thinner than last time she'd seen her.
'Do you want a sandwich? I've got some flat bread.' It was Jossie's favorite, with Port Salut cheese.
'No thanks, I've been eating all day.' Annika pushed the cup away and leaned over the table, staring straight into Patricia's eyes. 'Did I get it all wrong, Patricia? Did I get it wrong in my articles?'
Patricia swallowed and looked down. 'Not that I know,'
'Tell me honestly, Patricia. Have you ever seen that minister, Christer Lundgren?'
'I don't know,' she whispered. 'Maybe.'
Annika leaned back on the chair, resigned. 'Jesus. So it could be true. A cabinet minister. Jesus Christ!' She got to her feet and started pacing up and down. 'But it's fucking indefensible to depict Josefin as a hooker. And to play that tape with her voice- it's so awful.'
'That wasn't Jossie.' Patricia blew her nose.
Annika stopped and gaped at her. 'It wasn't? Then who the hell was it?'
'It was Sanna, the hostess. It's her job to keep a check on the answering machine. Drink your tea, it's getting cold.'
The journalist sat down again. 'Those jerks at the radio don't know as much as they think.'
Patricia didn't reply. She put her hands over her face. Her own life had disappeared along with Josefin's, replaced by an uncontrollable reality. She was being pulled further into an abyss each day.
'It's all a bad dream,' she said, her voice muffled behind her hands. She felt the journalist's gaze on her.
'Have you talked with anyone about all this?'
Patricia let her hands drop from her face, sighed, and lifted her cup. 'How do you mean?'
'A therapist or a counselor?'
Patricia looked affronted. 'Why would I want to do that?'
'Perhaps you need to talk to somebody?'
Patricia drank her tea- it was tepid. She swallowed. 'What could anyone do? Josefin is dead.'
Annika looked at her intently. 'Patricia. Please, tell me what you know. It's important. Was it Joachim?'
Patricia placed her cup on the saucer and looked down on her lap. 'I don't know,' she said in a low voice. 'It could have been someone else. Some VIP…' Her voice trailed off; suddenly the kitchen was heavy with silence.
'Why do you think that?'
Tears welled up in her eyes again.
'I can't tell you,' she whispered.
'Why not?'
She looked up at the journalist, tears rolling down her cheeks; her voice was squawky and shrill. 'Because he'd know that it was me who'd ratted on him! Don't you get it? I can't! I won't!'
Patricia jumped to her feet and ran out of the kitchen. She threw herself on her mattress, pulling the cover over her head. The reporter stayed in the kitchen. After a while Patricia heard her voice over by the door.
'I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to upset you. I'll check if it's possible to report
Patricia didn't answer but stayed under the cover, breathing rapidly and shallowly, inhaling stuffy, clammy air that seemed to have lost its oxygen.
The journalist opened the front door and closed it quietly behind her. Patricia threw the cover to the side. She lay still, looking out through a gap in the black curtains.
Soon it would be night again.
Jansson was back, thank God! At least he had a brain, unlike Spike.
'You look tired,' Jansson said.
'Thanks,' Annika retorted. 'Have you got a moment?'
He clicked away something on his screen. 'Sure. Smoke room?'
They sat down in the glass cubicle next to the sports desk. The night editor lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke up toward the fan.
'The minister lives fifty yards from the murder scene. Everybody in the house has been interviewed.'
Jansson whistled. 'That puts it in a different light. Have you found out anything more?'
She looked down at the floor. 'The boyfriend has an alibi. One of my sources tells me that it could have been someone important who killed her.'
Jansson smoked and looked at the young journalist in silence. He couldn't figure her out. She was smart, inexperienced, and unbelievably ambitious. A not completely healthy combination.
'Tell me. What are your sources?'
She pressed her lips together. 'You won't tell, will you?'
He shook his head.
'The murdered girl's roommate and the police captain in charge of the investigation at Krim. Neither of them will speak openly, but they do tell me things off the record.'
Jansson's eyes widened a bit. 'Not bad. How did you manage that?'
'I've been calling and hassling them. I went to the girl's house. Her name's Patricia. I'm a bit worried about her.'
Jansson stubbed out the cigarette. 'We'll go harder after the minister today. They've had him in for questioning three times now. There has to be something more than his apartment that's motivating them. That he lives so close is interesting, I haven't read that anywhere else. Let's do a story on that. How did you find out, by the way?'
'I had coffee with a neighbor. Then I rang on his door.'
Jansson was taken aback. 'And he opened the door?'
She blushed. 'I needed to use the bathroom.'
The night editor leaned back in his chair. 'What did he say?'
She gave an embarrassed laugh. 'He threw me out.'
Jansson laughed heartily.
'Where's Carl?' Annika wondered.
'He got another tip-off about those Barbie dolls. They seem to have something new going on.'
Annika stiffened. 'What happened yesterday?'
'I don't know, actually. He just came in with the pictures around nine.'
'Did you know he was bringing them in?'
Jansson shook his head and lit up again. 'Nope. They came like a gift from the skies.'
'Do you think it's ethically justifiable to stand around and watch people setting fire to police cars?'
Jansson sighed and stubbed the cigarette out after two drags. 'That's too big a discussion for right now.' He stood up. 'Will you check with Carl to see if you should add anything to his story?'
Annika also got up. 'Sure thing, babe.'
Jansson hurried over to answer his phone.
'Hi, Berit! How the hell's it going?… No? The son of a bitch!'
Annika sat down at Berit's desk and wrote her pieces. The minister's association with the crime scene was tricky to string together. She didn't have much to make a show of. She just sat staring at the screen for a long while, then she lifted the phone and rang Christer Lundgren's press secretary.
'Karina Bjornlund,' the woman answered.
Annika introduced herself and asked if she was interrupting anything.
'Well, yes, I'm getting ready for a dinner party. Could you call back tomorrow?'
'Are you serious?'
'I told you I'm busy.'
'Why are they questioning the minister?'
'I haven't the faintest idea.'
'Is it because he lives right next to the murder scene?'
The press secretary's surprise sounded real. 'He does?'
