Lifetime (46 page)

‘I didn’t do it!’ she screamed, looking at the crowd. ‘I didn’t do it, I swear! It was Anne Snapphane, our researcher, I saw her! I saw her go over to the bus, then I heard a gunshot!’

The floor disappeared beneath Anne’s feet. She was conscious of the fact that she was falling, but she couldn’t stop herself. The air ran out of oxygen and she couldn’t breathe.

The frightened eyes of Karin Bellhorn darted back and forth on the screen. She flicked her tongue over her lips and smoothed her hair.

Anne’s head was ringing with the words:
It’s not true, you’re lying, I didn’t do it!

‘She did it!’ Karin Bellhorn shouted, the loudness of her voice causing distortion.

Apart from the scuffle, everyone and everything was silent. The entire building was holding its breath, and so was the screen.

‘Anne hated Michelle, because Michelle got the job, she was the host. So . . . that’s what happened. She . . . couldn’t stand her!’

Anne struggled to get air and to stay up. The words echoed, reverberating through her feet, her belly and her brain.

‘She . . . isn’t here! Isn’t that right? Well, there you are!’

A triumphant and shaky smile spread across the dry lips of the producer.

‘Anne Snapphane hated Michelle so much that she didn’t even show up at her memorial service!’

Rage lit up the editing room like a white flash of revelation, burning away paralysis and consideration. Shaking all over, a dry-mouthed Anne got up. Almost hyperventilating, she forced her breathing to steady while her mind occupied itself with wiring circuits and cable connections. She had been involved in Zero’s technical development, so she had a fair idea how things worked. Closing her eyes, she came to a swift conclusion.

It could work.

With mercurial speed she threw herself down on the floor, crawled behind the console, and rewired two connections from the mixer to the four-wire, the talk box. Then she crawled back into her cubicle, quickly and breathlessly, picked up the unmarked reference tape and popped it into the VHS player.

She pressed
play
, got to her feet and turned up the volume of Zero Television’s internal communications system as far as it would go.

There was a deafening silence in the room after the producer had spoken. No one so much as breathed. Annika felt as though her heart had stopped. She swayed there in the window recess, damp palms making it hard to hold on.

Jesus Christ
, she thought,
someone has got to contest this. What should I do? What should I say?

‘Well,’ Highlander said as he approached the lectern on stage. ‘This was certainly an unexpected turn of events. Perhaps we should compose ourselves . . .’

The TV monitor up by the ceiling flickered as the outgoing image was replaced by a grey screen. Loud static filled the air and a series of scraping and rattling noises poured out of the loudspeakers in the conference room. This was followed by a voice, hauntingly clear and familiar, a spectral presence in the room.

‘What do you mean? This place doesn’t have any security.’

‘Is she always like this?’

‘Well yeah, now you know what I mean.’

The roomful of people froze as Michelle started talking. Annika realized what was going on, even though she had no clue about how it was possible. She looked around to check out the response. Stefan Axelsson was as pale as death: he looked like he was going to pass out. Mariana and Carl Wennergren were wide-eyed and gaping. Gunnar Antonsson had a wary look on his face. Karin Bellhorn’s face had gone blotchy with sheer panic.

‘Get out! Get out!’ she screamed from the loudspeakers.

Q looked around, not understanding where the voices were coming from. The police officer next to him let go of Karin Bellhorn.

Crashing sounds. Shouts. Clattering.

‘John! Wait!’

‘Are you going to run after him? Come on, there’s got to be a limit to how much you’re willing to degrade yourself!’

The numbness wore off and the members of the audience began searching for answers in each other’s eyes, without finding any.

‘. . . Fucking crazy bitches . . .’

‘Damn you! Why did you do that? Make him leave?’

‘Pull yourself together . . .’

‘What are you doing here, anyway? Why did you come in here?’

The room began to buzz, the murmurs of the crowd mixing with the unintelligible words on the tape.

‘Michelle, you’re acting like a slut. You’ve got to think of your reputation. When a person’s as famous as you are, they can’t behave like this, people won’t want to see you . . .’

All stares fixed on Karin Bellhorn, who had remained frozen to the spot, stunned.

