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said something really stupid to Bertil Strand just now,’ she said quietly. ‘About not being too chummy with our competitors when we’re out at a crime scene.’
    ‘I couldn’t agree more. And I know that Bertil Strand doesn’t agree,’ Berit said. ‘He can be a bit tricky to get on with at times, but he’s a very good photographer. Go and get something to drink. I’ll keep an eye on things here.’
    Annika was only too happy to leave Kronobergsgatan, and headed off along the Drottningholm road. She was standing in the queue to buy a bottle of mineral water at a kiosk on Fridhemsplan when she saw a police van turn left into Sankt Göransgatan, heading up towards Kronoberg Park.
    ‘Shit,’ she cried, running straight out into the traffic, forcing a taxi to slam on its brakes. She ran across Sankt Eriksgatan, back towards the park. She felt like she was about to faint by the time she got back.
    The police van had stopped at the top of Sankt Göransgatan, and a man and a woman were just getting out.
    ‘Why are you so out of breath?’ Berit wondered.
    ‘The van … the body …’ Annika panted, resting her hands on her knees and leaning forward.
    Berit sighed. ‘The van will be here for a while yet. That body isn’t going anywhere. Don’t worry so much, we won’t miss anything.’
    Annika dropped her bag on the pavement and stood up.
    ‘Sorry,’ she said.
    Berit smiled. ‘Go and sit in the shade. I’ll get you something to drink.’
    Annika trudged off into the shadows. She felt like a real idiot.
    ‘I didn’t know,’ she muttered. ‘How could I …?’
    She sat down on the pavement and leaned back against the wall again. The pavement burned her backside through her thin skirt.

3
    The pair who had got out of the van were standing inside the cordon next to the gate, waiting. There were still three men inside the cemetery; she guessed that two were forensics officers and the third a photographer. They were moving very carefully, leaning down to pick things up, standing up again. They were too far away for her to see exactly what they were doing. Is it always this boring at the scene of a murder? she wondered.
    Berit came back a couple of minutes later. She was holding a large, chilled bottle of Coca-Cola.
    ‘Here you go; this has got lots of sugar and minerals in it. Just what you need.’
    Annika unscrewed the top and drank so quickly that the bubbles went up her nose. She coughed, spilling some of the Coke on her skirt.
    Berit sat down beside her and pulled her own bottle out of her bag.
    ‘What are they actually doing in there?’ Annika asked.
    ‘They’re checking for footprints. They use as few people as possible, and they move as little as possible. Usually it’s just a couple of forensics officers and maybe one of the detectives from the crime unit.’
    ‘Do you think that was the guy in the Hawaiian shirt?’
    ‘Maybe,’ Berit said. ‘If you look closely you might see one of the forensics officers holding his hand close to his mouth. He’s recording the details of everything they see at the scene on a small recorder. Everything from a precise description of how the body is lying, to the way the folds of the clothing are arranged, anything like that.’
    ‘She wasn’t wearing any clothes,’ Annika said.
    ‘Maybe the clothes are nearby. They document everything. When they’re done, the body will be taken to the forensics lab out in Solna.’
    ‘For a post-mortem?’
    Berit nodded. ‘The forensics team will stay behind here and search the entire park. They’ll go through it centimetre by centimetre, checking for any signs of blood, saliva, hair, fibres, sperm, footprints, tyre tracks, fingerprints, anything at all.’
    Annika sat in silence and watched the men inside the railings for a while. They were bending down by the body; she could see their heads bobbing against the grey backcloth.
    ‘Why have they covered the railings and not the body?’ she asked.
    ‘They don’t