Prime Time (7 page)

Coming up behind Gunnar so that he hadn’t been able to stop her, Anne Snapphane had asked: ‘What is it?’ Then she had turned on the overhead lamps, bathing the entire place in light. White and bloodless, Michelle’s legs had stood out sharply against the dark blue carpeting. The revolver by her foot was large and clumsy-looking. A scream echoed in his mind.

Gunnar Antonsson shut his eyes, not wanting to remember anything more. Quickly turning away from the mirror, he shook off the memory of the smell and walked over to the window. The rain kept coming down just as hard, pattering loudly against the windowsill and making a sound like an engine running. He looked out the window and saw two policemen walking around the bus in a seemingly aimless and irrational manner.

Suddenly he was fed up.

He had put on his poplin jacket, retied his shoes, smoothed his hair and left the room.

The policeman looked up in surprise when he approached them, standing around as if the bus was theirs, not his.

‘How long is this going to go on?’ Gunnar asked.

‘What?’ a young man in uniform and with peach fuzz on his cheeks replied.

‘When do I get my bus back?’

‘I’ll go get the lieutenant,’ the fuzzy one said.

The other officer stood a short distance away, a watchful expression on his face.

‘I was supposed to have left at eight this morning,’ Gunnar Antonsson said through the rain.

The policeman turned away.

Then the first officer returned with a man dressed in street clothes.

‘Let’s go inside the bus,’ the new arrival said. He was dressed in a leather jacket and a colourful shirt and shook Gunnar’s hand like a regular guy. The words left Gunnar speechless and teary-eyed. Feeling grateful and relieved, he mounted the five metal steps and walked in through the door, out of the rain, only to stop short. The passage leading into the production area was starkly lit and packed with people. At least, that was how it seemed to him at first.

‘As you can tell, we’re going over the place with a fine-tooth comb, looking for evidence,’ the man in the colourful clothes explained.

Gunnar nodded curtly and asked in an unsteady voice:

‘Is she still in there?’

Mr Colourful pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of his shirt, fingered it and looked at Gunnar.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘She’s still there. Exactly as you found her.’

Gunnar Antonsson fixed his gaze on the floor.

‘It must have been awful,’ the policeman said. ‘And in your bus and everything.’

‘It’s not my bus,’ Gunnar said, suddenly belligerent. ‘It belongs to the company. And I liked her. I was one of the few people here who did.’

The policeman started to pull out a cigarette, then stopped and put the whole pack back into his pocket.

‘What do you mean?’

Hearing his voice starting to shake, Gunnar Antonsson replied: ‘She was nice. She always had something nice to say. The others were just jealous.’

Then he could no longer stop himself and tears began to roll down his cheeks. Embarrassed, he swiped them away with the back of his left hand.

‘What’s your occupation?’ the officer asked.

Gunnar took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together.

‘I’m a TOM, a Technical Operations Manager, and this is Outside Broadcast Bus No. Five. I was in charge of the technical operations, and the OB vehicle, while all the TV Plus summer specials were taped.’

‘This is a marvel on wheels,’ Mr Colourful said.

Gunnar Antonsson cleared his throat.

‘A vehicle this size can be used in lots of different ways, from larger sports events like World Cup soccer or hockey, to spectacular performances and entertainment programmes. Last year, we taped the Eurovision Song Contest and the MTV Music Awards in the Globe Arena in this bus.’

The lieutenant whistled.

‘This was the last thing you needed,’ he said. ‘And you were the person who unlocked the door?’

Gunnar nodded.

‘They woke me up not long after six a.m.’

‘Who did?’

He thought for a while.

‘A crowd of people,’ he said. ‘Anne Snapphane, the manager guy, Karin, the producer and a few others, I think. Is it important?’

‘Yes, it is,’ the policeman said. ‘But it can wait until we can conduct a real interview up at the house. For now, just give me a brief account of what happened.’

Gunnar Antonsson took a deep breath.

‘I unlocked the door, and there she was. Everybody reacted in a different way: the manager howled, he screamed like an old lady. Karin just walked out, Annika Snapphane bent down and touched Michelle’s legs and then sat there staring, I had to drag her away. Mariana and that other girl couldn’t have seen much, I got them out of there right away.’

