‘Aren’t you sleeping well at the moment?’ Patricia said.
Annika sat down with a sigh. ‘Today’s the day,’ she said.
‘I reckon they’ll keep you on,’ Patricia said with a smile.
Annika reflected.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I’m a member of the Journalists’ Union, so I’ll have the union behind me. Even if the bosses have been influenced by Studio Six, the union would object.’
She took a bite of a bread roll, and her face relaxed.
‘Yes, that’s what’ll happen,’ she said. ‘It’s entirely likely they’ll want to get rid of me, because they’re losing their grip right now, frankly. But the union takes a more sympathetic view of cases like this, so they’ll fight my corner.’
‘There you are, then,’ Patricia said, and this time Annika smiled back at her.
The rain had stopped. Even so, his first breath filled his lungs with damp air. The fog was so thick he could hardly see the hire-car.
He walked out onto the crunching gravel and let the door close behind him. All sound was muffled, as if everything was wrapped in cotton-wool. He pushed his hands through the veils of fog. They danced around him.
He walked round to the back of the house. There was no sign of the lake and its little rowing boats just a few hundred metres away. He assumed the fog would lift later that morning, so if he was going to get any fresh air, it had to be now.
A car drove past out on the road, but he couldn’t see any trace of it.
Talk about the perfect hiding place, he thought.
He sat down on a bench, and the damp came through his trousers at once. He ignored it.
A sense of failure was burning in his lungs. He drew several deep, misty breaths. The view of the lake was about as clear as his own future.
The Prime Minister hadn’t been willing to discuss what he was going to do afterwards. Right now all their energy was devoted to rescuing the election campaign. Nothing could be allowed to threaten that. The Prime Minister was going to abandon him today, execute him in public, and invent some excuse for his departure that he would feed to the press corps. The amoebas, as he called them, were in control of the election campaign, and that was the most important thing right now.
Apart from the truth, he thought.
The thought had the same effect on his future as if the sun had suddenly broken through all the clouds and lifted the fog in an instant.
It was as simple as that!
He laughed out loud.
He could do whatever the hell he wanted.
As long as no one found them.
His laughter died instantly, swallowed up by the fog.
‘He’s resigned,’ Anne Snapphane cried. ‘We’ve just had a newsflash from the agency.’
Annika dropped her bag on the floor.
‘And?’ she said.
‘ “The Prime Minister announced the resignation of the Minister for Foreign Trade at a press conference at Rosenbad”,’ she read on the screen. ‘ “The Prime Minister expressed his regret at Christer Lundgren’s decision, but understood the reasons for it.” ’
‘Which were?’ Annika said, sitting down and turning on her computer.
‘To spend more time with his family,’ Anne Snapphane said.
‘There’s something fishy about this,’ Annika said.
‘Oh,’ Anne said, ‘you see ghosts everywhere.’
‘So what’s the alternative? That he really did kill her?’
‘Well, everything’s certainly pointing to that right now,’ Anne Snapphane said.
Annika didn’t reply. She was looking down the list of items on the news agency website. They were already up to ‘minister’s resignation: 5’. They hadn’t been able to reach Christer Lundgren himself for a comment. The Prime Minister once again stressed that the minister hadn’t been formally identified as a suspect in any criminal activity, and that the police were questioning him as a matter of routine.
‘So why did he resign, then?’ Annika muttered.
The expenses claim from Studio Six was currently being examined by an internal government investigation.
She let go of the mouse, leaned back and looked out over the newsroom.
‘Where are all the führers, then?’ she asked.
‘Recruitment meeting,’ Anne said.
Annika’s stomach lurched.
‘I’m going to get some coffee,’ she said quickly, and got up.
Shit, I’m nervous, she thought.
She picked up a copy of the paper, and burst out laughing when she got to pages six and seven.
The cat was tiny, and was sitting on a dark-green plastic bunk in a holding cell. It had huge eyes, and looked rather confused, possibly as a result of the flash. The tip of its tail was neatly positioned on top of its paws.
DEATH ROW KITTY, shrieked the huge headline.
‘It’s a good job the media take an interest in the really important stories sometimes,’ Annika said when she could speak again.
‘We’ve had a huge response already,’ Anne said. ‘My task today is to make sure it gets a good home.’
She waved a thick bundle of phone memos.
‘The receptionists are already sifting out anyone who doesn’t live in the area,’ she said. ‘What do you think of Arkösund? Do you think it looks like a seaside cat?’
Anne Snapphane leaned forward, peered at the picture for a few seconds and answered her own question.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he likes herring. I think he likes mice and birds. What about Haversby? That sounds like a real rat-hole, doesn’t it?’
Annika stood up, restless.
Why wasn’t Christer Lundgren taking part in his own press conference? How come the Prime Minister made the announcement and not him? Didn’t he want to resign? Or were the election strategists worried that he’d go off-message?
It could be any or none of those, Annika reasoned. Either way, it gave the impression that they had something to hide.
