None of the paper's editors had spotted a connection between the two break-ins; maybe the police hadn't either.
She copied the two pieces and put the file back on the shelf.
I'm on the right track, she thought.
She left the archive and took the 62 bus to Hantverkargatan.
***
Sven had left and Patricia was still asleep. Annika sat down with her pad and the phone in the living room.
What are the areas of responsibility of the minister for foreign trade? she wrote.
Trade and export, she thought. Promoting trade with other countries. What government department would pay for such travels? The Swedish Trade Council, she wrote.
What does Sweden export? Cars. Timber. Paper. Iron ore. Electricity. Nuclear power, perhaps?
The Nuclear Power Inspectorate, she wrote.
What else? Pharmaceuticals.
The National Board of Health and Welfare, she wrote.
Electronic products. Weapons.
Weapons? Yes, the arms export was the foreign trade minister's responsibility.
The War Matériel Inspectorate, she wrote, and then looked at her list. These were the ones she could think of; there had to be lots of other departments that she didn't know of.
What is there to think about? she said to herself, and looked up the Trade Council.
The information officer wasn't available; some other woman took the call.
"We're not a public authority. You can't get any documents from us," she said curtly.
"Are you sure? Do you think you could ask the information officer to call me later?" Annika gave her name and number.
"I'll give him the message, but he'll give you the same answer."
Jerk, Annika thought.
Instead she looked up the Nuclear Power Inspectorate and noted that they were located at 90 Klarabergsviadukten. They were closed until 12:30. She couldn't find the War Matériel Inspectorate, so she called directory assistance.
"They've changed names to the National Inspectorate of Strategic Products," the operator informed her.
The registrar there was out to lunch. Annika sighed, put the pen down, and leaned back on the couch.
She might as well have something to eat.
***
Number 90 Klarabergsviadukten was a relatively new glass complex on the Kungsholm side of the bridge. Annika stood outside the entrance and read the list of companies and organizations housed there: the AMU Group; the National Environmental Protection Agency; the Nuclear Power Inspectorate; the Inspectorate of Strategic Products- ISP.
I can kill two birds with one stone, Annika thought.
She rang the bell for the Nuclear Power Inspectorate but got no reply. Instead she pushed the bell for the inspectorate with a new name, ISP.
"Block A, fifth floor," a hesitant voice said in the loudspeaker.
She stepped out of the elevator on the fifth floor and saw herself in numerous versions in a hall of burnished steel mirrors. There was only the one door, for the ISP. She pushed the bell.
"Who are you here to see?" The blond woman who opened the door was friendly but reserved.
Annika looked around. It seemed to be a small and informal outfit with corridors leading in two directions. There was no reception desk, and the woman who had opened the door apparently occupied the room nearest to the door.
"My name is Annika Bengtzon," Annika said nervously. "I'd like to have a look at an official document."
The woman looked concerned. "Almost ninety percent of our documents are classified," she said apologetically. "But you can always make a request, and we'll investigate whether we can hand over the document."
Annika sighed quietly. Sure. She could have figured that out for herself.
"Do you have a registrar here?"
"Yes." The woman pointed down the corridor. "She's down that way, the second door from the end."
"I don't suppose you have an archive here, do you?"Annika prepared to leave.
"Oh, yes, we do."
Annika stopped. "So travel-expenses invoices that are five, six weeks old- do you keep them here?"
"Yes, though not in the archive. I deal with the invoices. I keep them in my office so we can balance the books. I'm the one who books all trips. There are quite a lot of them, actually, as the ISP takes part in a number of international meetings."
Annika looked at the woman closely. "Are the invoices secret?"
"No. They are part of the ten percent that we do hand out."
"How often do cabinet ministers take part in these meetings?"
"To the extent that any cabinet ministers take part on behalf of the inspectorate, it's usually the Ministry for Foreign Affairs who picks up the tab."
"And what if the minister for foreign trade goes?"
"Well, then it's the Ministry for Foreign Affairs that pays."
"But he falls under the Ministry of Industry, Employment, and Communications."
"Oh, right. Well, then the invoice should be sent there."
"Would it always?"
The woman suddenly became more reticent. "Not quite always."
Annika swallowed. "I was wondering if you received any invoices from Christer Lundgren from the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth of July this year."
The woman gave Annika a searching look. "Yes, as a matter of fact we did get one."
Annika blinked. "Could I have a look at it?"
The woman licked her lips. "I think I'd have to talk to my boss first." She backed into her office.
"Why? You told me that travel-expenses invoices were official documents."
"Yes, but this one was special."
Annika could hear her pulse thunder in her ears. "In what way?"
The woman hesitated. "Listen. When the invoices from a cabinet minister turn up on your desk, especially without any warning, it's a surprise."
"What did you do?"
The woman sighed. "I took it to my boss. He called someone at the ministry and got it cleared. I paid it about a week ago."
