BooksBarbecue
Back Bad Apples
Chapters (65)
  1. 1
  2. 2
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  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
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  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
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  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. 45
  46. 46
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  48. 48
  49. 49
  50. 50
  51. 51
  52. 52
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  61. 61
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  63. 63
  64. 64
  65. Acknowledgements

The song on the stereo ends and there’s a silent pause.

‘Hans Wimmer, the clockmaker, found the tooth sitting atop an antique pocket-watch inside his shop. A Longines. He went down to his basement, apparently he has a watch archive or something down there, and when he came back up there was a molar resting on a closed, silver pocket watch.’

‘Think he’s telling the truth?’ I say.

‘Why wouldn’t he be? He brought the tooth directly to us, he didn’t have to do that.’

I nod and the next song starts up.

‘Chief thinks someone’s testing us. Perhaps someone who is angry with Gavrik police department. Trying to make a fool out of us. Toying with us. Seeing if we’re up to the job.’

‘Prints?’

‘Linköping will tell us soon enough. Listen, feel free to say no, if you like, but I need a favour. I have my mid-year appraisal coming up next week…’

‘Nice timing,’ I say.

She raises an eyebrow.

‘I’m not as good at writing as you are. Take a look over the forms for me? Just a quick glance?’

‘Of course,’ I say, placing my hand on hers. ‘Happy to.’

She looks pensive, pulling her robe tighter around herself.

‘What?’

She swallows hard and pushes the chocolate-cake box away from her.

‘They found something else on Arne Persson.’

‘What is it?’

‘I shouldn’t be talking about it, so you have to keep this to yourself for now. Nobody else knows outside the police and it can’t go in the paper. Can’t even be discussed inside your office.’

I mime zipping closed my mouth and throwing away the key.

‘White coats found a human hair not belonging to Arne. Found it on his severed head.’

‘Whose?’

‘Not that easy. Can’t test for nuclear DNA, because there was no hair root. But the colour.’

I frown.

‘The hair was red.’

33

I drive to the Posten office and the streets are full of coat-clad Monday-morning workers. One of the managers from the liquorice factory flashes his headlights at me and Mrs Björken from the haberdashery turns her face as I drive past.

The bell above the door tinkles. Empty biscuit-tin honesty box, a fresh stack of Postens for walk-ins, and the smell of ICA Maxi budget coffee coming from the kitchen. All feels reassuringly familiar.