The Black Path by Åsa Larsson Read Free Book Online

good coffee.
    At the same time, he didn’t want her to work herself to death. He wanted her to be happy here. To stay.
    “You work hard,” he said.
    Rebecka Martinsson sighed and pushed back her chair. She kicked off her shoes.
    “I’m used to working like this,” she said. “You don’t need to worry. That wasn’t my problem.”
    “I know, but…”
    “I have no children. No family. Not even houseplants, actually. I like working hard. Let me get on with it.”
    Alf Björnfot shrugged his shoulders. He felt relieved; at least he’d tried.
    Rebecka took a gulp of her coffee and thought about Måns Wenngren. In the law firm you just worked yourself to death. But that was fine by her, she’d had nothing else.
    I must have been out of my mind, she thought. I could work all night just for a brief “good” from him, or even a nod of approval.
    Don’t think about him, she told herself.
    “What brings you here today?” she asked.
    Alf Björnfot told her about the woman they’d found in the ark.
    “I don’t think it’s all that strange that she hasn’t been reported missing,” said Rebecka. “If somebody’s killed his wife or partner, he’ll be sitting there drinking himself under the table, crying and feeling sorry for himself. And nobody else has had time to miss her yet.”
    “Could be.”
    There was a knock, and after a second Inspector Anna-Maria Mella stuck her head round the door.
    “Oh, so this is where you are,” she said cheerfully to the chief prosecutor. “We’re ready to go over the whole thing. Everybody’s here. Are you joining us?”
    The question was addressed to Rebecka Martinsson.
    Rebecka shook her head. She and Anna-Maria Mella bumped into each other sometimes. They said hello, but not much more. It was Anna-Maria Mella and her colleague Sven-Erik Stålnacke who’d been there when she cracked up. Sven-Erik had held on to her until the ambulance arrived. She thought about it sometimes. Somebody holding on to her. It had felt good.
    But it was difficult to talk to them. What would she say? Before she went home from work, she usually glanced out the window at the parking lot below. Sometimes she saw Anna-Maria Mella or Sven-Erik Stålnacke there. When that happened, she’d hang about for a little while until they’d disappeared.
    “What’s happened?” asked Alf Björnfot.
    “Nothing since we last spoke,” said Anna-Maria Mella. “Nobody’s seen a thing. We still don’t know who she is.”
    “Can I have a look at her?” said Alf Björnfot, reaching out his hand.
    Anna-Maria Mella passed over a photo of the dead woman.
    “I think I recognize her,” said Alf Björnfot.
    “May I?” asked Rebecka.
    Alf Björnfot passed over the photo and looked at Rebecka.
    She was wearing jeans and a sweater. He’d never seen her like that since she’d started working for him. It was because it was Sunday. She normally had her hair up, and wore well-tailored suits. It made him think she was a kind of strange, exotic bird, somehow. Some of the other prosecutors would put on a suit if they were involved in proceedings. He himself had given that up long ago. Made do with pulling on a jacket if he had to go to court. He ironed just the collars of his shirts, and wore a sweater over the top.
    But Rebecka always looked expensive, somehow. Expensive and very simple in her gray and black suits with a white shirt.
    Something stirred in his mind. That woman. He’d seen her with a suit on.
    Like Rebecka. A white shirt and a suit. She was an exotic bird too.
    Different from the others.
    What others?
    A picture of a female politician came into his head. A suit, with the shirt collar on the outside. The hair in a blonde bob. She’s surrounded by men in suits.
    The thought was lurking just out of reach, like a pike among the reeds. It could feel the vibrations of something approaching. The EU? UN?
    No. She wasn’t a politician.
    “Now I remember,” said Alf Björnfot. “I was watching a news item.