"What's the time?"
"Quarter past four."
"How was the drive?"
"Fine. Go back to sleep now."
"How was your trip?"
He hesitated. "I bought some Azerbaijani brandy. We've never tried that, have we?"
She didn't reply but pulled him close, reached over, and undid his fly.
The sun was up and hung like an overripe orange just above the horizon, shining straight in her face. It was already hot, at half past five in the morning. Annika was dizzy with fatigue. She had to get home. Gjörwellsgatan was deserted, and she walked in the middle of the street on her way to the bus stop. Once there, she dropped onto the bench, her legs completely numb.
She had seen the outline of the front page on Jansson's screen before she'd left, dominated by the graduation photo of Josefin and the banner headline "Cemetery Sex Murder." She had written the short front-page item with Jansson. Her stories were on pages six, seven, eight, nine, and twelve. She had filled more columns tonight than in all her first seven weeks at the paper.
It worked, she thought. I did it. It worked.
She leaned her head against the Plexiglas of the bus shelter and closed her eyes. She took deep breaths and focused on the sounds of traffic. They were few and far away. She almost fell asleep but was woken up by a bird chirping loudly inside the embassy compound.
After some time, she realized that she didn't know when the bus would come. Stiffly, she got to her feet and went to look at the timetable. The first 56 bus on this Sunday morning wouldn't be running until 7:13, almost two hours away. She groaned out loud. There was nothing for it but to start walking.
She got up speed after a couple of minutes. It felt good. Her legs were soon moving by themselves and set the air around her in motion. She walked down the extension of Västerbron and in the direction of Fridhemsplan. She reached Drottningholmsvägen and saw the dense green looming at the far end of the street. Kronoberg Park looked eerily dark. She knew she had to go there.
The cordons had been removed. There was plastic tape only on the fence itself. She walked up to the iron gate and traced the metal arch of the padlock with her fingers. The sun reached the crowns of the lime trees, making the leaves glow.
She would have come here around this time, Annika thought. She saw the same sun make the same pattern in the foliage. It's all so fragile. It can happen so fast.
Her hand running along the circles and arches of the wrought-iron fence, Annika walked around the cemetery and reached the east side. She recognized the bushes and the toppled gravestone, but aside from this, nothing betrayed this as the place where Josefin died.
She held on to the fence with both hands and stared into the undergrowth. She slowly slid down to the ground. Her legs gave way and she softly sat down on the grass. Without her realizing, she had started to cry. The tears ran down her cheeks and fell onto her crumpled skirt. She leaned her forehead against the bars and softly cried.
"How did you know her?"
Annika started up. Arms flailing, she slipped on the grass and landed hard on her tailbone.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
The face of the young woman who had spoken was red and swollen from crying. She spoke with a faint but distinct accent.
Annika stared at her. "I… didn't. I never met her. But I saw her when she was lying here. She was dead."
"Where?" the young woman said, taking a step forward.
Annika pointed. The woman walked up and looked at the spot in silence for a minute. Then she sat down on the grass next to Annika, turning her back to the cemetery and leaning against the fence.
"I saw her too," she said, fiddling with the hem of her blouse.
Annika rummaged through her bag for something to blow her nose on.
"I saw her at the morgue. It was her. All in one piece. She looked fine, really."
Annika swallowed and stared at the young woman again. Jesus! This must be Josefin's roommate, the girl who had identified her! They had to have been close friends.
She thought about the following day's front page and was hit by a sudden and unexpected feeling of shame. It made her start crying again.
The woman next to her started sobbing too. "She was so kind. She never hurt anybody."
"I didn't know her." Annika blew her nose on a page from her big notepad. "I work for a newspaper. I've written about Josefin."
The woman looked at Annika. "Jossie wanted to be a journalist. She wanted to write about abused children."
"She could have worked at Kvällspressen."
"What did you write?"
Annika took a breath, hesitating for a moment. All the satisfaction about her pieces she had felt earlier was gone. She only wanted to sink through the grass and disappear.
"That she was assaulted and murdered in the cemetery," she said quickly.
The woman nodded and looked away. "I warned her about this."
Annika, who was squeezing the notepaper into a small ball, stopped in midmovement. "What do you mean?"
The woman wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. "Joachim wasn't good for her. He beat her up all the time. She could never do anything right. She was always covered in bruises, which could be a problem at work. 'You've got to leave him,' I told her, but she couldn't."
Annika listened wide-eyed. "Good God! Have you told the police about this?"
The woman nodded and pulled out a tissue from the pocket of her jean jacket and blew her nose. "I've got bad allergies. You don't have any Seldanes, do you?"
Annika shook her head.
"I've got to go home," the woman said, and stood up. "I'm working tonight again. I need to get some sleep."
Annika also got to her feet and brushed some grass from her skirt. "Do you really think it could have been her boyfriend?"
"He used to tell Jossie he'd kill her one day." The woman started walking down toward Parkgatan.
Annika stared in at the graves with a new feeling in her stomach. The boyfriend! Perhaps the murder would be cleared up soon.
"Hey! What's your name?" she called through the park.
The woman stopped and called back. "Patricia."
Then she turned around and disappeared down toward Fleminggatan.
Not until she stood outside the street door of her apartment block did Annika remember that she had promised to feed Anne Snapphane's cats. She sighed and quickly turned the matter over in her mind. The cats would probably survive. The question was whether she would if she didn't get to sleep soon. On the other hand, it was only a few hundred yards, and she had promised. She poked about in her bag and found Anne's keys at the bottom, an old chewing gum wrapper stuck to them.
I'm just too nice, she thought.
She took the steps from Pipersgatan up to Kungsklippan; her legs were trembling before she reached the top. Her tailbone was aching after her fall in the park.
Anne Snapphane's little apartment was on the sixth floor and had a balcony with a fabulous view. The cats started meowing as soon as she put the key in the lock. When she opened the door, two little noses appeared around it.
"Hello, little kittens, are you waiting for me?"
She shoved the kittens inside with her foot and closed the door behind her. She sat down on the floor, and both the animals immediately jumped up in her arms, nuzzling her chin.
"What's this? Do you want to have a kiss?" Annika laughed.
She petted the kittens for a minute, then got up and walked over to the kitchenette. The cats' three bowls sat on a leftover piece of linoleum next to the stove. The milk had gone bad. The food and the water bowls were both empty.
"Here you go, little kittens."
She threw out the milk, washed the bowl, and poured fresh milk from the fridge. The kittens were rubbing against her legs, purring expectantly.
"Hey, take it easy."
They were so eager they nearly turned the bowl over before she'd had time to put it down. While the cats were guzzling the milk, she filled the third bowl with water and looked for the cat food. She found three tins of Whiskas in a cupboard. It made her smile. Whiskas was the name of her own cat in Hälleforsnäs. He was staying with Grandma in her cottage in Lyckebo over the summer.