
Please.
A crash from downstairs almost made her scream. She just managed to stop herself, and it came out as a little whimper at the back of her throat.
It sounded as if a lamp had been broken, glass shattering on the living room floor.
Now she could hear drawers and cupboard doors being opened in the kitchen.
She kept on searching for her phone, on the verge of hysteria. Got to find my phone, call Dad, call for help.
She found it under the pillow; her legs nearly gave way with relief when she touched the cold metal. She grabbed it and hid it in her hand.
The footsteps were leaving the kitchen, heading for the stairs.
I have to hide.
Her mind was whirling; where would she be safe?
Under the bed? He’d see her as soon as he switched on the light; the bedspread didn’t reach the floor.
In the closet? There were shelves at the bottom; there wouldn’t be enough room for her.
She opened the door a fraction, straining her ears; was someone on the way up?
She was panicking so much she couldn’t think straight; she banged her forehead with a clenched fist.
Where can I hide?
Then she heard a stair creak.
He’s coming.
CHAPTER 97
The sound of the engine was getting louder by the second. Thomas realized he had no chance of reaching Moore before the truck got there.
Moore had already clambered over the fence and was clinging to the railing with one hand, crouching as he prepared to leap.
Meanwhile a stream of oncoming cars was whizzing by, their headlights blinding Thomas as he tried to fix his eyes on the other man. He made one last effort to increase his speed, but moving quickly through the snow was impossible; it was like running through mud or water. His thigh muscles were screaming, and whatever he did, he sank down with every step.
The front of the truck was almost level with Moore now; it was made up of two white trailers with TNT in orange letters on the side, streaked with dirt that had splashed up from the highway.
Thomas could see that the bearded driver had no idea what was going on above his head.
“Wait!” he yelled, even though he knew his voice would be drowned out by the noise of the engine.
Moore threw himself at the truck. He fell with both arms outstretched, almost like a bat gliding through the night. He seemed to be fighting to reach the roof of the first trailer, fingers outstretched, feet pedaling in the air. He landed with a thump, causing the truck to shudder. His body kind of bounced, then began to slide across the slippery surface. Thomas could see him clawing for something to grab ahold of, anything to keep him on the roof.
The driver must have heard the thud and wondered what the hell was going on. There was no way he could stop in the middle of the freeway, with steady traffic right behind him.
The truck disappeared from view; was Moore still on the roof?
As soon as Thomas had caught his breath, he trudged back up to the top where it was easier to move quickly. Then he began to run toward the bend, hoping the truck would find a place to pull over.
CHAPTER 98
Dad’s closet was huge, almost like a room, with a sloping ceiling and a little window right at the top.
The door didn’t lock from the inside, but Alice had closed it and crawled into the farthest corner, under Dad’s jackets. She had covered herself with articles of clothing that had been dumped on the floor, ready to be taken to the dry cleaner’s. She drew her knees up to her chin, listening to the intruder.
He was moving around in her room, she could hear him through the wall, a stranger’s hands rifling through her stuff. She’d left her laptop on the bed; she hoped he wouldn’t realize she’d been lying there a few minutes ago, reading Mom’s book, because then he would know she was still in the house.
The bathroom door opened and closed, then the footsteps continued to the guest room. Something fell on the floor; she didn’t even want to guess what it might be.
Then nothing.
Alice held her breath. The silence was even more terrifying.
The bedroom door opened, and a thin strip of light shone into the closet, like a searchlight sweeping across a city during an air raid.
He’s going to find me.
Alice tried to keep calm, not to let the panic take over, but she knew she couldn’t stay quiet for long. She felt an overwhelming urge to let it all out, to scream and scream, whatever happened.
He was searching through Dad’s nightstand now; she could hear the rustle of papers.
She rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes to shut out the sight of that beam of light dancing around the room, but somehow it managed to find its way through her eyelids; it wouldn’t leave her in peace.
She kept on waiting for the closet door to be flung open, for the bright light to shine in her eyes. To be discovered.
Suddenly everything went dark.
She didn’t dare breathe. Had he gone?
Please, God.
Slowly she reached into her pocket and took out her phone. As soon as the intruder had gone downstairs, she could send Dad a text, get him to come home right away. Then everything would be OK.
She was almost crying with exhaustion, but she stroked the surface of her phone to reassure herself. Just holding it made her feel safer; she’d be able to call Dad soon.
There was a flicker and the screen lit up.
Then the silence was shattered as Alice’s phone rang, loud and clear.
CHAPTER 99
By the time Thomas rounded the bend, the truck was gone.
