The Long Shadow Read Free

and no antisocial-hours payments. We’ve been shutting down our local news teams around the country so you could be sent anywhere at a moment’s notice, even abroad. You’ll have to take over the series of articles about the Costa Cocaine that Patrik was planning, for instance. You can go and sit at the news desk and Patrik will be over to give you the papers.’
    ‘Wasn’t that just an excuse for Patrik to fly down, top up his tan and go swimming?’
    ‘You’re wrong. The Costa Cocaine is an exclusive series of articles. The initiative came from the paper’s editorial management. We’ve set up a collaboration with the Police Authority and the Justice Department to have access to privileged information. So we’re going through with it.’
    ‘What’ll happen to the day-shift desk?’ she asked, glancing at her workstation, with her computer, jacket, bag and an array of notes.
    ‘That’s going to be the features department,’ Schyman said, gesturing towards the plan on the floor. ‘The crime desk is turning into the discussion and opinion section.’
    She got up and left the editor-in-chief’s glass box.
    She really couldn’t care less which chair she sat in or which articles she had to write. Her husband had left her, taking with him half of her time with the children, her house had burned down and the insurance money couldn’t be released. She was living in a three-room flat in a building owned by the police association, arranged by her contact in the forces, Detective Inspector Q, under highly dubious circumstances: someone could appear at any moment and turf her out.
    She gathered together her things and made her way to one of the cramped spaces around the main news desk. She hardly had space for the computer on the desk in front of her, so she dropped her jacket, bag and notes on the floor beside her chair. She sat down, raised the seat, checked that the computer was connected, and sent an email to Inspector Q: ‘I’ve moved into the flat, but I still haven’t seen anything that looks like a contract. And FYI I’m thinking about digging into the extradition of the kitty-cat. A.’
    That would give him something to think about.
    Then she reached for a telephone and called the Justice Department. She asked to be put through to the minister’s press secretary, who sounded very stressed when she answered.
    Annika introduced herself and said where she worked. ‘I’d like a comment from the minister about the extradition of an American contract-killer who goes by the name of the Kitten,’ she said.
    ‘A what?’ the press secretary said.
    ‘I know she was handed back to the US in exchange for us getting the cop-killer, Victor Gabrielsson, homefrom prison in New Jersey. I want to know why, and how it came about.’
    ‘The minister never makes statements on matters concerning national security,’ the press secretary said, trying to sound robotic and uninterested.
    ‘Who said anything about national security?’ Annika said. ‘I just want to know what you did with the Kitten.’
    ‘Can I get back to you?’
    Annika gave the woman her mobile and direct line numbers, as if there was any chance of her calling back. Yeah, right! She hung up, then dialled Berit Hamrin’s mobile. Her colleague answered at once.
    ‘Have you been demoted as well?’ Annika asked.
    ‘With Patrik as boss,’ Berit confirmed.
    There was the sound of traffic in the background.
    ‘Where are you now?’
    ‘I’ve just pulled out onto the E18.’
    Annika could see Patrik sweeping towards her with a bundle of notes in his right hand, and moved the receiver closer to her lips. ‘Here comes the boss,’ she said quietly. ‘This is going to be interesting.’
    As he sat down on her desk, she hung up and moved the computer aside.
    ‘Okay. Things are really going to start moving now,’ the newly appointed head of news said, leafing through his notes. ‘We’ve got a fire in a flat out in Hallunda, people gassed to death on the