‘Oh, it’s probably not as bad as that,’ Bäckström said, rubbing his round nose. ‘But there is one thing that you could help me with.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘The name of your acquaintance. The one who was interested in that painting of the fat monk.’
‘Alexander Versjagin’s painting of Saint Theodore?’
‘That’s the one,’ Bäckström said.
‘Under an oath of silence, strictly between us?’
‘Of course,’ Bäckström said, with a nod of encouragement.
‘In that case,’ GeGurra said with a light shrug. ‘In that case, I shall have to deviate from my principles. But I have a feeling that you’ll know who it is as soon as I say the name. He’s supposed to be something of a legendary figure where you work, out in Solna.’
‘So what’s his name, then?’
‘Mario Grimaldi. You know, the Godfather.’
127
Bäckström spent most of the weekend thinking about his case, and lawyer Thomas Eriksson’s tragic demise, although he was happy to leave the finer judicial details of this to Lisa Lamm and her associates. There were other aspects that were more interesting. He also made sure to stick to his usual routines as far as food, drink and exercise were concerned. ‘A healthy mind in a healthy body’ had become something of a mantra for him, and the slightest deviation from that rule was unthinkable.
He spent the remainder of his time reducing the now endless queue of women longing for a go on the super-salami. Two fresh and hitherto untested talents. On Saturday afternoon a 25-year-old nail technician who, to judge by the pictures she had taken of herself with her webcam, seemed extremely promising, although unfortunately she turned out to be a definite disappointment when it came to the real practical test.
At best a four, a weak four, a very weak four, Bäckström thought when it was finally over and he could send her home to the run-down suburb where she probably lived. He was obliged to cancel the promised dinner because he received an urgent call from work requiring him to attend the scene of a new murder out in Rinkeby immediately.
‘God, that’s awful,’ the nail technician said in the hall when she was on her way out. ‘We’re so lucky to have people like you. Promise we’ll meet up again soon.’
‘Of course,’ Bäckström lied. ‘You must do this again.’
For the rest of day he resumed his usual routines and rounded off the evening with a decent dinner at Operakällaren in his own company.
Sunday was an improvement. A considerable improvement. He ate lunch with a 35-year-old self-employed accountant, and when they finally got down to business she turned out to be a completely uninhibited sex maniac, the sort he would never dream of entrusting with his money or financial documents. Not that he could imagine why she would want those, given her other talents. A strong eight, possibly even a weak nine, which probably put her at the very top of all the number-crunchers in the world. In his mind’s eye he saw her standing at the top of the podium at the end of the sex world cup for accountants. Perched up there on all fours sticking her arse in the air coquettishly, her pendulous breasts swinging freely and her steamed-up spectacles sitting askew on the end of her nose.
‘Promise we’ll meet up again soon,’ she said in the hall when she was on her way out.
‘You can be pretty confident of that,’ he replied, having already added her number to the quick-dial list on his mobile.
He let himself have an early night and, as on so many previous occasions, the truth sought him out in his dreams without him having to make the slightest effort. That was just the way it was for the privileged few who, like him, had been given the gift of seeing what was actually going on instead of allowing it to be obscured or hidden by things that only appeared to be going on. And considering who his so-called murder victim was, he could hardly think of a better end to that part of the story.
On Monday morning, when he was sitting in the back of the taxi that was taking him to the police station in Solna, he was more or less sure of how the whole thing had happened. All that remained was to slot the final pieces in place before he could devote himself to what this was all really about. To finding a sufficiently secure and discreet way of making sure that little Pinocchio and his long nose remained in the possession of his new owner, Detective Superintendent Evert Bäckström.
VII
The prosecutor concludes the investigation into the murder of Thomas Eriksson the lawyer
128
The first thing Bäckström did to start the new working week was to talk to Nadja.
‘What do we know about the company that owns the Merc we were tipped off about?’ he asked.
