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 Smådalaro. Everything pointed to the conclusion that Gunnar Bjorck, 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 Bjorck. Annoyed, he finally sent Andersson to bring him in.
Sometime during that week, the lamp hook in the ceiling came away and Bjorck's body fell to the floor. Andersson had seen the body through a window and called in the alarm. Bublanski and the others who arrived at the summer house had treated it as a crime scene from the word go, taking it for granted that Bjorck had been garrotted by someone. Later that day the forensic team found the lamp hook. Holmberg had been tasked to work out how Bjorck had died.
"There's nothing whatsoever to suggest a crime, or that Bjorck was not alone at the time," Holmberg said.
"The lamp?"
"The ceiling lamp has fingerprints from the owner of the cabin - who put it up two years ago - and Bjorck himself. Which says that he took the lamp down."
"Where did the rope come from?"
"From the flagpole in the garden. Someone cut off about two metres of rope. There was a Mora sheath knife on the windowsill outside the back door. According to the owner of the house, it's his knife. He normally keeps in a tool drawer underneath the draining board. Bjorck's prints were on the handle and the blade, as well as the tool drawer."
"Hmm," Modig said.
"What sort of knots?" Andersson said.
"Granny knots. Even the noose was just a loop. It's probably the only thing that's a bit odd. Bjorck was a sailor, he would have known how to tie proper knots. But who knows how much attention a person contemplating suicide would pay to the knots on