Last Will

by Liza Marklund

  One year later Torstensson had been found guilty of insider dealing and was sentenced to one hundred days’ community service. Annika scanned the report of the verdict. The fact that he had been pilloried in the press and had lost his job was regarded as an extenuating circumstance.

  “Imagine,” she said out loud, “the fact that we write about crooks in the media is seen as so awful that they don’t have to go to prison.”

  “The state wants to have a monopoly on imposing punishment,” Berit said. “And now they want the right to raid our homes without any evidence, and to bug our phones just because they feel like it.”

  Annika put the files away in the cabinet and went back to Patrik’s chair.

  “If I’ve got this right, all our neighboring countries already have this sort of law,” Annika said. “Norway, Denmark, Finland …”

  “Yes,” Berit said, “but they don’t have the same baggage as us. They haven’t had what amounts to single-party government by the Social Democrats for the best part of a century, listening and registering and pursuing people for no other reason than the fact that they parked in the wrong place at the wrong time, like outside a building where a ‘suspect’ meeting was taking place.”

  “Undeniably an aggravating circumstance,” Annika said.

  “Now the Social Democrats are claiming that they’re all being nice and kind and that these tools would never, ever be used for anything other than the very best of reasons. They’re saying that they won’t carry on doing what they did when it was illegal, as long as they can make it legal. Do they think we were born yesterday?”

  “Annika!” Spike called from the news desk. “What the hell are you doing over there? You’re not in crime now. Come over here!”

  Annika pulled a face and stood up.

  “Lunch?”

  “Definitely,” Berit said.

  Annika walked over to Spike and put her bag demonstratively on top of his work. He pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to her without looking at her.

  “Robbery in a shop out in Fittja,” he said. “Can you take a look?”

  She picked up her bag again and hoisted it onto her shoulder.

  “Nice to see you too,” she said. “I don’t start until tomorrow. I’m here to pick up a new battery for my computer. Apparently you’re supposed to have it.”

  Spike put the sheet of paper back on the pile again, pulled out his bottom desk drawer, and passed Annika the new battery for her laptop.

  “How are we going to do this from now on?” Annika said. “I won’t be coming in every day, after all. Will you call me, or shall I call you?”

  At that moment Spike’s phone rang and he grabbed at it.

  This could turn out to be rather trying, she thought, as she headed toward the cafeteria.

  Feeling relaxed after lunch, Annika drove slowly toward Fridhemsplan, heading for the indoor market at Östermalmshallen.

  Fresh mussels, she thought, prawns from Smögen, sole, Norwegian salmon, tuna, some really creamy aioli, lots of saffron, and some medium-dry white wine. Strips of lemon peel and some thyme, onions, and tomatoes. Lobster stock, of course, masses of dill, and freshly baked garlic bread with flakes of sea salt and plenty of basil.

  Thomas had already bought the wine. He didn’t trust her with that, which was a fairly justifiable attitude.

  She crossed Barnhusbron and headed along Tegnérgatan. The traffic lights changed to red and she pulled to a stop.

  Did she have any bay leaves at home? Any whole white peppercorns?

  She had thrown away a lot of old herbs and spices when they moved.

  Probably best to buy some more.

  A car pulled up alongside her and she glanced at it.

  A red Volvo station wagon, with a woman behind the wheel.

  She looked up at the traffic light again, still red.

  She looked back at the car alongside her once more … wasn’t that Ebba? Ebba Romanova, had she come back early? Wasn’t she supposed to be away until tomorrow?

  Annika waved, but the woman didn’t see her.

  Still red.

  Annika fished her cell phone out of her bag on the seat beside her so that she could call her. Damn, it was still switched off after her visit to the lab.

  A large truck blew its horn behind her and she dropped the phone and drove off across the junction. The red Volvo turned left and disappeared from view.

