Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [86]
She paused when she saw out of the corner of her eye that Borgsjö was staring at her. He seemed surprised that she was saying anything at all. She took another pace forward.
“Your editor-in-chief’s untimely departure will create problems in the newsroom. I was supposed to take over from him in two months, and I was counting on having the time to learn from his experience.”
She saw that Borgsjö had opened his mouth as if to say something himself.
“That won’t happen now, and we’re going to go through a period of adjustment. But Morander was editor-in-chief of a daily newspaper, and this paper will come out tomorrow too. There are now nine hours left before we go to press and four before the front page has to be resolved. May I ask … who among you was Morander’s closest confidant?”
A brief silence followed as the staff looked at each other. Finally Berger heard a voice from the left side of the room.
“That would probably be me.”
It was Gunnar Magnusson, assistant editor of the front page who had worked on the paper for thirty-five years.
“Somebody has to write an obit. I can’t do it … that would be presumptuous of me. Could you possibly write it?”
Magnusson hesitated a moment but then said, “I’ll do it.”
“We’ll use the whole front page and move everything else back.”
Magnusson nodded.
“We need images.” She glanced to her right and met the eye of the pictures editor, Lennart Torkelsson. He nodded.
“We have to get busy on this. Things might be a bit rocky at first. When I need help making a decision, I’ll ask your advice and I’ll depend on your skill and experience. You know how the paper is made and I have a while to go on the school bench.”
She turned to Fredriksson.
“Peter, Morander put a great deal of trust in you. You will have to be something of a mentor to me for the time being, and carry a heavier load than usual. I’m asking you to be my adviser.”
He nodded. What else could he do?
She returned to the subject of the front page.
“One more thing. Morander was writing his editorial this morning. Gunnar, could you get into his computer and see whether he finished it? Even if it’s not quite rounded out, we’ll publish it. It was his last editorial and it would be a crying shame not to print it. The paper we’re making today is still Håkan Morander’s paper.”
Silence.
“If any of you need a little personal time, or want to take a break to think for a while, do it, please. You all know our deadlines.”
Silence. She noticed that some people were nodding their approval.
“Go to work, boys and girls,” she said in English in a low voice.
Holmberg threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. Bublanski and Modig looked dubious. Andersson’s expression was neutral. They were scrutinizing the results of the preliminary investigation that Holmberg had completed that morning.
“Nothing?” Modig said. She sounded surprised.
“Nothing,” Holmberg said, shaking his head. “The pathologist’s final report arrived this morning. Nothing to indicate anything but suicide by hanging.”
They looked once more at the photographs taken in the living room of the summer cabin in Smådalarö. Everything pointed to the conclusion that Gunnar Björck, assistant chief of the Immigration Division of the Security Police, had climbed on to a stool, tied a rope to the lamp hook, placed it around his neck, and then with great resolve kicked the stool across the room. The pathologist was unable to supply the exact time of death, but he had established that it occurred on the afternoon of April 12. The body had been discovered on April 19 by none other than Inspector Andersson. This happened because Bublanski had repeatedly tried to get hold of Björck. Annoyed, he finally sent Andersson to bring him in.
Sometime during that week, the lamp hook in the ceiling came away and Björck’s body fell to the floor. Andersson had seen the body through a window and called in the