The Bomber by Liza Marklund Read Free Book Online

partly because she'd had support for her attitude to the Olympic coverage, partly because she got herself to tell her superior about the outburst. People got angry with each other every day at the paper, but she was a woman and new as an editor, so she had to be prepared to take some stick.
     
     
She picked up a large holdall with the company logo and took it to the photo room. Ulf Olsson was alone in the room, reading a magazine.
     
     
"I want to apologize for swearing at you," Annika said. "Here you are, it's a bag to fill with winter clothes. Put some long underwear, warm shoes, a hat, and gloves in it, and put it in your locker or in the trunk of your car."
     
     
The man gave her a glum look. "You should have told me earlier that we were going…"
     
     
"You'll have to take that up with the picture editor or the editor. Have you developed the pictures?"
     
     
"No, I was…"
     
     
"Well, then do it."
     
     
She left the room, feeling his glare on her back. On the way back to her office, it struck her that she hadn't eaten all day, not even breakfast. She passed by the cafeteria and bought a meatball sandwich and a Diet Coke.
     
     
    * * *
The news of the explosion at the Olympic stadium had by now broken worldwide. All the major TV companies and international newpapers had sent correspondents to the 2 P.M. press conference at the police headquarters: CNN, Sky News, BBC, the Nordic TV companies; Le Monde, the European, the Times, Die Zeit, and many more. The TV companies' cellphone units were blocking most of the driveway up to the entrance.
     
     
Annika arrived with four others from her paper: reporters Patrik and Berit, plus two photographers. The room was packed with people and equipment. Annika and the other reporters stood on chairs at the back, while the photographers elbowed their way further forward. As always, the TV people had parked themselves right at the front of the podium, blocking everyone else's view. People were tripping over their endless miles of cable coiling all over the floor, and everyone would have to make allowances for them having to put their questions first. Their camera lights glared across the room in all directions, although most were directed at the podium where the police officials would soon address the nation. Several of the TV companies were transmitting live, including CNN, Sky, and the Swedish Rapport. The reporters were rehearsing their stand-ups, scrawling in their scripts; the still photographers were loading their cameras; radio reporters were twiddling the knobs of their DAT recorders, mumbling "testing, testing, one-two…" The murmur of voices sounded like a waterfall. The heat was already unbearable. Annika groaned, dropping her coat and scarf in a heap on the floor.
     
     
When the police officials walked in through a side door next to the podium, the murmur subsided and was replaced by the snapping of cameras. Four men stepped onto the podium: the Stockholm police press officer, the Chief District Prosecutor Kjell Lindström, a Krim investigator whose name Annika couldn't remember, and, finally, Evert Danielsson from the Olympic Secretariat. They took their time to get seated at the table, then sipped from the mandatory glasses of water.
     
     
The press officer opened with the established facts: An explosion had taken place, leaving one person dead; the extent of the resulting damage was reiterated; and the forensic investigation was in progress. He already seemed tired and careworn. What would he look like once this has been going on for a couple of days? Annika mused.
     
     
Then the Chief District Prosecutor took over. "We haven't as yet been able to identify the victim at the arena. Progress has been hampered by the state of the body. We do, however, have some leads that could assist in establishing the identity of the victim. The explosive residues have been sent to London for analysis. We haven't had any definite results from them yet, but we can say