‘What time did you leave Danielsson, then?’ Bäckström said. How the hell do we check that last bit? he thought.
‘As soon as the old crone started shrieking I realized it was time to go home and get some sleep. So I said goodbye to Kalle and set off home. It couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes, allowing for a couple wrong turns on the way,’ Stålhammar said, smiling and shaking his head. ‘The party had fallen a bit flat, if I can put it like that, and Kalle had got the hump and had phoned the old woman who had been down shouting at us. He was standing there arguing with her when I left.’
‘Danielsson was on the phone shouting at his neighbor when you left?’ Bäckström repeated.
‘Exactly,’ Stålhammar agreed. ‘So it felt like the right time to head home for some peace and quiet.
‘God, it’s a wretched business,’ Stålhammar went on, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles again.
‘While I was lying there having sweet dreams about Marja, some mad bastard is breaking into Kalle’s and beating him to death.’
‘What makes you think someone broke in?’ Bäckström asked.
‘That’s what Flash said,’ Stålhammar said, looking in surprise first at Bäckström, then at Annika Carlsson. From what he had heard, the door of Kalle’s flat was hanging off its hinges. Some bastard had broken in and robbed him. Beaten him to death as he was lying there asleep.
‘When you left,’ Bäckström said, to change the subject, ‘do you remember if Kalle locked the door?’
‘He always did. Kalle was a cautious man,’ Stålhammar said. ‘Not that I gave it a second thought, but I’m absolutely sure he would have done. I used to tease him about it. The fact that he always locked himself in. I never use the safety lock when I’m at home.’
‘Was he afraid of anyone?’ Bäckström asked. ‘If he always locked the door?’
‘I suppose he didn’t want anyone to break in and steal his things. He had some valuable stuff, after all.’
‘Such as?’ Bäckström asked. He had been in the flat and had seen it in all its shabby glory. Here we go, he thought.
‘Well,’ Stålhammar said, and it looked like he was thinking hard. ‘His old record collection must have been worth quite a bit. And that desk he had, that was valuable.’
‘The one in his bedroom?’ Bäckström said. How the hell could anyone ever have lifted that? And how the hell could anyone like Stålhammar ever have made it into the police? he thought.
‘That’s the one.’ Stålhammar nodded. ‘Antiques. Kalle had a few things like that. Genuine old carpets, loads of really nice old things.’
‘I have a few problems with what you’re saying,’ Bäckström said. ‘When we found him, the door was unlocked and there were no signs of forced entry on it. From the inside you can lock it either with the key or the catch. From the outside you can only lock it with a key. When our colleagues got there it was wide open, but there were no marks on it. The forensics team think that when the culprit left he pulled the door shut behind him, but because the balcony door in the living room was ajar, the draft pulled the front door open again. How do you explain that?’
‘Explain?’ Stålhammar said in surprise. ‘If that’s what forensics say, then it must be right. Don’t ask me what the hell I think about it. I’m an old detective. Not a forensics expert. Ask Pelle Niemi or one of his guys.’
‘My colleagues and I are working another line of thought,’ Bäckström said, with a nod toward Annika Carlsson. ‘We believe that Kalle Danielsson must have let the perpetrator in because it was someone he knew and trusted.’ Try that on for size, he thought.
‘You’re on the wrong track there, Bäckström,’ Stålhammar said, shaking his head. ‘Which one of our old friends would have any reason to murder Kalle?’
‘You don’t have any suggestions?’ Bäckström said. ‘I and my colleague Carlsson here were rather hoping you might have.’
‘Well, the only one of our old friends who I can think of would probably be Manhattan. From the old gang, I mean. He was the only one who had a grudge against Kalle.’
‘Manhattan? Manhattan as in New York?’
‘Hell, no,’ Stålhammar said. ‘As in that disgusting bloody drink made from whiskey and liqueur. How the hell could anyone ever get the idea of pouring liqueur into whiskey? Ought to be against the law.’
‘Manhattan,’ Bäckström repeated.
‘Manne Hansson,’ Stålhammar explained. ‘Known as Manhattan among his friends. Used to be a bartender at the old Carlton when he was still working. Could be a mean bastard when he’d had a few. He put some money into some company on Kalle’s advice and evidently it all went to hell. So he wasn’t happy.’
‘Manne Hansson,’ Bäckström repeated. ‘Where can we get hold of him, then?’
‘That won’t be so easy, I’m afraid,’ Roland Stålhammar said with a smile. ‘Your best bet is Solna Cemetery. Apparently his kids scattered his ashes in the memorial grove there to keep costs down.’
‘And when was that?’ Bäckström said. What have I done to deserve this? he thought.
‘A fuck of a long time ago,’ Stålhammar said. ‘Must be a good ten years, if you ask me.’
‘There’s one thing I’m wondering, Roland,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘You used to be one of us, so you know as much about the whole business of checking phone records as I do.’
‘I can still remember a few of the old tricks,’ Stålhammar agreed, looking self-conscious.
‘When you left Kalle Danielsson he was on the phone shouting at his neighbor. We’ve checked that call. He made it just before ten-thirty. Then you say you walked home and that it took you something like ten minutes. Which would mean that you got home at about twenty to eleven.’
‘That makes sense,’ Stålhammar said with a nod.
‘Then you say you called your friend in Malmö at half past eleven or so.’
‘Yes, I’m sure of that. Because I looked at the time just before I called. Didn’t want to call too late, like I said.’
‘So what did you do before that? You get home at twenty to eleven, and call her at half past eleven. That’s fifty minutes. Almost an hour. So what were you doing?’
‘I told you,’ Stålhammar said with a look of surprise.
‘In that case I must have forgotten,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘Would you care to jog my memory?’
‘I had a drop or two left in the cupboard. And I had something to celebrate, so I started by drinking that. Then I called Marja. And, well, I suppose the blood started to flow a bit while I was sitting there having a little drink,’ Stålhammar said with a crooked smile.
‘Fifty minutes,’ Annika Carlsson repeated, exchanging a quick glance with Bäckström.
‘Must have been a fairly serious drop,’ Bäckström said.
‘Don’t be like that, Bäckström,’ Stålhammar said. ‘I suppose I was just sitting there thinking about things.’
‘On a completely different subject,’ Bäckström said, ‘do you happen to remember if Kalle Danielsson had a briefcase or attaché case? One of those smart ones, leather, brass locks?’
‘Yes, he did,’ Stålhammar said, nodding. ‘Light brown leather. A proper director’s briefcase. The last time I saw it was when I was there to eat with him, the evening before he got murdered. I definitely saw it.’
‘You definitely saw it?’ Bäckström said. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘He’d put it on top of the television,’ Stålhammar said. ‘In the living room where we were eating. A fucking weird place to put a briefcase. Okay, I haven’t got a briefcase like that, but if I did, I don’t think I’d put it on top of the television. Why do you ask?’