According to Nadja, they now knew a fair bit. Genco Ltd had been founded in January 1976, almost exactly six months after the film The Godfather: Part II was released in Swedish cinemas. Since then it had been mainly engaged in importing and selling Italian food and delicacies: olive oil, pasta, wine, salami, ham, cheese. It appeared to be a well-run and profitable company.
A wholesaler in the grocery business, with its head office and warehouse outside Malmö, a dozen employees, and during its almost forty years of operation it had never made a loss or had any difficulties at all with the authorities. They paid their taxes and national insurance contributions on time, and all the permits they were required to have seemed to be in good order. For the past few years annual turnover had been in the region of twenty million kronor per year.
‘There really isn’t anything remarkable about that, and the company makes something like a million in profit each year,’ Nadja concluded.
‘So what are they doing leasing out cars?’ Bäckström asked.
According to Nadja, that appeared to be a lingering remnant from the business’s early days, when it was involved in more varied activities. It also used to be involved in financing restaurants and catering companies, and similar enterprises. At some point they acquired a smaller company that hired out limousines. Those parts of the business had all been wound down in an orderly fashion now, and all that remained of the leasing company was the Mercedes in question.
‘Four years old, cost around a million when it was bought, excluding VAT. Its current value is somewhere close to half a million,’ Nadja said.
‘Sounds to me like a bit of basic money laundering,’ Bäckström replied.
That thought had also occurred to Nadja, even if she was far from sure that was actually the case.
‘The simplest explanation is probably still that they really are engaged in the activities that they claim to be involved in. After all, they’ve been doing it for a fair few years now, and neither the police nor the tax office seem to have raised any objections.’
‘Who owns the business?’ Bäckström asked.
‘Seems to be owned by a tough old bird,’ Nadja said with a slight smile. ‘Andrea Andolini, ninety-two years old. She’s lived in Malmö for the past fifty years and has been a Swedish citizen for the same length of time. She’s spent her whole life in the restaurant business, and at a guess probably arrived as part of the first wave of workforce immigration in the sixties. Never married, no children, and she’s still chair of the company’s board.’
‘Yes, they’re supposed to be tough, those old pizza-bakers,’ Bäckström sighed.
‘And now of course you’re wondering how she’s related to the Godfather,’ Nadja said. ‘Even I watch the occasional film, you know,’ Nadja declared when she noted Bäckström’s look of surprise.
‘Yes, I’m listening,’ Bäckström said. That Russian’s as sharp as a scimitar, he thought.
‘There was something about the name of the company that made me react. I got the rest from the internet. Andrea Andolini is the Godfather’s aunt. Not Vito Corleone, born Andolini, but our very own local godfather here in Solna, Mario Grimaldi. Who actually comes from Naples rather than Sicily.’
‘Who’d have thought it?’ Bäckström said.
‘Quite. Funny the way
things turn out sometimes,’ Nadja agreed.
‘Get some good pictures of Grimaldi and we’ll go round Eriksson’s neighbours again. Wasn’t there a witness who saw an old man with white hair sitting on the steps of Eriksson’s house? Around the time Eriksson died?’
‘Already underway,’ Nadja said. ‘Felicia was going to talk to our witness this morning.’
129
A seriously depleted investigative team that didn’t seem especially energetic, even when you took into account the fact that it was Monday morning and that their two forensic medical officers had in all likelihood deprived them of a murderer and a probable lifetime sentence and had at best given them a standard-issue thug and a couple of years in prison instead.
‘It’s a genuine pleasure for an old policeman like me to be confronted with so much enthusiasm,’ Bäckström declared, glaring bitterly at the meagre gathering.
‘Well, considering what our medical officers told us and what happened down in Nyköping with Åkare, García Gomez and our witness, perhaps that isn’t so surprising,’ Annika Carlsson said.
