By Leif GW Persson
A riveting new mystery through a author universally said as Sweden's major criminologist.
A younger guy falls to his demise from a window in Stockholm. The police are looking to write it off as an twist of fate, or in all likelihood a suicide, yet superintendent Lars Johansson feels another way. quickly it's printed that the younger guy used to be an American journalist, engaged on a venture approximately his uncle, a CIA agent, who could have had ties to the top reaches of Sweden's political neighborhood. Johansson's look for the reality will take him to long island and the FBI Academy in Virginia, and eventually down right into a darkish internet of overseas espionage, backroom politics, and greed, exposing the sheer incompetence that ended in a devastating tragedy.
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Extra info for Between Summer's Longing and Winter's End: The Story of a Crime
Therefore, for the past fourteen days, he had been filling in as head of the local detective unit with the Östermalm police and that was that. Unfortunately, however, this had affected his life. His most recent girlfriend, who worked as a uniformed police officer at Norrmalm, had left early in the morning on a sudden call to duty, so he could forget that type of activity. Exercising was not an option either, for you did that sort of thing while on duty, and as an old elite athlete he knew the value of holding yourself to a carefully determined exercise schedule.
Swine, he thought. ” Bäckström straightened up and looked at his watch. Already 9:30, he thought. Now it was crucial to put the machinery in motion. ” wondered Oredsson. “Put it in a bag and send it with the body,” Wiijnbladh said before Bäckström had time to say anything and create unnecessary problems. ” “Exactly,” Bäckström agreed. “It looks like hell. ” “Sure,” Oredsson said, and nodded. One day I’m going to get you in town for drunkenness, he thought. And when you start messing around and whining that you’re a policeman I’ll stuff a whole roll of tape up your rear end.
In addition he was completely understandable both when he spoke and when he wrote. A remarkable man, the chief of national police had thought on more than one occasion. He even seemed … well … educated. Johansson was completely unaware of these bureaucratic considerations as he plowed his way with a groan through the files that the Stockholm Police Department had handed over: a balancing act between the frying pan of collegiality and the fire of professionalism. Maybe I could make a joke of it, thought Johansson.