‘So you took care of things?’

Gunnar stared at the carpet.

‘I went in and called Emergency Services at 6:22, told them a death had occurred in the broadcast bus.’

‘But you didn’t tell them it was a murder?’

‘I didn’t want to interfere, that would be up to the police to determine.’

One of the policemen in the bus excused himself, pushed past them, walked out in the rain and went down the steps. Gunnar Antonsson noticed that he was carrying small plastic bags containing some indeterminate matter.

‘What did you do after that?’ Mr Colourful asked.

‘I made myself a cup of coffee in my room, using the French press I brought with me. Then I sat and waited for the police. It took a while, I waited until 8:16.’

‘The police on duty were out in Vingåker, investigating a rape case,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Since no one knew that a murder had been committed, this case wasn’t high on the list of priorities.’

Gunnar said nothing.

‘What did the others do?’ the policeman asked.

Gunnar swallowed and hesitated.

‘I mind my own business.’

‘So you have no idea?’

The forensics team pushed past then, empty-handed this time. Gunnar Antonsson was fed up with the conversation and with the entire situation.

‘They sat in the lounge and talked. Some of them cried. How long is this going to take? I was supposed to be on my way hours ago.’

‘I’m afraid this will take a while.’

‘How long?’

‘A few weeks.’

Gunnar did a double take.

‘A few
weeks
? Are you out of your minds?’

The lieutenant was calm and collected.

‘We will be impounding the bus,’ he said, pulling out his cigarettes again. ‘I’d say that it will be in our garage, on standby, for at least a fortnight.’

Indignation made Gunnar Antonsson’s ears grow hot and red.

‘The whole financial future of the company is riding on this unit,’ he said in a somewhat strangled voice. ‘Do you realize how much it costs us every single hour it’s not on the road? We’ve got to be in Denmark on Monday – we’re involved in a big trade fair. How are we supposed to cover it now?’

The brightly dressed man sighed sympathetically and put a cigarette in his mouth.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘talk to the DA. She’s the person in charge of impounds.’

Gunnar Antonsson shot one last glance over his shoulder in the direction of the production area, but all he could see were the backs of officers in there. Snidely, he remarked:

‘How can you find any evidence with all these people all over the place?’

‘That wouldn’t have been a problem,’ the lieutenant shot back, ‘if people hadn’t been running in and out of here all night.’

He wasn’t the kind to back down, this officer.

‘Nobody’s been running around in this bus,’ Gunnar Antonsson stated with absolute conviction. ‘I struck the sets myself, I kept watch while they loaded the stuff in and secured it, and I locked up when we were done.’

Nodding, the lieutenant mulled this over.

‘Then there’s only one thing that bothers me,’ he said. ‘How did Michelle get in? Not to mention the killer.’

Gunnar Antonsson stared, the shock of awareness causing his blood to drain instantly into his feet.

‘You can’t possibly believe that I …?’

‘If you want to talk about beliefs, go see a clergyman,’ the policeman replied. ‘Are there any more keys to the bus?’

Dumbstruck, Gunnar merely shook his head.

‘So, what’s the explanation? How did they get inside a locked control room? And how did the killer lock up afterwards?’

The Technical Operations Manager jammed his hands in his pockets, roughly and jerkily, fishing around for the familiar weight of the key chain in his left pocket without finding it and then remembering that the police had it.

A split second later he knew exactly what had happened. He studied the policeman’s face, imagining that he saw arrogance and malice there.

‘Well, I guess you have something to think about, don’t you?’ he said and walked back out into the rain.

Nearly all the other passengers got off at either Grinda, Boda or Puttisholmen. The rest were headed for Gällnö. Thomas thought he recognized two groups of people, but he avoided their gaze.

By the time he could see Söderby Farm through the mists and the rain, he had started to feel like he was coming down with a cold. The scene unfolding behind the sheets of rain was so tremendously familiar. It had been almost a year since he’d been here, yet he was familiar with every tuft of grass along the shore, every slant to every house and every rusty roofing plate in sight. The barn on the left-hand side of the dock still needed a paint job, the rust on the boathouse to the right was worse than ever. The colour scheme was a greyish greeny-brown, the way it always was when it rained. The only contrast was the standard-issue blue road sign. He took a deep breath and was filled with expectancy and nostalgia.