Once again he slid down from the track to the steel fence, leaned over, and peered into the darkness. Had Moore fallen off the roof, or had he managed to hold on, find an escape route?
Thomas couldn’t see a thing.
A car drove by in the outside lane, and Thomas leaned even farther, hoping to spot something in the beam of its headlights.
Was there someone lying on the ground?
It was hard to judge how far above the traffic lanes he was, but it had to be several yards. If he climbed over the fence and held on with both hands, then slowly let go, he should be able to land without injuring himself.
Thomas knew he ought to tell Margit what was going on, but didn’t dare waste time calling her. If Peter Moore was down there, he could be hit by a car at any second.
Was he still alive?
The last image in Thomas’s mind was Moore’s fingers grasping for something on the truck’s metal roof. The most likely scenario was that he’d slipped down between the two trailers and been crushed by the wheels of the second one.
But what if he’d survived?
Another car appeared, in the inside lane this time. It swerved sharply, and that told Thomas what had happened.
Moore hadn’t managed to hang on.
Thomas was well awa
re that it could be fatal if a car came along just as he landed, but he had no choice. He couldn’t leave Moore lying there, however much he deserved it.
At the moment there was no traffic noise. He listened: nothing.
He swung his body over the fence, held on for a second, then let go. He landed with a thud on the snow-covered ground and immediately saw the body just a few feet away.
Peter Moore was lying on the edge of the lane with his eyes closed, one leg at an unnatural angle.
The sound of an engine, a car approaching.
Thomas grabbed Moore by the arms and tried to move him.
The beam of the headlights caught him, and it felt like a dream sequence: Thomas could see himself struggling with Moore’s motionless body in the glare. The former basketball player was extremely heavy; he had to be two hundred pounds. It was like trying to shift a sack full of sand.
A horn blared behind him, and he was vaguely aware of a car trying to swerve in order to avoid hitting him. Desperately he tugged at Moore’s limp arms.
A sudden draft, out of the corner of his eye he saw a side-view mirror that was way too close, silvery metal protruding from the side of the vehicle.
Then the sound of spinning tires as the car began to skid.
CHAPTER 100
The phone rang and rang. Hysterically Alice pressed every button, desperate to make it stop.
“Alice.”
Someone was calling out her name.
“I know you’re in there.”
A soft voice, trying to sound nonthreatening.
“Alice, come on out so I can talk to you.”
Alice was shaking; her mouth was so dry that she couldn’t utter a word.
“Come on, Alice.”
A sharpness in the voice now. An air of authority.
“I have no intention of waiting any longer.”
The door was flung open, the light turned on. Alice blinked as the clothes were pulled aside.
“Give me your mother’s book right now—I know you have a copy.”
“It’s not yours.”
Alice didn’t know where she got the courage to stand up to the woman standing in front of her. She had a kind of crazed expression in her eyes, but otherwise she seemed surprisingly normal. Not what Alice had expected an intruder to look like. She was wearing black jeans and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was probably about the same age as Mom.
It didn’t make any sense.
Then Alice saw the kitchen knife in the woman’s left hand, the one that wasn’t holding the flashlight.
“Alice, I don’t think you understand.” The tone was calm again, reasonable.
Alice bit her lip to stop herself from letting out a sob.
“I need that book. I have a right to it.”
“Why?”
“Because your mom has written terrible things about me. Things that could ruin my life.”
“How do you know?” Alice whispered.
“She told me.”
It still didn’t make sense. “When?”
“Before she died.”
Alice held up her phone like a shield.
“Was it you who texted me?”
The woman nodded.
Alice was crying now. “Please—you said you’d tell me how she died.”
The woman hesitated, as if she was struck by a memory, then she said: “She ate something that wasn’t good for her.”
“Why would she do that?”
The woman’s gaze grew distant.
“That’s irrelevant.”
All at once, Alice understood.
“You made her do it. You . . . you were the one who killed her.”
“You could say that.”
The woman tilted her head to one side, as if she were genuinely wondering how to express herself. There was something red and sticky on the back of her hand; she licked her index finger distractedly and rubbed it clean.
“The truth is, your mom actually killed herself,” she said, rubbing the mark again. “When she refused to change what she’d put in her book, even though I asked her. Several times. I couldn’t allow her to publish the book as it was; it would have destroyed everything.” She glanced at her watch. “I need that copy right now.”
Alice recoiled.
“It’s not here.”
The woman sighed.
“Alice, I don’t think you realize how important this is to me.” She bent down and reached for something that lay underneath the bed. She held it up: a white body, limp in her arms, the tail hanging motionless, blood on the soft fur.
