"A real asshole," Starke said. "If anyone deserved a pack of dynamite in the kidneys it was him."
"Did Christina know him?"
"She knew who he was."
Annika closed the door, which had been open all along.
"Please, can you tell me what Christina really was like…"
"Christ, the papers have been packed with stories about what she was like!"
"I mean the real Christina, not the official one."
Helena Starke leaned against the doorpost of the living room, looking with interest at Annika.
"Why are you so curious?"
Annika breathed in through her nose. The place really had a stale smell.
"Every time I talk to someone who knew Christina, my picture of her changes. I think you were the only one who was really close to her."
"You're wrong there," Helena Starke said. She turned around and sat down on the couch in the small living room. Annika followed her without being invited.
"So who
did
know her?"
"No one," Helena said. "Not even she herself. Sometimes she was afraid of who she was, or rather of who she had become. Christina carried some pretty terrifying demons inside her."
Annika watched the woman's partly turned-away face. The light from the hallway fell on her neck and clean profile— Helena Starke was actually strikingly beautiful. Further away in the room, the darkness loomed; outside the traffic was thundering past.
"What demons?"
Helena Starke gave up a sigh.
"Her life was hell, from childhood onward. She was extremely intelligent, but that was never taken into account. People just messed her around in all possible ways; she dealt with it by becoming cold and unapproachable."
"What do you mean by people messing her around?"
"She did some pioneering work as a female executive in the private sector, in the banking business, in board rooms. People constantly tried to break her, but they never succeeded."
"The question is whether they didn't in the end," Annika said. "You can break inside, even if the surface is still intact."
Helena Starke didn't respond to that. She was staring unseeing into the darkness. After a while she raised her hand to her eyes, wiping something away.
"Did people know that you… were together?"
Helena Starke shook her head.
"No. Not a single person. I'm sure people talked, but no one ever asked us straight out. Christina was very nervous about it becoming known. She changed drivers every eight weeks to make sure they wouldn't see a connection in her coming here so often."
"Why was she so afraid? There are lots of people in the public eye who are open about their sexuality nowadays."
"It wasn't only that," Helena Starke said. "Any relationships between people at the Olympic Secretariat was prohibited. Christina herself had made that rule. If our relationship were to have become public, I wouldn't have been the only one who would have had to go. She wouldn't have been able to stay on as MD if she'd broken one of her most important rules herself."
Annika let the words sink in. Here was yet another thing Christina Furhage had been afraid of. She looked at Helena Starke's profile and saw the paradox of it all. Christina Furhage had risked everything she had ever worked for on account of this woman.
"She was here that last night, wasn't she?"
Helena Starke nodded.
"We took a taxi. Christina must have paid cash. I don't quite remember, but she usually did. I was out of it, but I remember that Christina was really mad at me. She didn't like it when I drank and smoked. We made rather rough love, and I passed out. She was gone when I woke up."
She fell silent and turned those last words over in her mind.
"Christina was dead by the time I woke up."
"Do you remember when she left here?"
The woman in the dark sighed.
"No idea, but the police said she received a call on her cellphone at 2:53. She had answered it and talked for a couple of minutes. That must have been after we'd finished having sex, because Christina never could talk on the phone while we were at it…"
She turned to face Annika with a wry smile.
"It must be difficult not to be able to be open about how you feel…" Annika said.
Helena Starke shrugged.
"When I fell in love with Christina, I knew what to expect. It wasn't easy to get her to let herself go. It took more than a year."
She gave a little laugh.
"Christina was incredibly inexperienced. It was as if she'd never enjoyed sex before, but once she discovered how much fun it was, she couldn't get enough. I've never had such a fantastic lover."
Annika felt uneasy; this was none of her business. She didn't want to picture this beautiful forty-year-old making love to an ice-cold, sixty-plus woman. She shook herself to get rid of the feeling.
"Thanks for telling me," was all she said.
Helena Starke didn't reply. Annika turned around and walked toward the door.
"By the way, where are you moving to?" she asked.
"Los Angeles," Helena Starke replied.
"Isn't that a bit sudden?"
Helena Starke looked around the doorpost and fixed her with her eyes.
"It wasn't me who blew them up," she said.
* * *
Annika returned to the newsroom just in time to catch the 16:45
Eko.
They led with a scoop, at least by
Eko
standards: They had gotten their hands on the government bill on regional issues that would be introduced to Parliament at the end of January. The following item was more interesting. The
Eko
had gotten hold of a preliminary lab report on the explosives used in Stefan Bjurling's murder. The ingredients were probably the same as those at the Olympic arena: a high-density mixture of nitroglycerine and nitroglycol, but the dimension and size of the charge were different. According to the news program, the explosive probably consisted of paper-wrapped cartridges of the smallest size, with a diameter of somewhere between 22 and 29 millimeters. The police were not willing to comment on the information.
Patrik will have to deal with this, Annika thought, making a note on her pad.
