Exposed (32 page)

Mind you, he was supposed to be mean.

As she finished her water, her thoughts went back to Josefin again. The dead girl had been completely forgotten. From the moment she was revealed to be a stripper, she had been nothing but a piece of meat, a plaything for more influential people. Annika thought of the girl’s parents.

I wonder how Mum would react if it was me, she thought. Would she cry for the local paper?

Probably not; her mother didn’t like journalists. You should keep things to yourself and not give a shit about what anyone else does, that was her motto. She had never said so in so many words, but she had never been very happy with Annika’s choice of career. She had agreed with Sven when he said she should never have taken up the offer of a trainee post.

‘It’s a really tough job,’ Sven had said. ‘Going after people and proving they did stuff, that wouldn’t suit you at all. You’re far too nice …’

Annoyed, she got up and went back to her desk.

‘Okay, I’ve had enough of this crap,’ she said to Anne Snapphane. She picked up her bag and left.

Patricia jumped when the outside door opened. Annika appeared as a dark silhouette against the harsh light of the stairwell.

‘Were you asleep?’ Annika said, turning the light on.

Patricia blinked against the sudden brightness.

‘I was letting the energies flow,’ she said.

‘And now I’ve spoiled everything?’ Annika said with a sheepish smile.

Patricia smiled back.

‘They’re always here.’

Annika hung up her coat in the hall, her light jacket was soaked. Patricia sat up on the sofa.

‘Josefin had a jacket just like that,’ she said, sounding amazed. ‘Exactly the same.’

Annika looked at her with surprise.

‘It’s a few years old now. H&M, I think.’

Patricia nodded. ‘That’s where Josie got hers. It’s still hanging in the hall at Dalagatan. “I’m always going to wear this jacket,” she used to say. She often said things like that, huge exaggerations. “I’m always going to do this”, “I’m never, ever doing that”, “This is the absolute biggest whatever”. “You’re the very best friend I’ve ever had”. And then there was “until I die”. Until I die …’

Patricia started to cry, and Annika sat down beside her on the sofa.

‘Did you listen to
Studio Six?’

Patricia nodded.

‘What do you think? Could it have been the government minister?’

Patricia looked down at her hands through her tears.

‘It could have been one of the bigwigs. They left just after Josie. They had smart bank cards, government cards. And there were the Germans. You know what they’re like. Hiding away in Asunción after the war. Dad used to talk about them.’

Annika sat in silence as Patricia cried.

‘Anyone who means anything to me dies,’ she said.

‘Oh, but—’ Annika said.

‘First Dad, then Josie …’

‘Well, that can’t be “everyone”? What about your mum?’

Patricia pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose.

‘She doesn’t talk to me any more. She thinks I’m a slut. She’s got the whole family on her side.’

Annika stood up and fetched two glasses of water from the kitchen. She handed one to Patricia.

‘So why do you work there, then?’

‘Joachim thinks I’m good behind the bar,’ she said defensively. ‘And I earn a lot of money. I save ten thousand every month. When I’ve got enough I’m going to open my own shop. I already know what it’s going to be called. Crystal. I’ve learned from Joachim, so I looked it up. The name’s available. I’m going to sell tarot cards and do horoscopes, help people onto the right track—’

‘You’ve seen pictures of the minister now,’ Annika interrupted. ‘Was he at the club with the other men?’

Patricia shrugged. ‘They’re all pretty much the same, they sort of blur together.’

Annika recognized the phrase, she’d heard it somewhere before. She looked hard at the young woman on the sofa. Presumably she avoided looking at the men at all.

‘Have the police asked you about this?’

‘Course they have. They’ve asked everything a million times.’

‘Like what, for instance?’ Patricia got up, irritated.

‘Everything, loads of stuff. I’m tired now. Goodnight.’

She closed the door to the maid’s room carefully behind her.

‘She’s got to go,’ the first one said.

