Leif Persson - He Who Kills the Dragon

Two days after the press conference Bäckström gathered his strength for another meeting of the investigative team. Alm was sitting there, desperate to start talking, so Bäckström took his time dealing with various formalities before eventually asking Nadja to talk about her big discovery, Danielsson’s accounts and will.

Nadja wasn’t in any hurry either.

‘So you mean that Danielsson was good for twenty-five million?’

Bäckström said. A common drunk? Where the hell was Sweden heading? he thought.

‘More or less,’ Nadja said, nodding. ‘Since we got rid of inheritance tax, that’s pretty much the amount that Seppo and his mother will share between them.’

‘What about the tax office?’ Bäckström said. ‘They’re going to want to get their hands on every last krona.’

‘I can’t really believe that,’ Nadja said. ‘They’ll have a hard job blowing any holes in his bookkeeping—’

‘Which surely reinforces my own theories,’ Alm interrupted, evidently not prepared to sit and listen any longer. ‘There’s more to this than usual paternal hatred. The lad also had strong financial motives for killing Danielsson. I think it’s high time we had a serious talk with our prosecutor, so that we can bring the boy in and declare him a formal suspect. Do a thorough search of his flat. And get forensics to take a look at that baseball bat that we brought in yesterday.’

For some reason Alm glared at both Bäckström and Nadja as he relieved some of his internal pressure.

‘Don’t let’s get carried away,’ Bäckström said with a friendly smile. ‘How are you getting on with the cell phone surveillance, Felicia?’

Absolutely fine, according to Felicia Pettersson. The day before, she got hold of the records of the phone that Akofeli used to ring almost daily during the months leading up to his death. The same phone that he called five times during the twenty-four hours before he disappeared.

‘That pay-as-you-go account has only been active for about six months,’ Felicia said. ‘It seems to be used mainly to receive incoming calls on.’

‘From Akofeli,’ Bäckström said.

‘Mainly Akofeli. I’ve found another pay-as-you-go cell number, but it only calls the same number as Akofeli once a week at most. And that one’s been in use for several years.’

‘So what do we know about that one?’ Bäckström said.

‘Everything,’ Felicia said with a satisfied smile. ‘At least I daresay we know everything.’

‘Everything?’ Bäckström repeated. What the hell is she saying? he thought.

‘I got the list of calls for that one yesterday, so I’ve only just started going through it. But I’m pretty sure who it belonged to.’

‘So whose was it, then?’ Bäckström said.

‘Karl Danielsson’s,’ Felicia said.

‘What the hell are you saying?’ Bäckström said.

‘Bloody hell,’ Stigson said.

‘How do you know that?’ Annika Carlsson said.

‘Interesting,’ Nadja said.

What the hell is going on? Alm thought. He was the only one who didn’t say anything.

‘It wasn’t very hard to work out,’ Felicia said. ‘Like I said before, it was you who put me on the right track, boss.’

‘I’m listening,’ Bäckström said.

‘This phone was in regular use until the day Karl Danielsson was murdered,’ she went on. ‘Since then, nothing. The last three calls were all made at around seven o’clock in the evening, just a few hours before Danielsson was killed. First a short call to a cell belonging to Roland Stålhammar. Probably to see if he was on his way to Danielsson’s for a meal. Then a slightly longer call to Gunnar Gustafsson, Jockey Gunnar as he’s known. Maybe to thank him for the tip about the horse. And finally a short call that ends up with the recipient’s messaging service. Probably because Seppo Laurén didn’t want to be disturbed when he was sitting at his computer playing games. In fact, there are loads of previous calls to Danielsson’s various friends and contacts. I’ve only just started, so it’ll be a couple days before I’ve got a comprehensive list.’

‘Let’s see,’ Bäckström said. ‘So we’ve got three phones. They’re all pay-as-you-go. One belongs to Akofeli, and one belongs to Danielsson. And they both call a third, which only seems to be used for incoming calls, owner not yet identified. And both Akofeli’s and Danielsson’s phones have been missing since they were murdered.’

‘Yes,’ Felicia Pettersson said.

‘Next question,’ Bäckström said. ‘What about—’

‘No,’ Felicia interrupted, shaking her head. ‘Danielsson and Akofeli never called each other. If that’s what you’re wondering, boss.’

‘There’s no flies on you, are there, Felicia?’ Bäckström said.

‘Thanks, boss,’ Felicia said. ‘If you’re interested, boss, I think...’

‘Of course,’ Bäckström said.

‘... that we’ll have this case cracked as soon as we find the person who has the third cell.’

‘Definitely,’ Bäckström said. If you closed your eyes, you could almost believe that little Pettersson has got Russian blood in her veins, he thought.

‘Hang on a minute,’ Alm said. ‘What’s the connection between Danielsson and Akofeli? Apart from the fact that they were both murdered and have evidently also rung the same cell?’

‘Surely that’s enough?’ Nadja said. The man must be a complete idiot, she thought.

‘They both know the killer but they don’t know each other. At least that’s what I think,’ Felicia said.

‘And who might that be?’ Alm said. He suddenly felt the penny drop inside his head. ‘The only person who admits to knowing both of them is Seppo Laurén. If you ask me, I can very well imagine that Seppo has an extra cell, one of those pay-as-you-go phones with no recognized subscriber.’

‘Well, about that “admission,” ’ Bäckström said with a shrug. ‘The unfortunate problem with most killers I’ve met is that they aren’t usually very willing to admit anything.’

‘But this is unbelievable,’ Alm said, by now red in the face. ‘Give me a straight answer. What are we going to do with Laurén?’

‘Go and talk to him,’ Bäckström said. ‘Ask him if he beat Danielsson to death and strangled Akofeli.’

‘I’ve already asked him about Danielsson,’ Alm said.

‘And what did he say?’

‘He denied it,’ Alm said.

‘Well, there you are, then,’ Bäckström said with a grin. ‘Okay, I don’t think we’re going to get much further sitting here talking. Let’s get to work. At least that’s what I’m going to do.’

But only after I’ve had a nutritious lunch, Bäckström thought. Even a living legend needs something nice to eat, he thought.

After lunch Bäckström had spent the remainder of the day granting a number of exclusive interviews, in which the recipients of this honor had a few thoughtful words bestowed upon them along the way.

For the female reporter from the Christian daily paper Dagen , he confessed his childhood beliefs and his faith in the Lord.

‘Beaten to the ground with deadly force, I was granted the strength to get up and strike back,’ Bäckström said with a pious look in his eyes.

For the representatives of the two evening papers he had in turn revealed that he had long thought that the police were too reluctant to share information. Not least to the evening papers.

‘How else can we hope to reach out to that great detective, the general public? We’d be lost without you and your colleagues.’ Bäckström sighed, nodding to the reporter from Expressen .

‘The public interest,’ he said half an hour later when he was talking to the journalist from Aftonbladet . ‘It’s actually the duty of the police to inform the media, so that they in turn can tell our citizens how things are going.’