Free Red Wolf: A Novel by Liza Marklund

inherent in this.
    There was a cold draught around his feet. He got up and closed the window.
    The reason behind the project was a survey that had shown one in four local authority heads and one in five committee chairs had suffered either violence or the threat of violence in the course of their politicalactivity. The threats were mostly made by individuals, but threats from racist or xenophobic groups were also relatively common. The results of the survey led to the formation of a high-powered group to investigate threats and violence aimed at politicians.
    He sat down heavily on his chair, thought about picking up the paper again but decided against it.
    The project had no great status within the Association, and several eyebrows had been raised when he’d chosen that one. The task of the group was to promote an open and democratic society and to come up with suggestions for how elected representatives should behave in threatening situations. Amongst other things, they were supposed to develop a training course, and hold regional conferences in association with the Office for Integration and the Committee for Living History.
    He and Sophia from the Federation of County Councils were the convenors, and even though the project had only been running for a couple of months he knew he had made the right choice. The support they had received from the Justice Ministry so far had been fantastic. His dream of getting a government job before he was forty no longer seemed impossible.
    Suddenly his mobile started to vibrate in his hand again. He answered before it had time to ring.
    ‘You ought to be here,’ Annika said. ‘I’m driving past the West Checkpoint of the steelworks in Svartöstaden outside Luleå, and it’s so beautiful. I’m opening the window now, can you hear the noise?’
    Thomas leaned back and closed his eyes, hearing nothing but the noise of a bad line established by a Swedish-American capitalist.
    ‘The steelworks?’ he said. ‘I thought you were going to the airbase?’
    ‘Yep, I’ve been there, but I met a young lad who—’
    ‘But you’ll make it okay?’
    ‘Make what?’
    He had no answer. In the gap between them he really could hear the noise in the background, some sort of low rumbling. He felt the distance between them like a dead weight.
    ‘I miss you,’ he said quietly.
    ‘What did you say?’ she yelled above the noise.
    He took a quick, silent breath.
    ‘How are you, Annika?’ he asked.
    ‘Really good,’ she replied, too quickly and too firmly. ‘Have you eaten?’
    ‘It’s in the oven.’
    ‘Why don’t you do it in the microwave? I put them—’
    ‘I know,’ he interrupted. ‘Can I call you later? I’m in the middle of things here right now . . .’
    Then he was sitting there again holding his mobile, feeling an irrational anxiety that threatened to turn into anger.
    He didn’t like Annika going away, it was as simple as that. She didn’t deal with it well. But when he raised the subject with her she became cold and dismissive. He wanted her here beside him so he could make sure everything was all right, that she was safe and happy.
    After that terrible Christmas, once the worst of the attention had died down, everything had seemed pretty good. Annika had been quiet and pale, but okay. She’d spent a lot of time playing with the children, singing and dancing with them, cutting and gluing. She’d spent a lot of time on the new residents’ association, and on a small extension to the kitchen that they could have done now that they’d bought the freehold on the flat. The thought of the bargain they had got, buying the flat for less than half the market price, made her childishly excited, butthen she had always been broke. He had tried to regard the purchase more soberly, aware that money came and went. Annika never let him forget that he’d lost his last savings on shares.
    He glanced at the oven, wondering if the food was hot yet, but made no move to take it