Red Wolf: A Novel by Liza Marklund

information is correct, and I mean if, then obviously we’d be open to any possible motive.’
    ‘Are you in charge of the investigation?’
    ‘No, I’m only the PR guy these days, but I’m the one you need to talk to. The preliminary investigation was allocated to Andersson, in the prosecutor’s office, I think, but she’s been in court all day so I don’t imagine she knows anything about this yet.’
    When they had hung up Annika found her way to the newsroom. In a narrow room full of long tables and static electricity she found a group of lethargic editors, all white faces and evasive eyes.
    ‘We have to talk,’ she told the night editor.
    With surprising ease the fat man got up and walked ahead of her through the room, past the sports desk, and opened the door to a small space that functioned as the smoking area.
    Annika stopped in the doorway; the stench was awful. The man lit a cigarette and coughed violently.
    ‘I gave up nine years ago,’ he said, ‘but yesterday morning I started again.’
    She took a step forward, leaving the door ajar. The walls closed in around her. She was having difficulty breathing.
    ‘What’s this about?’ Pekkari said, blowing a sad little plume of smoke towards the ventilation unit.
    ‘Benny was murdered,’ Annika said, her heart racing. ‘I have a witness who saw how he died. The police have confirmed that the witness’s story matches what they know so far. Do we have to stay in here?’
    The editor stared at her like he’d seen a ghost, holding his cigarette motionless, halfway to his mouth.
    ‘Please?’ Annika said, unable to wait, as she pushed the door open and staggered through it.
    She went over to the other corner of the almost empty sports section; one lone reporter looked up anxiously from his large computer screen.
    ‘Hi,’ Annika said.
    ‘Hi,’ the man replied, then looked down again.
    ‘Murdered?’ Pekkari whispered in her ear. ‘You’re kidding?’
    ‘Not at all. I’ll write the article, and you can publish it in its entirety, but you don’t get to release it to the agencies. We get to do that.’
    ‘Why would you give away something like that?’
    ‘Call it solidarity,’ Annika said, concentrating on getting her pulse rate down. ‘Besides, we don’t exactlyshare the same readers. We’re not competitors, we complement each other.’
    ‘I’ll get our guy onto it,’ the editor said.
    ‘No,’ Annika said. ‘My byline. This is my story, but you can publish it.’
    He looked at her in astonishment.
    ‘That’s one I owe you,’ he said.
    ‘I know,’ Annika said, and went back to her laptop.

Thursday 12 November

11
    Anne Snapphane woke up with a dull ache in her head and white lights in her eyes. Her mouth tasted disgusting and there was a terrible noise coming from under the bed. After much confusion, her brain finally worked out that it was the phone ringing. Her hand fumbled clumsily beside the bed and eventually caught the spiral cord of the receiver. She lifted it to her mouth with a groan.
    ‘Have you seen the paper?’ Annika said on the other end. ‘It’s fucked. If I didn’t have a mortgage I’d resign today. No, make that yesterday.’
    Her voice had a strange echo, like it was hitting a glass wall.
    ‘What?’ Anne said, a croak that bounced off the ceiling.
    ‘
Paula from Pop Factory forced into oral sex
,’ Annika read with her echoing voice.
    Anne tried to sit up.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘I don’t know if there’s any point in doing this any more,’ Annika said. ‘I’ve uncovered the murder of a reporter, possibly with links to terrorism, we’re the only ones with the story, and what happens? Radio and television news have led all morning with Benny Ekland,giving us the credit, and what do we decide to run on the front fucking page? A fucking blowjob!’
    Anne gave up, slumping back onto the pillows, and laid an arm over her eyes. Her heart was thumping like a jackhammer, making her break out in a sweat. A vague