Free Exposed by Liza Marklund Page B

‘You managed to get the body identified pretty quickly. How did you manage that?’
    The press spokesman sighed. ‘Yes, well … She was identified by her flatmate, like I said.’
    ‘Man or woman?’
    ‘A young woman, just like her.’
    ‘Had Josefin been reported missing?’
    The press spokesman nodded. ‘Yes, by her flatmate.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘ She didn’t come home last night, and when she didn’t show up at work her friend called the police, at half past six.’
    ‘So the girls lived and worked together?’
    ‘Looks like it.’
    Annika made some notes, and thought for a moment.
    ‘What about the rest of her clothes?’ she said.
    ‘We haven’t found them. They aren’t within a five-block radius of the scene of the murder. Unfortunately the rubbish bins around Fridhemsplan were emptied this morning, but we’ve got people searching the tip at the moment.’
    ‘How was she dressed?’
    The press spokesman put his hand in his right jacket pocket and took out a small notebook.
    ‘Little black dress,’ he read, ‘white trainers and a blue denim jacket. And probably a Rocco Barocco handbag.’
    ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a picture of her? From her school graduation, maybe?’ Annika said.
    The spokesman ran his hand over his hair.
    ‘Yes, it’s important that people know what she looked like,’ he said. ‘Do you need it tonight?’
    Annika nodded.
    ‘A graduation picture … I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘Anything else?’
    She bit her lip.
    ‘Something had been chewing at her body,’ she said finally. ‘On one of her hands.’
    The press spokesman looked surprised. ‘Well, you know more than I do, in that case.’
    Annika put her notebook on her lap.
    ‘Who was she?’ she asked quietly.
    Gösta sighed. ‘We don’t know,’ he said. ‘We don’t know anything, except that she’s dead.’
    ‘What sort of life did she lead? What restaurant did she work at? Did she have a boyfriend?’
    The press spokesman put his notepad in his pocket again.
    ‘I’ll try to get that picture sorted,’ he said as he got up.

11
    Berit was busy writing when Annika and Bertil Strand got back to the newsroom.
    ‘She was a real looker,’ Berit said, pointing towards Pelle at the picture desk.
    Annika went straight over and looked at the little black-and-white picture from the passport register. Hanna Josefin Liljeberg was laughing into the camera. The radiant eyes and blinding smile could only have belonged to a teenager full of self-confidence.
    ‘Nineteen years old,’ Annika said, suddenly feeling a weight on her chest.
    ‘It would be better if we had a proper picture,’ Pelle Oscarsson said. ‘This one’s going to look all blurred and grey if we try to blow it up to more than one column-width.’
    ‘I think we’re getting that sorted,’ Annika said, with a silent prayer to Gösta, then went over to Berit.
    ‘Are you any good with the National Population Address Register?’ Berit wondered.
    Annika shook her head.
    ‘Okay, let’s go and see Eva-Britt,’ Berit said.
    Berit switched on the editorial secretary’s computer and logged into the network. Via the Infotorg site sheclicked through to the National Population Address Register.
    ‘This database contains the details of everyone currently registered as living in Sweden,’ she explained. ‘Their home addresses, previous addresses, maiden names, ID numbers, place of birth, all that sort of thing.’
    ‘That’s amazing,’ Annika said, astounded. ‘I had no idea it even existed.’
    ‘It’s a really useful tool for us. If you get time, look up some people you know to see how it works.’
    Berit searched for the name ‘Liljeberg, Hanna Josefin’. They got two results, an eighty-five-year-old woman in Malmö, and a nineteen-year-old girl from Dalagatan in Stockholm.
    ‘There she is,’ Berit said, and bookmarked the record.
    Liljeberg, Hanna Josefin, born in Täby, just outside Stockholm; single. The most recent