Annika waited. The man stared at the floor, lost in his own thoughts.
'Was Christina a good boss?' she asked in the end.
'She was a prerequisite for my being in this post,' Evert Danielsson said, letting go of the desk. 'Now she's not here any longer, and I'm finished. I think it's time for me to go home now.'
He rose and Annika followed. She put her coat back on, hung her bag over her shoulder, shook his hand, and thanked him for seeing her.
'By the way, where was Christina's office?'
'Didn't you see it? Right behind the entrance. I'll walk you out and I can show you.'
He put on his coat, wrapped a scarf around his neck, picked up his briefcase, and looked pensively at his desk.
'Today I don't need to bring a single paper with me.'
He switched out the lights and left the office with his empty briefcase, conscientiously locking the door behind him. He popped his head in next door and said:
'I'm off now. If anyone calls you can refer them to the press release.'
They walked side by side down the white corridor.
'Christina had several offices,' he said. 'You could call this her everyday office. Two of her secretaries were based here.'
'And Helena Starke?' Annika queried.
'Her enforcer, you mean. Right, her office is next to Christina's,' Evert Danielsson said, rounding the corner. 'Here it is.'
The door was locked, and the man sighed. 'I don't have the key,' he said. 'Well, it's nothing special, a corner office with windows facing in two directions, a large desk with two computers, a couch and chairs and a coffee table…'
'You'd expect something grander,' Annika said and recalled an archive picture from a magnificent palatial room with a period desk, dark wooden panel walls, and chandeliers.
'Well, this is where she did the spadework. Then she had her office downtown, just behind Rosenbad. That's where she had her third secretary, where all meetings and negotiations took place and where she received the press and various guests… Do you want a ride somewhere?'
'No, thanks, I'm going to say hello to a friend over at the old lamp factory,' Annika said.
'You can't walk there in this mud,' Evert Danielsson said. 'I'll drop you over there.'
He had a brand new company car, a Volvo- naturally. Volvo was one of the main sponsors. He unlocked the central locking, beep-beep, with a remote control, caressing the car roof before opening the door. Annika got in on the passenger side, put on the seat belt, and said:
'Who do you think blew her up?'
Evert Danielsson started up the car and revved it twice, carefully put it in reverse, and stroked the wheel.
'Well,' he said, 'one thing I know for sure. There were a lot of people with a reason for doing it.'
Annika bounced. 'What do you mean by that?'
The man didn't reply but drove in silence the five hundred meters to the old factory building. He stopped outside the gates.
'I want to know if you write anything about me.'
Annika gave him her card and asked him to call her if there was anything he wanted to tell her, thanked him for the ride, and got out.
'One thing I know for sure,' she quoted him, 'this story keeps getting more and more complex.'
She went up to the TV company where Anne Snapphane worked. Anne was still editing and seemed relieved to have a break.
'I'll be done soon,' she said. 'Do you want some glogg?'
'Nonalcoholic,' Annika said. 'Is there a phone I could use?'
'Take the one on my desk. I'm just…'
Annika went over to Anne Snapphane's desk and threw her coat on top of it. She started by calling Berit.
'I've talked to the limo driver, Christina's chauffeur,' Berit said. 'The rival already did that yesterday, but he had some new stuff to tell me. He confirmed that Christina had her laptop with her- she left it behind, so they had to go back and get it. He hadn't worked long for Christina, only about two months. She had a hell of a turnover of drivers.'
'You don't say,' Annika said.
She heard Berit turning over the pages on a pad.
'He also said that she was extremely worried about being followed. He was never allowed to drive straight from the Secretariat to her house. He also had to check the car carefully every day. Christina was scared of bombs.'
'Well done!'
'What else was there… Oh, yes, he'd been given express orders never to let the daughter, Lena, anywhere near the car. Weird, eh?'
Annika sighed lightly.
'Christina seems to have been a bit paranoid. But it'll make for one hell of a story, Christina afraid of being blown up. The bit about the daughter we'll have to leave out.'
'Absolutely. I'm chasing the police for a comment right now.'
'What's Patrik doing?'
'He hasn't showed up yet. He worked almost right through last night. Where are you?'
'At my friend Anne Snapphane's. I've had a little chat with Evert Danielsson. He's out.'
'Booted out?'
'Well, not quite. He wasn't quite sure himself. It's not really anything to write about. I mean, who cares? He's not going to cry on our shoulders, but he isn't going to blast anyone either. Doesn't seem capable.'
'So what did he say?'
'Not much. He was the guy who had an affair at the Secretariat. We talked about that, mostly. And he hinted that Christina had a lot of enemies.'
'Well, well, it's all coming out now,' Berit said. 'What else are we doing?'
'Christina was married before and had a son. I'll see what I can find on that.'
'A son? But I wrote her life history last night. I didn't know she had a son.'
'She's hidden him well. I wonder if there are any other secrets in her closet…'
They hung up and Annika fished out her pad. On the back of it she had noted Helena Starke's telephone number. She dialed the number, starting 702, which they often did on Ringvagen, and hoped for the best.
Helena Starke had had another lousy night, waking up repeatedly from ghastly nightmares. When at last she'd gotten out of bed and looked out the window, she nearly went straight back to bed again. It was raining, a gray drizzle that killed all the colors in the street outside. The stench from the closet had become unbearable, so she had put on a pair of jeans and gone down to the laundry room to book a time. Things are very organized in Sweden. Needless to say, there wasn't a single slot available before the new year. So she quickly emptied one of the running machines, threw the dripping load in a basket and went and collected her mat. She shoved it into the machine, poured in too much washing powder, and hurried away. She took a long shower to finally get rid of the smell of vomit from her hair and then scrubbed the closet and the floor in the hallway. She considered collecting the mat but refrained; it was better to wait until tonight and let the old bags downstairs rant and rave first.
She went into the kitchen to have a cigarette. Christina didn't like her smoking, but that didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. She stood by the kitchen table in the dark, having had the second deep drag on the cigarette when the phone on the windowsill rang.
It was the woman from last night, the bitch from
'I don't know if I want to talk to you,' Helena Starke said.
'You don't have to, of course… Are you smoking?'
'So what if I am? Yes, I'm smoking. What's it to you?'
