Free The Bomber by Liza Marklund

guests and staff. That's where we'll find our witness. Have we talked to them?"
     
     
Patrik and Berit looked at each other.
     
     
"We've got to go to the docks and talk to them," Annika said.
     
     
"An unlicensed club?" Berit was skeptical. "How keen will they be to talk to us?"
     
     
"What the hell," Annika said, "you never know. Let them speak anonymously or off the record— they can just tell you if they saw something or know anything."
     
     
"Sounds like a good idea," Patrik said. "It could be productive."
     
     
"Have the police talked to them?"
     
     
"I don't know. I didn't ask," Patrik said.
     
     
"Okay," Annika said. "I'll call the police. You get out there and try to find the club. Call the injured driver. We've got him hidden away at the Royal Viking. Ask him exactly where the club is. They won't be open tonight, I presume; the place is probably inside the police cordons. Still, talk to the driver and see if he had a name for the customer he drove there. Maybe it was he who recommended the club because he knows someone there, you never know."
     
     
"I'll go right now," Patrik said. He picked up his jacket and was gone.
     
     
Berit sighed. "I can't really believe it was a terrorist attack," she said. "Why? To put a stop to the Games? Then why start now, it's a little late in the day."
     
     
Annika doodled on her pad. "One thing I do know," she said. "The police better catch this Bomber person, otherwise this country will have a hangover it hasn't seen since Olof Palme was killed."
     
     
Berit nodded, picked up her things, and went out to her desk.
     
     
    * * *
Annika called her contact, but he wasn't available. She e-mailed an official police communication about the illegal club to Patrik. Then she went and picked up a copy of the Government's official yearbook and looked up the name of the director of the local tax office in Tyresö. It gave his name and the year of his birth. His name was much too common to be easily found in the phone directory, so Annika had to Reg him first. This way she got his home address, then information found him quick as a flash.
     
     
He answered on the fourth ring and sounded quite drunk. It was Saturday night after all. Annika switched on her tape recorder.
     
     
"I can't say a word about Christina Furhage," the tax director said, sounding like he was about to hang up on her straight away.
     
     
"Naturally," Annika said calmly. "I'd just like to ask a few general questions about people being off record and about threat scenarios."
     
     
A group of people burst out laughing simultaneously in the background. She must have called in the middle of a dinner party or a Christmas drinks party.
     
     
"You'll have to call me at the office on Monday," the tax director said.
     
     
"But the paper will have gone to print long before then," Annika said in a silky voice. "The readers have a right to a comment tomorrow. What reason shall I give for you not answering?"
     
     
The man breathed silently down the line. Annika could feel him debating with himself. He understood that she was alluding to his intoxication. She wouldn't ever write anything like that in the paper; you just don't. But if an official was awkward, she didn't hesitate to use a few tricks to get her way.
     
     
"What do you want to know?" he said icily.
     
     
Annika smiled. "What does it take for a person to be off record?" she asked.
     
     
She knew that already, but the man's words when describing it would be a recapitulation of Christina's case.
     
     
The man sighed, giving it some thought. "Well, there has to be a threat. A real threat," he said. "Not just a telephone call, but something more, something serious."
     
     
"Like a death threat?" Annika said.
     
     
"For example. Though there has to be more, something to make a court issue a restraining order."
     
     
"An incident? Some kind of violent act?" Annika asked.
     
     
"You could put it that way."
     
     
"Would someone be