Linda, As in the Linda Murder

55

In the county police commissioner’s office one floor above, no one had any idea of the enthusiasm pervading the murder investigation downstairs. On the contrary, the county police commissioner was seriously concerned, and, as was so often the case, his fears were shared by his colleague Detective Superintendent Olsson, who was both faithful and wise.

Early that same morning his secretary had called him at his summer house, even though he was on holiday, with the sole purpose of informing him that he had received letters from both CJ and JO. This was something he had previously been spared, despite having worked in the police for almost twenty-five years and having in that time accumulated increasing numbers of fellow officers to keep in line. Accepting that he had no choice, he got in his car at once and made the roughly hundred-kilometre one-way trip to the police station in Växjö. But first he had checked on his beloved wife. As usual, she was lying down on the jetty sunbathing, and as usual she just waved at him dismissively when he, as usual, reminded her to use sun cream.

Once he was in the car he called his faithful squire Olsson, and, bearing in mind the sensitive nature of the matter, was careful to stress the importance of their having the chance to discuss the matter privately first, and that it would be advantageous to withhold all information for the time being from their colleagues from National Crime.

‘I completely agree with you, boss,’ Olsson concurred, promising to talk to Bäckström at once and ask him to take charge of the morning meeting in Olsson’s absence, but without going into the reasons.

After discussing the situation in peace and quiet over a cup of coffee, it turned out that they agreed on much more than just that. The information in the newspaper article had admittedly, and entirely as usual, been both seriously spun and violently exaggerated, but Olsson had still attempted on several occasions to get their colleagues from National Crime to hold back.

‘I suppose in part I see it as them having a completely different culture of policing from the one we have down here,’ he explained. ‘And it really does seem like they’ve never had to take the cost of things into consideration. It’s very much get up and go, if you know what I mean.’

As far as the response to JO and CJ was concerned, he promised to look into the precise details. His boss had no need to worry himself with that at all.

‘If it comes to it, I’ll just have to give them a stiff talking to,’ he said, straightening his back.

Olsson’s a rock, the county police commissioner thought, wishing it were possible to ask him to call the newly appointed head of the National Crime Unit for him as well. That was a conversation he probably ought to get over and done with more or less immediately; he had been getting wound up about it since early that morning. What is it the others call him? he thought. The Butcher of Ådalen?

He himself had only met him on a couple of occasions, but that was more than enough to appreciate how he had earned the nickname. A big, coarse Norrlander who seldom said anything, but had a way of looking at people that certainly didn’t contribute to the peace of mind of those under observation. Some sort of distant country cousin with no background, education or even the slightest hint of legal training, the county police commissioner thought, a shiver running down his spine.

Maybe it would be best if I called him myself after all, the county police commissioner thought, and without thinking about it he tapped in the same mobile number as the one his old classmate had used only a week before.

‘Johansson,’ a voice snapped abruptly at the other end of the line.

HNC Lars Martin Johansson wasn’t the only person getting a telephone call. At roughly the same time as the county police commissioner called him, the head of the CP group, Inspector Per Jönsson, called his colleague Bäckström down in Växjö to offer his services in light of the DNA match he had just heard about. An excellent opportunity to pay back, in a subtle way, the various shameless remarks that Bäckström had spewed out the last time they met, Jönsson thought.

‘I don’t really see what the problem is,’ Johansson interrupted after having to spend far too long listening to the county police commissioner’s tirade. ‘Your people are leading the investigation, aren’t they? I thought our people were only there to help.’ Which was probably bad enough, considering that one of them was Bäckström, but I’ll deal with that little nightmare later, Johansson thought.

‘Well, yes,’ the county police commissioner conceded. ‘The preliminary investigation is being led by one of my most reliable colleagues, a very experienced officer from regional crime here.’

‘Good to hear,’ Johansson said. ‘Tell my guys to behave properly, otherwise they’ll be in serious trouble. If you want me to recall them, I’ll need that in writing.’

‘Oh no, definitely not, definitely not, they’re doing an excellent job,’ the county police commissioner protested. In spite of the heat, his hands felt cold and clammy.

‘Okay, then,’ Johansson said.

What an extraordinarily primitive person, the county police commissioner thought.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Pelle,’ Bäckström said, evidently in an extremely good mood. ‘You’re calling to ask if you and your playmates down among the X-Files can help me and my team with something that we haven’t yet had time to work out for ourselves?’

‘Well, if you say so, Bäckström,’ Jönsson replied stiffly. ‘I’m calling to offer our analytical expertise with regard to the DNA traces on that car you found.’

‘In that case I understand correctly,’ Bäckström said. ‘You’re calling to ask if you can help us with something we haven’t yet had time to work out for ourselves.’

‘Okay, if you prefer to put it like that.’

‘Negative. I repeat: negative,’ Bäckström said loudly and switched off his phone, which he had learned was unquestionably the most effective way to finish a conversation, especially if you happened to be talking to someone like Jönsson. That’ll give the little worm something to think about, he thought.