‘That may apply to you,’ Bäckström interrupted. ‘As for me, I don’t leave anything half done. I want to get hold of the as yet unidentified perpetrator who beat Eriksson up so badly that his heart decided to give out. That’s the first thing.’
‘Noted,’ Annika Carlsson said.
‘Don’t interrupt me. I also want to get hold of his similarly unidentified accomplice who shat himself on Eriksson’s sofa, and even if he only did that to cause trouble, I want him charged with criminal damage. That’s the second thing. Have I expressed myself clearly enough?’
‘Abundantly clearly,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘Is there anything else we can do for you, boss?’
‘Find out what really happened that evening in Eriksson’s house. How come a bit of squabbling about some paintings ended up leading to a full-blown gang war? That’s the third thing.’
‘Of course, boss,’ Annika said. ‘Anything else?’
‘I’m more than happy to let you deal with the administrative details and paperwork,’ he said. ‘Make sure we hand everything we’ve got on Åkare, García Gomez and Afsan Ibrahim to our colleagues down in Södermanland. Don’t forget to ask them if they can take over responsibility for those threats, the ones made against Danielsson and that girl who works at his office.’
‘That’s already being taken care of,’ Annika Carlsson said.
‘Good. The time of tomorrow morning’s meeting will be announced later today. I’ll expect to see everyone here so that we can finally bring this miserable business to an end. You just need to do as I tell you. That’s really all there is to it. Is that really so hard to understand?’
130
Little Felicia seems happy, Bäckström thought as he walked out of the meeting and saw her smiling and waving to him.
‘My room,’ Bäckström said, gesturing with his hand.
Their witness had picked him out as soon as Felicia showed him the pictures. He hadn’t shown any sign of hesitation and was quite prepared to testify under oath, even though the elderly man he had seen sitting on Eriksson’s front steps with his white-haired head in his hands didn’t look anything like an ordinary murderer.
‘Mind you, I don’t suppose he is, if I’ve understood correctly,’ Felicia said.
‘No, but there’s one more thing,’ Bäckström said. ‘A favour I was wondering if I could ask from you. I want this to stay strictly between us for the time being. I want you to go and talk to this person.’
He jotted a name, address and mobile number on a blank page of his black notebook, tore it out and gave it to Felicia.
‘Ask him if I can take him out for lunch. At that bar out in Filmstaden where he and his associates usually meet for a drink whenever AIK are playing.’
‘Alphyddan?’
‘That’s the one. If you’re wondering why I can’t just call him and ask, it’s because there’s a certain risk that he’d just put the phone down on me. So go and see him, convince him of my friendly intentions, then make sure he gets a pilsner and a decent short on the side as soon as he’s there. I want him in a good mood. Then you call me, and I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘You think this is the other man we’re trying to get hold of, boss?’ Felicia asked, holding up the note she’d been given.
‘Do you usually watch the Disney cartoons on Christmas Eve?’
‘Always,’ Felicia said with a smile. ‘Ever since I arrived in Sweden.’
‘Then you’ll be familiar with Chip ’n’ Dale. You know, those two chipmunks. The ones who keep causing trouble for Mickey Mouse when he tries to decorate his tree.’
‘Yes, and his dog too, Pluto,’ Felicia said, unable to conceal her delight.
‘Can you imagine Chip without Dale?’
‘No,’ Felicia said, shaking her head.
‘Me neither.’
131
As soon as Felicia left him, Lisa Lamm called his mobile and asked if they could meet for a chat. She needed at least fifteen minutes of his valuable time.
‘I thought you were still here,’ Bäckström said. ‘In the building, I mean.’
‘I am,’ Lisa Lamm said. ‘I just wanted to check I wouldn’t be disturbing you first.’
‘I’m in my office. You’re more than welcome, no problem,’ Bäckström assured her.
Our meek little Prosecutor Lamm really isn’t much like Officer Carlsson, he thought, shaking his head.
