The Long Shadow by Liza Marklund Read Free Book Online Page B

that out once you’re there,’ he said. ‘There must be freelance photographers in Spain. And take the chance to do a bit of research on the CostaCocaine as well. You’ll be doing a series of articles on drugs and money-laundering, the ones I’d have written if I hadn’t been promoted.’
    He hurried off to the entertainment desk.
    Annika turned to Berit. ‘Unbelievable!’ she said. ‘He thinks being head of news means running around and giving people advice about things that are bloody obvious.’
    ‘The booking number of your flight to Málaga’s in your email,’ Berit said, without looking up. ‘A couple of Scandinavian police officers are stationed in Andalucía. You’ve got their names and numbers in another email. Start by calling them – they’re bound to know a local interpreter. Take your own pictures. I managed to book out a completely automatic camera. You just point and click. Call as soon as you know anything.’
    She pointed at a little camera case on the desk beside Annika. ‘Fly carefully,’ she said, ‘and good luck.’
    Annika groaned. ‘Why didn’t you take the job, Berit?’
    There was an echo as she closed the door of the flat. She stopped in the hall for a minute or so, as she usually did, listening to the sounds from the street and feeling the draught trying to get into the stairwell.
    This flat was much darker than any she had lived in before. It was higher off the ground, on the fourth floor. The trees obscured the light from the streetlamps. Outside her bedroom window she had nothing but a starless sky.
    From the hall she looked through the living room into the darkness that would be Ellen’s room. The kitchen was immediately to the left, a modern, minimalist affair that she instinctively disliked.
    She turned on the lights, took off her padded jacket and let it fall in a heap on the floor. She went quicklypast the kitchen and into her room, where she curled up on the bed.
    There wasn’t much wrong with the flat itself. It was actually quite nice. It had three rooms, apart from the kitchen and the bathroom, and it was fairly spacious, with a large hall that could be used as a living room, which meant that she and the children could each have their own bedroom. The keys had been delivered by courier to her temporary home in Gamla stan the day before New Year’s Eve. She had spent New Year’s Eve hiring a car and moving the few possessions she had managed to acquire since the fire.
    She looked up at the smooth ceiling. There must have been some heavy plaster detail up there at some point, but the building had been renovated at the end of the 1930s and all its ornamentation had been stripped out.
    She had found out that the building, known as No. 1 Walnut Block for bureaucratic purposes, was a cooperative apartment block, where each occupant owned a share of the building. This flat was owned by the National Property Board. She had no idea how Q had got hold of it or how long she would be able to live there.
    She turned on one of the bedside lamps and plumped up the pillows behind her back, turned her head a little to the right and looked out at the sky. She could see the bedroom in the villa on Vinterviksvägen. She had felt so abandoned and alone there. She closed her eyes and remembered the fire, the smoke, the panic.
    Thomas hadn’t been at home. That evening he had left his family and gone off to Sophia Grenborg. Annika had had to save herself and the children. She had lowered Kalle and Ellen out of the bedroom window on the first floor using sheets, then jumped out and landed on the terrace table.
    She had been suspected of arson.
    After several months of forensic investigation, they had found a fingerprint on a Molotov cocktail in the remains of the house that could be linked to the real culprit: an American contract-killer known as the Kitten.
    Which made little difference to Annika.
    The Kitten would never be held responsible for the fire.
    Instead of arresting her,