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on the grass. Supporting the telephoto lens with his left hand, he triggered the winder motor with his right.
    Annika stood behind him, observing the scene of the murder. The broadcast bus didn’t really look like a bus, more like a gigantic Mack truck. It opened up lengthwise on one side, which created twice as much space. The entrance was facing them, and five metal steps led up to a narrow door to the left of the cab. She saw a policeman in uniform standing there, his back to them, talking to someone inside the control room.
    ‘Do we need to move in closer?’ she asked in a low voice.
    Even though Annika didn’t get on particularly well with the photographer, she respected his professional opinion.
    ‘Not really. I got a few shots from the other side, from the boat. We could move down to the right and try to get a shot of the annexes in the background. Stall them if they try to get rid of us.’
    Bertil Strand got up, slung his backpack over his left shoulder and walked along the beach. Scanning the white buildings, Annika followed him. The castle nestled at the top of the hill: the annexes, the walls, the lush trees – each one a different type – the contrast between the warm golden light emanating from the windows and the gloomy weather.
    I can see why Oxenstierna wrote the words ‘as beauteous as Eden’ in his diary here after staying here , Annika thought.
    ‘Got it,’ the photographer said and turned to face the lake.
    They went back the same way they’d come, Bertil Strand taking pictures along the way.
    When they reached the top of the drive they walked straight into a police officer from Eskilstuna whom Annika had met before.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ the man said in a commanding voice.
    Annika whipped out her press card and waved it in the officer’s face.
    ‘We’re looking for a colleague of ours, Carl Wennergren. He was present at the taping of the shows yesterday and presumably he’s still on the premises.’
    ‘He’s being interviewed,’ the police officer replied and came up very close to Annika. ‘Would you please leave the premises and join the other reporters?’
    ‘Is he a suspect?’
    ‘I am not at liberty to disclose information of that nature at the present time.’
    The policeman prodded her.
    ‘Watch it,’ Annika exclaimed sharply. ‘You can’t just detain journalists for questioning. If the police have detained or arrested a reporter working for one of Sweden’s major newspapers, you are required to report this fact to his employer.’
    This wasn’t true, but the officer didn’t know that for sure.
    ‘I honestly don’t know,’ he said. ‘I have no idea.’
    ‘How many people have been interviewed?’
    ‘Everyone who stayed here last night.’
    ‘How many people would that be?’
    ‘A dozen. And another associate of yours is here too – that older woman who writes a column.’
    Annika gaped.
    ‘Barbara Hanson? What’s she doing here?’
    Leaning in close, the policeman lowered his voice.
    ‘There haven’t been any arrests, at any rate,’ he said. ‘I would have been told.’
    ‘Has the staff here at the castle been interviewed too?’
    ‘Not at the present time. None of them were here last night.’
    ‘Anything else?’ Annika hurried to ask.
    A man in a raincoat and tall boots was heading in their direction, unsettling the policeman.
    ‘You’ve got to go,’ he said, taking her arm and turning her away from the castle.
    They walked slowly towards the bridge, back to where the other journalists were waiting. Annika pulled out her cellphone and called Spike.
    The news editor appeared to be eating at his desk. She could hear him chomping away and trying to talk in between bites.
    ‘What does Wennergren have to say?’
    ‘I don’t know, he’s only allowed to talk to the police.’
    ‘What the hell, have they arrested Wennergren? He’s a journalist, for God’s sake!’
    There was a sound of something moist landing on the receiver, Annika