She went over to the noticeboard, and saw that the recruitment meeting was due to start at ten o’clock. So they ought to be finished soon. She felt she needed to go to the toilet. Again.
When she came out she saw Bertil Strand talking to Picture-Pelle over by the picture desk. She knew the photographer was one of the union representatives, and took part in recruitment meetings. Without realizing she was doing it, she jogged over to him.
‘Well, what did you decide?’ she said breathlessly.
Bertil Strand turned round slowly.
‘It was unanimous,’ he said. ‘We think you should leave at once. The callous way you treat people has damaged the credibility of the paper.’
Annika didn’t understand. ‘But,’ she said, ‘don’t I get to stay?’
His eyes narrowed and his voice was cold. ‘We think you should be dismissed forthwith.’
The room swayed, the blood drained from her face, and she took hold of the picture desk.
‘Dismissed?’ she said.
Bertil Strand turned away and she let go of the desk. Oh God, sacked, bloody hell. Where’s the door? She had to throw up. The newsroom shimmered and swayed, the walls rippling away from her.
Anger rose up in her, blood red and sharp.
49
Fucking hell, she thought. That’s enough of this crap! I’m not the one who’s behaved badly. It’s not my fault the paper’s heading for disaster. And they had the nerve to blame her, her own union reps!
‘How dare you!’ she said to Bertil Strand.
The man’s back stiffened.
‘People like me pay for your expensive committee dinners,’ she said. ‘You’re supposed to help us. How the fuck can you treat someone like this?’
He turned to face her again.
‘You aren’t a full member of this branch of the union,’ he said curtly.
‘No, because I’m not on a permanent contract. But I pay exactly the same membership fee as everyone else. How come I d
on’t get the same rights? And how the hell can your committee decree that one of your own members should get the sack? Are you mad?’
‘You shouldn’t say things you might regret,’ the photographer said, looking over her head.
She took a short step towards him, and he backed away nervously.
‘You’re the one who ought to watch what you’re saying,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Yes, I’ve made mistakes, but nothing as big as the one you’re making right now.’
From the corner of her eye she saw Anders Schyman walking towards his glass aquarium with a cup of coffee. She fixed her eyes on the back of his head and went after him. Computers, people, shelves, plants all flew past as detached fragments until she was standing in front of him.
‘You’re firing me?’ she said, far too shrilly.
The head editor guided her into his office and pulled the curtains. She sank onto the tobacco-engrained sofa and stared at him.
‘Of course we aren’t,’ he said.
‘The union want me out of here,’ she said, her voice shaking.
Don’t start crying now, she thought.
Anders Schyman sighed and nodded, sitting beside her on the sofa.
‘I can’t work out how the union reps think,’ he said. ‘A lot of them seem to be on the committee just to make themselves feel important. They don’t give a damn about their members; they just want to feel influential.’
She looked at him suspiciously.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
He looked at her calmly. ‘Because that’s what’s happening in this instance.’
She blinked.
‘I’m afraid there’s no vacancy for you at the moment,’ Anders Schyman said. ‘We can’t employ everyone who shows talent. There’s only one vacancy this autumn.’
‘And that’s gone to Carl Wennergren?’ Annika said.
‘Yes,’ the editor said, staring at the floor.
Annika laughed. ‘Congratulations! This paper really does get the people it deserves!’ she said, standing up.
‘Sit down,’ Schyman said.
‘Why?’ Annika said. ‘There’s no reason to stay in this building another damn second. I’m leaving today, just like the union want.’
‘You’ve still got a week and a half left,’ the head editor said. ‘Stick it out.’
She laughed again. ‘And eat shit?’
‘In small doses and under the right circumstances that can be character-building,’ Anders Schyman said with a smile.
She made a face.
‘I’ve got time owing.’
‘Yes, you have. But I want you to stick it out to the end.’
She went over to the door, then stopped.
‘Just tell me one thing,’ she said. ‘Would this paper ever pay for a tip-off from a terrorist group?’
‘What do you mean?’ he said, standing up.
‘Exactly what I say: money to tag along on a terrorist attack?’
He folded his arms and looked at her hard.
‘Do you know something?’
‘I never reveal my sources,’ she said.
‘But you are actually employed on this paper,’ he said. ‘And I’m your boss.’
She pulled her ID card out of its holder and laid it on his desk.
‘Not any more,’ she said.
‘I want to know why you asked,’ he said.
‘I want an answer,’ she said.
He looked at her without speaking for several seconds.
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘That would never happen. Not in a million years.’
‘If the paper had done so since you started work here, then you’d know about it?’
His eyes darkened.
‘I assume that I would,’ he said.
‘And you can guarantee that it hasn’t happened?’
He nodded slowly.
‘Okay,’ she said breezily. ‘That’s fine. Well, it’s been nice knowing you.’
She held out her hand in an arrogant gesture.
He didn’t take it.
‘What are you going to do now?’
Annika looked at the editor with derision.
‘And what’s that got to do with you?’
‘I’m interested,’ he answered nonchalantly.