Annika swallowed, her mouth was completely dry. "Could I get photocopies of the receipts and tickets?"
"I really have to ask my boss first." The woman vanished into her office. A few moments later she came out and hurried down the corridor. Thirty seconds later she came back and handed Annika a sheaf of photocopies.
"Here you go." She smiled.
Annika's fingers were trembling as she accepted the documents. "Where did he go?" She leafed through the papers.
"He flew Estonian Air to Tallinn on the night of the twenty-seventh and chartered a private plane back the same night. It landed at Barkarby. The plane was Estonian. Would you like the amount converted into Swedish kronor?"
"Thanks, I'm fine."
Annika stared down at the photocopied credit card slip in her hand. It had arrived at the inspectorate already on Monday the thirtieth of July. The minister had charged the cost of the plane to his government credit card. She had expected to see the same sprawling signature as on the slip from Studio 69, but this was round and childish.
"Thank you so much." Annika smiled at the woman. "You've no idea how much this means to me."
"Don't mention it."
***
Her feet were beating down on the asphalt but she couldn't feel them. They were bouncing on air. She laughed giddily as she skipped along.
What a cheapskate! He had to invoice someone for his expenses right away.
She floated homeward to Hantverkargatan- she'd been right! The minister had gone away and wouldn't for the life of him say why.
The so-and-so, she thought. He's done for now.
The telephone was ringing when she opened the front door. She sprinted for it and answered all out of breath.
"I'm the information officer at the Trade Council," said a man with a cut-glass accent. "You were interested in seeing some documents."
Annika sank down onto the couch with her coat on and the bag still across her shoul
der. "I was told that the council isn't a public authority and that I couldn't."
"Well, we are. Just send us a written request, and we'll enter it in the daybook and decide whether the document in question can be handed out. Some papers are classified."
Oh, really, she thought. You've changed your tune now. "Thanks a lot for phoning back."
The woman she'd first spoken to had been talking through her hat, but Annika couldn't be bothered to get irritated by the autocratic stupidity of civil servants. So many of them still didn't know that the principle of public access to official records was part of the freedom of the press law as established in the Constitution. All documents at all public authorities had to be handed over at once to someone who asked to see them, unless they had been statutorily declared secret.
Everything in the world you should do yourself, Annika thought, so you could be sure it got done properly.
She got up and hung up her coat and bag, and then she called the Cherry Company to see if she could get a job.
"We're full at the moment," said the head of personnel. "Try again in the spring."
It hit her like a brick in the back of her head. She put the phone down and swallowed. Now what was she going to do?
She got to her feet, drank some water in the kitchen, and looked in on Patricia. The woman was fast asleep with her mouth open. Annika stood watching her for a while.
Patricia knows a lot more than she's telling me, she thought. The police should know where she's staying. And she had something to tell them now.
She closed the door cautiously and went back to the phone.
Q was in. "Course I remember you. You're the one fishing for information on Josefin Liljeberg."
"I was working as a journalist then. I don't anymore."
"So," the police captain said, clearly amused, "why are you calling me now?"
"I know where Patricia can be found."
"Who?"
Annika felt stupid. "Josefin's roommate."
"Right. Where is she then?"
"With me. Sharing my apartment."
"Sounds familiar. Better be careful. Anyway, we can find her at the club. What do you want?"
"Don't be an asshole," Annika snapped. "I'd like to know what's happened in your investigation."
He laughed. "You would, would you?"
"I know the minister was in Tallinn that night. Why doesn't he want that to be made public?"
The police officer's laughter died away. "You're a devil at digging things up. How did you find out about that?"
"You knew all along, didn't you?"
"Of course we did. We know a lot of things we don't let on to the media."
"Do you know what he was doing there?"
The police officer hesitated. "Actually, we don't. It wasn't part of the investigation."
"Didn't you wonder?"
"Not really. Some politicians' meeting, I imagine."
"On a Friday night?"
They fell silent.
"I don't care what the minister was up to. All I'm interested in is the perpetrator."
"And it's not Christer Lundgren?"
"No."
"So as far as the police are concerned, the case has been cleared up, is that right?"
Q sighed. "Thanks for telling me where Patricia's staying. Not that we've missed her, but you never know."
"Couldn't you tell me something more about the investigation?" Annika pleaded.
"Then you'll have to bring me something better. Now, I've got stuff to do."
He rang off. Annika dropped down on her back on the couch and closed her eyes. She had some thinking to do.
***
"Have you got a moment?"
Anders Schyman looked up; Berit Hamrin had popped her head around the door.
"Sure." The deputy editor closed the document on his screen. "Come on in."
Berit closed the door carefully behind her and sat down on the new leather couch. "How's it going?"
"So-so. This is an unwieldy ship we have here."
Berit smiled. "It's not going to alter course that easily. For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing. We should look at what we are doing more closely."
The man gave a light sigh. "I'm glad someone agrees with me. It doesn't always feel that way."
