Early morning meetings at the top of the central building of the police complex on Kungsholmen were notorious, particularly the ones in the corner rooms with a view of the treetops in Kronoberg Park outside the window.And now it was his turn.The head of the Security Police and Bertstrand, his departmental boss, were standing by the window, talking quietly. The early morning sun reflected off the façade of the building opposite, casting uneven shadows on their faces. They were stirring their coffee cups and seemed to be talking in confidence.“Well,” Anton Abrahamsson said, rubbing his hands together to warm the cold sweat on them, “so this is what it looks like up here …”The men by the window looked up at him, put their cups down on a small, round wooden table, and walked toward him.“Welcome,” the head of the Security Police said. “Coffee, or perhaps some water?”He gestured toward a side table with a range of refreshments.Anton Abrahamsson shook hands with Bertstrand, then went and poured himself a glass of Ramlösa.
