Henriksson entered, a skeptical expression on his face. Annika shut the door behind them.
They came in at the top of the small stand of the arena. Annika looked around; inside, it was a beautiful building. Seven wooden arches supported the entire structure. The oddly shaped UFO top turned out to be a row of glass panes high up under the ceiling. A banked running track dominated the arena, and at the far end on the right were the pole vault supports and pit. On the opposite far end of the track was a row of what looked like offices.
'There are lights on over there,' Henriksson said, pointing at the Secretariat at the far left end.
'Let's go,' Annika said.
They followed the wall and reached what had to be the main entrance. They heard someone crying in a room next to them. Henriksson stopped.
'Christ, I don't want to do this,' he said.
Annika paid no attention to him but walked over to the office where the crying was coming from. The door was open, so she knocked softly on the frame and waited for a reply. When none came, she pushed the door open and looked inside. The room looked like a building site: Electric cables were jutting out from the walls, there was a big hole in the floor, and boards and a power drill were on a workbench. A young, blonde woman sat crying on a plastic chair in the middle of the mess.
'Excuse me,' Annika said. 'I'm from
The woman went on crying as if she hadn't heard Annika.
'Do you want me to get someone to come and help you?' Annika asked.
The woman didn't look up but continued bawling, her face hidden in her hands. Annika waited in silence in the doorway, then she turned around and was about to close the door behind her when the woman spoke.
'Can you believe someone could be so evil?'
Annika stopped short and turned around to face the woman again.
'No,' she said. 'It's beyond comprehension.'
'I'm Beata Ekesjo. I work here,' the woman said and blew her nose on a piece of toilet paper. She wiped her hands on another piece and then held out her hand to Annika who took it without batting an eyelid. Handshakes were important. She could still remember the first time she'd shaken hands with someone who was HIV-positive, a young woman who had been infected at the birth of her second child. The mother had been given blood by the Swedish health service and got the virus in the bargain. Her soft, warm handshake had been burning in Annika's hand all the way back to the paper. On another occasion, she'd been introduced to the president of a hang-around club of Hell's Angels. When Annika held out her hand, the president had stared hard at her while slowly licking his right hand from the wrist to the finger tips.
'People are so fucking stupid,' he had said, holding out his saliva-sticky fist. Annika shook it without a moment's hesitation. The memory flashed before her now she was holding the crying woman's hand, feeling the remnants of tears and snot between her fingers.
'I'm Annika Bengtzon,' she said.
'You've written about Christina Furhage,' Beata Ekesjo said. 'You wrote in
'That's right,' Annika said.
'Christina Furhage is the most fantastic woman,' Beata Ekesjo said. 'That's why it's such a shame it had to happen.'
'Oh, yes, absolutely,' Annika said, waiting.
The woman blew her nose again and pushed her flaxen hair behind her ears. Annika noted that she was a natural blonde- no highlights with the roots showing like Anne Snapphane's. She looked around thirty, same as Annika.
'I knew Christina,' Beata Ekesjo said in a low voice, looking down at the toilet roll on her lap. 'I worked with her. She was my role model in life. That's why it's such a tragedy it had to happen.'
Annika started fidgeting. This was leading nowhere.
'Do you believe in fate?' the woman suddenly asked, looking up at Annika.
Annika noticed that Henriksson was standing right behind her.
'No,' Annika replied. 'Not if you mean in the sense of everything being predestined. I think we shape our own fates.'
'Why do you think that?' the woman said with interest, straightening up.
'The future is determined by the decisions we make. Every day we make vital choices. Shall I cross the street now, or wait until that car has gone past? If we make the wrong decision, our lives might end. It's all up to us.'
'So you don't believe there's someone watching over us?' Beata said open-eyed.
'A God, you mean? I believe there's a purpose to our existence, if that's what you mean. But whatever that is, we're not meant to find out, because in that case we
The woman stood up and seemed to be reflecting on this. She was short, no more than five-foot three, and slender like a teenager.
'Why are you here in this room right now?' Annika finally asked.
The woman sighed and stared at the wall with the exposed cables.
'I work here,' she said and blinked away some new tears.
'Did you work with Stefan Bjurling?'
She nodded, and the tears began rolling down her cheeks again.
'Evil, evil, evil,' she mumbled while rocking from side to side with her face in her hands. Annika picked up the toilet roll from the floor where the woman had put it and pulled off a good length.
'Here you go,' she said.
The woman turned so violently that Annika took a step backwards, stepping on Henriksson's foot.
'If fate doesn't exist, then who decided that Christina and Stefan had to die?' she said, her eyes glowing.
'A human being,' Annika calmly replied. 'Someone killed both of them. I wouldn't be surprised if it was the same person.'
'I was here when it went off,' Beata said, turning away again. 'I asked him to stay behind and check the changing rooms. Does that make me guilty?'
Annika didn't answer but took a closer look at the woman. She didn't seem to fit in here. What was she talking about, and what was she doing here?
'If it wasn't fate that put Stefan in the way of the bomb, then it was my fault, right?' she said.
'What makes you think it was your fault?' Annika asked. At the same moment, she heard voices behind her. A police officer in uniform came in through the main entrance followed by eight or nine builders.
'Can I take your picture?' Henriksson quickly asked.
Beata Ekesjo smoothed down her hair.
'Yes,' she said. 'And I want you to write about this. It's important it gets out. Write what I have said.'
She stared straight at the photographer. He took a few pictures without a flash.
'Thanks for talking to us,' Annika said quickly, shaking Beata's hand and then hurrying toward the police officer. He might have something, unlike poor, confused Beata.
The group of men was entering the arena when Annika caught up with them. She introduced herself and Henriksson. The cop was furious.
'How the hell did you get in here? Didn't you see the cordons?'
Annika calmly met his angry gaze. 'You were sloppy last night, officer. You hadn't cordoned off the south side of the arena or the emergency exits.'
'It's all the same because you're out of here,' the officer said, grabbing Annika by the arm.
At the same moment, Henriksson snapped him, this time with a flash. The officer was startled and let go of Annika.
'What are you doing now?' Annika said, taking up a pen and pad from her bag. 'Questioning, a forensic investigation?'
'Yes, and you're leaving this minute.'
Annika sighed and gestured imploringly with her pad and pen.
