‘And then?’ Bäckström said with a sly smile. ‘What happened after that?’ Alm must look like a perfect bird feeder if you were a woodpecker, he thought.
‘Well, I buy the simplest explanation,’ Alm said. ‘Akofeli snoops round Danielsson’s flat. Finds the briefcase full of money. Takes it home with him and gets murdered. And you’re probably wondering who killed him?’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Bäckström said with an amiable smile. ‘Who killed him?’ Feeding time all day long, as soon as Woodentop opens his mouth, he thought.
‘I don’t think we should make it more complicated that it need be,’ Alm said. ‘The simplest explanation, considering the area he lived in, which really is crawling with serious criminals, and the calls he made, is that he had an accomplice, if you ask me. They met in Akofeli’s flat to share the takings. An argument arose, they fought, Akofeli was killed, the killer dumped the body.’
‘I see,’ Bäckström said. Hesitant body movement from one Anchor, one pretty little darkie, and one tragic incest victim from Dalarna, while Nadja Högberg looked at the ceiling and, just to make sure, sighed out loud. ‘You don’t seem too sure, Nadja.’ The Russian’s going to carve his whole head off, he thought.
‘I get the impression Akofeli was taken by surprise, from behind. Besides, Seppo Laurén couldn’t have killed Danielsson because he’s got an alibi. He was sitting at his computer when the murder was committed. Seppo Laurén has what’s known as an alibi. It’s Latin, and means “in another place” — in other words, that Seppo Laurén was sitting in front of his own computer in his and his mom’s flat at the top of the building. Meaning that he wasn’t in Danielsson’s flat on the first floor of the same building.’
‘A so-called alibi. Which I don’t think much of, to be honest,’ Alm said. ‘How do we know it was him sitting there? All we actually know is that someone was sitting at his computer. Not that it was necessarily Laurén.’
‘So who else could it have been?’ Nadja said. Alm must be a complete idiot, which is a rarity even in this building, she thought.
‘Anyone he knows,’ Alm said. ‘He planned it in advance, got hold of some friend who could provide his alibi, and here we can’t actually rule out that it could have been Akofeli who helped him—’
‘He spoke to him once when Akofeli was delivering papers,’ Nadja interrupted.
‘According to him, yes,’ Alm said. ‘If we find the person who was sitting at Laurén’s computer, then we’ve solved this,’ Alm said.
‘I’ll have a serious go,’ Nadja said, taking a deep breath to gather her strength.
‘I’m listening,’ Bäckström said. Here goes the whole fucking bird feeder, he thought.
‘The only person who could have been sitting at Seppo’s computer is him. It’s completely out of the question that anyone else might have been sitting there.’
‘What makes you think that, Nadja?’ Bäckström said.
‘Because Seppo is unique,’ Nadja said. ‘There’s probably only one person anywhere who’s like him.’
What the fuck is she saying? Bäckström thought. The boy’s retarded, for God’s sake.
‘He spent that night solving Sudoku puzzles, you know, those Japanese number puzzles that all the papers are full of. The difference is that the ones he was solving on his computer were three-dimensional, a bit like a Rubik’s Cube, you know. From the computer log I know which quizzes he solved and how he did it. He solves them in such a way and at such speed that I believe he has a quite unique intelligence. There’s probably only one Seppo in the whole world.’
‘But the poor lad’s soft in the head,’ Bäckström said.
‘No,’ Nadja said. ‘I may be no doctor, but I’m guessing he’s got a particular form of autism, which means that his speech has fallen behind. We think he talks like a child. In actual fact he says nothing beyond what is necessary to convey his message. Pretty much like young children talk before their parents teach them a load of unnecessary words, irony, sarcasm, and how to lie.’
‘So the lad’s a genius?’ What the hell is she saying? Bäckström thought.
‘Definitely a mathematical genius,’ Nadja said. ‘Socially handicapped? Sure, if we’re measuring him in our own terms. When he hit Danielsson in the face the first time he said he did it because he was angry at him for pushing his mother. The next time he does it is when he’s angry again, because his mother doesn’t want to talk to him. Surely you can’t say it any more straightforwardly than that? When he helps Danielsson into the lift after the first time, he says that Danielsson got in the lift and went home. Not that Danielsson pressed to go down in the lift and got out at the first floor, where he lives. And then went into his flat and closed the door behind him. All the things that normal adults would have said without actually having a clue. Read your own record of the interview, Lars. Read it,’ Nadja said.
‘You’re absolutely sure, Nadja? About what you’re suggesting, I mean?’ Annika Carlsson said.
‘Absolutely sure,’ Nadja said. ‘This morning I e-mailed him a three-dimensional Sudoku, which I’ve spent the past three weeks grappling with, whenever I haven’t had anything better to do.
‘I got it back right away,’ Nadja said. ‘He even told me what I needed to do. In his own basic, childish language.’
‘Okay,’ Bäckström said. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get much further. Besides, we’ve got plenty to do.’
‘We’re listening,’ Annika Carlsson said, leaning over her notebook.
‘We’ll have to go door-to-door in number one Hasselstigen for a third time,’ Bäckström said. ‘Take some good pictures of the Ibrahim brothers and Hassan Talib and see if anyone has ever seen them there. It would be particularly interesting if anyone has ever seen them have any contact with Karl Danielsson.’
‘You think there could be a connection between our two murders and Toivonen’s investigation?’ Annika Carlsson said.
‘Don’t know,’ Bäckström said. ‘But Toivonen seems to think there is,’ he said. ‘And because I’ve always been a nice, accommodating colleague, I thought I’d better look into it.’
‘Okay, that’s what we’ll do,’ Annika Carlsson said, getting up abruptly.
‘I thought I might help out this time,’ said Bäckström, who had been carrying a deadly weapon for several hours now and was longing to get out into the jungle beyond the police station.
‘Can I sit down?’ Nadja said when she came into Bäckström’s office just a couple minutes after the meeting.
‘Of course, Nadja,’ Bäckström said, smiling his friendliest smile. ‘You should know, my door’s always open for you.’ I wonder what’s happening with that vodka she said she could get hold of? he thought.
‘How can I help you?’ he went on.
‘You can help me with this,’ Nadja said, holding up Karl Danielsson’s black pocket diary.
‘I thought we’d already solved that bit,’ Bäckström said.
‘I’m not so sure anymore,’ Nadja said.
‘Tell me,’ Bäckström said, as he adopted his favorite position, and, for safety’s sake, put his feet up on his desk so that his visitor could at least catch a glimpse of little Siggy’s nose.
‘There’s something that isn’t right,’ Nadja said.
‘With your calculations of how much money he gave them?’ Bäckström asked.
‘No,’ Nadja said. ‘There isn’t much wrong with those, if the assumptions are correct, and I’m absolutely convinced it’s all about money.’
‘I’m listening,’ Bäckström said. Like a razor blade, he thought.
‘The psychology doesn’t fit my picture of Danielsson,’ Nadja said. ‘If it really is the case that he paid out money pretty much every week to Farshad Ibrahim, Afsan Ibrahim, and Hassan Talib, in other words, the initials FI, AFS, and HA, I can’t understand why he’d take the risk of writing it down in his own notebook.’