Annika blinked in astonishment. It was the prime minister of Sweden.
Christer Lundgren stepped inside his overnight apartment with a feeling of unreality. He had a sense of impending catastrophe. Hot winds were blowing in his face. The electrically charged air made him realize the inevitable: the storm was blowing his way. He was going to get drenched.
The heat in the small apartment was indescribable. It had been exposed to the scorching sun all day. He was annoyed. Why weren't there any blinds?
He dropped his bag on the floor in the hallway and opened the balcony door wide. The ventilation system in the backyard was roaring.
Damn that hamburger chain, he thought.
He went into the small kitchen and poured himself a big glass of water. The drains smelled of old yogurt and apple peel. He flushed away what he could.
His meeting with the party secretary and the undersecretary of state had been dreadful. He had no illusions about his position. It was crystal clear.
He took the glass of water with him and with a heavy sigh sat down on the bed with the phone on his lap. He took a few deep breaths before he dialed his home number.
'I'll be staying here for a while,' he said to his wife after the initial small talk.
His wife paused. 'For the weekend?' she eventually asked.
'You know I don't want to.'
'You promised the kids.'
He closed his eyes and held his forehead in his hand. 'I miss you so much I feel sick.'
She became worried. 'What's wrong? What happened?'
'You wouldn't believe me if I told you. It's one big nightmare.'
'Jesus, Christer! Tell me what's happened!'
He swallowed and braced himself. 'Listen to me- take the kids and go to Karungi. I'll follow as soon as I can.'
'I won't go without you.'
His voice acquired a hard edge. 'You must. I'm telling you all hell's about to break loose. You're going to be besieged if you stay there. It would be best if you could leave tonight.'
'But Stina isn't expecting us until Saturday!'
'Call her and ask if you can't come earlier. Stina's always willing to help.'
His wife waited in silence. 'It's the police,' she then said quietly. 'The thing with the police calling.'
He heard the twins laughing in the background.
'Yes,' he said. 'Partly. But that's not all.'
Annika returned home just in time for the quarter-to-five
'Guess who I saw in the forest? The prime minister!'
As she tipped the contents of the two plastic bags on the table, the opening chimes of the news pealed from the transistor radio.
'He's got it into his head he should lose some weight,' her grandmother said. 'He often cycles past here.'
They sat down opposite each other at the kitchen table and cleaned the mushrooms while the radio voices droned on. Nothing was happening.
'So, you still keep in contact with people at Harpsund?'
Grandmother smiled. She had been the housekeeper at the prime minister's summer residence for thirty-seven years. The local news came on and she turned up the volume.
Annika cut the chanterelles in pieces and placed them in the bowl next to her. Then she let her hands drop and eyes rest. The wall clock ticked and the minutes went by. For Annika, her grandmother's kitchen was the very home of peace and warmth. The iron range with its white plaster hood, the linoleum flooring, the plastic tablecloth, and the wild meadow flowers in the windows. This was where she'd learned to live without hot running water.
'Will you stay the night?' her grandmother asked.
Just then the signature tune to
'Let's hear what they're up to today.'
The music faded and the deep bass of the program presenter sounded:
'The police have questioned a man on suspicion of the sex murder of a young woman in Kronoberg Park in Stockholm. The man is said to be Minister for Foreign Trade Christer Lundgren. More about this in today's current affairs program with debate and analysis, live from Studio 69.'
The signature tune resumed, and Annika put her hands across her mouth. Good God, could it be true?
'What's wrong? You've gone all pale,' her grandmother said.
The music faded out and the presenter was back: 'Tuesday, July thirty-first. Welcome to
Some rustling static was heard.
'I'm standing here with the police press officer,' a male reporter with an authoritative voice said. 'What has happened here today?'
Annika turned up the volume. The voice of the press officer filled the kitchen.
'It's true that the police are following certain leads in the hunt for Josefin Liljeberg's murderer. However, I can't give you any details. Nobody has been arrested even if our interviews are pointing in one particular direction.'
The reporter wasn't listening. 'A minister suspected of having committed this kind of crime in the middle of an election campaign- what's your comment on that?'
The press officer hesitated. 'Well, I can neither confirm nor deny anything at the moment. No one has as yet been-'
'But the minister was here today for an interview?'
'Minister for Foreign Trade Christer Lundgren is one of several persons that have been interviewed in the line of the ongoing investigation, that's correct,' the press officer answered mechanically.
'So you will confirm that the interviews have taken place?' the reporter said in a triumphant tone.
'I can confirm that we have carried out around three hundred interviews in the investigation so far.' The press officer sounded as if he was beginning to sweat a bit.
'What did the minister have to say in his defense?'
The press officer was becoming annoyed. His pager started bleeping. 'As everyone must understand, I can't comment on what has been said in any interviews during an ongoing police investigation.'
The control room cut in and the program presenter reappeared. 'We're back in Studio 69 at Radio House in Stockholm. Now, this will naturally give the Social Democrats a run for their money during the election campaign, even if the minister isn't guilty of the crime. The mere fact that a cabinet minister should figure in this kind of context is devastating for the party image. We will be discussing this in today's edition of
A jingle played, and when the presenter returned, he had a guest in the studio, a poor excuse for a media professor. Annika knew him by reputation. He had got the post through having worked as the politically appointed editor in chief of the labor movement newspaper that also ran Sweden's biggest printing house for pornographic material.
'Well,' said the professor, 'this is of course a downright disaster for Social Democracy. The mere suspicion of this kind of abuse of power puts the party in a very difficult situation. Very difficult, indeed.'
'Though we don't know if the minister is guilty, and we won't judge anyone beforehand here,' the program
