Free Vanished by Liza Marklund Page A

parents’ place,’ he said.
    Eleonor turned away, sat at the far end of the couch and switched channels.
    His sight grew fuzzy and the hard lump in his chest got even harder.
    ‘All right if I air out the room?’ Annika asked and walked towards the window.
    ‘No,’ the woman hissed and sank back in the bed.
    Annika stopped short, feeling stupid and insensitive, and drew the curtains again. The room was semi-dark, a grey and unhealthy atmosphere smelling of fever and phlegm. In one corner, she could detect a desk, a chair and a table lamp. She switched the lamp on, pulled the chair over to the bed and took her jacket off. The woman looked very ill. She needed to be taken care of.
    ‘What’s happened to you?’ Annika asked.
    Suddenly the woman began to laugh. She curled up into a foetal position and laughed so hard that she started to cry. Annika waited uncomfortably, keeping her hands folded in her lap, uncertain how to react.
    Another one fresh from the hospital , she mused to herself.
    Then the woman pulled herself together and, breathing heavily, looked at Annika. Her face gleaming with tears and sweat.
    ‘I come from Bijelina,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you familiar with Bijelina?’
    Annika shook her head.
    ‘That’s where the war in Bosnia began,’ the woman said.
    Annika waited for her to go on, expectantly. Only she didn’t. The woman closed her eyes and her breathing grew heavier. She looked like she was slipping away.
    Softly, Annika cleared her throat and regarded the sick woman in the bed uncertainly.
    ‘Who are you?’ she asked out loud.
    The woman started. ‘Aida,’ she replied. ‘My name is Aida Begovic.’
    ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘Someone’s out to get me.’
    Once more her breathing was shallow and rapid – she seemed to be on the brink of consciousness. Annika’s uneasiness increased.
    ‘Isn’t there someone who could take care of you?’
    No reply. Sweet Jesus, maybe she should call for an ambulance?
    Annika walked over to the bed and bent over the woman. ‘Are you all right? Should I call someone? Where do you live, where do you come from?’
    Her reply was breathless.
    ‘Fredriksberg in Vaxholm. I can never go back there. He’ll find me in no time.’
    Annika went over to her bag, pulled out her pad and a pen and wrote down the words Fredriksberg, Vaxholm and stalker.
    ‘Who will find you?’
    ‘A man.’
    ‘What man? Your husband?’
    She didn’t reply, only panted.
    ‘What did you want to tell me about the free port?’
    ‘I was there.’
    Annika stared at the woman. ‘What do you mean? Did you see the killings?’
    Suddenly Annika recalled the article in the paper, the cab driver that Sjölander had found.
    ‘That was you,’ she exclaimed.
    Aida Begovic from Bijelina struggled to prop herself up in bed, pushing the pillows against the headboard and leaning back.
    ‘I ought to be dead too, only I got away.’
    The woman’s face was red and blotchy, her hair was stringy and sweaty. She sported a good-sized wound on her forehead and one cheek was bruised. She looked at Annika with eyes like deep pools, black and unfathomable. Annika sat down again, her mouth dry.
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘I ran and fell, tried to hide, there was a lot of junk on a long loading dock. Then I ran, he fired shots at me, I jumped into the water. It was so cold, that’s why I’m sick.’
    ‘Who shot at you?’
    Hesitant, Aida Begovic closed her eyes.
    ‘It might be dangerous for you to have that information,’ she said. ‘He’s killed before.’
    ‘How do you know that?’ Annika asked.
    Aida laughed wearily, touching her forehead. ‘Let’s just say I know him well.’
    The same old story , Annika thought.
    ‘Who were the dead men?’
    Aida from Bijelina opened her eyes. ‘They’re not important,’ she said.
    Annika’s uncertainty gave way to a rush of irritation. ‘What do you mean, not important? Two young people shot in the head like that?’
    The woman met her