you?” says Petter.
“No, not at all, I use the Glock Seventeen,” she replies, “because it can cope with a lot of the defence team’s nine-millimetre ammunition.”
“Don’t you use the Czech?”
“Yes, but I prefer the M39B,” she says firmly, moving around him to enter the meeting room. He follows, and they both sit and greet Joona. “And you can get the Glock with gunpowder gas ejectors next to the sight,” she continues. “It reduces the recoil a hell of a lot, and you can get the next shot in much more quickly.”
“What does our Moomintroll think?” asks Petter, with a nod in Joona’s direction.
Joona smiles sweetly and fixes his icily clear grey eyes on them. “I think it doesn’t make any difference. I think other elements decide the outcome,” he says.
“So you don’t need to be able to shoot.” Petter grins.
“Joona is a good shot,” says Magdalena.
“Good at everything.” Petter sighs.
Magdalena ignores Petter and turns to Joona instead. “The biggest advantage with the compensated Glock is that the gunpowder gas can’t be seen from the barrel when it’s dark.”
“Quite right,” says Joona.
Wearing a pleased expression, she opens her black leather case and begins leafing through her papers. Benny comes in, sits down, looks around at everyone, slams the palm of his hand down on the table, then smiles broadly when Magdalena glances at him in irritation.
“I took the case out in Tumba,” Joona starts.
“That’s got nothing to do with us,” says Petter.
“I think we could be dealing with a serial killer here, or at least—”
“Just leave it, for God’s sake!” Benny interrupts, looking Joona in the eye and slapping the table again.
“It was somebody settling a score,” Petter goes on. “Loans, debts, gambling …”
“A gambling addict,” Benny says.
“Very well known at Solvalla. The local sharks were into him for a lot of money, and he ended up paying for it,” says Petter, bringing the matter to a close.
In the silence that follows, Joona drinks some water and finishes the last of his sandwich. “I’ve got a feeling about this case,” he says quietly.
“Then you need to ask for a transfer,” says Petter with a smile. “This has nothing to do with the National CID.”
“I think it has.”
“If you want the case, you’ll have to go and join the local force in Tumba,” says Petter.
“I intend to investigate these murders,” says Joona calmly.
“That’s for me to decide,” replies Petter.
Yngve Svensson comes in and sits down. His hair is slicked back with gel, he has blue-grey rings under his eyes and reddish stubble, and, as always, he’s in a creased black suit.
“Yngwie,” Benny says happily.
Not only is Yngve Svensson in charge of the analytical section but he’s also one of the leading experts on organised crime in the country.
“Yngve, what do you think about this business in Tumba?” asks Petter. “You’ve just been having a look at it, haven’t you?”
“Strictly a local matter,” he says. “A loan enforcer goes to the house to collect. Normally, the father would have been home, but he’d stepped in to referee a football match at the last minute. The enforcer is presumably high, both speed and Rohypnol, I’d say; he’s unbalanced, he’s stressed, something sets him off, so he attacks the family with some kind of SWAT knife to try and find out where the father is. They tell him the truth, but he goes completely nuts anyway and kills them all before he goes off to the playing field.”
Petter sneers. He gulps some water, belches into his hand, and turns to Joona. “What have you got to say about that?”
“If it wasn’t completely wrong it might be quite impressive,” says Joona.
“What’s wrong with it?” asks Yngve aggressively.
“The murderer killed the father first,” Joona says calmly. “Then he went over to the house and killed the rest of the family.”
“In which case it’s hardly likely to be a case of debt collection,” says Magdalena Ronander.
“We’ll just have to see what the postmortem shows,” Yngve mutters.
“It’ll show I’m right,” says Joona.
“Idiot.” Yngve sighs, tucking two plugs of snuff under his top lip.
“Joona, I’m not giving you this case,” says Petter.
“I realise that.” He sighs and gets up from the table.
“Where do you think you’re going? We’ve got a meeting,” says Petter.
“I’m going to talk to Carlos.”
“Not about this.”
“Yes, about this,” says Joona, leaving the room.
“Get back in here,” shouts Petter, “or I’ll have to—”
Joona doesn’t hear what Petter will have to do, he simply closes the door calmly behind him and moves along the hall, saying hello to Anja, who peers over her computer screen with a quizzical expression.
“Aren’t you in a meeting?” she asks.
“I am,” he says, continuing towards the lift.
10
tuesday, december 8: morning
On the fifth floor is the National Police Board’s meeting room and central office, and this is also where Carlos Eliasson, the head of the National CID, is based. The office door is ajar, but as usual it is more closed than open, as if to discourage casual visitors.
“Come in, come in, come in,” says Carlos. An expression made up of equal parts of anxiety and pleasure flickers across his face when Joona walks in. “I’m just going to feed my babies,” he says, tapping the edge of his aquarium. Smiling, he sprinkles fish food into the water and watches the fish swim to the surface. “There now,” he whispers. He shows the smallest paradise fish, Nikita, which way to go, then turns back to Joona. “The murder squad asked if you could take a look at the killing in Dalarna.”
“They can solve that one themselves,” replies Joona. “Anyway, I haven’t got time.”
He
