Patricia lay on her mattress, behind the drawn black curtains, sweating in the dark. Her legs ached and she felt sick with tiredness. She wasn't capable of spying on Joachim. They just couldn't ask that of her; the mere thought of it gave her goose bumps.
She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the sounds of the city. Night was falling out there; people were on their way to bars and restaurants. She focused inward and tried to find the truth inside, listening to her breathing and sinking into a form of self-hypnosis.
She conjured up Josefin's voice in the gloom, deep from within herself. At first the voice was lighthearted and happy, rising and falling, and Patricia smiled. Jossie was humming and singing in a high, clear voice. When the screams came, Patricia was prepared. She listened patiently to the blows and thuds, to Joachim's roaring. She hid in the shadows until he went silent and had left. She waited for the desperate tears from Jossie's room. The guilt was gone; she couldn't have stopped it. She wasn't alarmed; she wasn't scared. He couldn't do it anymore. Not to Jossie.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to the surface. The real world returned, sultry and hot.
I have to consult the cards, she thought.
She slowly got up; her blood pressure didn't keep up with her and she wobbled slightly. She took a balsawood box from a bag in the corner. She opened the box and stroked the black velvet lining. This was where she kept her cards.
She sat down on the floor in the lotus position and reverentially shuffled the tarot cards three times. Then she cut the deck three times. She repeated the procedure twice, just as the energies demanded. After the last cut she didn't collect the deck but chose one of the piles with her left hand and then shuffled these cards once more.
Finally, she put down the cards in a Celtic cross on the parquet floor, ten cards representing the quality of the moment from different angles. The Celtic cross was the most comprehensive spread to use when dealing with a significant change, which is what she felt she was facing now.
She deferred studying and analyzing the cards until the cross was complete. She then contemplated her situation. Her first card was Three of Swords, which stood for Saturn in Libra. She nodded- that was obvious, really. Three of Swords signified mourning and tension in three-way relationships. It urged her to make clear and unequivocal decisions.
The card crossing the card in the first position, standing in the way of her taking a stand, was the fifteenth of the Major Arcana, of course. The Devil, the male sex. It couldn't be more explicit.
The third and fourth cards represented her conscious and unconscious thoughts regarding the situation. Nothing strange there- Nine of Swords and Ten of Wands. Cruelty and oppression.
But the seventh and eighth cards made a big impression on her. The seventh card represented her self and was the eighteenth of the Major Arcana- the Moon. Not good. It meant she was facing a final and difficult test associated with the female sex.
The eighth card puzzled her. It represented external forces that would influence her situation. The Magician symbolized a ruthless communicator, an ingenious wordsmith, constantly moving on the edge of truth. She already had a hunch who this could be.
The tenth card, the outcome, made her feel calm. Six of Wands. Jupiter in Leo. Clarity. Breakthrough. Victory.
Now she knew she would make it.
Seventeen Years, Nine Months, and Three Days
Monday 30 July
When Annika got to work, Spike was waiting impatiently by her desk, even though she didn't officially start for another hour and a half.
'Berit got a hot tip on another story,' the news editor said. 'You and Carl Wennergren will cover the murder today.'
Annika dropped her bag on the floor and wiped the sweat from her forehead. 'It's just getting hotter and hotter,' she sighed.
'Carl's on his way up from Nynashamn. Did you hear that he won the Round Gotland Race?'
Annika sat down and switched on her computer. 'No, I didn't. That's nice for him.'
Spike sat down on her desk and leafed through the rival tabloid. 'We won today. They've got neither the parents nor the retrieved clothes. You did really well yesterday, you and Berit.'
Annika lowered her head. 'How are we going to develop the story today?'
'It won't be on the first page today. Sales always go down on the third day. Besides, it would have to be something pretty damn big to beat Berit's story. Why don't you try squeezing some kind of theory out of the cops? They should have one by now. Do you know if they have one they're working on?'
Annika hesitated as Joachim popped up in her mind, remembering Spike's dislike of 'domestic quarrels.'
'Perhaps,' was all she said.
'If the police don't get a breakthrough, the story will soon be running on empty,' Spike went on. 'We'll have to keep an eye on the murder scene. Today would be the day for crying friends and stuff like that.'
'Some graphics and a map detailing her last hours?'
Spike's face lit up. 'You're right, we haven't done that. Get the data for it and talk to the illustrators.'
Annika took notes. 'Anything else new?'
'Well, our new deputy editor is coming in today. Anders Schyman. We'll have to see how it works out…'
Annika had heard the office talk about the new deputy editor, a presenter from a television current affairs program. She had never met him, only seen him on TV. He was big and blond and she thought he seemed boorish and unsympathetic.
'What do you think of him?' Annika asked circumspectly.
'It'll be a mess. What makes a goddamn TV celebrity think he can come here and teach us our jobs?'
Thereby he had voiced the collective opinion of the entire newsroom. Annika dropped the subject.
'Could Anne Snapphane help me on the murder case, or is she doing something else?'
Spike stood up. 'Little Miss Snapphane has developed a new brain tumor and is undergoing some magnetic resonance imaging. Hey, there you are, Carl! Congratulations, pal!'
