papers. Ingemar’s a brilliant politician, he’s got a natural flair for it, and he was a threat to the party leadership. They wanted to get rid of him, I know. Hypocrisy, that’s what it is. It’s immoral. Stabbing someone in the back and then not taking responsibility for it.’
Annika studied her. ‘Do you know this for certain, or is it just a suspicion?’
She clasped her handbag tighter. ‘The party leadership knows nothing at all about Ingemar. It’s all getting rather ridiculous …’ All of a sudden she seemed almost amused. ‘Like that bit about him being such a good businessman. Ingemar was a wonderful person and a brilliant politician, but he’s always been a terrible businessman. How he manages to keep that company going is beyond me.’
As Annika was taking notes, she saw from the corner of her eye that Valter had appeared. He stopped about ten metres away, unsure of where to sit.
Marianne Berg-Holmlund sighed and wiped her eyes. ‘I’d say that Ingemar is the only person who is capable of steering this party’s policies in the right direction,’ she said.
Annika rocked gently on her chair. ‘So your sympathies are with him, as far as politics are concerned?’ she asked.
The woman nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely. There’s a small but close-knit group of us who rate his political opinions very highly.’
‘So, you think homosexuality is an abomination?’
Marianne Berg-Holmlund stiffened. ‘That’s not my opinion. It’s in the Bible.’
Annika put down her pen and notepad and pulled her laptop towards her, searched the internet and read the results. Then she looked up. ‘It’s an abomination to eat shellfish too. It says so in Leviticus chapter eleven, verse ten. Which do you think is worse? Homosexuality or prawns?’
The woman sighed.
‘Sorry if I seem to be labouring the point,’ Annika said, ‘but I find political Biblical references fascinating. In Leviticus twenty-five, verse forty-four, it says that you can own both male and female slaves from neighbouring countries. Tell me, how do you interpret “neighbouring country”? Norway and Finland, or would it have to be somewhere outside the European Economic Area?’
‘It’s easy to make fun of the Bible,’ Marianne Berg-Holmlund said. ‘You’re not the first to do it.’
Annika smiled briefly and pushed away her laptop. ‘So, you think Ingemar was treated badly by your colleagues in the party?’
The woman was wary now. ‘You wrote terrible headlines about the accusations, but nothing when he was found not guilty.’
Annika raised her eyebrows. ‘Not guilty?’ she said. ‘I haven’t read about that.’
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’
‘But if he was completely innocent, why did he resign?’
Marianne Berg-Holmlund jerked her head back. ‘It isn’t easy to resist when there’s a mob demanding you go.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Annika asked. ‘Write that we were wrong? That Ingemar was the victim of a conspiracy among his party comrades?’
The woman glared at her. ‘You crushed his political ambitions. Now someone’s crushed him physically. I just wish that one or other of you could be held responsible for what you’ve done.’
She stood up and made for the door.
Valter stared at her as she passed him. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked, looking rather unsettled.
Annika watched the woman leave. ‘Internal political intrigue inside the Christian Democratic Party,’ she said. ‘She just sold out her friends in the party because they sold out her friend in the party. And she’s angry that we wrote about his tax fiddle.’
Valter sat down. ‘What about all the Bible stuff? Are you a Christian?’
Annika turned her laptop so Valter could see the screen. ‘A classic argument,’ she said. ‘There are loads of different versions of it online. Aaron Sorkin used it in an episode of
The West Wing
, but there are plenty of examples in social media.’
She pulled the laptop
Annika studied her. ‘Do you know this for certain, or is it just a suspicion?’
She clasped her handbag tighter. ‘The party leadership knows nothing at all about Ingemar. It’s all getting rather ridiculous …’ All of a sudden she seemed almost amused. ‘Like that bit about him being such a good businessman. Ingemar was a wonderful person and a brilliant politician, but he’s always been a terrible businessman. How he manages to keep that company going is beyond me.’
As Annika was taking notes, she saw from the corner of her eye that Valter had appeared. He stopped about ten metres away, unsure of where to sit.
Marianne Berg-Holmlund sighed and wiped her eyes. ‘I’d say that Ingemar is the only person who is capable of steering this party’s policies in the right direction,’ she said.
Annika rocked gently on her chair. ‘So your sympathies are with him, as far as politics are concerned?’ she asked.
The woman nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely. There’s a small but close-knit group of us who rate his political opinions very highly.’
‘So, you think homosexuality is an abomination?’
Marianne Berg-Holmlund stiffened. ‘That’s not my opinion. It’s in the Bible.’
Annika put down her pen and notepad and pulled her laptop towards her, searched the internet and read the results. Then she looked up. ‘It’s an abomination to eat shellfish too. It says so in Leviticus chapter eleven, verse ten. Which do you think is worse? Homosexuality or prawns?’
The woman sighed.
‘Sorry if I seem to be labouring the point,’ Annika said, ‘but I find political Biblical references fascinating. In Leviticus twenty-five, verse forty-four, it says that you can own both male and female slaves from neighbouring countries. Tell me, how do you interpret “neighbouring country”? Norway and Finland, or would it have to be somewhere outside the European Economic Area?’
‘It’s easy to make fun of the Bible,’ Marianne Berg-Holmlund said. ‘You’re not the first to do it.’
Annika smiled briefly and pushed away her laptop. ‘So, you think Ingemar was treated badly by your colleagues in the party?’
The woman was wary now. ‘You wrote terrible headlines about the accusations, but nothing when he was found not guilty.’
Annika raised her eyebrows. ‘Not guilty?’ she said. ‘I haven’t read about that.’
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’
‘But if he was completely innocent, why did he resign?’
Marianne Berg-Holmlund jerked her head back. ‘It isn’t easy to resist when there’s a mob demanding you go.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Annika asked. ‘Write that we were wrong? That Ingemar was the victim of a conspiracy among his party comrades?’
The woman glared at her. ‘You crushed his political ambitions. Now someone’s crushed him physically. I just wish that one or other of you could be held responsible for what you’ve done.’
She stood up and made for the door.
Valter stared at her as she passed him. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked, looking rather unsettled.
Annika watched the woman leave. ‘Internal political intrigue inside the Christian Democratic Party,’ she said. ‘She just sold out her friends in the party because they sold out her friend in the party. And she’s angry that we wrote about his tax fiddle.’
Valter sat down. ‘What about all the Bible stuff? Are you a Christian?’
Annika turned her laptop so Valter could see the screen. ‘A classic argument,’ she said. ‘There are loads of different versions of it online. Aaron Sorkin used it in an episode of
The West Wing
, but there are plenty of examples in social media.’
She pulled the laptop
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