He Who Kills the Dragon

37.

Bäckström had started by looking at the body. That checks out, Bäckström thought, once he had reassured himself that some other, entirely unconnected sooty hadn’t turned up in the middle of his murder investigation. The right sooty, Bäckström thought, and he looked even more miserable than he had when Bäckström had seen him sitting on the landing outside Danielsson’s flat.

Then he spotted Toivonen, who was standing some way off, staring at him with his hands deep in his pockets. Bäckström walked over to him to give him something to chew on.

‘What do you think, Toivonen?’ Bäckström said. ‘Murder, suicide, accident?’

‘You talk a lot of shit, Bäckström,’ Toivonen said. ‘Try to do something useful for once. Tell me how the lad ended up here,’ Toivonen said, glaring first at Bäckström, then at the bag containing the body.

‘I think you’re on the wrong track there, Toivonen,’ Bäckström said with an amiable smile. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting that our poor victim might have been mixed up in any funny business, possibly even something criminal?’

‘What do you think?’ Toivonen said, nodding toward the bag down by the shore.

‘There’s nothing to support that,’ Bäckström said, shaking his head. ‘All the evidence suggests that Sooty Akofeli was a decent, hardworking young man. His main job was as a bicycle courier. He delivered papers in the middle of the night to earn some extra money. In spite of his impressive qualifications. You almost get the impression that he had philanthropic tendencies.

‘Akofeli could have gone on to do anything he wanted,’ Bäckström continued. ‘If he’d only had the chance to carry on for another twenty, thirty years, I bet you anything you like that he could have got himself his own moped to ride around on.’

‘Unless you feel like taking a swim, Bäckström, I suggest you shut up,’ Toivonen said. ‘A young man’s been murdered and you’re standing here talking shit about him.’

‘Okay, we’ve seen all we need to,’ Bäckström said to Annika Carlsson a quarter of an hour later. ‘What do you say about driving me home?’

‘Of course, Bäckström. I can understand that you’re eager to go for your run.’

On the way back to his cozy abode they talked about this latest development.

‘Get Niemi and Hernandez to take another look at the lad’s flat,’ Bäckström said. ‘Tell them to do it properly this time.’

‘I understand what you mean,’ Carlsson agreed. ‘Considering that he was found inside his own newspaper bag, you mean?’

‘You’re smart, Annika,’ Bäckström said with a grin. ‘I find it hard to believe that he dragged the cart with him to the courier office. He must have gone home in between and dropped it off.’

‘That’s what I’ve been thinking too,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘He usually finished delivering papers by about six o’clock. And he started work as a courier at nine o’clock. He could even have had time to get an hour or so’s sleep in between.

‘So how about inviting me in for a cup of coffee, then?’ Annika asked as she pulled up outside Bäckström’s door. ‘Besides, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’

‘Sure,’ Bäckström said. They’re crazy about you, he thought. Even a notorious carpet muncher like Annika Carlsson is trying it on.