Red Wolf_ A Novel Part 6

He didn't answer, knotting his fingers.

'How come you noticed it?'

The boy looked up, his jaw trembling.

'Someone was sitting in the car. There's a yellow streetlamp at the crossing and the light was sort of shining on the car. You could see his hand on the wheel, kind of holding it, like this.'

The boy held one hand up in front of him, letting it hang in the air above an imaginary steering wheel, his eyes open wide.

'So what did you do?'

'Waited. I didn't know who it was, did I?'

'But you could see it was a V70?'

He shook his head hard. 'Not to start with. Only once it had driven out. Then I could see the lights on the back.'

'What about the lights on the back?'

'They went all the way up to the roof. I liked the way it looked. I'm pretty sure it was a V70, gold . . .'

'And the man in the car started the engine and drove off?'

Linus nodded, shaking himself to gather his thoughts. 'He started the car and slowly pulled out, then he hit the accelerator.'

Annika waited.

'Benny was drunk,' the boy said, 'but he still heard the car and sort of moved aside, but the car followed him, so Benny jumped the other way but the car followed him again, and then he was sort of in the middle of the road when the car . . .'

He took a deep breath.

'What happened?'

'There were two thumps, then he flew through the air.'

'Two thumps, then Benny was thrown into the air? And landed by the fence up by the football pitch?'

The boy sat in silence for a few seconds, then lowered his head. Annika had to suppress the urge to put her arms round him.

'He didn't land by the football pitch?'

Linus shook his head, wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

'In the middle of the road,' he said almost inaudibly. 'And the car braked so that all the lights on the back went on, that's when I saw what make of Volvo it was. And he reversed slowly, and Benny was lying there, and he drove over him again, and then he sort of aimed for . . . for his head, and then he drove over his face . . .'

Annika felt her stomach turn, and opened her mouth to breathe.

'You're sure?' she whispered.

The boy nodded. She stared at the white of his scalp between the tufts of gelled hair.

'Then he got out, and dragged Benny by the feet up towards Malmvallen . . . sort of brushed him off . . . then got back in his car and turned off into Sjofartsgatan, down towards the harbour . . .'

Annika looked at the boy with fresh eyes, through a mixture of suspicion, revulsion and sympathy. If it was true, that was disgusting! And, poor boy.

'What did you do after that?'

The boy started to shake, first his hands, then his legs.

'I went . . . went over to Benny, he was lying up there by the fence . . . dead.'

He wrapped his skinny arms round his body, gently rocking.

'Part of his head and face were like gone, the ground was wet, his whole back was bent, the wrong way, sort of . . . so I knew that . . . and I just went home, but I couldn't really sleep.'

'And you haven't told any of this to the police?'

He shook his head again, wiped away the tears with a trembling hand.

'I told Mum I'd be home by quarter to ten.'

Annika leaned forward, putting her hand awkwardly on his knee.

'Linus,' she said, 'what you've just told me is terrible. It must have been horrific. I really think you should tell another adult, because it's not good for you to go around with this sort of secret.'

He pulled away from her hand, backing up against the wall.

'You promised!' he said. 'You said I was anonymous.'

Annika raised her hands helplessly. 'Hey,' she said, 'I'm not going to say anything. I'm just worried about you. This is one of the worst things I've ever heard.'

She let her hands fall and stood up.

'It's really important that the police hear what you saw, but you know that. You're a smart boy. Benny's death was no accident, and you're the only one who saw it happen. Do you think the murderer should get away with it?'

The boy was staring stubbornly at his lap again. A thought suddenly occurred to Annika.

'Did you . . . ? You recognized the man in the car, didn't you?'

The boy hesitated, twisting his fingers. 'Maybe,' he said quietly, then suddenly looked at her and said: 'What time is it?'

'Five to six,' Annika said.

's.h.i.t,' he said, leaping up.

'What is it?' Annika said as he flew past her and into the kitchen. 'Do you mean that you might have recognized-'

'It's my turn to cook and I haven't even started.'

Then he appeared in the doorway again.

'Mum'll be here any minute,' he said anxiously. 'You've got to go. Now!'

She pulled on her jacket, took a step towards him.

'Think about what I said,' she said, trying to smile.

Feeling utterly helpless, she left the boy alone.

9.

