Last Will (50 page)

“Well, I must go and sort out my poor animals,” Birgitta Larsén said.

Annika followed her out of the door.

“Who knew exactly which animals were yours?”

But Birgitta Larsén didn’t hear, just disappeared down the corridor.

Annika drove straight home and hauled her computer up to the office. It was starting to be a real nuisance, sorting out the cables and wireless connection every time she wanted to check her email or make any notes.

It was much better with my own office at work and a separate computer at home, she thought.

Once she had unpacked and connected everything she called Q. There was no answer, so she emailed a plea to talk to him sometime during the day. Because she was planning to ignore his ban on disclosure, she realized that she wasn’t top of his list of favorite people today.

Schyman had interviewed her the previous evening about what she had seen out in Fågelbrolandet; then he had written an article that she had amended. She hadn’t gotten home until two o’clock in the morning, and she was starting to feel the effects.

What if she were to lie down on the bed for a little while before she got going?

She just needed to come up with an idea to think about while she rested.

Lars-Henry Svensson wasn’t important enough to warrant a full-page obituary; he was just a grumpy, bitter old professor who had had a nail hammered through his eyeball.

The mutilation of corpses was always interesting, but if she remembered correctly the
Evening Post
had run an article about that after
another recent murder case. Maybe she could dust it off, make a few calls to check the facts, and pretend it was a new piece?

She went into the
Evening Post
’s online archive of articles and found the text, written by Patrik just three weeks before.

It felt a bit cheeky to recycle it so soon.

Perhaps something about the fact that the Kitten wasn’t behind these two most recent murders, that they were different from the murders at the Nobel banquet because of the fury and highly personal nature of the attacks? She had already written an outline of an article along those lines.

She went back to the Internet again and checked her personal archive at [email protected], but just as she was typing in her password her fingers stiffened.

Just so you know, if anything ever happens to me, it’s all in my archive. I’ve written it all down
.

Annika stared at the screen.

My archive. Written it all down.

She picked up the phone and called the Karolinska Institute.

Birgitta Larsén was down in the lab with her test animals.

“Did Caroline have another email address apart from her official work address at KI?” Annika asked, realizing that she was sounding rather breathless.

“No,” Birgitta Larsén said blankly. “I don’t think so, why?”

It sounded like she was busy with something as she spoke.

“Did you used to email each other?”

She heard something fall to the floor, and the professor groaned.

“All the time—there were always a million and one things going on, work and meetings and seminars, and our network, of course. If only you knew how many irons she had in the fire at the same time …”

“And she always used the Institute’s email server?” Annika interrupted. “And her work address, [email protected]?”

Birgitta took a deep breath and was quiet for a moment.

“Yes,” she said, “except for the women’s group.”

“The women’s group?”

“Our network. Alfred’s Amazons.”

Alfred’s Amazons?!

Birgitta Larsén cleared her throat, and sounded a little embarrassed.

“It really wasn’t my idea,” the professor said. “I’m not the Nobel fanatic. It was Caroline who set up the network’s addresses, they all had something to do with Alfred Nobel. So I was Sofie Hess, which I always thought was an insult. As if I was somehow supposed to embody the leech of the group, spendthrift and stupid, always begging for more money. I mean, what was she thinking … ?”

Annika closed her eyes and tried to comprehend what the woman was saying behind the torrent of words.

“So Caroline allocated email addresses to everyone in the women’s group, to Alfred’s Amazons?”

“She said Alfred was very fond of Sofie, and that I shouldn’t take it badly, because Sofie Hess was also very persuasive and charming, otherwise Alfred wouldn’t have …”

“Birgitta,” Annika interrupted. “Did Caroline have an email address on the Internet, one that was different from the one she used at work?”

“Well, yes,” Birgitta Larsén said, sounding indignant. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“She had an email address with a name that had some sort of connection to Alfred Nobel? Which one? Bertha von Suttner?”

“No,” Birgitta Larsén said. “She was Andrietta Ahlsell.”

Who?

“Who?”

“Alfred Nobel’s mother. I think that’s how Carrie saw herself, as if she had a responsibility to Alfred and his memory. She seemed to think it was her role in life to carry on his vision, and I have to say that sometimes she took it a bit too personally …”

“What was the domain name?” Annika asked.

“The what?”

“The domain. Was it Hotmail, or Yahoo, or Nameplanet, or what?”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

Annika stifled a groan.

“Who knew what address you were sending emails to?”

