Vanished by Liza Marklund

death and looked round. There were rows of tall floodlights along the quaysides. The whole area must be brightly lit at night, apart from the gap between the silos.
    If you were going to shoot anyone, why leave them lying in the glare of the floodlights? Why not drag them into the shadows?
    She presumed that it all depended on how much of a hurry you were in.
    She lowered her eyes, stamping her feet and blowing on her hands. The slush splashed. What a crap winter. Behind the cordon she could see Swedish Television’s props store. She didn’t know that was out here.
    She walked round the cordon. It was freezing cold, the rain was light but sharpened by the icy wind off the sea. She wound the end of her scarf round her neck more tightly and headed towards the water, following a chain-link fence that marked the boundary with the Baltic. An articulated lorry that had seen better days was coughing up exhaust fumes on the other side and she pulled her scarf over her nose. The fence ended in a heavy gate beside the lines of containers. Three customs officials were checking the last but one lorry of the day. The final one would be the polluting monster behind her.
    ‘So, what are we doing here, then?’
    The man was red-faced with cold, a customs office uniform under his luminous yellow tunic. His eyes looked bright and cheerful. Annika smiled.
    ‘I’m just curious. I work for a newspaper and read about the murders out here,’ she said, gesturing over her shoulder.
    ‘If you’re researching a story, I’ll have to refer you to our press spokesman,’ the customs officer said, not unfriendly.
    ‘Oh no, I don’t write for the paper, I just make sure that what other people write is correct. Which is why it’s good to get out every now and then and take a look about – to make sure the reporters aren’t messing up.’
    The man laughed. ‘Well, you’ve got your work cut out,’ he said.
    ‘Like you, I guess,’ Annika said.
    They shook hands and introduced themselves.
    ‘Have you almost finished for the day?’ Annika asked, pointing towards the last lorry as it rolled towards the gate.
    The man sighed lightly. ‘Yes, I’m almost done. It’s been a messy couple of days, with the police cordon over there and all the rest. And all the cigarettes.’
    Annika raised her eyebrows.
    ‘Did something special happen today?’
    ‘We picked up a fake refrigerated lorry this morning, tobacco everywhere, in the chassis, in the roof, in the walls. They’d taken out all the insulation and packed the space with cigarettes.’
    ‘Wow,’ Annika said. ‘How did you find it?’
    The customs officer shrugged. ‘Unscrewed a panel on the back. There was a bit of insulation, but not enough. There was another panel behind that, and that’s where the cigarettes were.’
    ‘How many?’
    ‘You can fit half a million in the floor of a container, and the same in the ceiling and walls. Something like two million in total, at a rough value of one krona per fag.’
    ‘Bloody hell,’ Annika said.
    ‘That’s nothing compared to the amount that’s coming in. There’s no end of tobacco being smuggled these days. The gangs have given up on drugs and are peddling cigarettes instead. Since the government put up the tax on tobacco you can make as much profit from cigarettes as heroin, but at much less risk. If you’re caught with heroin worth millions of kronor, you’ll be in prison for years, but the same value in tobacco gets you hardly anypunishment at all. They use padded tarpaulins, loose floors, hollow frames …’
    ‘They’re pretty inventive, then,’ Annika said.
    ‘Yes, you can’t take that away from them,’ the customs officer said.
    Annika grasped the nettle.
    ‘Do you know who the dead men were?’
    The man shook his head. ‘Nope. I’d never seen them before.’
    Annika opened her eyes wide. ‘So you actually saw them?’
    ‘Yes. They were lying there when I arrived. Shot right through the head.’
    ‘God, how