Read Online The Falling Detective by Christoffer Carlsson - Free Book Online

still only half-open. His mobile is lying next to the case-file on the table in front of him.
    Mauritzon asks to see the file, and he nudges it towards her.
    â€˜We found this as well,’ she says, ‘a hundred metres from the body, on Döbelnsgatan.’
    She pulls out one of the photographs in the file and pushes it across the table to Olausson, who picks it up inquisitively.
    â€˜Vomit,’ he states flatly.
    â€˜Yes, we’ve done some tests, but we’re waiting for the results.’
    â€˜I’m afraid that might be mine,’ I say.
    â€˜Yours?’ Mauritzon’s eyes flash between me and the picture. ‘Okay.’
    â€˜I’d had something that had gone off. The combination of that and Heber’s body, perhaps, made me nauseous.
    â€˜Right,’ says Olausson.
    â€˜I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it.’
    â€˜How long have you been back on duty?’
    â€˜Why do you ask?’
    â€˜Just wondering.’
    â€˜Thirteen days.’
    â€˜I see.’
    â€˜You see? What do you mean by that?’
    â€˜Nothing. As I said, I was just wondering.’
    He smiles and lets go of the photo. I wonder how he got that scar under his shirt. I wonder if he’s married or lives alone, whether he’s taping this meeting, I also wonder how good Olausson might be at identifying a liar.
    â€˜In that case, it’s no use in the investigation,’ Mauritzon says, stuffing the photo in her pocket and pushing the open case-file back towards Olausson.
    Birck is avoiding eye contact with me, and in turn I’m trying not to look at Olausson. It all goes round in circles, and I suspect Olausson knows. The thought makes me shiver, and my palms get clammy.
    â€˜The shoe-print in Heber’s apartment,’ I change the subject and turn to Mauritzon.
    â€˜We’re working on the apartment. We’re expecting them to be done at some point today, but … I don’t expect to get much out of it, other than the shoe-print, of course. What we can safely say is that it wasn’t the same person who was standing behind the bins on Döbelnsgatan, and it wasn’t Heber either. Whoever it was that was in Heber’s apartment has size-44 shoes.’
    â€˜The assailant could have been wearing shoes that were too big,’ Olausson says.
    â€˜Yes, that’s true,’ Mauritzon replies, tapping the tabletop with her finger. I wonder if it’s something she does when she’s annoyed. ‘But how often does that happen?’ she goes on. ‘And anyway, the shoe-prints are no use to us, unless we have something to compare them to.’
    â€˜What about his phone?’ I ask.
    â€˜Still missing,’ Birck says, flipping through his notes. ‘The last signal from his phone was picked up by a mast close to the university about half-an-hour, maybe forty-five minutes, before he died, but they couldn’t say who he’d been talking to. We’ll get the lists as soon as possible, but it’s going to be a while — late this afternoon at the earliest. Right now, the phone’s probably switched off. Or lying at the bottom of Lake Mälaren.’
    â€˜We need to find this … what was it,’ Olausson says slowly, ‘did you say 1579?’
    â€˜1599.’
    â€˜That’s right, 1599. It could be the assailant.’
    â€˜I don’t think it is.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜Doesn’t add up.’
    â€˜It might be down to the way he was stabbed,’ says Mauritzon. ‘If he was waiting for 1599 and that person wasn’t there when he got there, he’s hardly likely to have been standing waiting with his back to the alleyway. How many people wait for someone with their back turned to the direction they’re expecting them to come from? If, on the other hand, 1599 had arrived and was somewhere in the courtyard, he’d have no reason to stand there like