‘I’m going to the Caucasus,’ she said. ‘Flying out tomorrow.’
Anders Schyman blinked.
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ he said. ‘There’s a civil war going on there.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ Annika said. ‘I’ll be staying with the guerrillas, so I’ll be fine. The government troops haven’t got any weapons. The global community has made sure the slaughter’s entirely one-sided. Good luck with getting this paper back on its feet again. You’ve got one hell of a job ahead of you. The bosses have no idea what they’re doing.’
She put her hand on the door, then paused.
‘You really have to get rid of that sofa,’ she said. ‘It stinks.’
She left the door wide open. Anders Schyman watched her cruise across the newsroom. She went over to her desk, her movements jerky and angry. She didn’t say a word to anyone on her way out.
50
Anne Snapphane wasn’t at her desk.
Just as well, Annika thought. All I want is to get out of here without going to pieces. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing that.
She gathered her belongings together, and managed to grab a few packs of pens, a pair of scissors and a stapler. Good. They owed her that much, the bastards.
She left the newsroom without looking back. In the lift she felt a sudden surge of anger. She had trouble breathing, and stared at her face in the mirror. The same blue-tinged pallor as usual.
Fucking lights, she thought. And this is summer. Imagine what you’d look like in this lift in the middle of winter.
I’m never going to find out, she thought a second later. This is the last time I’ll be in here.
The lift stopped with its familiar jolt. She pushed the heavy door open and headed towards the fog outside. Tore Brand must have gone off on holiday, because there was a woman she didn’t recognize sitting behind the glass of the reception desk.
The front doors slid shut behind her. Well, that was that.
She stood for a while facing the turning circle in front of the building, breathing in the damp air. It felt raw and unpleasant.
She recalled what she had said to Schyman up in his office.
Where did that bit about the Caucasus come from? she wondered. Mind you, maybe it wasn’t such a stupid idea to go abroad, on some last-minute holiday.
A figure emerged from the veils of fog drifting over the road. Carl Wennergren. He was carrying two heavy bags full of bottles. Naturally, he was going to celebrate his luck!
‘Congratulations,’ Annika said sourly as he passed her.
He stopped and put the bags down.
‘Yes, it feels really great,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘Six months, the longest temp position I could have got. Then I start looking again.’
‘It must feel good,’ Annika said. ‘Getting in here, all as a result of your own effort. And your own money.’
The man smiled nervously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Daddy’s little rich boy,’ Annika said. ‘Did you already have the money in the bank, or did you have to sell off part of your investment portfolio?’
His smile vanished instantly. He turned away and clenched his teeth.
‘So you got the push, then?’ he said brightly.
Her voice sounded shrill when she replied.
‘I’d rather live on cat food than buy myself a job from a group of terrorists!’
He looked her up and down scornfully.
‘Bon appétit,’ he said. ‘You’re actually a bit scrawny. It probably tastes better with a bit of seasoning.’
He picked up his bags and turned to go into the building. Annika could see they were full of bottles of Moët & Chan
don.
‘And not only did you buy yourself a scoop and a six-month contract,’ Annika said, ‘you also shafted your sources.’
He stopped and looked round.
‘You’re talking crap,’ he said, but she could see anxiety in his eyes.
She walked closer to him.
‘How the fuck could the police know that the Ninja Barbies were going to be at that precise place at that precise time? How the hell did they know which houses to evacuate? How come they were under cover in exactly the right places?’
‘How the hell should I know?’ Carl said, running his tongue over his lips.
She took another step closer to him, snarling right in his face.
‘You sold out your own sources,’ she said. ‘You worked with the police so you could get pictures of the arrest, didn’t you?’
He raised his eyebrows, leaned his head back and looked at her scornfully.
‘And …?’ he said.
She lost her grip and started yelling. ‘Christ, what a fucking heap of shit you are! Fuck you!’
He turned and started walking towards the door.
‘You’re not right in the head,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘You’re fucking nuts! Fucking bitch!’
He disappeared through the glass doors. Annika could feel tears welling up.
Bastard! He strolls in with champagne, and they throw me onto the street.
‘Bengtzon, do you want a lift?’
She spun round. Jansson was sitting in a rusty old Volvo at the entry to the garage.
‘What are you doing here at this time?’ she called.
‘Recruitment meeting,’ he said, switching off the engine. She went over to the car as the night-editor climbed out of it.
‘God, you look tired,’ she said.
‘Yes, I was working last night,’ he said. ‘But I really wanted to be at this meeting. I wanted to lobby in your favour.’
She looked at him sceptically. ‘Why?’
He lit a cigarette.
‘I think you’re the best temp we’ve had this summer. I thought you should have got the six-month contract. So did Anders Schyman.’
Annika raised her eyebrows. ‘Really? So why didn’t I get it?’
‘The editor-in-chief didn’t agree. If you ask me, the man’s an idiot. He’s terrified of any sort of disagreement, and the union was against you.’
‘Yes, I worked that out,’ she said.
Exposed Page 26