Linda, As in the Linda Murder

17 Växjö, Tuesday 8 July

Evidently not all the reporters had followed Rogersson’s advice the previous evening, because over breakfast Bäckström and his colleagues were able to enjoy the latest scoop in the largest evening paper. HE TRIED TO KILL LINDA’S NEIGHBOUR, screamed the headline, referring to the three-page article inside, on pages six, seven and eight: ‘Police murderer tried to kill me too.’ Linda’s neighbour Margareta tells her story.

‘What the fuck’s all this?’ Bäckström said to a silent Rogersson, who was driving them the four hundred metres from the hotel to the police station. ‘At three o’clock in the morning I was woken by someone trying to break into my flat,’ he read out loud. ‘But my two dogs started barking furiously and he ran off. I heard him running down the stairs. What the fuck is this?’ he repeated. ‘Why hasn’t she mentioned this before? We’ve questioned her a couple of times at least, haven’t we?’

‘She’s been questioned three times,’ Rogersson confided. ‘I’ve read them all. To begin with she spoke to the first patrol on the scene. Then our colleagues in regional crime had a long interview with her, when she was also issued with a disclosure ban. Then she was questioned a third time during the door-to-door enquiries.’

‘And not a single word about him trying to break into her flat?’

‘Not a peep.’

‘Go and see her, and question her again,’ Bäckström said. ‘Straight away. Take young Salomonson with you.’

‘Sure,’ Rogersson said.

Could it simply be the case that this is the truth, Bäckström thought. That the same crazy bastard knocked on Linda’s door and she was stupid enough to let him in?

The morning meeting was a dull affair, even though it was led by Bäckström. Most of them seemed to be waiting for the forensics report of what had happened at the crime scene, particularly the long anticipated results from the National Forensics Lab about the perpetrator’s DNA profile. Most of the meeting had been devoted to a discussion of what they had read in that morning’s paper, which upset Bäckström so deeply that he had no intention of saying why: that the media had taken the initiative in his murder investigation.

As so many times before, opinion had been divided.

‘I think it could simply be that she didn’t dare tell us when we questioned her. She was just scared,’ said the first person who spoke.

‘Another possibility is that she’s made it all up to make herself more interesting, or that the reporters put words in her mouth,’ the next said.

‘Maybe the truth is somewhere in between,’ the third said. ‘That her dogs started barking in the middle of the night, but not necessarily because someone was trying to get into her flat. Could have been a car, or a drunk out in the road?’

Things had carried on in that vein until Bäckström straightened up and raised his hand to interrupt the discussion.

‘It’ll sort itself out,’ Bäckström said, then turned to Enoksson, who hadn’t said anything either. ‘Is there any point sending you and you chums to dust down her door?’

‘They’re already on their way,’ Enoksson said.

Finally, Bäckström thought. A proper police officer.

After the meeting Bäckström had taken officer Sandberg to one side to rest his weary eyes once more, and to see how far they had got with the profiling of people connected to the victim.

‘How’s it going, Anna? Are we starting to get an idea of who was at the nightclub on Thursday?’

According to Sandberg, they were looking at a total of approximately two hundred people who were either inside the club when Linda showed up just after eleven o’clock, or arrived later that night while she was still there. Of these, almost a hundred had already been questioned. Most of those had contacted the police themselves after members of the investigating team appeared in the local media and appealed for them to get in touch. This group included six of Linda’s colleagues from police college, the friend who was also a civilian employee at the police station, and four other police officers, including Anna Sandberg herself.

‘And you haven’t got any suspicions about any of our colleagues, or any of the students?’ Bäckström said cheerfully.

‘No,’ Anna said, apparently less amused by the subject. ‘At least, not from what I’ve been able to find out. So: no.’

‘What about the rest, then? Were there many troublemakers there? And all the weirdos who haven’t contacted us? What do we know about them?’ Bloody hell, don’t any women have a sense of humour? he thought.

Nothing unusual, according to Anna. A few local troublemakers, but anything else would have been odd considering the time and place. They’d managed to speak to a number of them, and they were as upset as everyone else that Linda had been murdered.

‘So there are at least fifty people we haven’t got a clue about?’ Master Detective Anna Blomkvist, like Astrid Lindgren’s young detective, Bäckström thought.

‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘At most, if we’re only talking about men. But I don’t think it’s as many as that.’

‘So how do we get hold of them, then?’

According to Anna, it was bound to take a bit of time. Partly because it was the middle of the holiday season, and partly because a lot of them simply didn’t want to admit that they were in the club, even if they hadn’t seen or spoken to the murder victim. Besides, officer Sandberg also had an idea of her own that she wondered if she could mention.

‘I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, and to be honest I’m wondering if it’s worth the trouble.’

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ Bäckström said. So she’s lazy as well, he thought.

There were several reasons, in Anna’s opinion. It involved a great deal of work, yet no matter how hard they tried they weren’t going to get hold of everyone who was there.

‘Any other reason?’ Bäckström said. Sigh, he thought.

‘Is it really that interesting?’ Anna said. ‘Nothing suggests that anyone went home with her from the club, or followed her home. Or even that she agreed to meet up with someone she met there. If what the neighbour said in the paper is true, it looks like she just got caught by a maniac, doesn’t it? I think that looks most likely.’

‘We don’t actually know that,’ Bäckström said curtly. ‘You don’t, and I don’t,’ he added. Least of all you, he thought.

‘So we carry on?’ Anna said.

‘Exactly,’ Bäckström said. ‘I want everyone in that club identified and questioned, and if we happen to find the perpetrator somewhere else in the meantime, then we’ll stop. I’m not that stupid.’

‘Understood,’ Anna said curtly.

‘One more thing,’ Bäckström said. ‘You said I could take a look at her diary?’

‘Of course,’ Anna said. ‘Although I’m afraid that doesn’t contain anything interesting either. At least not that I’ve been able to find.’

‘Are forensics finished with it?’ Bäckström asked. What do you mean, either? he thought.

‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘Just Linda’s prints. No one else’s.’

‘Thank goodness,’ Bäckström said with a grin.

‘What do you mean?’ Anna looked at him warily.

‘I won’t have to wear those damn plastic gloves,’ Bäckström said.

‘No, you won’t,’ Anna said curtly. ‘Are we finished?’

‘Sure,’ Bäckström said with a shrug. How can a woman with such decent tits be so fucking miserable? he thought.