The Second Deadly Sin by Asa Larsson Page A

collaring somebody they knew. The hacks from Swedish Television and T.V.4 were each wielding a gigantic camera. And then there were people he did not know from Adam. They were all trying to talk him into allowing them a few minutes of extra time afterwards.
    “Five minutes,” he said, gesturing at the rows of chairs in the conference room, then hurried out in order to make sure that he could talk to Martinsson and Mella out of earshot of the reporters.
    *
    Mella strode purposefully towards Carl von Post. He slowed down so as not to give the impression of being stressed – but she had seen through the glass doors how he had almost run to the exit. Martinsson was lagging behind.
    “Hi,” von Post said with a smile. “Good that you could come. I heard you’d been to see the pathologist – perhaps you could brief me on what he had to say, so—”
    “Now listen here,” Mella interrupted. “I’m about to have a heart attack. I hope you can utter a few well-chosen words that will calm me down …”
    “What do you mean?”
    “What do I mean?!”
    Mella thrust her arms up into the air, then her hands landed on the top of her head as if to prevent it from exploding.
    “You’ve called a press conference. Now. I’d already called one. Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”
    Von Post folded his arms.
    “I’m sorry that things developed rather quickly. I ought to have let you know that things had changed, of course. I’m in charge of the preliminary investigation, and I think the sooner we talk to the press, the better. You know what can happen otherwise. Our own minions will be bribed to leak information about the state of the investigation – the press will stop at nothing in order to sell a few more copies.”
    “You don’t need to tell me how to handle the press. In charge of the preliminary investigation? Don’t make me laugh. Martinsson is in charge of the preliminary investigation.”
    Von Post looked at Martinsson, who had joined them and was standing beside Mella.
    “No, she’s not,” he said coldly. “Alf Björnfot has appointed me.”
    Alf Björnfot was the chief prosecutor. When Martinsson moved back to Kiruna and stopped working as a lawyer in Stockholm, he was the one who had persuaded her to join the local prosecution service.
    Mella opened her mouth to say that he would never do anything as bloody stupid as that, but closed it again. It was obvious that von Post would not simply take over on his own initiative. He wasn’t an idiot. Or rather, he was an idiot: but not quite as stupid as that.
    Martinsson nodded, but said nothing. There was silence for a few seconds, until von Post broke it.
    “The basic fact is that you are too close to the dead woman. Alf asked me to take over.”
    “I didn’t know her,” Martinsson said.
    “No, but you lived in the same village, and sooner or later someone you know will turn up as a witness. It’s a sensitive situation. You must recognise that. Björnfot can’t allow anything like that to happen. There’s too big a risk that we would lay ourselves open to being challenged.”
    He looked hard at her. She did not move a muscle.
    She must have a bit of brain damage, he thought. A slight handicap.
    *
    Martinsson managed to keep her face expressionless. The strain made itself felt in her forehead, but she was pretty sure that her face betrayed no hint of it. They had swept her aside as if she were nothing more than old rubbish. And Björnfot had not even rung her to explain the circumstances.
    Don’t show any signs of being hurt, she told herself.
    That would be a bonus that von Post would really appreciate. He would gormandise on her wounded self-esteem like a vulture on its prey.
    “And then, of course, he’s a bit worried about you,” von Post said in a gentle tone of voice. “After all, you have form when it comes to illness, and a case like this one can be rather trying.”
    He leaned his head on one side, and stared at Martinsson.
    Don’t say a