Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

story on the growing violence and its possible causes. Fights among teenagers usually occurred in the summertime when the island was invaded by tourists. Visby was popular because of its sunny weather, long sandy beaches and the lively bar scene.
    ‘Hi.’
    Startled out of his reverie, Johan looked up from his editing. He hadn’t noticed that Pia Lilja had come in.
    With a big yawn, she sat down at her desk across from Johan and switched on her computer.
    ‘How boring that we have to work on a Sunday. Is there really anything we should be doing?’
    ‘Not a thing, apparently. Are you tired?’
    She gave him a sly look. As usual, she had put on a good deal of eye make-up.
    ‘Yeah. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
    ‘A new boyfriend?’
    ‘You might say that.’
    Pia seemed to have a steady stream of new boyfriends. Her appetite for men was apparently insatiable, and the men seemed equally infatuated with her. Pia was twenty-six, tall and slender, with black hair sticking out in all directions. She’d had both her nose and her navel pierced and adorned with gemstones in various colours. And it was no exaggeration to say that her choice of eye shadow was vibrant. Right now her lids were painted a bright turquoise.
    Johan was glad that she’d never tried to put the moves on him; he wouldn’t have been interested anyway. Just after they started working together, he had met Emma Winarve, who became the great love of his life. And they were now married.
    ‘Anyone I know?’ he asked.
    ‘I doubt it. He’s a sheep farmer from Sudret. A real hermit. But cute and sexy. Big muscles and tons of energy.’ A dreamy look came into her eyes.
    ‘How’d you meet him?’
    ‘I drove past his farm early one morning, and in the haze I saw hundreds of lambs in one of the pastures. It was an irresistible scene. I just had to stop and take a picture. And there he was, appearing out of the mist like some character in a fucking fairy tale. But what about you? Are you hung-over from the party last night? Was it fun hobnobbing with all the society bigwigs?’
    Pia hadn’t stopped mocking him ever since he’d agreed to go to the dedication festivities at the new conference centre.
    ‘Sure. It was actually OK. Free champagne and great food. Those of us who are parents to little kids don’t get out very often, so we have to accept any invitation we can get.’
    ‘Oh, right. You’re a journalist, for God’s sake. You need to preserve your impartial status,’ said Pia, throwing out her long arms in exasperation. ‘What happens if the owners of that bloody consortium, or whoever is behind that building, have been embezzling taxpayers’ money? What if some of the construction work was done by illegal workers? Or if the guy who organized the celebration, that mafia type – Algård – starts selling booze under the table to teenagers at his club or turns out to be pushing drugs?’
    ‘I would hope I know how to keep my work and my social life separate,’ said Johan with a faint smile.
    Of course he’d had his doubts. A handful of reporters had been invited to the celebration, and he was one of them. He’d felt flattered, but at the same time he was ashamed that he’d allowed himself to be so easily taken in by the very people he was supposed to scrutinize. Yet he couldn’t very well turn down all invitations just because he was a reporter. That had been Emma’s argument when he discussed the invitation with her. Was his attendance at one party really going to influence how he did his job? If it came out next week that the chairman of the municipal board had fiddled the bill for the booze, wouldn’t he report the story as usual, even though he had attended the party? Of course he would. And besides, Emma had said, wasn’t it a good idea for a journalist to get out in society by going to this sort of event? Gather impressions of people in the community and make contacts? Just because he occasionally socialized with certain people, that didn’t mean they had to be his best friends.
    Johan had decided to go, although it went against his gut feeling. Was it really possible to keep his distance? Once a reporter started socializing with people privately, sooner or later sympathetic feelings were liable to arise and muddy his judgement. To minimize the risk, he probably ought to refrain from that sort of fraternizing. Pia was undoubtedly right, but since she’d spoken to him in such an annoying tone of voice, he