‘What makes you think that?’ Bäckström said.
‘I got to the crime scene just before seven in the morning, and I agreed with Niemi that I would search the building while they carried on inside Danielsson’s apartment. On the ground floor there’s a room used for storing bicycles and strollers. Not many, because most of the tenants are pensioners, but there were still one stroller and several bikes in there. As well as Akofeli’s cart. According to the inventory I wrote at the time, even though it didn’t strike me as odd then.’
‘Why not leave it by the front door?’ Bäckström said. ‘That would have been simplest for him.’
‘That’s what I think too, although it didn’t occur to me at the time. You’re just smarter than me, Bäckström,’ Annika Carlsson said with a smile.
‘Well...,’ Bäckström said, smiling his most modest smile.
‘Then, while I was busy in there, one of the tenants came down to get her bike,’ Annika Carlsson went on.
‘In a state of extreme anxiety,’ Bäckström said.
‘Yes, she was wondering what had happened, since there must have been at least ten of us there by that time, searching the building. I didn’t go into detail. I explained that we were there because of an emergency call we’d received. I asked who she was and what she was doing down with the bicycles. She told me her name, even showed me her ID before I asked for it. She explained that she lived in the building, that she was on her way to work, and that she always took her bike if the weather was good enough. She works as a receptionist in the Scandic Hotel down by the motorway to Arlanda Airport. It’s about five kilometers away, and she was due to start work at eight o’clock.’
‘The newspaper cart?’
‘I didn’t have to ask. She said it was usually in there. Had been over the past few months at least. It used to annoy her, she said, because it was always in the way when she was trying to get her bike out. She said she’d even been thinking of leaving a note on it. She realized it belonged to the paperboy. She herself didn’t have a paper delivered. She got to read them for free at work.’
‘So she didn’t have any reason to keep an eye on Akofeli’s timing?’
‘No,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘She presumed their paths had crossed inside the building. And, like I said, it didn’t occur to me. Not then, anyway.’
‘You haven’t talked to anyone in the building?’ Bäckström said.
‘What do you take me for?’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘How would that look?’
‘A wise colleague is worth their weight in gold,’ Bäckström said.
‘Akofeli was seeing someone who lived in the building,’ Annika Carlsson said.
‘Obviously,’ Bäckström said. ‘I’ve suspected as much all along.’
85.
Anna Holt had woken up around seven that morning. She had been having a vaguely erotic dream, not at all unpleasant, and when she looked up she saw Jan Lewin lying in bed next to her, looking at her. He was resting his head on his right hand while the left played with her right nipple.
‘You’re awake,’ Holt said.
‘Extremely awake,’ Jan Lewin replied, smiling, and nodding for some reason in the direction of his own groin.
‘Goodness,’ Holt said as she stretched her hand under the sheets to feel. ‘I think we have an acute problem here.’
‘What are we going to do about it, then?’ Jan Lewin asked as he put his arm round her neck.
‘Solve it,’ Holt said. She pulled the sheets off and sat on top of him.
It’s best in the mornings, Holt thought half an hour later. And she felt energetic too. Always did afterward. In contrast, Jan seemed much more relaxed and close to falling back to sleep. Typical, she thought, just as her phone rang.
‘What sort of fool calls up at this time on a Saturday?’ Lewin groaned.
‘I have my suspicions,’ Holt said, picking up the phone. The county police chief, she thought.
‘I hope I didn’t wake you, Anna?’ the county police chief said. She sounded just as awake as Holt, and considerably angrier.
‘I was already awake,’ Holt said. Without going into the reason and pulling a happy face at Lewin.
‘Have you read the papers?’ the county police chief asked.
‘No,’ Holt said. ‘Which one?’
‘All of them,’ the county police chief said. ‘Bäckström,’ she clarified. ‘He seems to have talked to all of them. Even that Christian rag where he takes the chance to declare his strong faith in God.’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Holt said. Say what you like about Bäckström, but he’s not stupid, she thought.
‘Thank you,’ the county police chief said, and hung up.
‘Now I’ve got something I need to do,’ Holt said. ‘You, on the other hand, should try to get back to sleep.’
‘I can get breakfast,’ Jan Lewin said, sitting up in bed.
‘You’re probably wondering...’
‘No,’ Lewin said, shaking his head. ‘I’m a police officer, have I ever mentioned that? I’ve already got a fairly good idea of the reason behind that call.’ It’s always Bäckström, he thought.
Anna Holt had sat down at her computer, where she went onto the Internet to read the morning papers. It confirmed her fears. Then she called Bäckström. As usual, no answer. Then she spoke to Annika Carlsson.
If she can, then so can I, Anna Holt thought. The ‘she’ in question was the county police chief, and the person she was calling was Toivonen.
‘Toivonen,’ Toivonen groaned.
‘Holt,’ Holt said.
‘I’m listening, boss,’ Toivonen said. ‘I was out late,’ he explained.
‘Bäckström,’ Holt said, then spent the next two minutes explaining what this was about.
‘In that case, I suggest we wait until Monday,’ Toivonen said. ‘Since it’s the weekend and we’re talking about Bäckström here,’ he clarified.
‘He’s actually at work,’ Holt said. ‘I spoke to Annika Carlsson a short while ago. She says he’s been there since early this morning.’
‘If he is, then he’s only doing it to wind me up,’ Toivonen said.
86.
‘What do we do now?’ Annika Carlsson asked.
‘Now we take it nice and slow,’ Bäckström said. ‘We don’t mess it up by rushing.’
‘I’m listening,’ Carlsson said.
‘That list that Alm drew up of everyone Danielsson knew,’ Bäckström said. ‘I’d like to take a look at it. Call him, tell him to get here at once and give me the list.’
‘No need,’ Carlsson said. ‘You can read mine. I’ve got a copy.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Bäckström said. ‘I was looking forward to having a chance to wind the idiot up.’
The old boys from Solna and Sundbyberg, Bäckström thought, as he read through Alm’s summary of Karl Danielsson’s acquaintances some fifteen minutes later. Halfy and Flash and Jockey Gunnar. Godfather Grimaldi and his former colleague Roly Stålhammar. Good old boys who’d spent the best part of fifty years drunk off their ass.
Then he called one of them.
‘Detective Superintendent Bäckström, the nation’s hero,’ Halfy Söderman said. ‘To what does a simple man such as myself owe the pleasure?’
‘I need to talk to you, Söderman,’ Bäckström said. Already wasted, and here I am stuck behind my desk, sober, gray, and underpaid, he thought.
‘My door is always open to you,’ Halfy said. ‘It will be an honor for me and my simple household. And would the Superintendent have any specific requests as far as refreshment is concerned?’
‘Coffee will do fine,’ Bäckström said brusquely. ‘Black, no sugar.’
Then he had gone into Nadja’s office and picked up Karl Danielsson’s pocket diary, then called for a taxi.