Read Online Another Time, Another Life by Leif G. W. Persson - Free Book Online Page B

home.
    “How does it feel to start working as a detective?” asked Jarnebring, who didn’t want to be outdone.
    “Good,” she said, nodding. “I think I’m going to like it.”
    “You worked with the uniformed police,” said Jarnebring, and this was more a statement than a question. Strange I didn’t notice her, he thought.
    “No,” she said, shaking her head. “That was a long time ago.”
    It couldn’t have been that long, thought Jarnebring. How old could she be? A little over thirty, tops.
    “I worked at Sec,” she said. “As a bodyguard.”
    The hell you did, thought Jarnebring, but naturally he didn’t say it.
    “And now you’ve wound up in a murder investigation,” Jarnebring stated. With two real fools, he thought.
    “It’s my first one,” she said, “so it will be interesting.”
    “With two real fools,” said Jarnebring.
    “You mean Bäckström and Wiijnbladh,” she said and smiled. “I’d actually heard about them. Although it’s only now that I’m starting to believe it’s true … what I heard, that is.”
    “Bäckström is a known douche bag,” said Jarnebring. “Let me know if he messes with you and I’ll slap him around.”
    “No need to worry,” she said, smiling wanly. “I can do that myself.”
    Strange gal, thought Jarnebring. Where the hell is the police department headed?
    “So you can then,” said Jarnebring, “in a pinch?”
    “Yes,” she said, nodding with her gaze directed straight ahead and her hands steady on the wheel. “I can. In a pinch.”
    When she dropped him off outside his door and before he had even managed to think up a suitable farewell line, she simply drove away.
    “See you first thing tomorrow morning,” she said and smiled. “Sleep tight now.”
    Jarnebring watched the car as it disappeared down the street. Anna Holt, he thought, Inspector Anna Holt. Strange he hadn’t run into her before. After all, he’d been a policeman his entire adult life.
    Bäckström had surprised Wiijnbladh. He had offered to stay behind and make sure the crime scene was locked and sealed before they drove away.
    “Aren’t you going to ride with me?” asked Wiijnbladh.
    “No,” said Bäckström, smiling mysteriously. “I’ve got a little something going if you know what I mean. And you have to drop off what we’ve confiscated up at tech. So I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “That’s nice of you,” said Wiijnbladh. What if I was to sleep at the office? he thought, but obviously he didn’t say that to Bäckström.
    • • •
    Finally alone, thought Bäckström, and as soon as the little half-fairy Wiijnbladh disappeared out through the door with his bag and baggage Bäckström locked himself in and searched through the corpse’s clothes closet. The bastard had cases of expensive alcohol. Bäckström thought about calling a taxi, but at the same time a real pro took no unnecessary risks. Who knew, there might still be some reporter outside on the street. Whatever. There would be other occasions to return for more bottles—rather that than the goods ending up in the general inheritance fund for any relatives the victim appeared not to have had. The bastard.
    Good thing he had brought his winter coat. The be-all and end-all of crime scene investigation gear, thought Bäckström with delight, an ample coat with deep pockets. He put some well-chosen bottles in the pockets and then locked up from the outside with the victim’s keys, pasted sealing tape on the door, and took off.
    When he got home he sat down on the couch in front of the TV and inspected the goods he’d brought with him. Then he pondered how to set up the investigation so that he could mess with Jarnebring and that skinny police dummy he’d had with him.
    “Cheers,” said Bäckström, raising his glass of malt whiskey toward the blurred mirror image of himself in the dark TV screen. True, he didn’t have any expensive furniture like the corpse, and it was high time that he brought