Prime Time by Liza Marklund Page B

front of me all the time, I feel like I’m to blame.’
    ‘Well, you can’t possibly––’
    ‘Don’t you tell me what I can or cannot feel. You’re not the one shut in here like a goddam killer.’
    Anne started to sob into the phone and Annika wished she hadn’t called her.
    ‘Do you want me to hang up?’ she asked gently. ‘Do you want to be left alone?’
    ‘No!’ Anne whispered back. ‘Please don’t hang up.’
    They sat in silence for quite a while, listening to the rattling base tones of the clock radio.
    ‘Have they told you when you’ll be able to go home?’ Annika asked.
    ‘No. All they’ve said was that they’ll let us leave as soon as they’ve finished questioning us. By the way, Q is here. He interrogated me. What a mean son of a bitch.’
    ‘Have you talked to Mehmed?’ Annika asked.
    Her friend sighed.
    ‘No. Could you give him a call and tell him I’ve been detained here? God, I miss Miranda.’
    ‘I bet she’s doing just fine,’ Annika said in her most soothing voice as she kept watch over the parking lot. ‘Are you allowed to use your cellphone?’
    ‘Not really. Are you out there somewhere?’
    ‘It’s pissing down, so I hid in a greenhouse. How about it, do you dare talk to me?’
    Annika heard her friend moving around, the sound of her footfalls and how she fiddled with the radio.
    ‘For a while, I guess.’
    ‘Could you help me out?’ Annika asked. ‘I’ve been through the cars in the parking lot and think I know who most of your companions are. Could you tell me if I’m right?’
    Anne Snapphane gave a tired laugh.
    ‘Always the journalist. So what do you want to know?’
    ‘Highlander, is he there?’
    ‘Roger.’
    ‘Mariana von Berlitz and Carl Wennergren?’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    ‘Is Mariana a born-again Christian?’
    ‘When it suits her. How did you know that?’
    ‘She has a “Jesus Lives” bumper sticker. And then there’s a girl from Katrineholm called Hannah Persson.’
    ‘That’s correct.’
    ‘What’s she doing here?’
    Anne Snapphane took a deep breath. When she spoke again her voice contained at least a modicum of life, as if it was invigorating to talk about something humdrum.
    ‘She’s the secretary of the Katrineholm NP, the neo-Nazis. She was on the panel of the final show along with two anarchists, and they really kicked up a fuss. The anarchists attacked Michelle and this girl and left the Nazi with a bloody nose. Me and one of the sound technicians had to break up the fight. My chin got scratched.’
    ‘Why did she stay on after you wrapped?’
    ‘Free booze. No one had the energy to get rid of her. Anyone else?’
    ‘Barbara Hanson?’
    ‘That bitch? Sure, she was here to sneer at Michelle, as usual. She got stinking drunk, of course, and passed out before midnight.’
    ‘What about Karin Bellhorn?’
    ‘I just talked to her. She’s in the room across the hall.’
    ‘Anyone by the name of Sebastian Follin?’
    ‘That would be Michelle’s manager, the guy who takes care of all her contracts, public relations, and appearances and stuff. They had some kind of falling-out last night.’
    ‘Bambi Rosenberg, the babe from the soaps?’
    ‘Bambi the bimbo? Yeah, she’s Michelle’s best friend. She was on the next-to-last show and she stayed for the wrap party. Michelle definitely needed to have a good friend around, that’s for sure …’
    ‘What about Stefan Axelsson, the technical director?’
    ‘He took care of the whole shebang from the bus all day long. A very talented technical director, but a real sourpuss; he complained non-stop about everything and everybody. He’s here.’
    ‘And then there’s you and some technical wiz in charge of the bus.’
    ‘That’s right – Gunnar Antonsson. He loves that bus more than his life.’
    ‘Do you think they’ll talk to me?’
    Anne Snapphane managed to laugh.
    ‘That depends on which one you approach,’ she said. ‘Sebastian definitely will. Steffe? No way.