As far as Åkare and García Gomez were concerned, he could have them behind bars within an hour, if that was what was called for. The problem was that he and everyone else in the department he ran would rather have them on the loose. For the time being, at least. Åkare and his friends were planning something big, and Honkamäki and his colleagues were inclined to let them carry on until they had enough evidence to get secure convictions, at long last.
‘This time we’ve really got our eyes on them,’ Honkamäki said. ‘It’s got nothing to do with Bäckström’s murder of that lawyer, nothing at all, but this time we’re looking at over ten years for the lot of them, more for Åkare, García Gomez and a few others.’
‘Okay,’ Toivonen said. ‘I hear what you’re saying, in which case there might be something else that you ought to know.’
‘Tell me,’ Honkamäki said.
Toivonen went on to tell him about the tip Stigson had given him three days before, about the fact that Åkare had apparently got himself a new woman, which certainly wasn’t anything that had appeared in any of the databases Toivonen had access to, and probably wasn’t on any others either.
‘She’s said to be Danish,’ Toivonen said. ‘Supposed to have come highly recommended by Åkare’s Danish brothers. My officer was tipped off by a former colleague who knows practically everyone who’s anyone out in Solna, regardless of which side of the fence they’re on.’
‘Roly Stålhammar,’ Honkamäki smiled. ‘How is he these days? I usually see him out at the races at Solvalla, pretty much every week, but it’s been a while since I last saw him.’
‘Still going, as far as I know,’ Toivonen said with a shrug. ‘If Fredrik’s latest should turn out to be one of our own, perhaps it might be time to bring her in.’
‘People talk,’ Honkamäki said. ‘I understand what you’re getting at,’ he added.
‘People talk,’ Toivonen agreed.
‘Anything I can help you with?’
One more thing, Toivonen said. Help with sorting out the question marks surrounding the fact that García Gomez had definitely shown up at their crime scene about four hours after Eriksson was murdered. During that visit he cut Eriksson’s dog’s throat and took the opportunity to smash in the head of the dog’s dead owner on his way out. And very nearly got run over by a taxi the moment he stepped on to the street.
‘García Gomez is crazy, obviously, but I had no idea he was that crazy. What the hell was he doing there? We didn’t find any sign of an orderly queue outside Eriksson’s door, if I can put it like that.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,’ Honkamäki said, shaking his head regretfully. ‘I’m as curious as you are, so it will have to be a guess. I’d say he wanted to exchange a few blunt words with Eriksson and had no idea that someone had already shut him up for good a few hours before he showed up.’
‘That same thought has occurred to me,’ Toivonen said. ‘But, considering that the likelihood of that is pretty much zero, I dropped it. But I appreciate you trying to help.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ Honkamäki said, taking a sip of his beer. ‘What I might possibly be able to help you with, however, is the registration number of that silver Mercedes you’ve been looking for.’
‘When could you do that?’ At last, Toivonen thought, with a nod.
‘As soon as possible,’ Honkamäki said. ‘I’m still grappling with the issue, if I can put it like that.’
113
Everything that was happening to him these days wasn’t really about him, but about Omar, Ara thought. For the past week his whole life had been in Omar’s hands, and every time anything slightly unusual had happened, it had started the same way. One of Omar’s many mobile phones would ring. It seemed like he had a different one in every pocket, all with different ringtones. Omar would answer with the usual short grunt. He would then switch to Arabic, which Ara barely understood a word of, and after a minute at most the call usually ended. And then things would start to happen. Like now.
‘Okay, let’s go,’ Omar said with a smile. ‘Looks like everything’s sorted.’
Two of Omar’s many assistants were standing waiting outside when they emerged on to the street. Ara had never seen these two before and, going by their manner, this would be the first and last time he met them. It wasn’t that they were at all unpleasant, but there was something in their eyes that told him they hadn’t come to socialize and make small-talk.
‘This is Ali and Ali,’ Omar said with a broad smile. ‘Ali and Ali – you have to admit that’s pretty practical. They’re going to drive us down to our last stop before it’s time for you to leave. They’ve also got your passport.’