Drunken giggles spilled out of the loudspeakers. They tipped over into hysteria.

‘What are you laughing at?’

Michelle’s raucous laughter filled the entire room, rolling along the walls and floors, slapping the audience in the gut.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You are. You’re such a fool. What’s the point of making it big, if you never get to do what you want?’

‘I’m responsible for a whole crew, and it all depends on you if they’ll be able to put food on the table. You have an obligation to behave.’

There was a crash that made people jump.

‘Don’t you tell me what to do!’

The voice was hysterical. Its owner was coming apart at the seams.

‘Everybody’s always telling me what to do. You think you can wind me up like a doll and I’ll do whatever you want. Do you think I’m some kind of fucking robot? I’m a real live person, you know, and I won’t take any more crap. I can’t take any more of your disgusting expectations. Highlander can fire me a hundred times over, I would have quit anyway. I can’t stand this bullshit any more!’

Now people looked away from Karin Bellhorn and fixed their gazes on the network CEO. Two red spots burned on his cheeks, and he rushed over and whispered something to a sound engineer. It wasn’t hard to figure out what he’d said, Annika thought.

What the hell is this and where is it coming from?

‘You spoiled brat,’ Karin Bellhorn said on the tape in a slightly slurred voice. ‘You actually feel sorry for yourself, don’t you? Isn’t that right?’

The sound engineer pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared down the corridor.

‘I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for people like you my whole career,’ the producer’s voice continued. ‘Egotistic morons who just act on their instincts. I’m the one with the expertise, I do all the work and people like you get all the attention. Do you realize how sick I am of the whole thing?’

The crowd was swirling now, agitated whispers and eyes as big as saucers. One of the policemen went over to stand in the doorway, blocking Karin Bellhorn’s route of escape.

‘Some people are worthy of attention,’ Michelle countered. ‘Others aren’t.’

The tape buzzed and someone was panting.

‘What exactly do you mean? I’ve been appreciated, I’ve worked in this business for thirty years now, and I’ve always been in demand. I was married to . . . He could have had anyone he wanted, and . . .’

Karin Bellhorn turned her back on the crowd in the conference room.

Michelle’s laughter rang out through the loudspeakers again.

‘That’s the greatest achievement of your entire lifetime, isn’t it? You caught yourself an English pop star. But guess what? Do you know what he tells people about you?’

More laughter.

‘You can laugh all you want,’ Karin Bellhorn said, her voice coloured with contempt and pain. ‘Steven loved me. They only want to fuck you.’

After this, there was nothing but silence and Annika thought the tape had run out. She locked stares with Bambi Rosenberg. The other woman’s eyes were red, smeary with make-up and full of shocked despair. Malice hovered over the room like a dark cloud and Michelle had apparently been rendered speechless. When the voices came back on, Karin was the one to speak.

‘I can do your job any day, but you couldn’t do mine.’

A snort of contempt billowed throughout the room.

‘There’s one thing you ought to know,’ Michelle said. ‘You have me to thank for your job on this show. Highlander wanted to use someone else, only I insisted on having you, but that was a big mistake. You don’t have what it takes any more. You make shows for the senior-citizen set. You go around thinking that you make things work, but everyone else has to cover for your mistakes.’

Something in the TV star’s voice made the crowd hush. A new note of hardness, ruthlessness, a steely intent to inflict pain and crush her foe. The vulnerable whine in Karin Bellhorn’s voice on the tape proved that she had perceived it too.

‘That’s nonsense,’ she whimpered.

‘Please, are you telling me you don’t even realize it? You’re nothing but a goddam has-been who doesn’t have the sense to bow out.’

‘I’m not going to listen to this.’

‘You park your fat arse in the newsroom and lord it over everyone, so sure you have all the answers. You even think you’re good enough to be on screen.’

‘You’d better be quiet, Michelle!’

‘Why do you think I show up on the set even when I’m running one hell of a temperature? I do it because otherwise you’d sit in.’

Gales of hysterical, drunken laughter.

‘Can’t you see how pathetic you are?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You try to be young and with it, but you’re so totally wrong, and you take out your bitterness on people like me, the successful ones . . .’

