He Who Kills the Dragon

93.

Bäckström had hardly had time to put a plaster on his broken nose and get back to his own office before his colleague Niemi came rushing in.

‘What the hell happened to you, Bäckström?’ Niemi said. ‘You look like someone’s dragged you through a thornbush.’

‘Never mind that,’ Bäckström said. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘A breakthrough in the case,’ Niemi said. ‘Our colleagues at the National Forensics Lab have just called to say that they’ve found DNA traces in the washing-up gloves that Polish bloke found in the trash bin. A woman’s DNA,’ Niemi said.

‘Danielsson’s cleaner?’ Bäckström suggested. He had known better for several days now.

‘I thought that too,’ Niemi said.

The poor Finnish bastard must be soft in the head, Bäckström thought. He’s spent several days in Danielsson’s flat, and who the hell would employ a blind cleaner? he thought.

‘Until we found the same DNA under Akofeli’s fingernails,’ Niemi said. ‘The only problem is that we aren’t getting any matches on the database. We don’t know who she is.’

‘Yesterday’s news, Niemi,’ Bäckström said, leaning back in his chair even though his nose was hurting like hell. ‘We’ve got her locked up,’ he went on. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Can you pop down and get a sample from her? Then I want you and your South American partner to go and examine her apartment. Because that was where she killed Akofeli. And if you have any spare time after that, the car she used to get rid of his body is down in the garage.’

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

‘I’m a police officer,’ Bäckström said. ‘So I already worked it out a fortnight ago.’

And then Toivonen.

‘Congratulations, Bäckström,’ Toivonen said. ‘I’m starting to think that if you can manage to keep your mouth shut, we might even be able to have a civilized relationship.’

‘Thanks,’ Bäckström said. ‘You should know that you’re warming the cockles of an old constable’s heart,’ he said.

‘Don’t mention it,’ Toivonen said with a grin, then walked out.

I’ll kill you, you fucking little fox, Bäckström thought.

Then the prosecutor rang.

‘Hello, Bäckström,’ the prosecutor said. ‘I’ve just heard that you picked up our perpetrator.’

‘Yes,’ Bäckström said.

‘Then I spoke to Niemi,’ she went on. ‘So I was thinking of pushing through the formal arrest procedures tomorrow morning. We’ve got sufficient grounds now.’

‘That’s nice for you,’ Bäckström said, and hung up.

Anna Holt had even come down to his office.

‘Congratulations, Bäckström,’ Holt said, nodding and smiling. ‘You’ve killed the dragon for me.’

‘Thanks,’ Bäckström said. ‘Are we doing a press conference?’

‘I think we’ll hold back,’ Anna Holt said, shaking her dark cropped hair. ‘There’s been a bit too much of that lately. I think we’ll make do with an ordinary press release. Tomorrow, after the formal arrest procedures.’

Of course, Bäckström thought. First you take the honor away from me. Then you take the glory away from me. And I’ve got a pair of shredded linen trousers, a smashed coffee table, a blood-soaked carpet, and bullet holes in the walls and ceiling of what was once my home. As a thank-you I’ve been given a cut-glass vase that I’ve given to my alcoholic neighbor and an old police badge that’s supposed to have belonged to a mad old ass bandit who wasn’t even man enough to come out of the closet and was forced to wrestle other singlet-wearing trolls to stay happy.

‘What do you think, Bäckström?’ Anna Holt said.

‘Fine with me,’ Bäckström said, giving her the full Sipowicz as she left. Run away, now, you scrawny little nightmare, he thought.

‘What the hell are we going to do about Seppo Laurén?’ Alm said. His face was deep red, and it was just two minutes after Holt had left the room.

‘I’m glad you’re here, Alm,’ Bäckström said. ‘This is what we’re going to do. Now listen carefully.’

‘I’m listening,’ Alm said.

‘First I want you to gather together everything you’ve written about little Seppo. Then I want you to roll it all up and put some elastic bands round it. And then I want you to shove it up your ass.’

Not only is he soft in the head, Bäckström thought, as he watched Alm leave. The bastard hasn’t even got a sense of humor.

‘Respect, boss,’ Frank Motoele said. He turned his gaze outward and nodded to Bäckström.

‘Thanks,’ Bäckström said. ‘I really appreciate that.’ If I had those eyes I wouldn’t need little Siggy, he thought. I could just stand and stare at them while they beg for mercy.

‘One left,’ Motoele said, turning his gaze inward again. ‘We’ll get little Afsan after the trial. I’ve got friends out in the prison system. On both sides. Easy.’

‘I hear what you’re saying,’ Bäckström said. One left, what the hell is he saying? he thought.

‘Respect,’ Motoele repeated. ‘If we had more people like you, boss, we’d already have this sorted.’

‘Take care, Frank,’ Bäckström said. Congratulations, Evert, he thought. You’ve just made friends with the creepiest person ever to have become a police officer in the western hemisphere.

‘So this is where you’re sitting and sulking, is it, Bäckström?’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘How’s your nose, by the way?’

‘Fine,’ Bäckström said, fingering the plaster tentatively.

‘How about going and getting a beer? I’m buying, if that helps.’

‘Okay,’ Bäckström said.