Lifetime by Liza Marklund Page B

been out of here way before she was killed.’
    ‘Does anyone know when she was shot?’
    ‘I saw her at two-thirty. I didn’t hear any gunshot, but then again, I didn’t go anywhere near the bus. It was packed and locked. And there were several pretty fierce thunder showers all night.’
    ‘That means they hadn’t detained twelve people, only eleven. And the twelfth little Indian did a runner.’
    ‘I guess.’
    ‘What kind of gun was used?’
    Anne paused again.
    ‘It belonged to the Nazi girl,’ she finally said. ‘A silly kind of revolver, humongous and fussy-looking. She had been showing it off all night. Promise me you’ll call Mehmed?’
    ‘I will, don’t worry. I don’t expect we’ll be staying here much longer.’
    ‘Are there lots of media people around?’
    ‘A lot less than you’d expect. They’ve closed off the entire point; only a few of us managed to get in. As soon as they have some officers to spare they’ll make us leave too.’
    They grew silent again, letting themselves be lulled by the faint buzz of the connection. Annika watched the irregular tracks of the raindrops as they slid down the glass walls and remembered other Midsummer weekends spent with Anne Snapphane in her apartment in Stockholm’s historic Gamla Stan district. The rain had been pouring down then just like it was today and they had watched sci-fi movies about life in space.
    ‘Funny that we should be spending Midsummer together again, you and I,’ she remarked.
    Anne Snapphane couldn’t help laughing, a sad laugh that quickly died out.
    ‘You know what?’ Annika said. ‘I ran into Pia Lakkinen, from my old paper, Katrineholms-Kuriren. Guess what she said? That everyone in Katrineholm thinks that Thomas has left me and the kids.’
    ‘Really?’ Anne Snapphane said. ‘What about it?’
    ‘It was such a nasty thing to say. Don’t you agree?’
    ‘No, why?’
    They went back to being silent again. Family was one of the two subjects where their opinions clashed. The other subject was TV journalism.
    ‘Listen,’ Annika said, ‘do you know who shot her?’
    Anne Snapphane started breathing heavily. The nightmarish feeling was back.
    ‘I heard an awful fight right after midnight,’ she said. ‘Over at the Stables, the place is a shambles.’
    ‘Who was involved?’
    ‘Mariana and Michelle,’ Anne said in a whisper.
    ‘Christ, that’s unpleasant,’ Annika said.
    ‘I know,’ Anne Snapphane said. ‘Hey, something’s happening outside my door. I’ve got to go.’
    They hung up and Annika reflected on their conversation for a few seconds before she called the newsroom.
    Anders Schyman looked up when Spike jerked open his sliding glass door.
    ‘Heard anything from the Music Man?’
    Schyman sighed.
    ‘No, not so much as a minor chord. We’ll have to get someone from the night shift to trace him. How are we doing?’
    Spike raised one arm and swept his right hand across the imaginary headlines.
    ‘ The suspects: The entire list. The sub-heading: A dozen celebrities and the witching hour at the castle. ’
    He lowered his hand.
    ‘And one of them happens to be John Essex.’
    The managing editor whistled and got up.
    ‘The Elvis Presley of our day,’ he said. ‘This is shaping up into a world-class story.’
    Schyman walked past Spike out on the newsroom floor.
    ‘Have they arrested them all?’
    ‘Not yet,’ Spike replied, one hand jammed in a pocket.
    ‘Then we better steer clear of calling anyone a suspect. Hey, Pelle. We’re having a brief meeting over by the desk.’
    The picture editor was holding a receiver in one hand and made a thumbs-up gesture with the other. Spike shuffled after Schyman with mixed feelings of humiliation and respect. Schyman was a mean bastard, but he was a good mean bastard.
    ‘Is Jansson in yet?’
    ‘He was just––’
    Anders Schyman dismissed the rest of the sentence with a wave.
    ‘Tell me what’s on the way in.’
    He sat down on a vacant chair that