Borderline by Liza Marklund Read Free Book Online Page A

if she got her black eye on Thursday and the cracked rib on Friday, or the other way round. That was why the law concerning aggravated harassment had been passed, so that the abuse would be considered as a whole, not as various separate incidents. And the statute of limitations had been raised to ten years to underline the seriousness of this type of crime.
    Had she misunderstood? It was possible, but wouldn’t that mean all the other journalists and lawyers had as well?
    The phone on her desk rang. An internal call, judging by the screen. She picked up the receiver.
    ‘You can’t just switch your mobile off and unplug your landline when something like this is going on,’ Anders Schyman said. ‘Halenius has been trying to get hold of you all night. What if something had happened, if there was something to tell you?’
    It sounded as if he was outside: there was a lot of wind and interference on the line.
    ‘So what?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘Nothing, as far as I know.’
    ‘So it didn’t make any difference that I unplugged the phone, did it?’
    ‘You’re behaving irrationally and irresponsibly,’ Schyman said angrily. ‘What if Thomas had tried to reach you?’
    ‘I have another mobile that Thomas calls me on. That one was switched on.’
    In the background, she heard a large vehicle, a bus or lorry, thunder past, then heard Schyman yell, ‘Watch where you’re going, you fucking moron!’
    When he came back he sounded more focused. ‘Halenius wants to inform you of the current situation, and tell you how the government is going to handle things. He can come round to yours or meet you somewhere in the city, but he can’t come here to the office again. They want to keep this under the radar for a bit longer.’
    ‘I don’t want him in my home.’
    ‘You can go to the department if you’d rather.’
    ‘Did you know that aggravated harassment doesn’t actually have a limitation period of ten years?’
    A siren went past.
    ‘What did you say?’
    She shut her eyes. ‘Nothing. Where are you?’
    ‘My wife’s just dropped me at Fridhemsplan. I’ll be in the newsroom shortly.’
    They hung up. Annika pulled her laptop closer and logged on to one of Sweden’s biggest online databases. It wasn’t a comprehensive list of everyone in the country, but almost all of the phone numbers that weren’t ex-directory were listed there, usually with the address of the subscriber, maps and directions.
    There was no Linnea Sendman in the database. Either she had no phone in her own name or she was ex-directory. But Annika found the blogger, Viveca Hernandez: she was listed at Klubbacken 48 in Hägersten. According to the instructive little map that accompanied the listing, she lived behind the two nursery schools on Selmedalsvägen. Presumably the blocks up the hill that Annika had seen from the path.
    She went back to the blog. The text suggested that Viveca Hernandez was well aware of Linnea Sendman’s situation: ‘… yelling so loudly it echoed up the stairwell …’
    I’d be willing to bet that Linnea Sendman lived at Klubbacken 48, too, Annika thought. And that Viveca Hernandez was the neighbour who had sounded the alarm that she had gone missing.
    She picked up the phone to call Viveca Hernandez and saw the editor-in-chief standing in front of her, a woolly hat on his head and ice in his moustache.
    ‘We’re going to Rosenbad,’ he said. ‘Right now. That’s an order.’

Chapter 4
    The main government building, originally built as the headquarters of the Nordic Credit Bank at the turn of the last century, stood majestically beside the waters of Norrström, like some late-Gothic palace. Nordic Credit had gone bankrupt during the First World War, but its emblem was still engraved above one of the side entrances, Anders Schyman had forgotten which.
    He paid for the taxi with the newspaper’s credit card, then glanced at the reporter beside him. She looked like an unmade bed.
    At the