This trip was going to be fun after all.

Thomas woke the children. They were cold and upset. He felt a stab of guilt – Annika always made sure the kids were warm and dry. He gathered the two of them in his arms and carried them down to the cafeteria, letting them wait indoors until he had taken their things ashore.

By the time they finally started heading down the dirt road leading to the village, the rain had let up. The drops turned to droplets and remained suspended mid-air, shimmering and transparent. He had bribed the kids with ice cream, which meant that he would have to change every last item of clothing they had on, from head to toe, when they arrived. But he didn’t care. He was rapidly approaching the end of his tether. The relief he felt when his parents’ large red wooden house next door to the store came into view was enormous.

‘Thomas. Oh, Thomas, we’re so glad to see you. Why are you so late?’

His mother hurried awkwardly down the steps, her sweater draped over her shoulders and fastened with the top button.

‘Now watch that hip of yours, be careful, don’t fall, Mother …’

His mother clasped his face with both hands, kissing first one cheek and then the other.

‘You’re so cold.’

Then she looked around.

‘Where’s Annika?’

Thomas tried to compose himself, compressing his lips briefly before he answered her.

‘She had to go to work.’

His mother’s dismay was genuine and monumental.

‘Work? Today? Well, I never …!’

‘I’m sorry we’re late, but we had to take the Norrskär, and I had so much stuff to lug along …’

Suddenly, he felt wretchedly abandoned. Damn Annika.

‘Oh, dear! Have you dragged all that all this way? Come, let me give you a hand …’

Ellen’s ice cream had melted. It fell on the garden path and the girl howled and reached for it.

‘I didn’t manage to bring the tent,’ Thomas said, ‘but I’ve got to change the kids. Is there anywhere we can stay?’

‘Now that you’re alone, you can stay in the house with us.’

She smiled and patted his arm, a well-organized paragon of kindness and consideration.

‘Leave those things out here, Dad and Holger will bring them in. You don’t have to lug all that stuff. Come and have a nice hot cup of coffee and I’ll take care of the kids. Kalle, Ellen, come to Granny. My, you’re dirty, honey-bun, you need a bath.’

Thomas took a long shower while his mother changed his kids’ clothes and treated them to Danish pastries with custard filling. The heat spread throughout his limbs, making him feel at ease. Everything would be all right, they would take care of him here. When the kids had gone to sleep he could knock back a few with his brother, maybe go fishing at dawn.

Feeling confident, he went into the living room, wrapped in his father’s king-sized burgundy robe. The spirit of summer embraced him, the light from the sea filtered in through the large handmade glass windows and the smooth wooden floors caressed his bare feet.

‘Well, look who we have here. If it isn’t the handsome man from Stockholm,’ his aunt Märta exclaimed as she slowly and deliberately got up from the sofa to greet him.

She too kissed him on the cheek and patted his arm.

‘Doris told us about your trip out here. I’m impressed that you made it. All by yourself, with the children and all. I do declare, modern men are fantastic. Taking care of their families and packing and all …’

Slightly embarrassed, Thomas laughed and dried his ear with the towel.

‘Annika did the packing,’ he admitted. ‘I guess my brother’s already made it out here?’

Aunt Märta’s smile expressed sympathy.

‘Poor Thomas,’ she said. ‘Your wife deserts her family in the middle of the holidays. Can’t you keep her in line?’

Rage welled up inside him. His body went rigid and he jerked his arm away from her grip.

‘She’s on call this weekend, we knew this could happen.’

As soon as he uttered the words, he knew it was the truth, that he had just blocked it out earlier.

‘Writing about violence and crime, is that really a suitable job for a woman?’ Aunt Märta demanded.

He didn’t reply and started heading for the kitchen.

‘Märta, please,’ his mother said in a disapproving voice. ‘These days women can do anything a man can do.’

She turned to Thomas and said:

‘Holger arrived this morning.’

‘Daddy,’ Ellen crowed while kicking her legs and reaching her arms out to him. ‘Da-da-daddy!’