‘How are we going to get rid of her?’ the second one said.

‘Shoot her?’ said the third.

The men from
Studio Six
were sitting round her kitchen table. She wasn’t going to be staying on at the paper; that much was obvious.

‘You haven’t asked me yet,’ Annika cried.

They carried on muttering at the table, and Annika could no longer make out what they were saying.

‘Listen!’ she said. ‘Maybe I don’t want to go with you! I don’t want to go to Harpsund!’

‘Do you want breakfast?’

Annika opened her eyes and stared at Patricia.

‘What?’

Patricia put her hand over her mouth.

‘Oh, sorry, you were asleep. I thought … you were talking. It must have been a dream.’

Annika closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair.

‘It was a really weird dream,’ she said.

‘About Harpsund?’

Annika stood up, pulled on her dressing-gown and
padded down to the toilet. When she got back Patricia was pouring coffee.

‘Aren’t you sleeping well at the moment?’ Patricia said.

Annika sat down with a sigh. ‘Today’s the day,’ she said.

‘I reckon they’ll keep you on,’ Patricia said with a smile.

Annika reflected.

‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I’m a member of the Journalists’ Union, so I’ll have the union behind me. Even if the bosses have been influenced by
Studio Six
, the union would object.’

She took a bite of a bread roll, and her face relaxed.

‘Yes, that’s what’ll happen,’ she said. ‘It’s entirely likely they’ll want to get rid of me, because they’re losing their grip right now, frankly. But the union takes a more sympathetic view of cases like this, so they’ll fight my corner.’

‘There you are, then,’ Patricia said, and this time Annika smiled back at her.

The rain had stopped. Even so, his first breath filled his lungs with damp air. The fog was so thick he could hardly see the hire-car.

He walked out onto the crunching gravel and let the door close behind him. All sound was muffled, as if everything was wrapped in cotton-wool. He pushed his hands through the veils of fog. They danced around him.

He walked round to the back of the house. There was no sign of the lake and its little rowing boats just a few hundred metres away. He assumed the fog would lift later that morning, so if he was going to get any fresh air, it had to be now.

A car drove past out on the road, but he couldn’t see any trace of it.

Talk about the perfect hiding place, he thought.

He sat down on a bench, and the damp came through his trousers at once. He ignored it.

A sense of failure was burning in his lungs. He drew several deep, misty breaths. The view of the lake was about as clear as his own future.

The Prime Minister hadn’t been willing to discuss what he was going to do afterwards. Right now all their energy was devoted to rescuing the election campaign. Nothing could be allowed to threaten that. The Prime Minister was going to abandon him today, execute him in public, and invent some excuse for his departure that he would feed to the press corps. The amoebas, as he called them, were in control of the election campaign, and that was the most important thing right now.

Apart from the truth, he thought.

The thought had the same effect on his future as if the sun had suddenly broken through all the clouds and lifted the fog in an instant.

It was as simple as that!

He laughed out loud.

He could do whatever the hell he wanted.

As long as no one found them.

His laughter died instantly, swallowed up by the fog.

‘He’s resigned,’ Anne Snapphane cried. ‘We’ve just had a newsflash from the agency.’

Annika dropped her bag on the floor.

‘And?’ she said.

‘ “The Prime Minister announced the resignation of the Minister for Foreign Trade at a press conference at Rosenbad”,’ she read on the screen. ‘ “The Prime
Minister expressed his regret at Christer Lundgren’s decision, but understood the reasons for it.” ’

‘Which were?’ Annika said, sitting down and turning on her computer.

‘To spend more time with his family,’ Anne Snapphane said.

‘There’s something fishy about this,’ Annika said.

‘Oh,’ Anne said, ‘you see ghosts everywhere.’

‘So what’s the alternative? That he really did kill her?’

‘Well, everything’s certainly pointing to that right now,’ Anne Snapphane said.

