‘That’s what I’ve been thinking too,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘He usually finished delivering papers by about six o’clock. And he started work as a courier at nine o’clock. He could even have had time to get an hour or so’s sleep in between.
‘So how about inviting me in for a cup of coffee, then?’ Annika asked as she pulled up outside Bäckström’s door. ‘Besides, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’
‘Sure,’ Bäckström said. They’re crazy about you, he thought. Even a notorious carpet muncher like Annika Carlsson is trying it on.
38.
While Bäckström was in the kitchen tinkering with his newly acquired Italian espresso machine, Annika Carlsson had asked if she could have a look around the flat.
‘Make yourself at home,’ said Bäckström, who had nothing to fear. Over the weekend his Finnish bartender friend had used her day off to go through his flat like a blond tornado.
‘I’ll give you the guided tour,’ Bäckström said.
First he had shown her his freshly tiled bathroom and the new shower cabinet with a steam-bath option, a stereo, and a little folding seat where you could sit and think as the water streamed down and refreshed your body and soul.
‘You program the pressure of the water on that panel there,’ Bäckström said, showing her.
‘Not bad,’ Annika Carlsson said, with an almost envious look in her eyes.
Then he had led her to the holy of holies, the little workshop where he most recently over the weekend had paid for the cleaning by giving the blond tornado a serious going-over in his bed from the Hästens bed factory.
‘That’s a Hästens bed, isn’t it?’ Annika Carlsson asked. ‘They cost a fortune,’ she said, feeling the mattress just to be sure.
‘You’ve got it really good, Bäckström.’ Annika sighed when they sat down five minutes later in Bäckström’s living room to enjoy freshly brewed cappuccinos and biscotti. ‘This coffee table alone must have cost an arm and a leg,’ Annika said, running her hand over the black top. ‘It’s marble, isn’t it?’
‘From Kolmården,’ Bäckström said.
‘But how on earth can you afford all this on a police salary?’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘A bed from Hästens, a plasma television — two of them at that — and a leather sofa and a Bang and Olufsen stereo. Proper carpets on the floor, and then there’s that watch of yours. It’s a real Rolex, isn’t it? Did you get a big inheritance, or have you won the lottery?’
‘Well, if you look after the pennies,’ Bäckström said — he had no intention of going into the other sources of income he had alongside his monthly salary. Least of all with Annika Carlsson. ‘There was something you wanted to talk about?’ he reminded her, to get her to change the subject.
‘Yes, I’m sitting here trying to pluck up the courage to say it,’ Annika Carlsson said, smiling amiably at him. ‘Some things are difficult to talk about, as you know.’
‘I’m listening,’ Bäckström said, smiling his most masculine smile.
‘Just listening to you, it’s easy to get the impression that you’re another one of those burned-out, prejudiced officers. You know, the way a lot of us sadly end up in this job.’
‘I understand what you mean,’ Bäckström said, already aware of what tactics he was going to employ.
‘But it can’t be that straightforward,’ Annika Carlsson said, shaking her cropped head energetically. ‘I’ve seen you in action. You’re the most professional detective I’ve ever come across. Alongside all the boorishness. Like with Akofeli, for instance. You were the only one of us who realized from the outset that there was something not quite right about him. And when we were down in the bank vault and you opened the safe-deposit box, I got the feeling that you were almost clairvoyant. Is there anything like that in your family, Bäckström?’
‘Maybe a bit on my mother’s side, if I’m honest,’ Bäckström lied. At any rate, she was the most mixed-up old bag on Södermalm, he thought.
‘I thought so,’ Annika Carlsson said with a nod. ‘I thought so.’
‘But I also have my strong faith in God as well,’ Bäckström said with a sigh. ‘Nothing special, you know. Just a simple, childish faith that I’ve carried with me through life since I was a small boy.’
‘I knew it, Bäckström,’ Annika Carlsson said, looking at her host and boss with excitement. ‘I knew it. That’s what gives you strength. That completely unshakable strength that you’ve got inside you.’
‘But I understand what you mean, Annika,’ Bäckström said, raising a hand in an almost pleading gesture to get her to stop. ‘When you talk about my view of the world, I mean. Sadly it’s very true that all of us in this job get burned-out at some point. It’s starting to take its toll on me too. That why I sometimes, and all too often, speak without thinking first.
‘I’m so glad I managed to see beyond the surface,’ Annika Carlsson said somberly.
‘While we’re on sensitive matters,’ Bäckström said, ‘there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.’
‘I’m listening,’ Annika said.
‘I don’t think you should be so hard on young Stigson,’ Bäckström said.
‘Yes, but you heard what he was like, going on about that woman like that, about her breasts, I mean,’ Annika Carlsson said, pointing at her own for the sake of clarity.
‘I know,’ Bäckström said. ‘Pure sexism. One of the worst examples I’ve heard in the force. But I’m sorry to say that I think there’s probably an explanation.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m afraid our colleague Stigson has been the victim of incestuous abuse. At an early age, sadly.’
‘Good God,’ Annika said, looking at Bäckström, wide-eyed. ‘Is this something he’s talked to you about?’
‘No,’ Bäckström said. ‘They very rarely talk about things like that, you know. But I recognize all the obvious signs, and after hearing him talk to that neighbor of Danielsson’s, that Andersson woman, I’m pretty sure that it was his mother who abused him. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Stigson’s mom turned out to be a carbon copy of our witness, Mrs. Andersson.’
‘What can we do?’ Annika Carlsson asked.
‘We hold off,’ Bäckström said. ‘We bear it in mind, we stay alert and ready to help, but we hold off.’
39.
Where the fuck do they all come from? Bäckström thought, as he closed the door behind his guest. All these crazy women, each one madder than the last.
At roughly the same time as Bäckström was saying goodbye to his colleague Annika Carlsson, Hanna and Axel were seeking solace in each other and had ended up in Hanna’s bed.
Axel ejaculated as soon as he entered her. Not because it was the first time, or because Hanna was at the very least an eight. Axel had got past that stage of life when he was thirteen. It was more complicated than that. Even though it was the first time with Hanna, the only thing in Axel’s head for the past few hours was a young female police officer called Magda Hernandez. The first eleven he’d ever seen in his life, even though there weren’t supposed to be any of those on a ten-point scale.
He had tried to pull himself together for another attempt, but his thoughts of Magda Hernandez and his proximity to Hanna plunged him back into the icy water again.
‘I don’t get this,’ Axel said. ‘It’s never happened before,’ he said, feeling like nothing more than bursting into tears and running away.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Hanna said, running her nails down his naked, sweaty back. ‘You must still be suffering from shock.’ Poor thing, she thought, since it wasn’t the first time for her either.