The Bomber

The woman walked inside the ultramodern entrance of Kvallspressen, trying to look like she belonged. She was dressed in a straight, half-length coat, alternating between navy and purple depending on the light; her hair was obscured by a brown beret. A small and elegant Chanel copy bag dangled from her left shoulder, and in her right hand she carried an oxblood red leather briefcase. She wore gloves. When the front doors slid shut behind her, she stopped for a moment, looking around. Her gaze landed on the glassed-in reception in the far left-hand corner. She adjusted the thin shoulder strap and headed over to it. Inside it sat a porter, Tore Brand, who had relieved the regular receptionist who'd gone for a cup of coffee and a smoke.

Tore Brand pushed the button that operated the opening mechanism of the glass panel when the woman reached the counter. He assumed an official look and said:

'Yes?'

The woman again adjusted the shoulder strap of her handbag and cleared her throat.

'I'm looking for one of the reporters, Annika Bengtzon is her name. She works at…'

'Yes, I know,' Tore Brand interrupted. 'She's not in.'

The porter's finger was poised above the button, ready to close the panel. The woman fingered the handle of the briefcase.

'Oh, isn't she in…? When will she be back?'

'You never can tell,' Tore Brand said. 'She's out on a job, and then you never know what could happen or how long it may take.'

He leaned forward and said, in a confidential tone:

'This is a newspaper, you know.'

The woman gave a nervous laughter.

'Thanks, I'm aware of that. But I would very much like to see Annika Bengtzon. I have something for her.'

'Oh, what's that then?' the porter said curiously. 'Is it something I can hold for her until she gets back?'

The woman took a step backwards.

'It's meant for Annika. She's the recipient. We spoke about it yesterday; it's quite important.'

'If it's papers or anything like that, I can take care of it and make sure she gets them.'

'Thanks, I think I'll just return later.'

'You know, we get people bringing in whole cases of papers everyday. Hard-done-by, insurance victims, and lunatics, but we listen to them all. Just give me the stuff and I'll deal with it.'

The woman abruptly turned on her heel and hurried toward the door. Tore Brand closed the panel and realized he was dying for a smoke.

* * *

Annika elbowed her way past Christmas shoppers on Gotgatan. She realized she was only a few blocks from Helena Starke's house. Instead of fighting against the torrent of people emerging from the subway station, she turned around and moved with it. She slipped and slid along Ringvagen- South Island was just as badly plowed as her own part of town. Her memory for numbers didn't let her down; she remembered the entry code for the street door. She took the elevator up, and this time Helena Starke answered the door on the first signal.

'You don't give up, do you?' she said when she opened the door.

'I'd just like to ask a few questions,' Annika said benignly.

Helena Starke groaned loudly.

'What is it with you? What the hell do you want from me?'

'Please, not out here in the hallway…'

'I don't care, I'm leaving anyway.'

She yelled out the last words so the old women in the building would hear; now they'd have something to gossip about.

Annika looked over the woman's shoulder. It did look like she was packing her things. Helena Starke sighed.

'Well, come on in, but be quick about it. I'm leaving tonight.'

Annika decided to be upfront.

'I know you lied to me about the boy, Olof, but I don't care about that. I'm simply here to find out if it's true you had a relationship with Christina Furhage.'

'If I did- is that any of your fucking business?' Helena Starke said calmly.

'No, except I'm trying to make sense of the whole thing. So, did you?'

Helena Starke sighed again.

'And if I were to confirm it, it would end up on the front pages all over the country tomorrow, right?'

'Of course not,' Annika said. 'Christina's sexual preference had nothing to do with her public functions.'

'All right,' Helena Starke said, almost amused. 'I confirm it. Happy?'

Annika lost the thread for a moment.

'So what are you going to ask me now?' Helena Starke said acidly. 'How we did it when we fucked? Did we use dildos? Did Christina shout when she came?'

Annika cast down her eyes. She felt like a fool. This really was none of her business.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't mean to intrude.'

'You must say that a lot. It's your job,' Starke said. 'Do you want anything else?'

'Did you know Stefan Bjurling?' Annika said, and looked up again.

'A real asshole,' Starke said. 'If anyone deserved a pack of dynamite in the kidneys it was him.'

'Did Christina know him?'

'She knew who he was.'

Annika closed the door, which had been open all along.

'Please, can you tell me what Christina really was like…'

'Christ, the papers have been packed with stories about what she was like!'

'I mean the real Christina, not the official one.'

Helena Starke leaned against the doorpost of the living room, looking with interest at Annika.

'Why are you so curious?'

Annika breathed in through her nose. The place really had a stale smell.

'Every time I talk to someone who knew Christina, my picture of her changes. I think you were the only one who was really close to her.'

'You're wrong there,' Helena Starke said. She turned around and sat down on the couch in the small living room. Annika followed her without being invited.

'So who did know her?'

'No one,' Helena said. 'Not even she herself. Sometimes she was afraid of who she was, or rather of who she had become. Christina carried some pretty terrifying demons inside her.'

Annika watched the woman's partly turned-away face. The light from the hallway fell on her neck and clean profile- Helena Starke was actually strikingly beautiful. Further away in the room, the darkness loomed; outside the traffic was thundering past.

'What demons?'

Helena Starke gave up a sigh.

'Her life was hell, from childhood onward. She was extremely intelligent, but that was never taken into account. People just messed her around in all possible ways; she dealt with it by becoming cold and unapproachable.'

'What do you mean by people messing her around?'

'She did some pioneering work as a female executive in the private sector, in the banking business, in board rooms. People constantly tried to break her, but they never succeeded.'

'The question is whether they didn't in the end,' Annika said. 'You can break inside, even if the surface is still intact.'

Helena Starke didn't respond to that. She was staring unseeing into the darkness. After a while she raised her hand to her eyes, wiping something away.