Annika didn’t reply. She was looking down the list of items on the news agency website. They were already up to ‘minister’s resignation: 5’. They hadn’t been able to reach Christer Lundgren himself for a comment. The Prime Minister once again stressed that the minister hadn’t been formally identified as a suspect in any criminal activity, and that the police were questioning him as a matter of routine.

‘So why did he resign, then?’ Annika muttered.

The expenses claim from
Studio Six
was currently being examined by an internal government investigation.

She let go of the mouse, leaned back and looked out over the newsroom.

‘Where are all the führers, then?’ she asked.

‘Recruitment meeting,’ Anne said.

Annika’s stomach lurched.

‘I’m going to get some coffee,’ she said quickly, and got up.

Shit, I’m nervous, she thought.

She picked up a copy of the paper, and burst out laughing when she got to pages six and seven.

The cat was tiny, and was sitting on a dark-green
plastic bunk in a holding cell. It had huge eyes, and looked rather confused, possibly as a result of the flash. The tip of its tail was neatly positioned on top of its paws.

D
EATH ROW KITTY
, shrieked the huge headline.

‘It’s a good job the media take an interest in the really important stories sometimes,’ Annika said when she could speak again.

‘We’ve had a huge response already,’ Anne said. ‘My task today is to make sure it gets a good home.’

She waved a thick bundle of phone memos.

‘The receptionists are already sifting out anyone who doesn’t live in the area,’ she said. ‘What do you think of Arkösund? Do you think it looks like a seaside cat?’

Anne Snapphane leaned forward, peered at the picture for a few seconds and answered her own question.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he likes herring. I think he likes mice and birds. What about Haversby? That sounds like a real rat-hole, doesn’t it?’

Annika stood up, restless.

Why wasn’t Christer Lundgren taking part in his own press conference? How come the Prime Minister made the announcement and not him? Didn’t he want to resign? Or were the election strategists worried that he’d go off-message?

It could be any or none of those, Annika reasoned. Either way, it gave the impression that they had something to hide.

She went over to the noticeboard, and saw that the recruitment meeting was due to start at ten o’clock. So they ought to be finished soon. She felt she needed to go to the toilet. Again.

When she came out she saw Bertil Strand talking to Picture-Pelle over by the picture desk. She knew the photographer was one of the union representatives, and
took part in recruitment meetings. Without realizing she was doing it, she jogged over to him.

‘Well, what did you decide?’ she said breathlessly.

Bertil Strand turned round slowly.

‘It was unanimous,’ he said. ‘We think you should leave at once. The callous way you treat people has damaged the credibility of the paper.’

Annika didn’t understand. ‘But,’ she said, ‘don’t I get to stay?’

His eyes narrowed and his voice was cold. ‘We think you should be dismissed forthwith.’

The room swayed, the blood drained from her face, and she took hold of the picture desk.

‘Dismissed?’ she said.

Bertil Strand turned away and she let go of the desk. Oh God, sacked, bloody hell. Where’s the door? She had to throw up. The newsroom shimmered and swayed, the walls rippling away from her.

Anger rose up in her, blood red and sharp.

Fucking hell, she thought. That’s enough of this crap! I’m not the one who’s behaved badly. It’s not my fault the paper’s heading for disaster. And they had the nerve to blame her, her own union reps!

‘How dare you!’ she said to Bertil Strand.

The man’s back stiffened.

‘People like me pay for your expensive committee dinners,’ she said. ‘You’re supposed to help us. How the fuck can you treat someone like this?’

He turned to face her again.

‘You aren’t a full member of this branch of the union,’ he said curtly.

‘No, because I’m not on a permanent contract. But I pay exactly the same membership fee as everyone else. How come I don’t get the same rights? And how the hell can your committee decree that one of your own members should get the sack? Are you mad?’

‘You shouldn’t say things you might regret,’ the photographer said, looking over her head.

She took a short step towards him, and he backed away nervously.