“Do you know?” Birgitta Larsén said. “I always thought it was all a bit ridiculous. And I didn’t like the fact that I was Sofie Hess, so I didn’t really pay that much attention. Why do you want to know?”

“You can keep an electronic archive in your email address,” she said. “I’ll try to follow it up.”

“Well, if you must,” Birgitta Larsén said, then sighed and hung up.

Andrietta Ahlsell?

Annika stared at the screen.

How many combinations could you come up with using that name, without looking at the domain name?

You could run the first name and surname together, add a hyphen, or use initials or underscoring.

What were the most common domains where you could most easily register your own email account?

Hotmail and Yahoo, but Google had started with Gmail, and Nameplanet was still going.

She went into her own work email and tried putting the most common name combinations together with the biggest domain names.

Sixteen emails in total.

She sent them all off at once.

The emails sent to any addresses that didn’t exist would bounce back to her in-box with a
Delivery Error Report
from the
Mail Delivery System
.

Any emails that got through would have to have been sent to a registered address.

She watched the emails, all headed
test
, vanish into cyberspace.

So she could only wait and see.

Andrietta Ahlsell, Alfred Nobel’s mother. What did Nobel have to do with all this?

Annika rubbed her eyes.

What could have happened on Saturday to trigger these latest murders? Something to do with the prize, with the Nobel Prize for Medicine?

She went into
www.ki.se
, the home page of the Karolinska Institute, and found her way to the information about how the process of choosing a recipient was conducted.

The whole procedure took almost a year. In September questionnaires were sent to approximately three thousand people around the world, to individuals and institutions that had the right to nominate candidates for the prize. They were members of the Nobel Assembly at the Karolinska Institute, the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, previous recipients of the Nobel Prize for Medicine, and selected scientists at universities in Sweden and other countries.

She yawned, and thought about going downstairs to make a cup of coffee, but couldn’t be bothered.

These individuals, she read, had until February to write back with any suggestions of candidates. Between March and May the proposed names were sent to specially selected experts who then evaluated the work of the nominees. By the end of May the experts reported their findings to the Nobel Committee.

And that’s where we are now, Annika thought.

During the summer, up to August, the Nobel Committee put together a recommendation to present to the Assembly. In September the Committee provided a report containing the names of potential recipients to the Assembly. The report had to be signed by the whole Committee. The report was then debated by the entire Assembly on two occasions.

At the beginning of October there was a vote, and the recipient was picked by a majority decision. After that the names of the winner or winners were announced to the public. The decision was final and could not be appealed against.

So the most important work of thinning out the list was done fairly early, Annika thought. Right about now, in fact.

She read that the prize was presented on December 10, the anniversary of Nobel’s death. It consisted of a medal, a diploma, and a document confirming the financial size of the award, currently ten million Swedish kronor.

A lot of money, she thought, for one individual. But nothing compared to the amounts that people in the pharmaceutical industry were used to dealing with.

The value is in the prize itself, Annika thought, in the recognition of being awarded a Nobel Prize. How much could that be worth? Being
acknowledged as the recipient of the greatest award in the world, being told that you
have conferred the greatest benefit on mankind
?

Damn it, she thought, blinking. I’m exhausted.

She got up from the desk, went into the bedroom and lay down on the unmade bed.

And fell asleep instantly.

When she woke up again she had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been anywhere between fifteen minutes and eight hours.

It was still light outside, the same gray light as when she had fallen asleep.

Feeling confused, she got up, noticing that she had drooled on the pillow.

She went into the bathroom for a pee, and looked at the time.

She had been asleep for two hours.

She sat on the toilet for a couple of minutes, wondering if she would ever have the energy to stand up again.

Then she remember the emails she had sent and got a new burst of energy.

She had fifteen emails in her in-box.

Fifteen messages saying
Delivery Error Report
from
Mail Delivery System
.

She went through the replies, checking which addresses didn’t exist.

They had all bounced back, except the one sent to [email protected].

So that address had been registered.

She went into yahoo.se, clicked on
mail
and filled in andrietta_ahlsell as the user ID.

Password?

What on earth should she try first?

Alfred?

Invalid password.

Where to start?

caroline.

Invalid password.

What was her husband called? Knut?

knut.

Invalid password.

She scrolled down the page and read on.

Try the following:

Is “Caps Lock” activated on your keyboard?

If so, press “Caps Lock” before trying again.

Have you forgotten your ID or password, or spelled them wrong?

You can reactivate your ID and/or password by confirming your confidential information.

Still not working?