He sighed. The cars were beginning to move in the lane next to his. He started the engine and let it run, but he left the parking brake on.
There was a lot of professionalism in the newsroom, there was no doubt about it. But there was a lack of leadership and overall responsibility. All the journalists at the paper had to be made aware of their specific job and what they were expected to do. The overall direction of the paper had to be clearer.
This had made him realize yet another function he was expected to fill: he would be the searchlight sweeping over the barbed wire, looking for intruders. Part of that would take the form of discussions, seminars, focus meetings, and new practices.
The cars to his left swished by faster and faster while he wasn't moving forward an inch. He swore and tried to look behind him but couldn't see a thing. In the end, he indicated and turned left without looking. The driver he'd cut off leaned on his horn.
He muttered something in the direction of the rearview mirror.
At that very moment the traffic came to a halt again. The cars to his right, in the lane he'd just left, started moving and soon picked up speed.
He put his forehead on the steering wheel and groaned out loud.
Annika cautiously put her head around the door of Patricia's room. She was asleep. Annika closed the door and quietly set about making coffee. She tiptoed out into the hall and picked up the morning paper, which she threw on the kitchen table. It fell open on a page with the column header 'Yesterday on the Radio.' Annika's eyes were drawn to the headline, and she read the radio columnist's words with a mounting feeling of sickness.
'The most lively and informative newsmagazine program on the air at the moment is undoubtedly
Annika crumpled up the paper into a ball and pushed it into the trash can. Then she went to the phone in the living room, called the newspaper, and canceled her subscription.
She tried to eat half an avocado, but she gagged on the rich green flesh. She tried a few strawberries but with the same result. She could manage some coffee and orange juice but threw away the avocado and a few strawberries so that Patricia would think she'd eaten them. Then she wrote a note telling her that she was going to Halleforsnas for the weekend. She wondered to herself whether she'd ever return. If not, then Patricia could have the apartment. She needed it.
The rain formed a wall outside the door when she went to leave. She just stood staring toward the house opposite, which was barely visible behind the curtain of rain.
Perfect, she thought. No one will be out and about. No one will see me. Mum won't have to feel ashamed.
She stepped out into the heavy rain and was soaked to the skin before she'd even reached the communal refuse room. She threw the half-full trash bag away with the paper, strawberries, and bits of avocado and slowly walked toward the subway station.
She'd heard in a movie that you reach a point when you can't get any wetter.
When she got to the railway station, she found out she'd have to wait nearly two hours for a train that went past Flen. She sat down on a bench in the roomy, brightly lit hall. The noises from the travelers, the trains, and the station loudspeakers all fused into a cacophony of city chaos.
Annika closed her eyes and let the sounds bombard her brain. After a while she felt cold, so she went to the ladies' room and stood with her hands under a hand dryer until people got pissed off with her taking too long over it.
At least they don't know who I am, she thought. They don't know that I'm the big loser. Thank God, I never got a picture byline.
She took a small regional train that quickly got packed with people. Opposite her was a fat man wet with perspiration and rain. Breathing hard, he unfolded a copy of
She couldn't help noticing that Berit had got the Speaker to admit his involvement in the IB affair.
'I was posted with Elmer during the war,' said the front-page story.
Oh, well, she thought. That's none of my business anymore.
At Flen she had another hour's wait for the bus to Halleforsnas. The rain was still pouring down, and a small lake had formed in the street behind the bus stop. She sat facing the waiting room wall in the railway station, not wanting any contact with anyone.
It was afternoon when the bus pulled up at the foot of Tattarbacken. The water-filled parking lot next to the co-op lay deserted, so no one saw her step off the bus. Tired and shaky, she made her way up to her house on legs that ached after the previous day's run.
Her apartment was dark and smelled of dust. Without lighting any lamps, she pulled off her wet clothes and crept into bed. Three minutes later she was asleep.
'It's only a matter of time,' said the prime minister.
The chief press secretary protested, 'We can't know that for sure. Nobody knows where the media pack chooses to stop.'
The chief press secretary knew what he was talking about. He had been one of the toughest and most experienced political reporters in the country. Nowadays his job was to spin the media coverage in a favorable direction for the Social Democrats. He was, together with the election strategists from the United States, the most influential person outlining the election campaign for the governing party. The prime minister knew he voted Liberal.
'I have to admit I'm worried,' the prime minister said. 'I don't want to leave this to chance.'
The big man got to his feet and walked restlessly over to the window. The rain was like a gray screen outside, hiding the view over the water.
The press secretary stopped him. 'You shouldn't be standing there brooding in full view of everyone in the street. Pictures like that make a brilliant illustration of a government in crisis.'
Vexed, the prime minister stopped himself. His bad temper grew even worse, and he abruptly turned to his foreign trade minister and barked, 'How the hell could you be so damned stupid?'
Christer Lundgren didn't respond, just went on staring at the lead-gray sky from his place in the corner.
The prime minister moved closer to him. 'Goddammit, you know we can't go interfering in the work of a government authority!'
The minister looked up at his superior. 'Exactly. Neither the police or anybody else's.'
The prime minister's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. 'Don't you realize the predicament you've put us in? Do you recognize what the consequences of your actions will be?'
Christer Lundgren jumped to his feet and rushed up face-to-face with the prime minister and yelled, 'I know exactly what I've done! I've fucking saved this goddamn party, that's what I've done!'
The press secretary stepped in. 'We can't undo what's already been done,' he said in a conciliatory tone. 'We have to make the best of the situation. Going in and altering documents after the fact could end in disaster. We simply can't do that. I really don't think the journalists are capable of locating those receipts of yours.' He circled the two ministers. 'The most important thing is to cooperate with the police without giving them too much information.'
In a gesture of conciliation, he put a hand on the shoulder of the minister for foreign trade. 'Christer, it all depends on you now.'
The minister shrugged off the hand. 'I'm a murder suspect,' he said in a strained voice.
