Last Will by Liza Marklund Page A

and was standing and staring out of the window again.
    The snow had stopped falling completely and a sharp frost had taken its place.
    Annika’s legs were on the point of freezing solid by the time her taxi showed up.
    “The Evening Post newspaper,” the driver said when she had told him the address. “You know, I think you write a load of crap in your paper—it’s all reality television and naked exposés and dodgy politicians in your paper all the time. I never read it.”
    “So how do you know what’s in it?” Annika wondered tiredly, pulling her cell phone out of her bag.
    “I just know, and there’s a load of crap about Muslims as well, raping people and blowing things up …”
    The man was an immigrant himself, his accent was very strong.
    “Yesterday we had an article saying that most Muslim scholars want to permit stem-cell research, because the Koran says that research is beneficial to humanity,” Annika lied. “Can you turn the radio off so I can make a call?”
    The taxi driver switched off the noise and didn’t say another word.
    “How was the press conference?” Annika asked when Berit answered.
    “The police are working with their colleagues in Germany, and arehinting that they’re close to making an arrest,” Berit said. “Spike was right about them waiting for something to happen. At the same time they’re saying that they’re not dropping other lines of inquiry, and are continuing the investigation on a number of fronts. How about you, how are you getting on?”
    “Okay. I spoke to an upset work colleague. It’ll make a short piece. So what does ‘a number of fronts’ mean?”
    “As far as I understand it, they’re only looking at groups close to al Qaeda. They think the Israeli was the target and Caroline’s death was an accident.”
    The taxi was heading along the Solna road, across the Essinge motorway. Annika saw that the traffic in both directions was at a standstill and checked her watch. Quarter past three, the Friday rush had started.
    “I don’t believe this al Qaeda stuff for a minute,” Annika said. “If al Qaeda had wanted to attack the Nobel banquet, they’d have blown the whole City Hall sky-high. They’ve never gone in for attacks focused on individuals, then run off after shooting the wrong person.”
    Berit sighed down the line.
    “I know,” she said, “but what can we do? This is what they’re working on, so that’s what we have to write about in the paper.”
    “We can find someone who thinks it’s ridiculous,” Annika said. “Someone who can draw parallels with Hans Holmér and the whole stupid focus on the Kurds after Olof Palme was shot.”
    It was no secret that the assassination of the Swedish prime minister had never been solved largely because the head of the investigation spent the whole of the first year sitting in his room dreaming up different conspiracy theories involving the PKK, the Kurdish independence movement.
    “And how likely is it that we’d get an article like that published?” Berit asked tiredly, and Annika knew she was right. The paper would never publish an article that was genuinely critical of the police at a time like this: that would only lead to the police talking to their competitors and freezing them out.
    “Shall we meet up in the office?” Annika said.
    “I’ll probably be a while: I’m on my way to see the security guard now. Are you working this weekend?”
    “No one’s asked me to,” Annika said.
    “Good. Stay away,” Berit said, about to hang up.
    “One more thing,” Annika said. “Why would anyone want to murder Caroline von Behring?”
    “Let’s just hope that the police’s ‘number of fronts’ is broad enough to include that question …”
    Annika picked Ellen up from nursery school, only a quarter of an hour late. The little girl had had a nap that afternoon, which meant that she’d be up half the night.
    Kalle was at kindergarten in the next building. He collapsed in a little heap