was like family.
'I see.' The administrative officer hesitated. 'It's not completely straightforward,' she said in the end. 'The commission would have to receive a complaint and then consider the case. There is the public interest to take into account.'
Annika gave up. She felt she wouldn't be getting any further. She thanked her and hung up.
But I'm not completely talking through my hat, she thought. There might be a privacy case to be made.
The lunchtime
The familiar voice sounded mischievous: 'Do I look like it's an emergency?'
The reporter described the prime minister as having been relaxed and in excellent spirits when arriving at Rosenbad this morning. He wasn't the least worried about the accusations against Foreign Trade Minister Christer Lundgren, but was looking forward to the forthcoming election campaign with confidence. He did feel sympathy for his colleague, however, and knew what he was going through.
The prime minister again: 'Naturally, I feel for Christer at a time like this. This kind of unwarranted media attention is always a trial. But I assure you, for the government- and the party- this business is of no consequence whatever.'
That was the end of the report. The next item was about some official report from the Association of Local Authorities. Annika turned the radio off. If one thing really bored the pants off her, it was Local Authorities' reports.
'Is it you who's been talking all this rubbish?'
Patricia blinked sleepily at the strip of light between the curtains. She tried to sit up straight on the mattress and moved the receiver to the other ear.
'Hello.'
'Don't try to get out of it. Just tell me the truth!' The shrill voice broke.
Patricia coughed and rubbed her eyes, wishing the pollen season would soon be over.
'Is that you, Barbro?' she said cautiously.
'Of course it's me! Who else would it be? One of your porn friends, perhaps!'
Josefin's mother was raging down the phone, a rant so inarticulate and incoherent Patricia hadn't even recognized her voice at first. Patricia took a deep breath and tried to collect her thoughts. The words entwined, mixed up, and blurred. Spanish took over, as it sometimes did when she was under stress.
'Do you understand what you have done?' Josefin's mother yelled. 'You've blackened her memory forever. How could you?'
Patricia's mind cleared- something was wrong. 'What's happened? What are you talking about?'
The voice on the phone dropped to a whisper. 'We know what you are. You're a greaseball whore. Do you hear that? And as if that weren't enough, you had to drag Josefin down with you!'
Patricia stood up and shouted back, 'That's not true! Not at all! I didn't drag Josefin into anything!'
'Now listen to me,' Barbro Liljeberg Hed hissed. 'I want you out of my apartment today. Pack your dirty things and go back to Africa or wherever you came from.'
'But-'
'I want you gone before six o'clock.'
Click. The line went dead. Patricia listened to the empty noise for a while. Then she slowly put the phone down and sank down on the mattress. She sat down with her chin on her knees, her arms around her legs, and began rocking slowly back and forth, back and forth.
Where would she go?
The phone rang again. She flinched, as if from a slap. Without thinking she grabbed the phone, ripped the cord from the socket, and hurled it out in the hallway.
'Fucking bitch!' she screamed, and started to cry.
Annika let it ring for a long time. Patricia ought to be home by now. Maybe she was asleep, but she should still hear the telephone.
What if something had happened to her?
Worry mingled with the shame that lingered from the day before. First for being associated with the woman and then for her betrayal.
She walked restlessly around the newsroom, had a cup of coffee, and watched CNN for a while. When she came past the news desk, she realized that she had forgotten to tell them about the demonstration at the murder scene.
'You'll have to do it,' Ingvar Johansson said curtly. 'All the other reporters are busy.'
She walked over to Picture Pelle and booked a photographer for 14:15.
'Pettersson will go with you,' Pelle said. 'He's on his way in.'
Annika smiled nicely but groaned inwardly. The clapped-out VW again.
'I'll wait outside,' she said, and went to pick up her bag.
She took the elevator down, walked outside, and sat down on one of the concrete foundations outside the multistory garage. The air was boiling and electrically charged; her lungs crackled as she breathed. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the city; they might not be hers for much longer.
When she opened her eyes, she couldn't make sense of the image at first. The woman walking into the entrance looked familiar, but it took her a second to recognize her.
'Patricia!' Annika called out, and ran after her. 'What on earth are you doing here?'
Confused, the woman looked around and saw Annika. She walked outside and nearly got caught between the automatic sliding doors. Tore Brand yelled something and Patricia stopped.
'What's happened?'
'They're throwing me out.'
Annika breathed freely again. 'But that's just as well. You'll soon find a new job.'
Patricia looked at her, taken aback. 'Not the club. The apartment.'
'Josefin's parents?'
Patricia nodded and wiped away the tears. 'Jossie's mother's a real bitch. A racist bitch.'
'Where will you go?'
The young woman tossed her hair back defiantly and shrugged. 'Don't know. Maybe I'll shack up with some guy. There's plenty of sugar daddies around.'
Without really thinking about it, Annika rummaged around in her bag. 'Here.' She put her keys in Patricia's hand. 'Thirty-two Hantverkargatan, across the yard, top floor. Have you got any money? Make some copies, my boyfriend has my extra set.'
'What?'
'I've got an extra bedroom. It's an old maid's bedroom behind the kitchen. You can have it. Do you have a mattress?'
Patricia nodded.
'What about the other furniture in the apartment?'
'The bed belongs to Joachim, and the table Jossie bought secondhand.'
