He Who Kills the Dragon

29.

‘Have we got anything else?’ Bäckström asked, glaring at the space left by Toivonen as he went.

‘There’s the stuff you asked me to look into, boss,’ Felicia Pettersson said, holding her hand up politely. ‘The idea that there was something odd about that paperboy. The one who found the body, Septimus Akofeli. I think I’ve worked out what it is. The odd thing, I mean. I went through his phone list, and I uncovered quite a bit that contradicts what he told us when we interviewed him.’

Who’d have thought it? Bäckström thought. So the pretty little darkie had come out of her shell. Even if she was still wet behind the ears.

‘What was it, then?’ said Bäckström, who wanted to go off to the bathroom and drink a few liters of cold water and take a couple more paracetamol and a little mint mouthwash on top. Maybe he could get away from this madhouse and get back home to his cozy abode, where the fridge and cupboards were once again stocked to their old standard.

‘Akofeli had a pay-as-you-go phone,’ Felicia Pettersson said. ‘The sort of cell where no one knows who the subscriber is. On Thursday, May fifteenth, when Danielsson was found, he made ten calls in total. The first one was at six minutes past six in the morning, when he calls the emergency number. That conversation lasted about three minutes — one hundred and ninety-two seconds, to be precise,’ she said, nodding toward the sheet of paper in her hand. ‘Immediately after that, at nine minutes past six, he calls another number, belonging to another pay-as-you-go cell. The call was ended after fifteen seconds, when the voice mail clicked in. Then he called the same number again, and that call is also terminated after fifteen seconds. Then a minute passes before he dials the same number for a third time. That call is ended after five seconds. At eleven minutes past six, to be precise, and that’s what’s interesting.’

‘Why?’ Bäckström said, shaking his head. ‘What is it that makes it so interesting?’

‘That’s when our first patrol entered the building at number one Hasselstigen. I get the impression that when Akofeli heard someone coming, he ended the call and put his cell away.’

‘What about the other calls, then?’ Bäckström said, making an effort to look as sharp as anyone could with the hangover he had.

‘At nine o’clock or so he called his work to say that he was going to be late,’ Pettersson said, for some reason looking at Annika Carlsson.

‘He asked me for permission before he called,’ Carlsson confirmed with a nod.

‘The next call was also to his work. He made the call just before he left Hasselstigen.’

First one call to the police, then three to some damn pay-as-you-go cell, then two to work. One plus three plus two makes... Yes, what the hell does it make? thought Bäckström, who had already lost the thread.

‘The seventh call was made just after lunch,’ Felicia Pettersson went on. ‘At twelve thirty-one, to be precise. He calls a business that is a client of the courier service he works for. He’s supposed to be picking up a package but has the wrong door code.’

‘How do you know that?’ Bäckström asked.

‘Because the customer has gone to lunch. He doesn’t answer. So he then makes his eighth call to the courier company to see if they can find the right door code.’

‘You’ve spoken to them?’ Bäckström said. ‘Why did you do that? Was that sensible?’ Young shits, he thought.

‘I think so,’ Felicia said with a nod. ‘But I’ll get to that.’

What the hell is the pretty little thing saying? Bäckström wondered. We’re going to have to have a little chat about respect and authority, he thought.

‘He makes the ninth call after he finished work, at seven or so that evening, and the tenth and final call is made four hours later. At quarter past eleven that evening. Both calls are to the same pay-as-you-go cell that he tried to call that morning. He gets no answer, and both calls are terminated after seven seconds, which has to mean that the owner had switched the phone off. So out of a total of ten calls he made that day, five of them were to the same pay-as-you-go number, and we have no idea who owns that phone.’

‘It doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything except that he was calling a friend to tell them what had been happening to him,’ Bäckström said, sounding as cross as he felt. ‘Don’t all people like that have pay-as-you-go phones? That’s the whole point, isn’t it? That you can’t be traced?’

‘Yes, I know. I’ve got a pay-as-you-go phone myself. It’s actually quite practical,’ she said, looking at Bäckström without seeming the slightest bit bothered.

‘Okay,’ Bäckström said, trying to make his voice softer, since Annika Carlsson’s eyes had already narrowed considerably. ‘I’m sorry, Felicia, but I still don’t understand what’s so odd about any of this.’

‘It’s because he’s disappeared,’ Felicia Pettersson said. ‘Septimus Akofeli has disappeared.’

‘Disappeared,’ Bäckström said. What’s she saying? he thought.

‘Disappeared,’ Felicia went on, nodding. ‘He’s probably been missing since Friday. That morning he delivered the papers as usual, but he never showed up at the courier firm where he works during the day. It’s the first time this has happened, and he’s actually worked there for over a year. His cell is also completely dead as of Friday. Switched off. The last call from his cell is the one he made at quarter past eleven on Thursday evening, to the pay-as-you-go number with the unknown owner, and since then it’s been switched off.’

‘I’m listening,’ Bäckström said, nodding encouragingly. So sooty pinched the briefcase, he was thinking.

‘They tried calling him from work several times on Friday,’ Felicia went on. ‘When he didn’t come to work on Monday, one of his colleagues goes round to his home and rings on the door. He lives out in Rinkeby, at seventeen Fornbyvägen, but there was no answer. So he went back outside and looked through the window. He lives in a one-room flat on the ground floor, and the curtains weren’t fully closed. The flat looked empty, according to his workmate. So, if he wasn’t hiding to avoid having to answer the door, he wasn’t home. Later that day the head of the courier firm reported him missing, and because he lives in our police district, this is where the report ended up. I came across it when I was checking him out, and that was when I called his work.

‘To answer your previous question, boss,’ Felicia Pettersson concluded, looking at Bäckström with a perfectly correct expression on her face.

‘This isn’t good,’ Bäckström said, shaking his head. ‘We’ll have to try to find... find Akofeli. Can you take it, Annika?’

‘Felicia and I can,’ Annika Carlsson said with a nod.

‘Good,’ Bäckström said, getting up with a jerk. ‘Keep me informed,’ he said.

‘One more thing,’ Bäckström said, stopping in the doorway and letting his gaze sweep over his colleagues before settling on Felicia Pettersson.

‘This business of the calls to that pay-as-you-go number, and the fact that he’s gone missing, obviously isn’t good. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this, and it’s good that you came up with it, Felicia. But that still isn’t what’s bothering me,’ Bäckström said, shaking his head.

‘There’s something else bothering me about Akofeli,’ he repeated.

‘Like what?’ Annika Carlsson asked.

‘Don’t know, I’m still working on it,’ he said, nodding and smiling in spite of his headache. That gave them something to chew on, he thought, as he stepped out into the corridor, since the only thing that was bothering him right now was the lack of a large — very large — and very cold Czech lager.

He could hardly be bothered with people like that sooty. Anyone with a brain ought to be able to work it out, he thought. All the shit that people like that get up to, and I bet he was the one who took that briefcase. If it wasn’t Niemi or Hernandez, of course. Any snotty-nosed little kid could see it wasn’t Stålhammar. He was probably delighted with the meager amount he’d been able to pinch from the victim’s wallet.

Stålhammar beats Danielsson to death. Takes the contents of his wallet and staggers home to Järnvägsgatan. Misses the briefcase containing millions.

Akofeli finds the body. Takes a snoop around Danielsson’s flat. Finds the briefcase. Hides it somewhere. Opens it later in peace and quiet. Discovers that he’s suddenly become a millionaire. And sets off for Tahiti. Nothing more to it than that. And if it wasn’t him, then it was probably Niemi and his little Chilean friend. Okay, high time to get a bite to eat, he thought.