Without a Trace by Liza Marklund Read Free Book Online Page B

place.’
    ‘I didn’t think you had your own desks,’ Valter said, peering rather suspiciously at the desk and chair.
    ‘We don’t, but that one is Berit’s. Have you got a user-ID and password yet?’
    He put his rucksack on the desk and sat down tentatively. ‘Yes …’
    ‘Good. Call the Ministry of Justice and ask for their opinion on the Ingemar Lerberg case. There’s always some new investigation into threats against politicians to refer to. They won’t say anything, but check the statistics from the latest investigation and do your best to squeeze a general comment out of them. Make sure you call Lerberg either a “top politician” or a “national figure”, seeing as our leader column mentioned him in the speculation about the Christian Democrats getting a new party leader about a hundred years ago. And keep it under eighteen hundred keystrokes, including spaces.’
    The young man took off his jacket, ran his hands through his hair, pulled a laptop from his rucksack and hooked it up to the network. He seemed to pick things up quickly.
    She got her own computer out, logged in and wrote a short summary of Ingemar Lerberg’s political career. She described his passions and beliefs as honestly as she could, without leaving herself open to accusations of slander, and explained that in recent years he had concentrated on his family and business, as well as local politics in Nacka. She put together a piece for the online radio service, one minute and ten seconds, using some quotes from the party leadership.
    That left her with the most controversial part of her task: how to deal with Lerberg’s arms and legs, which, according to Bert Tingström – a not particularly impressive source – had been dislocated. And where was Nora, the victim’s wife?
    She called the press spokesperson at Nacka Police, followed by the head of media at National Crime. They talked to her in person and were very professional, but neither would confirm either a missing person or any specific type of injury. Not that she had expected them to. After a moment’s hesitation she decided to call Commissioner Q, now head of the Criminal Intelligence Unit at National Crime.
    ‘Annika,’ he said, ‘I’m disappointed in you. I was expecting you to ring this morning.’
    ‘I’m a big girl now,’ she said. ‘I can manage fine without you. Besides, you’re so important, these days, that it takes me a while to pluck up the courage to disturb you.’
    ‘Spare me,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Is Nora missing?’ she asked.
    ‘We don’t know where she is, but “missing” is too strong a word.’
    ‘Are you trying to find her?’
    ‘Negative. Not in an organized way.’
    ‘But you have been looking for her? To tell her what’s happened to her husband?’
    Q sighed. She had manoeuvred him into the position where she wanted him.
    ‘Yes, we have been looking for her. No, we haven’t found her.’
    She swallowed. ‘I’ve heard that Ingemar Lerberg’s arms and legs were dislocated. Have I been correctly informed?’
    ‘To be honest, I don’t know precisely what his injuries are,’ the commissioner said. ‘We’ve had someone up at Intensive Care, but I haven’t spoken to her yet.’
    ‘Is Nina Hoffman working for you now?’ Annika asked. ‘I saw her out at Solsidan.’
    Q sighed again. ‘If you’re so smart,’ he said, ‘I’m sure you can put together this article without my help.’
    He hung up. She bit her lip. It would have been good to get the information confirmed, but at least she had a named source to refer to. Bert Tingström hadn’t asked to remain anonymous, and his remarks were recorded.
    She pulled up her video clip from Solsidan and reworked it. It would have been useful to have video footage of the people inside the room, but there was nothing she could do about that now. She dug out an archive photograph of Tingström and played the quote of him describing the injuries over it, taking care to