Berit rubbed her hands together. "Well, I was wondering about the crime desk. We've got a vacancy now, since Sjölander was moved to current affairs. Are you going to fill it?"
Schyman turned around to the bookcase, pulled out a ring binder, and leafed through it. "No. The senior editors decided to keep Sjölander at current affairs, and crime will have to make do with you and the other two. The editor in chief wants to keep a low profile on crime stories for the time being. He's still reeling from the criticism on Studio 69."
Berit chewed on her lip. "I think he's wrong," she said cautiously. "I don't think we'll get out of this crisis by slamming on the brakes. I think we should go full speed ahead but carefully. But we can't do that with the present staff."
Schyman nodded. "I agree with you. But the way things are looking at the moment, there's no way I could do anything like you're suggesting. It would mean reorganizing and recruiting new reporters."
"Then I've got a suggestion."
The deputy editor smiled at her. "I'm sure you do."
"Annika Bengtzon is a very alert young woman. She turns things around fast, and she has a completely different approach in her thinking. She goes too far sometimes, but I think that could be remedied. I think we should try to hire her back."
The deputy editor made a gesture of resignation. "Sorry, but she's stone dead here right now. The editor in chief gets a rash at the mere mention of her name. I argued pretty strongly in favor of her when Carl Wennergren's contract was up for grabs, and that nearly cost me my job. Jansson was on my side, but the rest of the senior editors wanted to throw her out on her ear."
"And so you did," Berit said a bit tartly.
Schyman shrugged. "Sure, but it's not going to kill her. I talked to her just before she left. She was pissed off, all right, but she was in control."
Berit stood up. "I met Annika last night. She's got something going, something to do with the IB affair, I'm not quite sure what."
"I'm happy for her to write freelance."
Berit smiled. "I'll tell her that if I see her."
***
Patricia knocked on Annika's bedroom door.
"I'm sorry, but the kitchen's empty and it's your turn to do the shopping."
Annika put down her book and looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm broke."
Patricia crossed her arms. "Why don't you get a job then?"
Annika got up and they went out into the kitchen. The fridge was empty except for a tin of sardines.
"Shit. I phoned the Cherry Company but they had nothing until the spring."
"Have you checked at the unemployment office?" Patricia asked.
"That horror show? Nope."
"Maybe there's some journalist gigs out there."
"I'm not a journalist anymore," Annika replied curtly, pouring herself a glass of water. She sat down at the table.
"Well, why don't you come and work at the club?" Patricia sat down opposite her. "We need a croupier."
"I'm not working in a strip club!" Annika exclaimed, and emptied the glass.
Patricia raised her eyebrows and gave Annika a contemptuous look. "You're that superior to Josefin and me, are you? It's not good enough for you?"
Annika felt her cheeks blush. "I didn't mean it like that."
Patricia leaned forward. "We're not whores, you know. We're not even naked. I wear a red bikini- it's really nice. You've got big enough tits, you could have Josefin's. It's blue."
Annika's cheeks deepened a shade. "Are you serious?"
Patricia snorted. "It's not that big a deal. But I've got to talk to Joachim first. Do you want me to?"
Annika hesitated. I'll get a chance to see where she worked, she t
hought. I'll get to know her boyfriend and boss. I'll be wearing her bra and panties.
The last thought made her crotch tingle, a feeling that filled her with both excitement and shame.
She nodded.
"Okay," Patricia said. "I'll put a note on the table if you're asleep when I get back."
Then she left to go to work.
Annika sat at the kitchen table for a long time.
Nineteen Years, Five Months, and Two Days
T here are no cheap insights. Experience is never sold short. When you buy it, the price always seems too high, impossible to pay. Yet we stand there with our credit cards, running our peace of mind into debt for years to come.
Eventually, when the accounts have been settled and the payments are behind us, we always think it was worth it. That's my comfort now, because I made up my mind today. I've understood what I have to do. I've fished out my plastic and cashed in my soul.
It came close yesterday. I can barely remember the reason; something he couldn't find and claimed I'd thrown away. It wasn't true, of course, and he knew it.
I know what I have to do. My back against the wall.
I have to confront him and I know it's going to come at a high price.
Because he says
he will never
let me go.
Thursday 6 September
The folded note lay on the kitchen table, the text consisted of two letters: OK.
Annika shuddered and swallowed, quickly throwing the note away. Sven entered the kitchen, naked and with tousled hair.
Annika had to smile. "You look like a little boy."
He kissed her softly. "Are there any good places to run around here?"
"No tracks that are illuminated, but there are footpaths all around Kungsholmen where you can run."
"Last man out is a monkey!" Sven rushed out into the hallway and into his jogging suit.
They raced each other the whole way. Sven won, of course, but Annika wasn't far behind. Then they made love in the basement shower, fervently but quietly so the whole backyard wouldn't hear.
Back up in the flat, Annika made coffee.
Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed Page 29