  She hit another red light up on Västmannagatan and took the chance to tap in her PIN to unlock the phone, and seconds later it bleeped to tell her a text had arrived. Then another, and another, and so on.

  What the … ?

  The text at the top of the list was from her message service.

  You have … eight … new messages. To listen to your messages, press one.

  She pulled up at a pedestrian crossing outside the Enskilda secondary school.

  “Hello Annika, this is Lotta. Kalle’s had a fall and is bleeding quite badly—can you call as soon as you get this?”

  Peep.

  “Annika, Kalle seems to be getting worse—we think he may have a concussion, and the cut looks like it needs stitches. Can you call us, please?”

  Peep.

  “Kalle’s not well at all. Can you call us? We’re about to call an ambulance …”

  Her hands started to shake, she put the car in gear and drove off.

  “Mommy, where are you, I … I fell off the jungle gym and it really hurts …”

  Peep.

  “Annika, where the hell are you? I’ve left the briefing and I’m in A&E at Danderyd Hospital with Kalle—call me!”

  She started to cry as she drove, listening all the way through the messages.

  Peep.

  “You’d better be doing something really fucking important. Call me.”

  Peep.

  “I’ve been to see the doctor now, Mommy, and I’ve got a big white bandage on my head, it’s really big. When are you coming to see me, Mommy?”

  Peep.

  “We’re home now. I’m getting us some lunch. I have to get back to work, so it would nice if you could call as soon as you hear this.”

  This last was from Thomas, his voice ice-cold.

  I have to be able to go about as I like, she thought, wiping her tears. I have to be able to switch my phone off for four hours without the world coming to an end. This isn’t fair.

  She drove far too fast all the way home, skidding to halt in the driveway, throwing the door open and running into the house.

  “Kalle!” she called, rushing upstairs to the boy’s room. “Kalle, where are you? How are you feeling?”

  He was sitting on the floor of the office, painting as Thomas sat at the computer.

  “Hello Mommy, look at my huge bandage!”

  The boy got up and went over to her, and she knelt down and took him in her arms. She rocked him gently as she struggled to hold back her tears.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “I was out and I didn’t have my phone on, so I didn’t know you’d hurt yourself. What happened? Did you fall?”

  She loosened her grip on him and stroked his hair, looking intently at his forehead. The boy’s lip started to tremble and his eyes filled with tears.

  “Is it hurting? Are you feeling sick?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “What’s the matter?” she said. “Tell Mommy, what happened?”

  “They were being mean,” he said. “The other boys are mean to me. They pushed me and made me fall off.”

  Annika looked at Thomas, who was getting up from his chair.

  “Is that true?” she said. “Did those little jerks at the nursery school do this?”

  “Think about your choice of words,” Thomas said. “But yes, it looks like it. I’ve spoken to the staff, and they’re going to talk to the children about it this afternoon.”

  She let go of her son and stood up.

  “Right,” she said, “that does it. I’m going to …”

 
Thomas took a long stride toward her and grabbed her upper arms.

  “Annika,” he said sharply. “Calm down. The staff are going to talk to the parents of the boys involved. We don’t want to make things any worse.”

  Her tears brimmed over.

  “I can’t bear it,” she whispered. “I can’t stand being so impotent.”

  Thomas let go of her and sighed.

  “The doctors did a tomography and couldn’t find any swelling or bleeding in the brain,” he said without looking at her. “But you’ll have to keep an eye on him this afternoon—the symptoms can take a few hours to develop. He’s allowed to sleep, but you’ll have to wake him up at regular intervals to make sure he isn’t unconscious.”

  “Do I have to give him any medicine?”

  Thomas looked at his watch.

  “They gave him some painkillers at the hospital, but he can have another acetaminophen in an hour’s time. I’m going back to work.”

  He walked out of the room and down the stairs without looking back.

