Last Will by Liza Marklund Read Free Book Online Page B

the sort of thing he takes seriously. It’ll pass, but not until the chairman of the board has forgiven him. Give him six months, then maybe I can come back in from the cold.”
    Jansson slurped audibly.
    “What sort of nonsense is that?” he said after he’d taken a sip. “Out in the cold? Covering the Nobel banquet is a prestigious job!”
    “With Olsson trailing behind me? You’re joking. And in this getup?”
    She tugged at her pink polyester skirt, which now had a tear in the hem. She could feel Jansson looking at her the way he sometimes did, like he was looking at an unusual plant or a strange bird, not maliciously at all, more in wonder, as if he were a botanist or an ornithologist.
    “What was it really like?” he asked, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.
    She shut her eyes for a moment, conjuring up the impression made on her memory as she stepped into the Blue Hall.
    “Overwhelming, to start with. A lot of light, a lot of people. Pretty horrible food, the starter was inedible. But it was warm, not stone-cold like everyone always says …”
    She had ended up on the same table as Bosse from the other evening paper; they’d met before, not least when they were covering the murderof Michelle Carlsson out at Yxtaholm Castle. They’d chatted and laughed, nudging each other and drinking toasts.
    “Is it true they always put journalists behind a pillar so they can’t see anything?”
    Annika nodded.
    “Completely true. Three and a half hours and we didn’t have a clue what was going on up at the top table. You probably saw more on television. Is there anything you’re missing?”
    “Did you really see the murders?”
    She took a deep breath and collected her thoughts.
    “Only the one up in the Golden Hall—von Behring was the only one who died up there.”
    She fell quiet, remembering the look in the woman’s eyes, her body lying absolutely still.
    “I saw her get shot, then I fell to the floor beside her …”
    She could hear her voice breaking, and how an odd sound came bubbling up through her throat, a little sniff that she masked by taking a sip of coffee.
    “But I didn’t see the killer at that precise moment, and I didn’t see her fire the shots.”
    Jansson lit another cigarette.
    “So how could you help produce the photofit?”
    “I bumped into her a few moments before she fired—she stood on my foot.”
    Annika put the plastic cup on the floor and pulled off her boot. A violet-blue swelling, the size of a five-kronor coin, was visible through her tights.
    “Damn,” Jansson said.
    “They’ll release the picture in the morning—I’d put money on it. They need to check with some other witnesses first.”
    “How do they go about it? Is there someone there drawing?”
    Annika felt her shoulders relax for the first time all night.
    “It’s all digital these days. You sit inside the old Police Headquarters on Kungsholmen, in a normal office with three computers. They startworking with the person with the best information, the one they think saw most. When you’ve told them all you know you go through it all again, but back-to-front this time, and that dredges up other details. When you talk about something chronologically you’re looking for things that fit together, in order to make the narrative go forward …”
    She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t help it; the words were tumbling out of her as if they’d been dammed up all night. Jansson listened and nodded and smoked, and she felt that it was doing her some good.
    “I had to go out and have a cup of coffee for fifteen minutes, and when I came back in the technician had come up with a picture on the computer, then I had to say what was most wrong about it. The hairstyle, I said, and then he laughed and said that nine out of ten women always start by saying that the hairstyle is wrong. I kept making changes, and as long as I could see something that didn’t fit with my memory I had to stay, which is why it took so