His daughter looked at him. 'I'm using the stove. Not on the parquet floor this time.'
'Why?' he said.
Lena Milander stared into the flames, which quickly died out. She took another page and fed the fire with it. The flames engulfed it and embraced it. For a few seconds it lay flat in the fire, then it quickly rolled up and disappeared. Christina Furhage's smiling eyes dissolved forever.
'Don't you want any memories of Mom?' Bertil asked.
'I'll always remember her,' Lena replied.
She tore another three pages from the photo album and tossed them into the fire.
Eva-Britt Qvist looked up when Annika walked past on the way to her room. Annika gave her a friendly greeting, but Eva-Britt immediately cut her off.
'You're back from the press conference already?' she said triumphantly.
Annika realized that Qvist wanted her to say 'which press conference?' and then the secretary would have a chance to make it known that she was the one who had to take care of
'I didn't go,' she said, smiling even wider, and then walked into her room and shut the door. There, now you can sit there and wonder where I've been, she thought.
She phoned up Berit's cellphone. The signal went through, but then the voice mail took the call. Berit always had her phone at the bottom of her bag and never managed to find it in time. Annika waited thirty seconds and tried again. This time Berit answered straight away.
'I'm at a press conference at police headquarters,' the reporter said. 'You were out on a job. I came here with Ulf Olsson.'
Thank you, darling! Annika thought.
'What's going on?'
'Some good stuff. I'll be back soon.'
They switched off. Annika leaned back in her chair and put her feet on the desk. She found a half-melted chocolate bar in the pencil tray of the top drawer and broke it into smaller pieces. The chocolate was partly crystallized but edible.
She couldn't help thinking, even though she probably wouldn't dare say it out loud in the newsroom: The link between the two murders and the Olympics was extremely weak. Perhaps they were two personally motivated murders of two individuals. Satra Hall was as far from an Olympic arena as you could get. But there had to be a lot of common denominators for Christina Furhage and Stefan Bjurling. The link could of course be the Olympic Games but not necessarily. Somewhere in their past there was something that tied them to the same person who became their killer. Annika was sure of that. Money, love, sex, power, envy, injustice, family, friends, neighbors, schools, childcare, transport- their lives could have intersected a thousand different ways. Already at the building site this morning there were at least ten people who had met both Stefan Bjurling and Christina Furhage. The victims didn't even have to know each other.
She called her contact.
He gave a deep sigh. 'I thought you and I had finished talking to each other.'
'Right, and see where that landed you. You enjoying this security debate? 'Hello! Hello, is anybody there?' ' she said, imitating the reporter on radio that morning.
He sighed again and Annika waited.
'I can't talk to you anymore.'
'Okay, fine,' Annika swiftly replied. 'I know you're busy. I'm sure you're all frantically searching for links between Stefan Bjurling and Christina Furhage. Perhaps you've found the right one. How many people had access to the security codes
'What we're trying to do is answer the questions about security.'
'I don't think so,' Annika said. 'You're quite happy the focus has been moved from the investigation to an irrelevant debate about arena security.'
'Bullshit,' her contact said. 'At the end of the day, security is always the first responsibility of the police.'
'I'm not talking of the entire police force, I'm talking about you and your friends who are trying to solve these murders. It's all down to you, isn't it? If you succeed, the whole debate is finished.'
'If?'
'When. That's why I think you ought to start talking to me again. The only way to get anywhere is through communication. We've got to keep talking.'
'Is that what you were doing in Satra Hall this morning- communicating?'
Shit, he'd heard about that.
'Among other things,' Annika said.
'I've got to go,' he said.
Annika drew a breath and then said: 'Christina Furhage had another child, a son.'
'I know. Bye!'
He was still pissed. Annika hung up. Berit stepped through the door.
'Awful weather,' she said, shaking snowflakes out of her hair.
'Have they caught anyone?' Annika asked facetiously and offered Berit some chocolate. She looked at it with alarm and declined.
'No, but they think it's the same person. They maintain there's no threat to the Games.'
'What makes them think that?'
Berit picked up her pad and started leafing through it.
'They say there have been no threats to any people associated with the Games. No threats against any Olympic building. The threats that have been made have all been personal and had no connection to arenas or Olympic events.'
'They're talking about the threat to Furhage. Had Stefan Bjurling received any threats?'
'I'm hoping to find out this afternoon- I'm meeting his wife.'
Annika raised an eyebrow. 'Really? Was she okay with that?'
'Yes, she had no objections to seeing me. We'll see what that leads to. She may be too shaky to say anything we could put in the paper.'
'Still, it's great. Anything else?'
Berit turned over the pages.
'Yes, they'll soon have a preliminary analysis of the explosives from the first murder. They were hoping to issue a press release by noon. They thought it'd be ready for the press conference, but it was held up by something in London.'
'Why was the stuff sent to London in the first place?' Annika asked.
Berit smiled. 'The equipment at the lab in Linkoping was out of order, as simple as that.'
'Did they say why they're still ignoring the terrorist angle?'
'Didn't say.'
'You know what,' Annika said. 'I think they're close to solving the murders.'
'But you don't know who they're looking at?'
'No,' said Annika.
Berit got up. 'Well, I'm hungry. What about you?'
They went to the cafeteria, where Berit had lasagne and Annika chicken salad. As their food arrived, Patrik came in. His hair was in disarray and he looked like he'd slept in the clothes he was wearing.
'Good morning,' Annika said. 'Great job last night. How did you get all those quotes from Bjurling's workmates?'
The young man grinned, embarrassed, and said: 'I just called them at home and woke them up.'
Annika smiled.
They talked about Christmas neurosis, buying presents, and the stress of the season. Berit had bought all her presents before the beginning of December; neither Patrik nor Annika had even started.