There was nothing more on the news that affected her work, so she switched off the radio and started making some calls. The builders who had worked together with Stefan Bjurling should be home by now. She opened the paper at the page with her own story, looked at the caption below the photo of the men, and then called information. Some of the men had common names like Sven Andersson, which would be difficult to find, but five names were unusual enough to save her calling fifty people, asking if she'd found the right person. She got lucky on the fourth call.
"Yes, I had my camera with me," said the plumber Herman Ösel.
"You didn't take any pictures of Christina Furhage, by any chance?"
"I certainly did."
Annika's heart started beating faster.
"Did you take any of Stefan Bjurling?"
"Not of him alone, but I think he's in one of the pictures I took of Christina."
This isn't happening, what incredible luck, Annika thought.
"You don't know yet, do you?" she asked.
"No, I haven't developed the film yet. I'm planning to take a few snaps of the grandchildren over Christmas…"
"Herman, we can help you develop your film; we'll naturally give you a new roll in exchange. If there should be a photo on your roll that we might be interested in printing, would you consider selling it to us?"
The plumber didn't quite follow.
"You'd buy my film?" he said dubiously.
"No, the film is yours, you'll get it back. But we might be interested in buying the rights to one of your pictures. That's how it usually works when we buy pictures from freelance photographers, which is what you'd be in this case."
"Well, I don't know…"
Annika drew a soundless deep breath and decided to educate him.
"This is the scenario…" she began. "At
Kvällspressen
we believe it's crucial that the Bomber, who has murdered Christina Furhage and Stefan Bjurling, is apprehended and put in jail. It's important both to Christina's and Stefan's families, to their colleagues, and to the whole country— even the whole world. The Games are being jeopardized. The best way to spread information and rouse public opinion is by the mass media doing their bit, which for
Kvällspressen
means writing about the victims and the police work. We work partly in conjunction with the police and the public prosecutor, partly independently. This involves talking to the colleagues of the victims. That's why I'm asking you if we could publish a picture of Christina and Stefan together, if there is such a one on your roll of film."
Her throat was parched after the lecture, but it seemed to have the desired effect.
"Oh, well, in that case I suppose it's all right. But how do we do it? The last mail collection has been out here."
"Where do you live?" Annika asked.
"In Vallentuna, north of town."
"Herman, I'll ask one of my colleagues to drive over to your house and pick up that film."
"But there are still several shots left…"
"You'll get a new film from us, for free. Tomorrow morning you'll get the film back, developed and all. If we find a picture that we want to publish, we'll pay you 930 kronor, which is the going rate. In that case our picture editor will call you tomorrow to arrange the payment. Does that sound okay?"
"Nine hundred and thirty kronor? For one picture?"
"Yes, that's the going rate."
"Why the hell didn't I become a photographer? Of course you can come and pick up my film! When will you be here?"
Annika took down the address and some simple directions and then finished the call. She picked up a roll of film at the picture desk and went out to Tore Brand at the porters' desk to ask if one of the drivers could go out to Vallentuna. "No problem," said Tore.
"By the way, someone was asking for you earlier today," he said as Annika was just about to leave.
"Oh— who?"
"She didn't say. She wanted to give you something."
"What was it?"
"She didn't say that either. Said she'd come back later."
Annika smiled, groaning inwardly. They really should learn to take a message properly. Any day now it could be something important.
She walked past Patrik's desk on the way back to her office, but he was out. She'd have to call him on his cellphone to check up with him before the Six Session. As she walked past Eva-Britt Qvist's desk, the phone started ringing in her office. She ran over and answered. It was Thomas.
"When are you coming home?"
"I don't know, late, I think. Maybe around nine."
"I have to get back to work, we have a meeting at six."
Annika felt herself getting angry.
"Six o'clock? But I'm working. I have a meeting at six, too! Why didn't you call earlier?"
Thomas sounded calm, but Annika could hear the anger was building up in him, too.
"The
Eko
ran some stuff about the government's regional bill this afternoon. It came as a complete bombshell at the Association of Local Authorities. Politicians from the advisory committee are on their way here now and I have to be there. You understand that, don't you?"
Annika closed her eyes and breathed. Shit, shit, she'd have to go home now.
"We agreed that I was going to work Monday and Wednesday and you Tuesday and Thursday," she said. "I've stuck to my part of the deal. My job is just as important as yours."
Thomas climbed down. Now he was appealing to her.
"Please, honey. I know, you're right. But I
have
to go back, you've got to understand that. This is a panic meeting; it won't take long. I've made dinner already, all you have to do is come home and eat with the kids and I'll come back straight after the meeting. We should be done by eight, there isn't really much to be said. You can go back to work when I come back."
She sighed and closed her eyes, pressing one hand against her forehead.
"Okay. I'll go right now."
She went outside to tell Ingvar Johansson about Herman Ösel's photo, but the news editor wasn't at his desk. Picture Pelle was on the phone, so she waved her hand in front of his face.
"What?" he said, putting the receiver against his shoulder, annoyed.
