The Disciple by Michael Hjorth Page A

their differences during the time she had been his boss, but when it really mattered, when she had been forced to judge his work objectively, to assess his chances of doing a good job at Lövhaga, she had been professional enough to put her personal views to one side, and had spoken truthfully about his excellent leadership qualities, and what a good administrator he was.
    He had heard some spiteful talk at the station, people saying that she just wanted to get rid of him, that she had even tipped Lövhaga the wink about him, but they were just jealous. Of him.
    Of Thomas Haraldsson, governor of Lövhaga.
    He went into his office; it might not be very big, but it was his. No more workstation in an open-plan office. Haraldsson sat down in the comfortable chair behind the desk, which was still comparatively clear. He switched on the computer. His third day; he hadn’t really got to grips with the job yet. Which was perfectly natural. The only thing he had done so far was to ask for all the available material on one of the residents in the secure wing, since Riksmord had shown an interest in him. Evidently they had phoned again last night. Haraldsson placed a hand on the folder on his desk, but wondered whether he ought to ring Jenny instead. Not because he wanted anything; just to check how she was. They didn’t see each other quite so much now. Lövhaga was a good sixty kilometres from Västerås. Almost an hour by car in each direction. His working day was likely to be quite long. So far it hadn’t been a problem. Jenny was positively glowing with happiness. Right now her world was full of nothing but opportunities. The very thought of her made Haraldsson smile, and he had just decided to call her when there was a knock on the door.
    ‘Come in.’ Haraldsson replaced the receiver. The door opened and a woman of about forty-five came in: Annika Norling, his PA.
    ‘You have visitors.’
    ‘What?’ Haraldsson glanced quickly at the open diary on his desk. His first meeting was pencilled in for one o’clock. Had he missed something? Or, to put it more accurately, had Annika missed something?
    ‘Riksmord,’ Annika replied. ‘They don’t have an appointment,’ she went on, as if she could read Haraldsson’s mind.
    Haraldsson swore silently to himself. He had hoped that Riksmord’s interest in Lövhaga would be restricted to telephone calls. They hadn’t treated him well during their time in Västerås. Not well at all. Quite the reverse. They had done everything in their power to exclude him from the investigation, in spite of the fact that over and over again he had proved himself to be an asset.
    ‘Who’s here?’
    Annika looked down at the post-it note in her hand. ‘Vanja Lithner and Billy Rosén.’
    At least it wasn’t Torkel Höglund. When they first met, Torkel had told Haraldsson he was to be an important part of their investigation, only to kick him out a day or so later without any kind of explanation whatsoever. Not a person to be trusted. Admittedly, Haraldsson had no desire to see Vanja or Billy either, but what could he do? He looked over at the door, where his PA was waiting. He could ask Annika to tell them he was busy, get them to come back at some other time. Later. In a few days perhaps, when he had had time to familiarise himself with the job a little more. When he would be better prepared. Could one ask one’s PA to lie? Haraldsson had never had a PA before, but assumed that it was somehow part of her job. After all, she was there to make things easier for him. Putting off a visit from Riksmord would definitely make his day easier to cope with.
    ‘Tell them I’m busy.’
    ‘With what?’
    Haraldsson looked at her with a quizzical expression. Surely there weren’t that many things a person could be busy with in their office?
    ‘With work, of course. Ask them to come back.’
    Annika gave him a look which could only be interpreted as disapproving, and closed the door. Haraldsson keyed