They drove in two cars. Ali One went first, alone, in one car, and a kilometre or so behind was Ali Two, with Omar and Ara in the back seat.
‘You could be Siamese twins,’ Omar said, sounding delighted as he handed Ara his new passport. ‘You have to admit, it’s good. All you need to do is learn your name and a bit of background information. We’ll run through that later.’
It was certainly good enough for the average Swede at passport control not to notice any difference, Ara thought, nodding.
‘Samir,’ Ara said, nodding again. A Swedish citizen, like him, and, judging by his surname, from Iran, like him. Ought to work.
‘No need to worry, my friend,’ Omar assured him. ‘We didn’t just pick that up off the street. He’s a trustworthy brother who just wants to help us, that’s all.’
‘Tickets, hotel, all that sort of thing?’
‘Also sorted,’ Omar said with a smile. ‘Nothing to worry about, man.’
An hour later they arrived at the house where he was going to be spending his last night in Sweden until things had quietened down again. A red wooden house with white windows and a glassed-in veranda and its own jetty down by a little lake just fifty metres from the gravel drive where they were standing.
‘Not bad, eh?’ Omar said. ‘Every ordinary Swede’s dream house.’
‘How did you find this?’ Ara asked.
‘Another brother,’ Omar said, holding out his hands disarmingly. ‘A trustworthy brother,’ he added.
The Swedish dream of a summerhouse in the country, Ara thought. Just half an hour from Skavsta Airport but at least a kilometre away from the nearest neighbour. No one could accuse Omar of not paying attention to detail. This wasn’t the sort of place the police would think of looking for someone like him.
Ali and Ali carried their bags in. Then they nodded at Omar, got back into one of the cars and drove off, leaving the other car so Omar could drive Ara to the airport the next morning.
‘Alone at last,’ Omar said with a wide smile. ‘What do you want to do? Play cards, watch television, have something to eat?’
‘You decide,’ Ara said with a shrug.
‘How about a bit of fishing?’ Omar said, nodding towards the jetty. ‘You used to like fishing. Do you remember, when we were still at school? Sitting on the jetty with our little fishing rods, talking about life.’
‘Sounds good,’ Ara agreed. Just like when he and Omar were at school together, he thought.
Just like when they were at school together, Ara thought a couple of hours later when they were standing in the kitchen preparing a meal. Omar had caught six perch, while he had only got one roach. Just like when they were at school together twenty years ago. The only difference this time was that they hadn’t had to skive off to fish for a while and talk about life.
Then Omar’s phone rang. First, the initial grunt, then the big smile. The usual apologetic nod to Ara, because he was talking Arabic, which of course Ara didn’t understand.
‘Everything’s fine, things are moving. The kid’s tethered to the tree,’ Omar said, smiling even more broadly. He nodded and winked at Ara, who of course couldn’t understand a word he was saying.
The kid’s tethered to the tree, Afsan Ibrahim thought as he put his mobile back in his pocket. Wasn’t that what his older brother, Farsha
d, had told him Omar’s father, the great Abdul ben Kader, used to say when he described his hunting expeditions in the mountains overlooking the Mediterranean when he was young? That he used to tether a kid to a tree to lure the wolves that would otherwise rip into the families’ sheep and goats.
Like father, like son, Afsan thought, nodding slowly.
114
‘Where is everyone?’ Bäckström asked, nodding heavily towards the forlorn remnants of what just a few days before had been a full-strength squad for the investigation of a murder.
‘Bladh, Alm and Lisa Lamm are interviewing our lawyer, Danielsson,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘Rosita is off sick, and the rest are out looking for Åkare and García Gomez. And our taxi-driver, of course.’
‘Rosita’s off sick,’ Bäckström said. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘Don’t know,’ Annika Carlsson said, shaking her head. ‘She’s off sick until further notice.’ Unless that scrawny little blonde has already put her on a plane to Guantanamo Bay, Annika thought. American crew, drugged, packed and ready to go, in a red jumpsuit with her hands and feet tied.
‘Well, we can only hope that it isn’t anything serious,’ Bäckström said with a smug smile and a concerned shake of the head.
