It had taken two hours to work out what Stålhammar had been doing since Thursday morning, when he suddenly headed off toward Copenhagen, until Monday morning, when he showed up in the Solna police station. Then they’d taken a break for lunch.
Bäckström had stocked up seriously because he realized this was going to be a drawn-out business. Meatballs and mashed potatoes, cream sauce, and both almond and marzipan cakes this time. Annika Carlsson had taken a quick pasta salad and a mineral water before going off to make sure that Alm and the others had started to check the information that Roland Stålhammar had given them about his visit to Malmö and Copenhagen. Stålhammar had made do with a sandwich and a cup of coffee that Annika had fetched for him from the cafeteria.
We’re getting close, Bäckström thought, when they were back in their seats again. Stålhammar had started sweating in a promising way, and when he raised the coffee cup to his lips he had to use both hands.
‘You were at Solvalla on Wednesday last week, Wednesday, May fourteenth,’ Bäckström said. ‘What can you tell us about that?’
He had got there at about four o’clock that afternoon to watch the warm-up, and then go round and listen to his old friends for a bit.
‘Warm-up?’ Annika Carlsson asked. She hadn’t said much before lunch.
Stålhammar had explained. When you took the horses out onto the track before the race to get them warmed up.
‘Like doing exercises, you know. Warming up. Before you go out and race properly,’ Stålhammar said.
An hour or so later Kalle Danielsson had turned up. They had talked to Gunnar Gustafsson, who reassured them that the tip he had given them the day before still stood. Instant Justice had behaved impeccably during the first warm-up. His old injury seemed to have healed well.
‘According to Gunnar, he was like a completely new horse,’ Stålhammar said. ‘Not so impetuous anymore, but still with the same phenomenal physique. If you ask me, he’s like a fucking train, Bäckström.’
‘How did you find each other out at Valla?’ Annika Carlsson asked. ‘Had you agreed where to meet up or what?’
‘He must have called me,’ Stålhammar said, shaking his head. ‘At least I presume he did,’ he said.
‘So Kalle had a cell?’ Annika said.
‘Everyone does these days, don’t they?’ Stålhammar said, looking at her in surprise.
‘Have you got his number? The number of his cell phone?’ Bäckström specified.
‘Don’t think so,’ Stålhammar said, shaking his head. ‘Why would I? I used to call him at home, or else we just bumped into each other out somewhere. If he wasn’t home I used to leave him a message on his answering machine. Then he would call back. Anyway, he had my cell number.’
‘Hang on a minute, Roland,’ Bäckström persisted. ‘You must have had Danielsson’s cell number.’ There’s something that doesn’t make sense here, he thought.
‘No,’ Stålhammar said. ‘Aren’t you listening to what I’m saying?’ he said, glowering at Bäckström.
‘Did you ever see Danielsson with a cell phone?’ Carlsson asked. ‘Are you sure about that?’ There’s something that doesn’t make sense here, she thought.
‘Now that you come to mention it, I don’t think I ever did,’ Stålhammar said.
Shit, Bäckström thought, exchanging a glance with his colleague and deciding to change tack.
‘We’ll deal with that later,’ Bäckström said. ‘So you and Danielsson won a whole load of money?’ he said.
He and Danielsson had put five hundred to win on the born-again Instant Justice, sharing the bet, and two minutes after the race started they were some twenty thousand kronor richer.
‘And then?’ Bäckström asked.
‘Kalle cashed out the money,’ Stålhammar said, ‘and then he took a taxi home to get dinner. We were going to meet up back at his for a bite to eat, so I thought that made sense. That way you can’t be tempted. When you’re close to seventy you have a fair idea of what you’re like,’ he explained.
‘It was the right decision too,’ Stålhammar went on, ‘because after the very next race I was completely broke. I had to borrow a hundred off an old friend to save me having to walk back to Kalle’s. It was already almost eight o’clock, and you don’t want to be eating in the middle of the night. Unless we’re talking supper, of course.’
Shit, Bäckström thought.
‘Has he got a name?’ he asked.
‘Who?’ Stålhammar said, shaking his head in surprise. ‘Kalle?’
‘The man you borrowed the hundred from?’
‘Flash,’ Stålhammar said. ‘I thought I’d already said that. Didn’t we talk about him before lunch?’
‘You took a taxi back to Danielsson’s. To number one Hasselstigen?’ Bäckström asked, who had Britt-Marie Andersson’s testimony fresh in his mind.
‘That’s right,’ Stålhammar said with a nod.
‘You’re absolutely certain of that?’ Bäckström said.
‘Well, hell, no, now that I come to think about it. That hundred wasn’t enough and the money-grabbing Iraqi who was driving kicked me out on Råsundavägen. Not the end of the world, admittedly, since it was only a couple hundred meters from Kalle’s door, but I had to do the last bit on foot.’
‘Did you get a receipt?’
‘I would have,’ Stålhammar said. ‘I used to give all my receipts to Kalle. He used to sell them on to some old pal who deals in white goods. But the bastard just drove off.’
‘So you walked the last bit?’ Bäckström clarified. He’s not that stupid after all, the old drunk, he thought.
‘What happened next?’ Bäckström asked.
First they had divided the money. More or less. Stålhammar got 10,300 in his hand, ten thousand-kronor notes and three hundreds, but because Danielsson didn’t have any change Stålhammar let him keep the last ten.
‘My old mate, it’s hardly the end of the world,’ Stålhammar had said with a shrug.
Then they had eaten, drunk, and talked. They started sometime around half past eight with pork chops and kidney beans, a few lagers and chasers. When the food was finished Kalle had mixed himself a vodka and tonic, whereas Stålhammar preferred his neat. They had talked some more, both of them in an excellent mood, and Kalle had put on some old Evert Taube albums.
‘He knew his stuff, that man,’ Stålhammar said with feeling. ‘Hell, there hasn’t been a decent song written in this country since Evert cashed in his chips.’
‘How long were you playing music for?’ Annika Carlsson asked.
‘Quite a while,’ Stålhammar said, looking at her in surprise. ‘It was one of those old vinyl things, an LP, and I suppose we played it through a couple times. “Old Highland Rover, a boat from Aberdeen, she lay off San Pedro and took on gasoline,” ’ Stålhammar sang quietly. ‘You hear how good he was, Carlsson? The words are still in there, like a comfy pair of shoes,’ he declared.
‘How long were you singing for?’ Bäckström asked.
‘Until some mad old crone knocked on the door and started shouting and yelling. I was standing in the living room listening to Evert, so I didn’t see her, but I couldn’t help hearing her, the way she was carrying on.’
‘What time was that?’ Bäckström persisted.
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ Stålhammar said, shrugging. ‘But I know what time it was when I got home and called Marja, because I looked at my watch first. You don’t want to call people in the middle of the night, after all.’
‘What time was that, then?’
‘Half past eleven, if I remember rightly,’ Stålhammar said. ‘I remember thinking that it was a bit too last-minute, but by then I’d got the idea in my head. So I plucked up courage and gave her a call. Mind you, I did a bit of private celebrating at home first. Had a bit left in the cupboard, and I suppose it must have been while I was drinking that I got the idea of heading down south.’