The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [85]
Barbro Liljendahl had seen enough of youth crime to realize that he would most likely reappear in future cases. The boy could be saved, but only if he could avoid the charges. Then it would hopefully serve as a useful lesson and for her part Barbro Liljendahl would be free to keep unraveling.
She decided to look up Ann Lindell. One reason was the fact that they had discussed the case when they bumped into each other at the hospital. But it was also with a measure of calculation that she got in touch with her colleague.
Barbro Liljendahl worked in the intelligence unit, often together with Harry Andersson. He was a decent enough policeman, but could, on and off, be a real pain. In a deliberate way, he went about diminishing her efforts, often accompanied by an obnoxiously macho comment that was perhaps intended to be funny but always sounded offensive. He laughed away her protests and told her she was oversensitive.
She wanted to leave intelligence and join violent crimes. Lindell could perhaps put in a good word for her. Barbro liked what she had seen of Lindell. She already knew Beatrice Andersson from the Police Academy, and finally, Barbro had heard that Ottosson, the chief in violent crimes was a timid and kindly soul.
“It’s a stab in the dark,” Lindell said when Barbro completed her account. Barbro smiled at the unintended pun.
“If we can make this self-defense,” Lindell went on, “then perhaps the DA can approach the whole thing from a different perspective. Fritzén is reasonable, but the new one—you know, the one with the earrings—I don’t know, she seems so … what should I say … rigid.”
“I know you have a lot going on with the Fyris river murder, but should we question Sidström together? You could make a case for it by saying that there may be a connection.”
“It’s weak,” Lindell said.
“I know, but I feel sorry for the guy somehow,” Barbro said. “His whole family is insane. If he is charged, they will make his life a living Hell. They’ll say he’s shaming the entire family. And his father is already in prison in Turkey.”
Lindell reflected for a moment.
“You know how things end up for a guy like Zero,” Barbro Liljendahl added.
“Okay,” Lindell said finally, “but I have to talk to Ottosson first. Have you worked through the list of Sidström’s acquaintances?”
“Yes, I’ve talked to some of them. Three of them are doing time.”
“There was a name I reacted to and that is Rosenberg, have you questioned him?”
“No, he and three, four others are left,” Barbro Liljendahl said.
“Okay, let’s go to Akademiska and listen to what our punctured friend has to say.”
Lindell didn’t really know why she went along with all of this. She shouldn’t have done so and Ottosson had his reservations, but in a childish way he was flattered that she wanted his blessings.
She sensed that this had to do with Berglund. His comment about Rosenberg being in the money was the kind of information she heard almost daily, and if you listened to all loose chatter then every single investigation would grind to a halt.
Was she doing this to impress him? So she would later be able to say, Thanks for the tip, it led to … or was it Ola Haver’s superior remarks in the lunchroom?
Regardless of the reason, she entered the surgical wing accompanied by Liljendahl with a certain amount of anticipation. She was also curious to see how her colleague handled the situation.
Sidström was sitting slouched over in a chair. His head was leaning forward, his chin against his chest, his arms draped over the armrests and the emaciated, very sinewy hands twitched almost imperceptibly.
“I wonder what he’s dreaming about?” Lindell whispered.
He looked considerably older than his forty-two years. Lindell guessed at a long history of drug abuse behind the grayish cast of the skin, and she was convinced his arms and perhaps his legs were covered in scars from hypodermic needles.
According to Liljendahl he had been drug-free for a year, and Lindell