sound and cloud of her breath. She stood completely still in the darkness as the man slowly walked towards her. His panting breath and strained steps grew in her head, coming closer and closer until she thought she was going to scream. She closed her eyes and heard him stop a metre or so away from her, on the other side of the little pine trees.
There was a scraping noise. She opened her eyes.
Metal scraping against metal, she held her breath and listened.
The man was doing something with the metal box. He was opening the doors of the cabinet containing all the cables. She could hear him panting, and realized that she had to take another breath, inhaling quickly and silently, only to feel a huge and instant desire to throw up.
The man stank. A smell of decay filtered through the branches and made her put her hand in front of her mouth again. He was panting and struggling with something on the other side of the trees. The scraping sounds continued, then fell silent. There was a squeak, and then a click.
Ten seconds of easier breathing, then some more steps, away.
Annika turned round and pushed the branch aside to take another look.
The man was on his way back into the bushes. The duffel bag was gone.
The undergrowth swallowed him up, erasing his presence in the weak light.
Annika stood up and flew along the track, only pausing at the edge of the forest. She turned and ran as quietly as she could, under the viaduct and back up to the Skanska building, past the empty car park, until suddenly she saw another figure coming towards her.
She stopped instantly, looked around with adrenalin racing through her veins, threw herself down in the forest and sank up to her chin into the snow.
It was a man. He was bare-headed, dressed in jeans and a thin padded jacket. From his stumbling gait and unsteady movements she read the signs of serious and long-term alcohol abuse, a drunk.
A few seconds later he had vanished behind the Skanska building and she was able to get out onto the road again, rushing on without trying to brush off the snow.
To begin with she couldn’t see the hire-car, and had a moment of panic before she found it behind the abandoned car. She clicked open the lock and threw herself into the driver’s seat, pulling off her gloves and fumbling for her mobile, her fingers trembling so much that she had trouble keying in Inspector Suup’s direct number.
‘Karlsson, Central Control.’
She had reached the switchboard.
‘Suup,’ she said, ‘I’m trying to reach Inspector Suup.’
‘He’s finished for the day,’ Karlsson said.
Her brain went into overdrive; she shut her eyes and rubbed a sweaty palm across her forehead.
‘Forsberg,’ she said. ‘Is Forsberg there?’
‘Which one? We’ve got three.’
‘In crime?’
‘Hang on, I’ll put you through.’
The line went quiet and she ended up in a vague cyberspace without sound or colour. After three minutes she gave up and rang again.
‘I’m trying to get hold of someone on the Benny Ekland and Linus Gustafsson murder inquiries,’ she said in a tone of panic when Karlsson answered once more.
‘About what?’ the young man said, uninterested.
She forced herself to breathe calmly.
‘My name is Annika Bengtzon, and I’m a reporter on the
‘Suup’s in charge of the press,’ Karlsson interrupted. ‘You’ll have to call him tomorrow.’
‘Listen to me!’ she screamed. ‘Ragnwald is here, Goran Nilsson, the Yellow Dragon, I know where he is, he’s in a small brick building next to the ore railway together with Karina Bjornlund. You’ve got to come and arrest him, now!’
‘Bjornlund?’ Karlsson said. ‘The Minister of Culture?’
‘Yes!’ Annika shouted. ‘Goran Nilsson from Sattajarvi is with her in a small building below the ironworks. I can’t explain exactly where, it’s close to a viaduct-’
‘Listen,’ Karlsson said. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling okay?’
She paused and realized that she sounded like a lunatic, cleared her throat and forced herself to speak calmly and coherently. ‘I know this might sound a little crazy,’ she said, trying to smile down the line. ‘I’m calling from somewhere called Lovskatan, it’s not far from the ironworks, the railway track runs right alongside-’
‘Lovskatan, yes, we do know where Lovskatan is,’ the policeman said, and she could hear that his patience was wearing thin.
‘A man you’ve been looking for for years has come back to Lulea,’ Annika said, sounding almost normal. ‘His name is Goran Nilsson, and since he returned to Sweden he’s committed at least four murders. The Mao murders. And right now he’s outside that building, or at least was very recently, a brick building with a tin roof a short way into the forest below a viaduct…’
Officer Karlsson sighed audibly down the line.
‘The duty officer is booking someone in,’ he said, ‘but I’ll pass on your message as soon as she gets back.’
‘No!’ Annika yelled. ‘You have to come now! I don’t know how long he’s going to be there.’
‘Listen,’ the policeman said firmly. ‘Calm down. I’ve just told you, I’ll talk to the duty officer.’
‘Good,’ Annika said, breathing heavily, ‘good. I’ll wait here by the bus-stop until you come so I can show you the way. I’m parked here, I’m in a silver Volvo.’
‘Okay,’ the policeman said. ‘Just you wait there.’ And he hung up.
Annika looked at the display on her phone, a glowing rectangle in the darkness.
She pushed in the earpiece and called Jansson’s direct number in the newsroom.
‘I might have to stay in Lulea tonight,’ she said. ‘Just wanted to check it’s okay to book into the City Hotel tonight if I have to.’
‘Why?’ Jansson said.
‘There might be something going on up here,’ she said.
‘No terrorism,’ Jansson said. ‘I got hauled over the coals this morning for letting you go up to Norrbotten again.’
‘Okay,’ Annika said.
‘Are you listening?’ Jansson said. ‘Not one single line about another bloody terrorist, is that clear?’
She waited a second before replying. ‘Of course. Understood. I promise.’
‘Stay at the City,’ the editor said closer to the receiver in a considerably quieter and friendlier voice. ‘Call room service. Get pay-TV and watch porn films, I’ll sign for the whole lot. I know how it is, we all have to get away sometimes.’
‘Okay,’ she said smartly and ended the call, dialled directory inquiries and asked to be put through to the City Hotel, Lulea, booking a business-class room on the top floor.
After that she sat in the car and stared out of the windscreen. Her breath hit the windows and they soon froze over again. She could do nothing more. All she could do was sit and wait for the police.
She saw Thord Axelsson’s grey face before her, Gunnel Sandstrom’s swollen eyes and wine-red cardigan, Linus Gustafsson’s spiky gelled hair and watchful eyes, and was consumed with burning fury.
And she realized she was freezing. She thought about starting the car engine to heat it up, but opened the door instead and got out, far too restless to sit still. She checked that her mobile was in her pocket, locked the door and walked up towards the top of the hill.
The arctic night had taken an iron grip on the landscape, as hard and unrelenting as the steel produced in the blast-furnaces down by the shore. Annika’s breath drifted around her, light veils of frozen warmth.
