Free Vanished by Liza Marklund

throat.
    ‘No.’
    ‘None at all?’
    He sighed quietly. ‘Just my mum.’
    ‘What did she want?’
    ‘To talk about Christmas. I said I’d talk to you and get back to her.’
    She came down the creaking stairs again, holding a piece of crispbread with low-fat cheese spread in one hand.
    ‘We spent last Christmas with them,’ she said. ‘It’s my parents’ turn this year.’
    He picked up the television guide from the coffee table, leafing through the film reviews.
    ‘What about staying at home this year?’ he said. ‘We could have Christmas dinner here. Then both sets of parents could come.’
    She chewed hungrily on the crispbread.
    ‘And who’d do the cooking?’
    ‘We could get caterers in,’ he said.
    She stopped by the sofa and looked down at him with crispbread crumbs in the corners of her mouth.
    ‘Caterers?’ she said. ‘Your mum always makes pig’s head brawn and my mum makes her own garlic sausages, and you think we should get caterers?’
    He got up, suddenly annoyed.
    ‘Okay, don’t then,’ he said, pushing past without looking at her.
    ‘What’s up with you?’ she called to his back. ‘Nothing’s good enough any more! What’s so wrong with our life?’
    He stopped, halfway up the stairs, and looked at her. So beautiful. So tired. So far away from him.
    ‘Let’s just go to your parents,’ he said.
    She turned away and sat down at the far end of the sofa, changing channel.
    His vision blurred and he felt a lump growing in his chest.
11
    ‘Do you mind if I let in some fresh air?’ Annika asked, walking over to the window.
    ‘No!’ the woman hissed, sinking back onto the bed.
    Annika stopped at once, feeling foolish and clumsy, and shut the curtains again. The room was gloomy, grey and unhealthy, with a smell of fever and mucus. In one corner was a desk and chair, and she switched on the table-lamp. She pulled the chair over to the bed and took off her jacket. The woman really did look ill, someone ought to be looking after her.
    ‘So what happened?’ Annika asked.
    The woman suddenly started to laugh. She curled into a foetal position and laughed hysterically until she started to cry. Annika felt uneasy, and kept her hands folded in her lap.
    Another one who’s just been discharged
, she thought.
    Then the woman fell silent, panting for breath and looking up at Annika. Her face was wet with tears and sweat.
    ‘I come from Bijeljina,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you know Bijeljina?’
    Annika shook her head.
    ‘The war in Bosnia started there,’ the woman said.
    Annika waited in silence for her to go on. But shedidn’t. She closed her eyes, her breathing grew heavier, and she looked like she was drifting off.
    Annika cleared her throat hesitantly, looking uncertainly at the sick woman on the bed.
    ‘Who are you?’ she asked in a loud voice.
    The woman started.
    ‘Aida,’ she said. ‘My name is Aida Begovic.’
    ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘I’m being followed.’
    She was breathing quickly and shallowly again, apparently on the verge of losing consciousness. Annika’s feeling of unease was growing stronger.
    ‘Isn’t there anyone to look after you?’
    No answer. Should she ring for an ambulance?
    Annika went over to the bed and leaned over the woman.
    ‘Look, how are you, really? Can I call someone? Where do you live? Where have you come from?’
    The response was breathless.
    ‘Fredriksberg in Vaxholm. I can never go back there. He’d find me straight away.’
    ‘Who would?’
    She didn’t answer, just lay there gasping for breath.
    ‘What was it you wanted to tell me about Frihamnen?’
    ‘I was there.’
    Annika stared at the woman.
    ‘What do you mean? Did you see them get killed?’
    She suddenly remembered the article in the paper, the taxi-driver that Sjölander had found.
    ‘It was you!’ she said.
    Aida Begovic from Bijeljina struggled to sit up in bed, piling the pillows behind her back.
    ‘I’m supposed to be dead as well, but I got