‘Quite,’ Annika Carlsson agreed. You should probably watch yourself, you little fat bastard, she thought.
‘Okay,’ Bäckström said, nodding at Niemi. ‘How are we getting on with the results from the National Forensics Lab?’
‘Things finally seem to be moving down in Linköping,’ Niemi replied, leafing through his papers. ‘If we start with von Comer, who of course is still in custody, the position is as follows …’
‘I’m listening,’ Bäckström said, making himself more comfortable on his chair.
‘The blood on the auction catalogue is his. And he’s no longer denying that, as you no doubt all know …’
Thank fuck for that, Bäckström thought. All thanks to me.
‘But it isn’t his DNA on the sofa cushion. It’s someone else’s. Unknown, not in the database.’
‘Shame,’ Bäckström said, looking like he meant it.
‘I’m afraid it’s even worse than that,’ Niemi went on. ‘We haven’t found any evidence to link von Comer to Eriksson’s house. That’s the first thing. The second is that witness, the neighbour who says he saw an elderly man with white hair sitting on the steps in front of Eriksson’s house. You remember the one I mean?’ Nods of agreement from everyone, Niemi noted.
‘We’ve shown the witness a video. It wasn’t von Comer that he saw.’
‘How sure is he?’ Annika Carlsson asked.
‘Hundred and twenty per cent,’ Niemi said with a slight smile. ‘The witness already knew von Comer. They belong to the same golf club out on Värmdö.’
‘Who’d have thought it,’ Bäckström sighed. ‘He’s not just helping a fellow golfer in his time of need?’
‘I really don’t think he is,’ Niemi said. ‘Because, according to this witness, von Comer is guilty of far greater crimes than boring old art fraud.’
‘What?’ Bäckström said.
‘It seems he cheated when he and the witness were playing a round of golf,’ Peter Niemi said.
‘That’s what his sort is like,’ Bäckström said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Anything else, Peter?’
A minor detail, possibly, but one which wasn’t without significance to anyone trying to make sense of the sequence of events of the crimes they were investigating.
‘Our forensic medical officer appears to have found dog-hair in Eriksson’s skull,’ Niemi said. ‘From his own dog, but – considering their location – they didn’t get there as a result of him stroking the dog and then scratching his head. The dog’s hairs are embedded deep in the wounds in Eriksson’s skull.’
‘So first García Gomez goes out on to the terrace and breaks Eriksson’s dog’s back, then sits astride it and cuts the dog’s throat,’ Bäckström suggested.
‘Then he goes back inside the house and, as he passes Eriksson, he lets loose on his skull with the same instrument he used on the dog. It could simply be the case that he was furious in general because Eriksson’s dog evidently had time to take a bite at his leg,’ Niemi continued.
‘Of course,’ Bäckström said. ‘The dog-hairs on the instrument end up inside Eriksson’s head, I get that. But what the hell is he doing there? Why does he turn up at Eriksson’s house in the middle of the night? Given their previous dealings, he should have expected Eriksson to throw himself at the alarm button the minute García Gomez showed up at his door.’
‘You don’t think whoever killed Eriksson earlier that evening could have called to let him know, and then García Gomez turns up, marches straight in and leaves one last message?’ Stigson suggested.
‘Is that a question?’ Bäckström said, glaring at his younger colleague.
‘Yes. What do you think?’
‘No,’ Bäckström said, shaking his head. ‘Even García Gomez isn’t that stupid.
‘To change the subject,’ he went on. ‘What about the fraud? How are we getting on with that, Nadja?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Nadja said. ‘Von Comer’s still denying it, admittedly, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to help him. Lisa says she might be able to bring charges against him as early as today.’
‘Okay,’ Bäckström said. ‘Has he got an alibi, then? For the time of Eriksson’s murder, I mean?’
‘None that anyone else can corroborate. Right now he’s refusing to answer any questions at all. His wife says she was away from Saturday to Monday. No phone calls, nothing on the computer, nothing from a neighbour to indicate that he was at home.’
‘Let’s not get carried away,’ Bäckström said with a sigh. ‘Maybe he was just out putting his red rose in the wrong vase.’
