Vanished by Liza Marklund

anywhere to hide?’ she said.
    Aida shook her head.
    ‘And there’s no one who could look after you?’
    ‘I can’t go to hospital.’
    Annika swallowed, hesitating.
    ‘There might be a way,’ she said. ‘There might be someone who can help you.’
    The woman didn’t answer.
    Annika leafed through her notepad, but couldn’t find what she was looking for.
    ‘There’s a foundation that helps people like you,’ she said, hunting around in her bag. There, right at the bottom, was the card. ‘Call this number, tonight.’
    She wrote the Paradise Foundation’s secret number on a scrap of paper and put it on the bedside table.
    ‘What sort of foundation?’ the woman asked.
    Annika sat beside the sick woman and brushed her hair back, trying to look calm and collected.
    ‘I don’t know exactly how it works, but there’s a chance that these people could help you. They wipe out people’s pasts and help them disappear.’
    There was a look of scepticism in the woman’s eyes.
    ‘What do you mean, disappear?’
    Annika tried to smile.
    ‘I don’t really know. Call them tonight, and ask for Rebecka. Tell her I told you to call.’
    She got up.
    ‘Wait,’ Aida said. ‘I want to thank you.’
    With a good deal of effort she dragged a large bag from under the bed. It was rectangular, with a handle and shoulder strap, and had a large metal lock that needed a key to open it.
    ‘I want you to have this,’ Aida said, holding out aheavy gold chain to Annika, with two charms attached to it.
    Annika backed away, sweating in her coat, eager to get away.
    ‘I can’t accept something like that,’ she said.
    Aida smiled, for the first time, sadly.
    ‘We won’t meet again,’ she said. ‘You’ll embarrass me if you don’t take my gift.’
    Reluctantly Annika took the necklace, feeling how heavy and solid it was.
    ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, putting it in her bag. ‘Good luck.’
    She turned and fled from the sick woman, leaving her sitting on the bed clutching her big bag.
    The car park was empty. She hurried over the tarmac, with steps that seemed uncertain, and too timid. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one was watching as she climbed into the newspaper’s car. She drove out onto the motorway, checked the mirror, turned off at the first exit and parked behind a petrol station. She waited, looking round constantly, then drove towards Stockholm by a circuitous route.
    There was no one following her.
    Once she had parked the car in the garage she sat for several minutes, leaning against the steering wheel, forcing her breathing to slow down.
    It was a long time since she had been so frightened.
    More than two years.
12
    With an easy gesture, the tall man in black opened the door to the hotel room from the corridor, far out in the suburbs. He could tell by the smell that he was in the right place. It smelled of shit and fear. The darkness inside was fragmented by a streetlamp outside in the car park that threw angular shapes onto the ceiling. He closed the door behind him and it shut with a soft click. He walked further into the room, aiming for the bed. He turned on the light.
    Empty.
    The bedclothes were messy, there was a roll of toilet-paper on the bedside table, but otherwise the room looked fairly untouched.
    Fury washed over him like a wave, leaving him feeling drained. He sank onto the bed, putting his hand on a pile of snot-soaked toilet-paper. There was a small box on the floor next to his feet. He picked it up and read the label.
    An empty box of antibiotics, the text in Serbo-Croat.
    It had to be hers, she must have been here.
    He stood up and kicked the frame of the bed until it gave way.
    Bitch! I’m going to find you
.
    He searched the whole room, inch by inch, drawerby drawer, checking the wastepaper baskets, the cupboards, pulling out the desk and the mattress.
    Nothing.
    Then he pulled out a knife and systematically started to shred the bedclothes, the duvet, pillows, the divan mattress, the