Annika groaned. 'Thanks for letting me interrupt you,' she said dryly. 'It was very helpful.'
'That was nothing,' Karina Bjornlund chirped. 'Have a nice evening!'
Jesus Christ! Annika thought.
She called the switchboard and asked where Berit was staying in Gotland and got the number of a hotel. The reporter was in her room.
'No luck?' Annika said.
Berit heaved a sigh. 'The Speaker refuses to admit any knowledge of the IB affair.'
'What is it you're trying to dig out?'
'He was one of the principal players in the sixties. Among other things, his wartime posting was with IB.'
'Really?'
'Formally, he was posted at the Defense Staff Headquarters intelligence outfit, but in reality he carried on with his normal political work. How are you doing?'
Annika paused. 'So-so.
'Did you know that?'
Annika closed her eyes. 'Yep.'
'So why didn't you write about it?' Berit sounded surprised.
Annika scratched her ear. 'I just described her as a person. It didn't seem relevant.'
'Of course it's relevant, come on.'
Annika swallowed. 'You get a one-dimensional picture if you bring up that stuff with the strip joint: she's just a simple hooker. There was a lot more to her. She was a daughter and a sister and a friend and a schoolgirl-'
'And a stripper. Of course it matters, Annika.'
The phone was silent.
'I'm going to report
Berit's response was short but she sounded mad: 'Why?'
'Patricia didn't know they were going to broadcast the information.'
'Who's Patricia?'
'Josefin's best friend.'
'Don't get pissed now, Annika, but I think you're taking the coverage of this murder a little too personally. Beware of mixing with the people involved. It never ends up well. You've got to keep a professional distance or you can't help anyone, least of all yourself.'
Annika closed her eyes and felt she was turning pink. 'I know what I'm doing,' she said, a bit too shrilly.
'I'm not convinced you do.'
They quickly finished the call. Annika sat with her face in her hands for a long while. She felt battered, on the verge of tears.
'Have you finished the apartment story?' Jansson shouted over from the news desk.
She quickly got ahold of herself. 'Sure. I'm putting it on the server… now!'
She typed in the command and let the article zoom through the cables. Jansson gave her the thumbs-up when the copy landed on his screen. She collected her things and got up to leave. At that moment Carl Wennergren came galloping from the elevators.
'Get out my full picture byline, 'cause tonight I'm a star!' he shouted.
All the men around the news desk looked up at the reporter while he performed a war dance on the newsroom floor, pad in one hand, camera in the other.
'The Ninja Barbies have tried to set fire to the whorehouse where the stripper worked. Guess who's got exclusive rights to the pictures!'
The men around the desk all got up and went to slap Carl on the back. Annika saw the reporter's camera floating like a trophy above their heads. She quickly took her bag and left through the back door.
The temperature had dropped a few degrees but the air was thicker than ever. It felt like a real thunderstorm was on its way. Annika walked past the closed hot dog kiosk and ignored the bus stop. Instead she slowly walked toward Fridhemsplan and without noticing soon found herself in Kronoberg Park.
All the cordons were gone, but the mountain of flowers had grown. They were in the wrong place, next to the entrance of the cemetery, but that didn't matter. The truth about Josefin wasn't important, only that the myth lived on. People could project whatever they wanted onto it.
She turned to the right and reached Hantverkargatan, where blue lights of emergency vehicles were flashing in the night.
The Ninja Barbies' arson, she thought, and in the next instant, oh my God, Patricia!
Annika ran past Kungsholmen High School and down the hill. The three crowns on top of City Hall glowed in the last rays of the sun. A group of bystanders had collected, and she saw Arne Pahlson from the Rival hanging about over by one of the fire engines. She edged closer. One of the narrow lanes of the street was closed off, so the cars had to crawl past in one lane. Three fire engines, two police cars, and one ambulance were parked outside the anonymous entrance to Studio 69. The sidewalk and the facade were blackened with soot. She stopped behind a group of young men with beer cans in their hands excitedly discussing what had happened.
Suddenly the door to the club swung open and a plainclothes officer stepped outside. Annika immediately recognized him, even though he wasn't wearing a Hawaiian shirt this time. He was talking to someone who was obscured by the door. Annika pushed her way nearer to the front and saw a thin woman's arm point at something on the street.
'Where?' Annika heard the police captain say.
Patricia stepped out onto the sidewalk. It took a couple of seconds before Annika registered that it was her. She wore heavy makeup and had her hair in a high ponytail. She was dressed in a red, glittering bra and panties with a G-string. The men surrounding Annika started howling and wolf-whistling. Patricia winced and looked over at the group. She instantly recognized Annika, and Patricia's face lit up as their eyes met. She lifted her hand to wave and Annika stiffened. Without thinking she ducked behind the men and drew back. The men pushed forward, and she heard a woman crying out. She rushed into the nearest side street, one she'd never been in before, and ran over to Bergsgatan, past the police headquarters and its parking lot, and then turned into Agnegatan. She took the shortcut across the yard and reached the street door of her house, trembling and out of breath. The key in her hand shook so badly that she could hardly get it into the lock.
I'm losing it, she thought, and bowed her head when she became conscious of her cowardice.
She was ashamed of Patricia.
Eighteen Years, One Month, and Twenty-Five Days