‘I don’t follow,’ Nadja said. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a metaphor,’ Bäckström said. ‘I’ll explain later,’ he added with a shrug. ‘I suggest we interview him again. Explain the situation to him and, if he still doesn’t want to tell us where he was and who with, then he’ll just have to stay locked up.’ That’ll give the papers something to write about, he thought.
‘Okay,’ Annika said, staring at him. ‘What else have we got? What about that handkerchief? Did they find anything on it?’
‘Some of Eriksson’s blood, snot and probably saliva from another unknown individual who isn’t in the database,’ Niemi said.
‘Sorry,’ Stigson said, looking like he’d just lost the thread. ‘Another one? How do you mean, Peter?’
‘Not the one who crapped on the sofa,’ Bäckström explained. That lad’s IQ is the same as his shoe size, he thought.
‘Oh, okay, I get it,’ Stigson said, cheering up.
‘It’s pretty thin, I’m afraid,’ Niemi said. ‘We can’t tie von Comer to the crime scene. Nor Åkare. What we have got is García Gomez and these two new ones. Two unknown individuals who aren’t in our database. If you ask me, I’m afraid it’s starting to look as if we’re back at square one.’
‘I agree,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘And it also rules out Afsan Ibrahim and all his friends, if we were starting to think along those lines.’
‘Hold on,’ said Bäckström, who had just had a thought. ‘What about that Omar ben Kader?’
‘You’re quite right, Bäckström,’ Nadja said. ‘Omar ben Kader has never had to give a DNA sample. But we have got his picture in the database. I imagine someone saw fit to add his passport photograph.’
‘Okay,’ Bäckström said. ‘Let’s get a DNA sample from him, then.’
Already underway, according to Annika Carlsson. For the past hour, the search had been expanded beyond Åkare, García Gomez and their witness, Ara, to include another four men: Afsan Ibrahim, Ali Ibrahim, Ali Issa and Omar ben Kader.
‘It’s as if they’ve all gone up in smoke,’ Annika concluded, shaking her head.
‘We
ll, just make sure that changes, then,’ Bäckström grunted as he stood up. ‘We can’t have cells standing there empty, costing honest taxpayers loads of money.’
115
After the meeting, Lisa Lamm had informed everyone by email of the latest developments in the investigation.
Baron Hans Ulrik von Comer was being remanded in custody, as the investigation into his activities was far from finished. From what had emerged during an interview with Peter Danielsson the lawyer, his former partner Thomas Eriksson had borrowed twenty million kronor from a bank in Cyprus. The person who negotiated the loan was Afsan Ibrahim, and the money was transferred five years ago, one month before Thomas Eriksson bought the house on Ålstensgatan.
Five days after Eriksson’s murder, Afsan Ibrahim was instructed by the bank to call in Eriksson’s debt to them. He had given Danielsson copies of the bank’s instructions and the original loan agreement, and in total he was demanding almost twenty million from Eriksson’s estate, plus around a million in interest.
Copies of these documents were circulated to all the detectives, for information, along with a few personal observations from Lisa Lamm:
‘If you ask me, I’d say it was Ibrahim who loaned the money in the first place, with the bank acting as a front for him. Naturally, I asked Danielsson about this, and he seems prepared to accept it as a possibility. Otherwise, I’m happy to be able to inform you that our forensic medical officer has promised to attend our meeting tomorrow. He will also be bringing a female colleague with him, who’s supposed to be the world’s leading expert on fatalities caused by the classic blunt instrument. The tension is almost unbearable. See you there, Lisa.’
That little lady’s worth her weight in gold, Evert Bäckström thought, getting out his secret mobile to call his tame reporter and arrange a little lunchtime meeting at some discreetly secluded location where a soon-to-be multimillionaire like him wouldn’t risk coming down with food poisoning into the bargain.
‘Bäckström, Bäckström, you’re worth your weight in gold,’ the reporter sighed an hour later, when Bäckström had just concluded his opening remarks about the ‘approximately twenty million kronor’ that former lawyer Eriksson had received from one of the biggest organized criminal gangs in the country, while he refreshed himself with a well-earned and very cold pilsner.
The Sword of Justice Page 42
