He Who Kills the Dragon

33.

When Annika Carlsson and Felicia Pettersson arrived at Akofeli’s flat, Niemi and Hernandez were already there.

‘Come in, come in. We’re as good as finished,’ Niemi said. ‘I tried to call you on your cell about an hour ago but it was switched off. Toivonen sent us. He doesn’t like it when important witnesses vanish from his murder investigations. Unless he’s just getting more human in his old age and is worried because of that.’

‘We had our phones switched off,’ Annika said. ‘Felicia and I wanted to be able to talk in peace and quiet.’

‘Girly talk, you know,’ Felicia said, flashing her eyes at Chico Hernandez.

‘About me, I presume,’ Chico said with a self-conscious shrug that didn’t seem entirely put-on.

‘About the loveliest officer in the whole station,’ Felicia said with a sigh. ‘About Magda, your sister. Nice cap you’ve got there, by the way, Chico. Did you steal it from the supermarket deli?’

The cap in question was disposable, made of white plastic. Obligatory headwear for every responsible forensics officer who didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene with his own hair and dandruff. Wearing it under any other circumstances, such as a night out in a bar when you fancied meeting someone, or if you were just taking part in one of all those incredibly popular television series about forensics officers, wouldn’t have done anything for either your appearance or expectations. You’d end up going home alone late at night or getting half the usual viewing ratings.

‘Well, it’s not the cap that’s the main attraction,’ Chico said with an expressive shrug, then returned to examining the innards of Akofeli’s fridge.

One room and a kitchen, with a corner table, a small hallway, and an unexpectedly spacious bathroom with room for a toilet, shower, bathtub, washing machine, and tumble dryer. Sparsely furnished and kept clean.

In the single room, scarcely larger than an average student room, there was a bed, neatly made with a striped bedspread from IKEA, a wardrobe, a small sofa, a television and DVD player, a bookshelf that seemed to contain mainly university course books, a couple dozen paperbacks, DVDs and CDs, an exercise bench covered in green PVC, a barbell, a couple dumbbells, and a small stack of weights. But nothing to remind you of Akofeli’s African origins: no rugs, no leather, no tapestries, no statuettes, masks, or other ornaments. No posters or photographs on the walls.

Out in the kitchen was a table with two chairs. On the floor beneath the kitchen table was a computer printer, but no laptop, nor a standard PC either. The kitchen table was presumably where he worked, and bearing in mind that the flat was on the ground floor, it would have been stupid to leave the computer on the table when he wasn’t at home. The window facing onto the courtyard was at the same level as the table. The only problem was that the computer wasn’t there at all.

There had been no trace of a briefcase. Nor Akofeli’s phone. And a lot of the things that are usually missing when someone leaves in a hurry were missing. Clothes, shoes, keys to the apartment, money, ID, and credit cards. The only thing that spoiled that theory was that his passport was still there.

‘It was tucked behind the shoe rack in his wardrobe,’ Niemi said. ‘He evidently kept it hidden there, so he clearly considered it important.’

‘Do you think he’s disappeared of his own accord?’ Annika Carlsson asked.

‘Most of the evidence supports that,’ Peter Niemi said. ‘If anything has happened to him, it didn’t happen here. If it did, I’ll eat Chico’s cap,’ he added with a wide smile.

‘What about the passport, then? And his computer?’

‘The passport bothers me,’ Niemi conceded with a nod. ‘Of course, he could have had another passport — we’ll have to check if he still has his old Somali passport — but a Swedish passport would be worth its weight in gold if he’s headed off to Europe. The computer doesn’t worry me as much. It was probably a laptop, and he could easily take that with him.’

‘Say hi to Magda,’ Felicia said, flashing her eyes at Chico as she and Annika Carlsson left the flat. ‘Ask her if she fancies a night on the town with the girls.’

Chico contented himself with giving her the finger.

‘I think Chico’s a little bit stupid,’ Felicia said as they were sitting in the car on the way back. ‘He doesn’t seem to pick up the simplest things. He hasn’t got a clue that I’m hitting on him. I bet he thinks I’m a lesbian who’s after his sister.’

‘A lot of guys are like that,’ Annika Carlsson said with a smile. ‘Not just guys, come to think of it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, you know, a bit slow like that. No radar, saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things. It’s so unnecessary.’

‘Hello, so who’s the world champion, then? Are we thinking of the same man, by any chance?’ Felicia said.

‘Well, I know who you’ve got in mind,’ Annika Carlsson said with a smirk.

‘I think he’s actually a bit scared of you,’ Felicia said. ‘He probably isn’t as tough as he tries to make out.’

‘You reckon?’

‘You only have to look at him and he straightens up, poor little fatso,’ Felicia said.

‘Remember that you’re talking about your boss,’ Annika said.

‘Yes, he should be grateful for that,’ Felicia said, and snorted. ‘Otherwise he’d hear a few hard truths.’

When Niemi returned to the station, Bäckström had evidently already gone home. So he talked to Toivonen instead and gave him a short summary.

‘So you found his passport,’ Toivonen said. ‘And his cell, computer, and all the usual are missing. Have I got that right?’

‘Yes,’ Niemi said. ‘And there are no traces of anything that might have belonged to Danielsson.’

‘What about his newspaper bag? Or the pushchair or whatever he uses when he’s delivering papers. The lad must have to deliver hundreds of papers each day. I presume he doesn’t carry them all under his arm?’

‘I didn’t think of that,’ Niemi said with a grin. ‘There was no bag of that sort, and no cart in the flat. Nor in his storage space either; we looked there and it was completely empty. It doesn’t look like he had his own bike. But now that you come to mention it, I do remember that when I spoke to him in Hasselstigen he had one of those cloth shoulder bags with a strap for his papers. And we haven’t found it anywhere. I suppose he could have used that as a kind of suitcase when he left. Doesn’t look like the lad had many possessions.’

‘And no larger case on wheels? No old stroller? No cart?’

‘No,’ Niemi said, shaking his head.

‘Now what the hell would he want to take that with him for?’ Toivonen said. ‘If he really is heading south, I mean.’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ Niemi said.