‘You watch your mouth!’

‘Did you know that Steven goes around telling people about those sponges you used instead of tampons? And how disgusting he thought it was? Everybody knows about it, you’re a laughing stock . . .’

‘You’d better watch it, you little—’

‘John told me you came on to him. I saw it, too – everyone did.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You tried to get him into bed, and all he could think about was how you rinsed out those bloody sponges . . .’

The shot rang out without warning. The ear-popping sound roared like thunder through the loudspeakers, making the audience jump.

Gunnar Antonsson was still in the doorway. His gaze darted around the room in dismay. Karin Bellhorn had turned around and was staring at the fuzzy TV screen.

In the echo after the shot the sound of breathing could be heard, a heavy asthmatic wheeze.

‘Michelle?’

Static coupled with rustling sounds.

‘Michelle? Oh, my God – Michelle! Oh, no . . .’

A dull thud, the sound of a heavy object dropping on carpeting. Gasps of hyperventilation, someone moving around. A whoosh of air followed by silence.

Annika didn’t move, the sound of the shot still ringing in her ears. The stares of the crowd shifted from the screen to Highlander, to Karin Bellhorn, all flushed and sweaty. Gunnar Antonsson straightened up, then turned away and left. An exalted Barbara Hanson was whispering to the people around her. Not bothering to disguise her tears, Mariana von Berlitz clung to Carl Wennergren.

When the tide of accusing looks grew too strong, Karin Bellhorn shrank back, bumping into the wall.

‘What?’ the producer demanded as she looked around. ‘Do you believe this?’

Bambi Rosenberg’s face was all red except for a white ring around her tightened mouth. Her eyes blazed.

‘Damn you!’ she screamed at Karin Bellhorn. ‘Damn you to hell!’

One of the policemen grabbed hold of the woman, restraining her. Sebastian Follin was still standing by the lectern, stunned and confused, his notes clenched in his hands. Highlander was dialling a long number on his cellphone, probably to London, and he moved to a corner of the stage. Stefan Axelsson’s head was bowed and he was crying so hard that his shoulders were shaking.

Annika turned to gaze at the producer again; she had suspected as much, but the truth hadn’t really sunk in. She hadn’t understood the forces at work even though they had surrounded her the whole time.

‘For God’s sake!’ Karin Bellhorn shouted, feeling hot and hunted, her gaze darting around in desperation. ‘It’s all a fake! Don’t you get it? She did it, Anne Snapphane, she mixed this tape, you know how it’s done . . .’

The insight Annika had just acquired fanned the flames of her fundamental sense of judgement: that bitch was trying to put the blame on someone else, attempting to finger Anne who wasn’t even here! The room faded, leaving the black-robed producer who had her back to the wall highlighted and exposed.

‘This is an outrage!’ Karin Bellhorn cried on the other end of eternity. ‘She’s ruthless! Now why would I want to murder Michelle?’

Annika braced herself against the radiator and tensed her fingers to gain a sure grip. Then she let her voice ring out:

‘Cain and Abel,’ she said, her voice as clear as a bell. ‘The most ancient motive for murder in the history of the world. It’s so easy to become what you do. You believe that you are what everyone else sees.’

Heads turned as astonished glances were shot in her direction, Annika could sense them without seeing them, felt their attention, but didn’t care. She knew that their minds were wide open, that all the fences were down, that they were ready for anything.

Karin Bellhorn leaned forward, her eyes dark with rage, fighting for her life.

‘Are you insinuating that I would kill someone out of simple envy?’

Total silence. The crowd had stopped breathing. The electronic whir of the cameras filled the room in between the exchanges of words. The spotlights made faces flush, while the scent of the flowers was oppressive.

‘Absolutely not,’ Annika said, the voice from beyond. ‘It’s so much bigger than that.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Karin Bellhorn screamed.

Annika closed her eyes for a moment and found her truth.

‘If you don’t think you’re worth anything, you become what you do. If no one sees what you do, you become invisible twice over. The more you try to be noticed, the more annoying you become, sort of like a buzzing fly. And if someone else should happen to be acknowledged at the same time, and taken seriously, someone who might not deserve it . . .’