The Man From Beijing Read Online Free PDF Page A

happen.’
    ‘There’s going to be panic out there,’ said Lönngren. ‘For once I’m relieved to live in town.’
    The group split up just as Sten Robertsson arrived. The reporter who’d been hovering outside the taped-off area immediately closed in on Robertsson as he got out of his car.
    ‘Not now,’ shouted Sundberg. ‘You’ll have to wait.’
    ‘Oh, come on, Vivi! Can’t you say anything at all? You’re not usually impossible.’
    ‘Right now I am.’
    She disliked the reporter, who worked for Hudiksvalls Tidning. He often wrote articles criticising the way the police worked. What probably irritated her most was that he was often right to criticise.
    Robertsson was feeling the cold – his jacket was far too thin. He’s vain, was Sundberg’s immediate thought.
    ‘So, let’s hear all about it,’ said Robertsson.
    ‘No. Come with me.’
    For the third time that morning Vivi Sundberg went through the entire crime scene. On two occasions Robertsson was forced to go outside, on the point of throwing up. She waited patiently for him. She wasn’t sure he was up to the task. But she also knew that he was the best of the prosecutors currently available.
    When they finally arrived back at the road, she suggested that they sit in her car. She had managed to grab a Thermos of coffee before leaving the police station.
    Robertsson was rattled. His hand holding the mug of coffee was shaking noticeably.
    ‘Have you ever seen anything like that before?’ he asked.
    ‘Never.’
    ‘Surely nobody but a lunatic could have done this?’
    ‘Who knows? I’ve asked the forensic guys to call up whatever extra resources they think are appropriate. And the doctor as well.’
    ‘Who’s she?’
    ‘A sub. This is probably her first crime scene. She’s called for help.’
    ‘And what about you?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘What do you need?’
    ‘First and foremost an indication from you if there’s anything in particular we should concentrate on. And then we have to bring in the National Investigation Department, of course.’
    ‘What should we be concentrating on?’
    ‘You’re the one in charge of the investigation, not me.’
    ‘All that matters is that we find the bastard who’s responsible for this.’
    ‘Or bastards. We can’t exclude the possibility that there’s more than one of them.’
    ‘Lunatics don’t usually work in teams.’
    ‘But we can’t exclude the possibility.’
    ‘Is there anything we can exclude?’
    ‘No. Nothing. Not even the possibility of it happening again.’
    Robertsson nodded. They sat lost in thought. People were moving on the road and between the houses. There was an occasional flash from a camera. A tent had been raised over the body discovered in the snow. Several photographers and reporters had arrived. And the first television crew.
    ‘I want you to participate in the first press conference,’ she said. ‘I can’t cope on my own. And we’ll have to hold it today. Later this afternoon.’
    ‘Have you spoken to Ludde?’
    Tobias Ludwig was the chief of police in Hudiksvall. He was young and had never been a beat cop. He’d studied law, then followed that with a course for future chiefs of police. Neither Sten Robertsson nor Vivi Sundberg liked him. He had little idea of what practical police work entailed and spent most of his time worrying about internal police administration.
    ‘No, I haven’t spoken to him,’ she said. ‘All he’ll do is urge us to be extra careful filling out the paperwork.’
    ‘He’s not that bad,’ said Robertsson.
    ‘No, he’s worse,’ said Sundberg. ‘But I’ll call him.’
    ‘Do it now.’
    She called the police station in Hudiksvall, but Tobias Ludwig was on official business in Stockholm. She asked the switchboard to contact him on his mobile phone.
    Robertsson was busy talking to the newly arrived forensic officers from Gävle. Sundberg was left standing beside Tom and Ninni Hansson in their garden. The Hanssons had