From the little that Bäckström had said during their meeting, Lisa Lamm had formed the definite impression that things were beginning to come together. That it would soon be time for her to clear her desk and get on with her life. Bearing in mind her own role in proceedings, she would obviously be very happy if Bäckström could satisfy her curiosity. That was the first reason why she wanted to see him.
She had a better understanding of the second reason why she wanted to see him. Bearing in mind Bäckström’s own role, she wanted to bring him up to date with the latest legal developments in their case.
Bäckström replied by first apologizing. He certainly wasn’t trying to withhold any information from the head of his preliminary investigation. On the contrary, he had been thinking of informing her once the morning meeting was out of the way. As soon as he had dealt with a few pressing matters, which he had now done.
‘You only have to open any newspaper to see what I mean,’ he said, looking at her seriously. ‘This investigation’s leaking like a sieve,’ he added.
‘I hope you’re not worried about me?’ Lisa Lamm said.
‘Not in the slightest,’ Bäckström said, shaking his head very firmly. ‘I’m worried about the others. We’ve got thirty people in our investigative team, and probably another thirty in the building who have a reasonable idea of what we’re doing. Sadly, there appear to be a few of them who don’t seem to know how to keep their mouths shut. And what can we do about that? You and I, I mean. Nothing. Not a sausage,’ he concluded, now red under the eyes and evidently having trouble concealing how upsetting he found this.
Lisa Lamm was in full agreement with Bäckström. It was a sorry state of affairs. Especially in a case that was as sensitive in terms of media coverage as this one was. But it was a situation that they would probably both just have to put up with.
‘I hear what you’re saying,’ Bäckström said. ‘My problem is that it only takes one blabbermouthed colleague to ruin what would otherwise be a perfect investigation.’
‘A delicate situation,’ Lisa Lamm said with a nod of agreement. ‘Do you want to start, or shall I?’
‘Why don’t you start?’ Bäckström said.
Lisa Lamm was thinking of releasing von Comer from custody after lunch. They had enough evidence on the charge of aggravated fraud. All that remained were a few details. Such as finding out who Eriksson’s employer was – the ultimate victim of the fraud.
Bäckström had no objections.
Both
Afsan Ibrahim and Omar ben Kader had been in touch, via their legal representatives. It had come to their attention that they were being sought by the police on suspicion of making illegal threats. Something which they naturally both denied, and the simplest solution was surely that the police suggest a time for them to come to the police station in Solna to discuss the matter.
‘I’ve already spoken to Lewin, who’s promised to take over that part of the case as well. So as not to alert them unnecessarily, he wants his detectives to interview them out here in Solna.’
‘Sounds sensible,’ Bäckström said. ‘You’d never be able to bring charges against them for that.’
Lisa Lamm agreed with him on this point as well. Danielsson had already been in touch to say that he didn’t want to press charges about what had happened in his office. There was no question of them having made unlawful threats. Possibly an intermittently animated discussion, but as both he and the prosecutor were well aware, that wasn’t currently an offence covered by the Swedish Penal Code.
‘What about that girl who works there, then?’ Bäckström asked. ‘The one they paid a home visit to? If you ask me, I get the distinct impression that she was seeing Eriksson.’
‘Worked there,’ Lisa Lamm corrected. ‘Apparently, she resigned the same day she was interviewed out here. She seems to have gone abroad for a long holiday. Not sure where. As far as her relationship with her former boss is concerned, I’m inclined to agree with you.’
Bäckström contented himself with a gentle sigh and a nod. Where have I heard that before? he thought.
‘Did Danielsson have anything else he wanted to tell us?’
‘Two things,’ Lisa Lamm said. ‘Firstly, that Eriksson and Partners will no longer be representing Afsan Ibrahim and his friends. Secondly, that he is relinquishing the post of executor of Eriksson’s estate. If you ask me, I’d say those two facts are related, given Eriksson’s business dealings with Afsan.’
The Sword of Justice Page 46