  Kalle slept for a while once Thomas had left, and when he woke up he was lucid and bright-eyed. He didn’t want to rush about, and clung close to Annika, helping her lay the table nicely out on the terrace. They used the dark-blue tablecloth, the best glasses, and the plain white china. He said it didn’t hurt, and he wasn’t feeling sick.

  Afterwards Annika read him a story about Alfie Atkins, letting the child’s heavy warmth fill her own body as she rocked him in her arms.

  Thank you, Someone, for the fact that it wasn’t worse, thank you for letting him be here with me, thank you for the fact that he’s here at all.

  They drove out to Arninge and bought some ready-made fish soup that just needed warming up, some baguettes, and a large bunch of lilies.

  Then they went to pick up Ellen, ten minutes before the nursery school shut. All the other children had already left. Just like in the city, everyone out here seemed to play whoever picks up first is the winner, and Annika always seemed to lose.

  “Who were the boys who pushed Kalle?” Annika asked quietly as Ellen clambered into the backseat.

  Lotta, who had been working a double shift, sighed deeply.

  “Benjamin and Alexander,” she said. “You know who they are, don’t you? They didn’t mean any harm, not really.”

  “Of course not,” Annika said calmly. “Have you spoken to them?”

  “Yes, and to their parents …”

  She let the sentence fade away.

  “And?” Annika said. “How did they react?”

  Lotta looked at the ground.

  “They wanted to see it as an accident,” Lotta said, kicking a plastic ball toward the storage cupboard. “They thought I was making too much of it. Boys will be boys, and all that rubbish. I told them exactly what happened, that their boys pushed Kalle off the jungle gym. There’s no doubt in my mind that they did it on purpose.”

  “You saw it happen?” Annika asked.

  “No, but Malin, the kindergarten teacher for the younger children, did. She’s absolutely sure.”

  “Okay,” Annika said. “Thanks for trying.”

  They drove home and put the soup on to heat up. Annika had forgotten to put the wine in the fridge, so she put a few bottles in the freezer and hoped she didn’t forget them as she usually did. Both children were hungry and she made fish sticks and instant mashed potatoes for them to eat before the guests arrived, but she let them eat off the best china.

  Then they were more than happy to curl up in front of the television and watch a Barbapappa DVD.

  Annika tidied away crayons and drawing pads and comic books from the dining area and set out a tablecloth and flowers in there too. She quickly vacuumed the floor and wiped all the countertops in the kitchen. She did a quick tour of the house, putting clothes, dirty washing, and toys in their respective places, gave the toilets and sinks a quick clean, and put out some clean towels.

  Candles—should you have candles at the end of May?

  She decided against it.

  There. That would have to do.

  She went up to the bedroom to find something to wear.

  A dress, perhaps, or would that be too showy?

  It was still warm outside, above 20 degrees, even though it was half past seven.

  Surely Thomas ought to be home soon?

  She brushed her hair and put on a cotton dress, then some lipstick and a pair of gold earrings. She looked in the mirror and decided she looked like a cheerleader from Hälleforsnäs who was trying to dress up as a Djursholm housewife.

  She quickly pulled off the dress and wiped away the lipstick, and put on a pair of jeans and a neatly pressed white blouse instead. She kept the earrings—her grandmother had given them to her.

  The doorbell rang—shit. Thomas wasn’t home yet—what on earth was she going to do?

  She ran downstairs barefoot and pulled the door open.

  Startled, the man outside took a quick step back before saying with a laugh: “Oh, hello, are we in the right place, the Samuelsson household?”

  He was tall and dark and a bit gangly, his wife small and neat and beautiful.

  “Absolutely,” Annika said, her mouth completely dry. “Come in, please …”

  She opened the door wide and took several steps back.

  “Thomas isn’t home yet, but please, come in …”

  The couple, the Larssons, shook her hand and introduced themselves. Annika had heard of him: he was another one working on restricting people’s private space with surveillance and more legislation.

  They had brought flowers and a bottle of red wine with a beautifully refined label.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Annika asked, suddenly feeling that her hands were far too large for the rest of her body.

