Free Last Will by Liza Marklund

best to share out the rest of the work, but as usual it was the reporters themselves who decided what they were going to do.
    This newspaper needs a bit more discipline, Anders Schyman thought. The organization doesn’t work anymore, it needs an overhaul. Nothing’s going to be the same in the future.
    “Think of the online edition when you’re out in the field,” he said as his colleagues were getting ready to go. “There are no deadlines anymore, just continual updates. This is about teamwork, remember! Annika, can I have a word?”
    The reporter stopped, her arms full of clothes and papers and notes.
    “What?” she said.
    He walked up close to her so the others wouldn’t hear.
    “Do you still maintain that you can’t write about what you saw?”
    She was pale, with dark rings under her eyes.
    “I’m not the one maintaining anything,” she said, “the paper’s lawyer is. He seems to think that Swedish law is worth upholding.”
    She turned her back on him and headed off toward her corner room, a mess of uncombed hair down her slender back.
    Annoyance rose from his gut and burned in his throat. The thought ran through his brain before he had time to stop it:
    I’ve got to get rid of her.
    Annika shut the door of her glass office with a soft thud. Schyman had become unbearable. Last night he had seemed unbalanced, and now he was handing over all responsibility to Spike, the man with the worst judgement in Sweden. Thank God Spike was so easy to manipulate.
    I’ve got to keep out of this, she thought, switching on her computer.
    Berit took the press conference in police headquarters, and was going to go on to visit the wounded security guard in the hospital. He’d regained consciousness and was keen to tell his story.
    Another wannabe celebrity, Annika thought, then felt mean for thinking it.
    The families of the other two guards had declined to cooperate with the paper. Berit had already taken flowers and passed on their condolences, but neither of them had been interested. The paper’s medical correspondent was going to try to track down Wiesel, who was still in a pretty poor way. Sjölander in the US was looking into the right-wing Christian nuts, and Patrik and a couple of the web-edition staff were keeping in touch with the police and the investigating team.
    She went into the paper’s archive, then onto the net, looking for information about Caroline von Behring.
    Considering she was such an influential woman, she was extremely anonymous, Annika thought.
    She’d never worked anywhere apart from the Karolinska Institute. Never appeared in the media except in connection with her work. Short reports about promotions, little quotes whenever the winners of the medicine prize were announced.
    Only in the past few weeks had her name been linked to any formof controversy: the fact that Wiesel and Watson had been awarded that year’s prize.
    She quickly looked up some of the contributions to the debate about W&W’s stem-cell research.
    Some suggested that the Karolinska Institute was the very devil’s work, corrupt and biased and completely immoral. On one American site she found a caricature of von Behring with horns and a tail, and on another Alfred Nobel appeared as Frankenstein’s monster with the caption: Is this what the Committee wants?
    There were also impassioned articles defending the decision from other researchers, self-proclaimed heroes who were fighting to wipe out all human disease.
    The question was whether it was acceptable to use eggs left over from artificial insemination, to adapt their stem cells and use them for research. That was the technique, known as therapeutic cloning, that scientists had used to come up with Dolly the Sheep.
    The most famous advocate for stem-cell research in the US was the now-deceased film star Christopher Reeve, Superman, who had broken his neck in a riding accident. Together with seven scientists he had sued President George W. Bush for putting a stop to