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we can meet again,’ Rebecka said as she got up, a small pale figure veiled in shadows.
    Annika smiled sheepishly and got up. They shook hands.
    ‘Then maybe I’ll be getting back to you,’ Annika said.
    ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ Rebecka said. ‘I’m looking forward to your call.’
    And then she was gone.
    The waiter drifted over to the table.
    ‘That will be fifty-five kronor for the coffee.’
    Annika paid the bill.
    In the taxi back to the newsroom, her mind wandered. The suburbs flashed past through the dirty glass: industrial areas with sheet-metal siding, dreary high-rise buildings, thoroughfares with red lights.
    What did she actually look like, this Rebecka Björkstig? Annika realized that she’d already forgotten, remembering only a certain intangible evasive quality.
    People at risk, abused women. If ever there was a subject she ought to avoid, this was it. She was disqualified for all eternity.
    And what had Rebecka said about the Garden of Eden, anyway? Annika searched her memory, the information slipping beyond her grasp. She got her notes out, leafed through them and tried to read by the flashes of yellow light produced by the street lamps.
    It was surrounded by an invisible wall that evil couldn’t penetrate.
    She put her pad down again and saw the high-rise buildings of the neighbourhood known as ‘the Blues’ flash by.
    Then what about the serpent? she thought. Where did it come from?
    Berit Hamrin was sitting at her desk in the newsroom by the time she returned. Annika walked over to her and hugged her.
    ‘The double homicide?’ she asked.
    Berit smiled.
    ‘There’s nothing like a mob war,’ she said.
    Annika took off her jacket, letting it fall in a small pile on the floor.
    ‘Have you had anything to eat?’
    They went down to the lunch room commonly referred to as ‘Seven Rats’ and had the special.
    ‘What’s up?’ Berit asked and buttered a piece of crispbread.
    Annika sighed.
    ‘I guess there’ll be more hurricane coverage tonight,’ she said. ‘And I just met this woman with a really strange story.’
    Interested, Berit raised an eyebrow as she sampled the potatoes au gratin.
    ‘Strange stories can be a lot of fun,’ she said. ‘Pass the salt, please.’
    Annika leaned back and reached over to take the salt and pepper shakers from the table behind her.
    ‘This woman claims that there is this foundation called Paradise that helps women and children whose lives have been threatened to make new lives for themselves.’
    Berit nodded in approval.
    ‘Sounds exciting. Is it on the level?’
    Annika hesitated.
    ‘I’m not sure, I didn’t get the whole story. The director seemed to be on the level. Apparently they’ve devised some sort of process to wipe people who fear for their lives off public records.’
    She took the salt from Berit and sprinkled her own food liberally.
    ‘Do you think . . . that my checking this lead would be a problem?’ she asked cautiously.
    Berit chewed her food a while.
    ‘No, I shouldn’t think so,’ she said. ‘Because of Sven, you mean?’
    Annika nodded, her voice failing her.
    Her older colleague sighed.
    ‘I can see that the thought occurred to you, but what you went through can’t disqualify you from being able to perform as a journalist for all eternity. It was an accident – you’ve got the decree to prove it.’
    There was nothing she could say; Annika looked down at her plate as she sliced a piece of lettuce into shreds.
    ‘Just talk to the executives,’ Berit said. ‘It’s easier to get stuff in the paper if the guys upstairs think that a story is their idea.’
    Annika smiled, chewing on a mouthful of salad. They ate in comfortable silence.
    ‘Have you been over to the free-port compound?’ Annika asked as she pushed her plate away and reached for a toothpick.
    Berit got up. ‘Coffee?’
    ‘Black.’
    Berit went and got them both a cup.
    ‘Nasty affair,’ she said, placing a cup in