Thomas could feel himself getting more and more irritated as he tried one code after another on the door of the nursery. The same thing had happened only yesterday, leaving him standing there like an idiot, unable to get in.

'Do you know the code?' he asked his son.

The boy shook his head. 'Mum always does the code.'

A moment later the door was unlocked from inside. A woman in her forties with two snotty toddlers stepped onto the pavement. He muttered his thanks, held the door open for Kalle and went into the hall.

'It was fun going to nursery,' the boy said.

Thomas nodded absent-mindedly, gathering his thoughts. Every time he walked into the nursery he felt like an alien, his wax jacket and briefcase and tie seemed somehow to clash with the sensible shoes and cosy sweaters of the staff. Among the tiny boots and miniature furniture he was a clumsy giant, sweaty and out of place. But most of all it was communication that shut him out; he had never managed to have the same sort of relationship the staff had with his children. He couldn't handle sitting and talking about the same drawing for ten minutes, the wire in his veins started tugging and itching after just a few seconds . . . yes, that's lovely, Ellen, is it a cat? After that he was on to his next thought, the next action.

She was doing some cutting-out when he arrived, and enthusiastically showed him the fish and plants she had made for her little sea.

'Shall I help you with your overall?' he offered.

She looked at him in surprise.

'I can do that on my own,' she said, putting away the scissors and paper and going off to the cloakroom, a stern little figure with narrow legs and swinging arms.

They took the bus from Fleminggatan, but before they had even got on Thomas realized it was a mistake.

'I want to start playing hockey,' Kalle said, as Thomas tried to stop a pensioner with a walking frame from running over Ellen. The mere thought of driving his son through the centre of the city several times a week made him shudder.

'Don't you think that might be a bit too soon?' he said, hoping to put him off.

'William's started going to Djurgarden. They said he was almost too old.'

Good grief, Thomas thought.

'Right, Ellen,' he said, 'up on the seat with you. We're almost there.'

'I'm swelting,' the little girl said.

'It's sweating,' the boy said disdainfully. 'You're so stupid.'

'Now, now,' Thomas said.

The half kilometre to their home on Hantverkargatan took fifteen minutes. Kalle fell over twice when the driver braked sharply to get over the congested junctions on Scheelegatan.

As the sweat ran down his back and the air grew thicker with carbon monoxide and coughed-up virus particles, Thomas swore that from now on he would ignore party politics and only vote for the party that promised a solution to the traffic in Stockholm.

'Is Mummy home?' his daughter asked once they'd finally got to the second floor of number 32.

'She's in Norrland,' Kalle said. 'She said so yesterday.'

'Is Mummy home?' she asked again in the same hopeful tone, this time turning to Thomas.

He saw her eyes, so completely trusting, the chubby little cheeks, the rucksack. For a moment the world spun: what have we done? What sort of responsibility is this? How on earth are we going to manage? How are the kids going to survive in this b.l.o.o.d.y world?

He swallowed hard, leaned over the child, sweeping off her damp woolly hat.

'No, darling; Mummy's working. She'll be home tomorrow. Here, hold your hat while I unlock the door.'

'What are we having for tea?' his son asked.

'Baked meatb.a.l.l.s with garlic and veg.'

'Mmm,' Ellen said.

'Yummy,' said Kalle.

The air in the flat was stale and slightly pungent. The streetlights below threw quivering blue shadows over the ceiling mouldings.

'Can you get the lights, Kalle?'

The children started to take off their outdoor clothes as he went into the kitchen and turned on the lamps and the oven. Annika had prepared frozen meals in plastic tubs so they could heat them in the microwave, but he preferred to do it the old-fashioned way.

'Can we play on the computer, Daddy?'

'If you can sort it out yourselves.'

'Hooray!' Kalle said, running off into the library.

He settled down with the various sections of the morning paper he hadn't had time to read earlier; new terrorist attack in the Middle East, stock market falls, profit warning in the pharmaceutical industry. Suddenly he noticed that the unpleasant smell was much stronger now.

He put the paper down, got up and looked around the kitchen. When he opened the cupboard under the sink the smell practically floored him.

Fish sc.r.a.ps.

He instantly remembered that Annika had reminded him to put the rubbish out before she left yesterday morning. He was bent double, ready to throw up, when his mobile rang out in the hallway. He quickly shut the cupboard door, pushing it hard to make sure, then went to take the call.