a low-alcohol beer. While the microwave was humming behind the counter, she sat down and stared into the darkness. If she strained her eyes and focused hard, she could see the windows of the building opposite. When she relaxed, all she saw was her own reflection in the window.
Having finished her meal, she assembled the members of her own little desk, Patrik and Berit, and compared notes with them in her office.
'I'll do the terrorist story,' Annika said. 'Have you got anything on the victim, Berit?'
'A little,' the reporter said, leafing through her notes. 'The technicians have found some stuff inside the arena they believe belonged to the victim. It was pretty badly damaged, but they've established that there's a briefcase, a Filofax, and a cellphone.'
She fell silent and noticed that both Annika's and Patrik's eyes were wide open.
'Christ!' Annika exclaimed. 'That must mean they know who the victim is.'
'Possibly,' Berit said, 'but they're not saying a word. It took me two hours just to get this from them.'
'But that's great,' Annika said. 'Fantastic! You've done really well. Really! I haven't heard this anywhere else.'
She leaned back in her chair, laughing and clapping her hands. Patrik smiled. Annika turned to him: 'And how are you getting on?'
'I've done the blast itself. You can look at it for yourself; it's on the server. I've matched it to the picture of the arena, like you said. But I don't have much on the actual hunt for the murderer, I'm afraid. The police have done door-to-door interviews around the Docklands during the day, but not many people have moved into the apartments of the Olympic Village yet, so the place is quite empty.'
'Who is the dark man, and who is the witness?'
'I haven't been able to get anything on that,' Patrik said.
Suddenly Annika remembered something her driver had said in the car on the way out to the stadium early that morning. 'There's an unlicensed club out there,' she said, straightening up in her chair. 'The injured driver had a fare there when the bomb went off. There must've been people there, both guests and staff. That's where we'll find our witness. Have we talked to them?'
Patrik and Berit looked at each other.
'We've got to go to the docks and talk to them,' Annika said.
'An unlicensed club?' Berit was skeptical. 'How keen will they be to talk to us?'
'What the hell,' Annika said, 'you never know. Let them speak anonymously or off the record- they can just tell you if they saw something or know anything.'
'Sounds like a good idea,' Patrik said. 'It could be productive.'
'Have the police talked to them?'
'I don't know. I didn't ask,' Patrik said.
'Okay,' Annika said. 'I'll call the police. You get out there and try to find the club. Call the injured driver. We've got him hidden away at the Royal Viking. Ask him exactly where the club is. They won't be open tonight, I presume; the place is probably inside the police cordons. Still, talk to the driver and see if he had a name for the customer he drove there. Maybe it was he who recommended the club because he knows someone there, you never know.'
'I'll go right now,' Patrik said. He picked up his jacket and was gone.
Berit sighed. 'I can't really believe it was a terrorist attack,' she said. 'Why? To put a stop to the Games? Then why start now, it's a little late in the day.'
Annika doodled on her pad. 'One thing I
Berit nodded, picked up her things, and went out to her desk.
Annika called her contact, but he wasn't available. She e-mailed an official police communication about the illegal club to Patrik. Then she went and picked up a copy of the Government's official yearbook and looked up the name of the director of the local tax office in Tyreso. It gave his name and the year of his birth. His name was much too common to be easily found in the phone directory, so Annika had to Reg him first. This way she got his home address, then information found him quick as a flash.
He answered on the fourth ring and sounded quite drunk. It was Saturday night after all. Annika switched on her tape recorder.
'I can't say a word about Christina Furhage,' the tax director said, sounding like he was about to hang up on her straight away.
'Naturally,' Annika said calmly. 'I'd just like to ask a few general questions about people being off record and about threat scenarios.'
A group of people burst out laughing simultaneously in the background. She must have called in the middle of a dinner party or a Christmas drinks party.
'You'll have to call me at the office on Monday,' the tax director said.
'But the paper will have gone to print long before then,' Annika said in a silky voice. 'The readers have a right to a comment tomorrow. What reason shall I give for you not answering?'
The man breathed silently down the line. Annika could feel him debating with himself. He understood that she was alluding to his intoxication. She wouldn't ever write anything like that in the paper; you just don't. But if an official was awkward, she didn't hesitate to use a few tricks to get her way.
'What do you want to know?' he said icily.
Annika smiled. 'What does it take for a person to be off record?' she asked.
She knew that already, but the man's words when describing it would be a recapitulation of Christina's case.
The man sighed, giving it some thought. 'Well, there has to be a threat. A real threat,' he said. 'Not just a telephone call, but something more, something serious.'
'Like a death threat?' Annika said.
'For example. Though there has to be more, something to make a court issue a restraining order.'
'An incident? Some kind of violent act?' Annika asked.
'You could put it that way.'
'Would someone be made off record for less than what you've described to me?'
'No, they wouldn't,' the man said firmly. 'If the threat were of a less serious nature, it would suffice to have a security flag in the Public Register.'
'How many people have you approved for going off record during your time in Tyreso?'
He pondered the question then said, 'Uh… three.'
'Christina Furhage, her husband, and her daughter,' Annika declared.
'I didn't say that,' the tax director said.
'Can you comment on Christina Furhage being off record?' she swiftly continued.
'No, I cannot,' the man said in a surly tone.
'What kind of death threat was directed at Christina Furhage?'
'I can't comment on that.'
'What was the act of violence behind your decision to grant her off-record status?'
'I can't say anything more in the matter. We'll end the interview here,' the man said and hung up.
Annika smiled happily. She was home and dry now. Without saying a word about Christina, the man had confirmed it all.
After another couple of verifying calls, she wrote her copy on the threat scenario, keeping the terrorist theory at a reasonable level. Just after 11 P.M. she was done. Patrik still hadn't returned. That boded well.
She gave her copy to Jansson, who was now in full swing out by the desk, ruffling his hair and continually speaking on the phone.