  “A dry martini wouldn’t hurt,” Mr. Larsson said.

  “Yes, why not?” Mrs. Larsson said with a smile.

  Annika felt her own smile turn brittle.

  How the hell did you make a dry martini?

  Were there really people who actually drank that sort of thing?

  She looked down at the floor and realized that she had to make a quick decision. Either she tried to live up to something she wasn’t capable of, which would get more and more embarrassing as the evening drew on, or she gave up at the start and got the embarrassment over and done with all at once.

  “I don’t know how to make those,” she said. “Thomas might, but we don’t tend to have many spirits in the house. I put some bottles of white wine in the freezer. I don’t know if they’ve had long enough to chill, but if you can help me get one open we can give it a try?”

  The Larssons raised their eyebrows a touch but decided to put a brave face on things. He managed to get the cork out even though it had almost frozen solid, and declared the wine to be at a perfect temperature.

  “Great,” Annika said. “Maybe we should put the other one in the fridge now, what do you think? It’s such a nuisance when they freeze.”

  They had just settled into the wicker sofa on the terrace with their glasses of wine when Thomas arrived home.

  “God, sorry, I really didn’t mean …” he said, rushing up and greeting his guests breathlessly.

  “It’s quite okay,” Mr. Larsson said, “I’m not God.”

  Everyone laughed except for Annika, who went inside to check on the children.

  “How are you doing, Kalle?” she asked, looking at him closely. “Does your head hurt at all?”

  “You’re standing in the way of the television, Mommy,” the boy said, leaning to one side so he could see.

  “Ellen,” she said, “it’s time to put your pajamas on. Do you want me to help you?”

  “Is there any popcorn?” the little girl asked hopefully.

  “Not today, it’s only Monday. We’ll have popcorn on Friday.”

  “But Daddy’s got wine,” Ellen said.

  “Five minutes more,” Annika said. “Then it’s time for bed.”
>
  She went over to the kitchen to check on the fish soup. It was simmering on the lowest heat with the lid ajar. By the time she served it, it would probably have boiled away to a lumpy fish sauce, but right now she couldn’t care less.

  Kalle didn’t seem too badly shaken up after his concussion. But he’d have to get used to having a scar on his forehead.

  The Althins had arrived and were drinking wine on the terrace with the others when she went back out. Thomas handed Annika her glass.

  “Hans tells me you don’t know how to make a dry martini,” he said with a slightly strained laugh.

  “Have you ever, over the past seven years, seen me mix one single cocktail?” Annika asked quietly, taking the wine.

  The doorbell rang again and the last guests arrived simultaneously, Per Cramne and the undersecretary of state, Halenius. They were each given a glass of wine and presented to Annika.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jimmy Halenius said, smiling at Annika. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Well, cheers,” Thomas said, “and welcome!”

  “I thought only small-time gangsters had names ending in y,” Annika said. “How come there are never any escaped prisoners called Stig-Björn, for instance?”

  “My grandfather was actually called Stig-Björn,” Jimmy Halenius said. “He was convicted of the laundry-room murder in Angered in the sixties, you may have heard of it … But I don’t think he ever escaped, you’re right there.”

  Annika stared at him. He was fairly short, nowhere near as tall as Thomas, his light-brown hair was uncombed, and he was wearing a check shirt. He looked terribly serious.

  “You’re pulling my leg,” she said.

  His face cracked into a wide smile, making his eyes narrow.

  “Oh, now, whatever makes you think that?”

  He thought he was so charming. He went around imposing limits on people’s freedom and attacking their individual integrity just to help his career, and no doubt he thought he was a really great guy.

  “So how come you’ve heard about me?” she asked.

  “You used to have an old Volvo, didn’t you?” he said. “A 144, dark-blue, lots of rust?”

  Annika stared at him, feeling her blood rising through her body and settling in her face.