Irene peeked out between the branches. All she could make out were three parked refrigerator trucks. The back of the building and the loading dock near it were brightly lit. She figured that the distance between the dock and the trucks was about five yards. Everything appeared calm and silent, except for a repeated metallic snipping sound. Someone was cutting through the chain-link fence. Then she saw five dark silhouettes moving into the lot next to the trucks. She’d been right. One of them was standing watch.
Slowly, she moved closer to the fence. She had a good guess where the hole had been made and gingerly felt along the fence until she found the cut-open space. She passed through carefully and took cover in the darkness at the side of the building.
The group of shadowy figures was gathered just out of range of the light near the front of the closest truck. The tallest one lifted his arm over his head and measured a blow with the heavy pliers. The memory of a different set of wire cutters sprang into Irene’s head.
She fished out her cell phone, and at the same time as she heard the shattering of glass, she called emergency services, 112. As the wick of the gasoline bomb caught fire, she reached someone on the other end.
“Firebombing of a refrigerator truck. Militant vegans. Högsbo industrial area, Viktor Hasselblads Gata. Nisse’s Meat and Deli. The activists are driving an old, rusty Volvo 240. License number N—”
She was so concentrated on the fire breaking out that she didn’t notice someone creeping up behind her. Just before everything went dark, she thought she heard Jenny’s horrified scream: “Mama!”
IRENE CAME TO a few moments later. She heard running footsteps across the asphalt and the slamming of a car door. In spite of her ambivalent prayer to the contrary, the car’s motor started right up. Her skull throbbed, and she felt extremely nauseous. With great difficulty she lifted her head to look around. She saw a flamenco dance of flames before her eyes and felt the heat on her face. When the world finally stopped spinning, she saw that the truck was burning. It took her a few more seconds before she heard the sobbing. Irene slowly turned to look behind her and saw a huddled figure she intuitively knew was Jenny. She began to crawl toward her daughter. She didn’t dare stand. She feared she’d pass out if she did.
Jenny didn’t appear to be hurt, although she was down on the ground. Her entire body was shaking from sobs. Or perhaps from the cold. To her surprise, Irene realized that Jenny wasn’t wearing any coat, not even the awful hoodie. Which Irene was glad to see. But now she had on only a T-shirt. Her skin was ice-cold when Irene reached her and stroked her arm with a shaking hand. “There, there, sweetheart,” she said. “Come on, let’s get out of here before my cronies get here.”
Jenny swallowed her sobs and nodded. Shakily, she stood up and tried to help her mother, but Irene was unable to stand.
“I’ll just crawl for a bit,” Irene said.
As quickly as she could, she made her way to the opening in the fence. It was easy to find now in the light of the blaze. She used the fence to help her get to her feet. Extremely slowly, she headed toward the bushes in the corner. They could hear police sirens coming closer. The moment the first flash of blue light appeared, Irene ducked behind the bushes and pulled Jenny after her. She wrapped her arms around her daughter to both keep her warm and comfort her. They sat stock-still.
They heard the slam of a car door and footsteps on the asphalt.
“Damn, it’s locked. We have to pull the alarm—Wait, is that a car from the security company? Hey there, guys! I’m glad you’re here. The fire truck will be here any second. Hurry and open the fence.”
Now or never. The activity around the fence and the approach of the fire truck distracted the policemen and firemen just enough so that Irene and Jenny could sneak away. Irene supported herself with a hard grip on Jenny’s shoulder, and they headed together toward the tiny side street.
Step by step they wobbled toward the car. Irene felt that they had walked for miles, even though it was hardly a hundred yards. She was no longer dizzy, but she felt weak and shaky. Her clothes clung to her body with sweat.
Before she opened the car door, she thoroughly wiped the cell phone on her sweater and then, with all her remaining strength, threw it into a clump of rhododendrons nearby. It would lie there undiscovered for a long time, if she were lucky.
She fumbled with the lock on her car door and sank down into the driver’s seat. She unlocked the passenger door for Jenny, whose teeth were chattering from cold. Irene took off her leather jacket and gave it to Jenny. Her daughter began to cry softly again but pulled herself together enough to put the jacket on. Her voice trembled as she said, “Mama … I thought … we were just going to put up … some posters.… Not set … a car on fire. And he … hit you! I saw it.… I screamed.…”
Now Jenny dissolved into violent sobs. Irene started the car and carefully backed onto the main road. She began to drive away, well under the speed limit but putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the burning truck.
Jenny blew her nose and dried her face with the cloth Irene kept in the glove compartment. Irene used the cloth to wipe the insides of the windows when they fogged up, so it was not the cleanest. Jenny’s face now looked as if she’d put on camouflage makeup. Irene decided not to mention it and asked instead, “What happened to you?”
Jenny blew her nose again into the cloth and tried to control her voice. “When Tobi—one of the guys—realized that you were … you were my mom … he called me a traitor and slapped me on the cheek and demanded the hoodie back.”
Irene glanced at Jenny and realized that the red in her face was not just from crying. There was a sharp mark just at the line of Jenny’s cheekbone that would certainly blossom into a black bruise.
Irene drove back toward Frölunda Square. As she entered the square, she was happy to see that a police car and a police bus, blue lights flashing, were parked next to the ancient Volvo 240.
IT WAS EXACTLY 10:00 P.M. when Irene and Jenny opened the door to their house. Irene was relieved that Katarina was not yet home. Irene’s rattled brain was beginning to clear and she’d started to make a plan. She turned to her daughter, who looked forlorn and frozen, and said, “Hurry up and take a shower. Use steaming-hot water. Then go right to bed and pretend you’re asleep. Do not talk to Katarina. I’ll bring you a sandwich in a minute.”
Jenny nodded and hurried upstairs. Irene hopped into the downstairs shower. She threw her dirty clothes directly into the laundry. Then she called her colleagues in Frölunda to report her telephone stolen. She said she believed it had been stolen while she was shopping, around six that evening. Her voice didn’t tremble and the other officer promised to cut service to her number.
Fifteen minutes later she went up to Jenny’s room with a lettuce-and-tomato sandwich on a plate and a mug of hot tea. At the last moment, she’d remembered not to add honey. Jenny was just coming out of the bathroom in her thickest flannel pajamas, the ones she’d gotten for the ski trip to Värmland. She snuggled down into her sheets as Irene sat on the edge of the bed.
Irene said, “We won’t mention this to anyone, not even Papa or Katarina. No one at all.”
Jenny’s eyes were red from crying, and the mark on her cheek was beginning to take on a purplish hue. She nodded without saying anything.
“We’re going to say that you hit your face on the railing of a stairway and that gave you the bruise.” Irene considered. “You left your jacket in the trunk of that Volvo. Is there anything in the pockets that could lead to you?”