‘I took a whiskey,’ Bäckström said. ‘My heart was racing at something like two hundred a minute, so I thought I needed one. I’d already worked out that I wouldn’t be doing any more work that night, and I handed my own gun to Niemi as soon as he arrived.’
The investigator had complete understanding of this too and would probably have done the same himself.
Back of the net, Bäckström thought.
Bäckström had fired a total of six shots. One of them had hit Farshad Ibrahim. Did he have any idea which of the shots that was?
‘The last one,’ Bäckström said. ‘Now that I’ve a chance to think about it for a while, I’m pretty sure of that.’
First the gigantic Talib had thrown himself at him, and he had already drawn his pistol. Bäckström had tried to defend himself and managed to draw his own weapon. Several shots had been fired while he was wrestling with Talib, before he managed to bring him down and disarm him with his bare hands.
‘Then the other one came at me with his knife, ready to strike,’ Bäckström said. ‘So I took aim and shot him in his left lower leg.’
‘Yes,’ the investigator said, and sighed. ‘Well, I think that’s everything. Sometimes there really does seem to be someone holding a protective hand over us police officers.’
‘What do you want to do now, Bäckström?’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘Do you want to go home and get a few hours’ rest? And you should probably get something to eat?’
‘The station. A burger on the way will do,’ Bäckström said. ‘After all, we’ve got a case to clear up.’
‘You’re the boss, Bäckström,’ Carlsson said.
72.
Nadja had given him a hug. Whispered in his ear.
‘I put the bag in your desk drawer.’
Bäckström was almost touched. As always when someone touched his heart.
‘Thanks, Nadja,’ Bäckström said. Russians, sentimental bastards, he thought.
Young Stigson stood up and saluted, even though he wasn’t wearing a uniform.
‘Welcome back, boss,’ Stigson said. ‘Good to see you, boss.’
‘Thanks,’ Bäckström said, patting him on the shoulder. Wonder if his dad had a go at him as well? he wondered.
‘Lucky it turned out okay, Bäckström,’ Alm said.
‘Thanks,’ Bäckström said. You slimy bastard, he thought. As if being crazy wasn’t enough, you’re an ingratiating sod as well.
‘I’m so happy you’re alive,’ Felicia Pettersson said, then she gave him a big hug. Just wrapped her arms round his neck and squeezed.
‘There, there,’ Bäckström said. They’re crazy about you, he thought.
‘Back to business,’ Bäckström said. ‘What is there to report?’
Everything was going according to plan. More or less, anyway. The door-to-door out in Rinkeby was unfortunately going slowly, though. Nothing of interest, even though their colleagues in the neighborhood police unit seemed to be putting their backs into it, Annika Carlsson declared.
The plan to map out Danielsson’s circle of acquaintances was also proving troublesome. Many of his old friends didn’t even seem particularly interested in talking about it, and Alm was starting to have more and more doubts about several of them.
‘Our erstwhile colleague Stålhammar really isn’t a terribly nice person. Seems to have had a personality transplant, sadly.’
‘You’ve changed your tune,’ Bäckström said, smiling in an extra-friendly way.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Alm said. ‘I’ve had my doubts all along.’
Nadja Högberg was still looking for Danielsson’s accounting files. She had identified and checked a number of companies that rented out storage space. So far she hadn’t come up with anything.
Toivonen had been onto her in Bäckström’s absence, asking how they were getting on following up the connections between Farshad and Danielsson. He had even offered help if it was needed. Was prepared to lend her two people from his armed robbery investigation. Nadja had explained that she thought it would all sort itself out once her boss was back. Besides, it wasn’t up to her to take that sort of decision.
‘Who did he have in mind?’ Bäckström said. ‘What did he want to palm off on us?’
‘Luft from National Crime and Asph, who works in central Stockholm,’ Nadja said with a sigh.
Airhead and Cardboardhead, Bäckström thought. He knew them both. And he already had a standard-issue Woodentop, he thought.
‘We can manage without them,’ Bäckström said. Honestly, what can you say? he thought. The minute someone tries to blow my head off they start trying to infiltrate my murder investigation.
‘Anything else?’ he added.
‘Well, I think I might have found something interesting,’ Felicia Pettersson said.
‘I’m listening,’ Bäckström said.
Felicia Pettersson had been through Akofeli’s telephone. She had requested comprehensive lists of his calls over the past three months. The number that he called five times during the last twenty-four hours before he disappeared had been listed practically every day.
‘He seems to have called that number on pretty much a daily basis,’ Felicia Pettersson said. ‘Often early in the morning. Between half past five and six o’clock, while he was delivering papers. There’s no one else that he calls anywhere near as much.’
‘But we still don’t know whose number that is?’ Bäckström said.
‘No. But it isn’t anyone he worked with, because I’ve spoken to them. And none of his family recognize the number. None of his friends. He doesn’t seem to have had many friends, actually. The people he socialized with were mainly people from the courier company or people he used to know at university. A couple of old friends from high school, and one of his neighbors. None of them recognize the number.’
‘What about the recipient? Location?’ Bäckström asked.
‘Here in Solna,’ Pettersson said. ‘Solna, Sundbyberg. Always the same towers.’
‘Have you checked police records, then?’
‘Of course,’ Felicia said. ‘The number isn’t listed on the county’s cell surveillance register. It’s there now, but only because I put it on there.’
‘Okay,’ Bäckström said, stroking his chin. ‘There’s something odd about... Akofeli.’
‘You haven’t worked out what it is that’s been worrying you, boss?’ Felicia said.
‘I’m starting to get old,’ Bäckström said. ‘With a bit of luck, sooner or later the penny will drop. We’ll stick to our plan. Sooner or later we’re going to crack this. Carry on with Akofeli, Felicia. I’ve just got a feeling. I wish I could be more precise, but for now it’s just a feeling.’
That gave them something to chew on, Bäckström thought. He was starting to feel like his usual self again. Honestly, what feeling? And how the hell am I going to get rid of Carlsson so I can have a decent drink? he wondered.
73.
That afternoon the county police chief had held an extraordinary meeting with her staff. The pressure from the media was immense. The people were demanding to see their hero, Detective Superintendent Evert Bäckström. In fact, she couldn’t recall anything similar since the murder of Anna Lindh, and then it wasn’t her they were after but the head of the county crime unit at the time. Nowadays he had been given other, less public responsibilities, but it had taken a lot of time and effort to ensure that he wasn’t plagued by unnecessary exposure in the mass media.
The new head of the human relations department had kicked off the brainstorming session with an interesting suggestion. He had previously worked for the Moderate Party’s policy think tank and had once worked as acting press secretary to the prime minister. Only a month ago he had taken part in a confidential and extremely interesting weekend conference at Gimo Herrgård Manor. And within this closed circle he saw no problems with lifting the veil a bit.