Alice pressed her hands to her mouth.
“No!” she sobbed.
“Now will you do as I say?”
Alice fumbled in her pocket, took out the USB stick, and threw it on the bed, swallowing hard.
The woman dropped Sushi. The body landed on the floor with a thud. She reached for the USB stick.
“Is that all she gave you?” she asked suspiciously. “No printout?”
Alice shook her head, trying not to think about the fact that poor Sushi was lying there in front of her.
“Why is it so important?” she managed to say through her tears.
“As I explained, your mom was going to reveal something that should have remained a secret, our secret.”
“Why did you hate my mom?”
“I’ve never hated her,” the woman replied with a look in her eyes that was hard to interpret. “On the contrary, I once loved her.”
“You’re Minna,” Alice whispered.
“I don’t use that name any longer—it was just a childish nickname. Wait a minute, how do you know?” Then she understood. “You’ve read the book.” She fingered the knife, as if she were trying to make a decision.
“Unfortunately I have to go now,” she said with no warning. She could just as easily have been taking her leave after stopping by for a coffee. She grabbed Alice by the arm. “Come on.” She dragged her to her feet and pushed her out of the bedroom along the landing to the bathroom.
“Get in there.”
“Why?”
“Just get in there! If you do as I say, everything will be fine. I wanted the USB stick, that was all. Your mom told me that was the only copy; I took the original from her apartment.”
Alice didn’t dare fight back; the bathroom door slammed shut behind her. There was a scraping noise from outside, then footsteps going down the stairs. Alice tried to open the door, but there was something jammed under the handle.
She sank to the floor, hands pressed to her mouth again, trying not to think about the bloodstained white fur.
The woman had taken Alice’s phone as she pushed her into the bathroom. No one knew she was locked in; she couldn’t call anyone for help.
Her eyes began to sting, and a strange smell reached her nostrils.
A burning smell.
Smoke began to seep in beneath the door.
Alice coughed, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Mom . . .”
CHAPTER 101
Petra left the E18, heading for Vaxholm. It might be a dumb idea, driving all the way over without being asked, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
She’d heard nothing from Micke all day; surely his interview with the police shouldn’t have taken that long? She’d tried to reach Alice several times to ask if Micke had called her, but Alice wasn’t picking up either.
Petra didn’t think Alice should be alone. She was so fragile after her mother’s death. In the end Petra had grabbed her jacket and set off.
She was driving pretty fast; there was very little traffic. Darkness had fallen long ago, but she’d had new winter tires put on her car recently.
Just as she was about to turn into Micke’s road, a car came speeding toward her; Petra had to swerve into the pile of snow on the shoulder in order to avoid a collision.
“Idiot,” she muttered. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the white vehicle disappea
r in a cloud of snow. That was close, she thought.
She downshifted to climb the last incline; it was pretty steep, and she didn’t want to risk her little Toyota getting stuck, however good the new tires were.
As she reached the crest of the hill, she saw flames coming from Micke’s kitchen. Big, fat flames writhing and dancing behind the glass, tongues of fire eating up everything in their path.
“Alice!”
She leaped out of the car and raced toward the front door. It wasn’t locked, thank God! She flung it open and yelled: “Alice, where are you? Alice!”
She could hear loud crackling coming from the kitchen, but the door was half closed and the blaze hadn’t yet spread to the rest of the ground floor.
Was Alice upstairs? The smoke reached Petra’s lungs, and she started to cough.
“Alice!”
There. A sound from upstairs. She covered her mouth with her scarf and ran up the first few steps.
“Alice, where are you?”
She could feel the heat now, and the roar of the fire was getting louder; she’d never heard anything like it.
A desperate voice called out to her: “I’m in the bathroom.”
Petra flew up to the second floor. Someone had jammed a chair under the door handle. She pulled it away and flung open the door. Alice almost fell into her arms.
“There’s a fire,” Petra shouted. “We have to get out of here right now.”
Alice stared at the smoke, rolling toward them.
“I can’t, I’m scared.”
Petra tugged at the girl’s arm; she looked as if she was about to faint.
“Alice, you have to come with me. You can do this, I promise.”
She tried to drag Alice along, but Alice simply couldn’t move. She stared glassily at Petra.
“We have to get out!” Petra shouted.
She pushed Alice ahead of her, and they managed to stumble down the stairs. There was so much smoke it was almost impossible to see; the fire had already spread to the living room.
Every breath was agony.
Alice panicked again at the bottom of the stairs.