Sidetracked kw-5 Read online

  “It’s both a myth and a truth.”

  “In what sense is it a myth?”

  “In that it’s supposed to be something that always happens.”

  “And what’s the reality?”

  “That it actually does happen once in a while. The most classic example in our own legal history is probably from here in Skane. The policeman who committed a series of murders in the early 1950s and was later on the team investigating what happened.”

  “That’s not a good example,” Wallander objected. “He was forced to return. I’m talking about the ones who return of their own accord. Why?”

  “To taunt the police. To gloat. Or to find out how much the police actually know.”

  Wallander nodded thoughtfully.

  “Why are you asking me this?”

  “I had a peculiar experience,” said Wallander. “I got a feeling that I saw someone out by Carlman’s farm that I’d also seen outside the cordon near Wetterstedt’s villa.”

  “Why couldn’t it be the same person?” she asked, surprised.

  “No reason. But there was something odd about this person. I just can’t put my finger on what it was.”

  “I don’t think I can help you.”

  “I know,” said Wallander. “But in the future I want someone to photograph everyone standing outside the cordon, as discreetly as possible.”

  “In the future?”

  Wallander knew that he had said too much. He tapped on the desk three times with his index finger.

  “Naturally I hope nothing else will happen,” he said. “But if it does.”

  Wallander accompanied Hoglund back to her office. Then he continued out of the station. His father was gone. He drove to a restaurant on the edge of town and ate a hamburger. On a thermometer he saw that it was 26 °C.

  The press conference on Midsummer Day at the Ystad station was memorable because Wallander lost his temper and left the room before it was over. Afterwards he refused to apologise. Most of his colleagues thought he did the right thing. But the next day Wallander got a phone call from the director of the national police board, telling him that it was highly unsuitable for the police to make abusive comments to journalists. The relationship was strained enough as it was, and no additional aggravation could be tolerated.

  Towards the end of the press conference, a journalist from an evening paper had stood up and started to question Wallander about the fact that the offender had taken the scalps of his victims. Wallander tried hard to avoid going into the gory details. He had replied that some of the hair of both Wetterstedt and Carlman had been torn off. But the reporter persisted, demanding details even when Wallander said that he couldn’t give more information because of the forensic investigation. By then Wallander had developed a splitting headache. When the reporter accused him of hiding behind the requirements of the investigation, and said that it seemed like pure hypocrisy to withhold details when the police had called the press conference, Wallander had had enough. He banged his fist on the table and stood up.

  “I will not let police policy be dictated by a journalist who doesn’t know when to stop!” he shouted.

  The flashbulbs went off in an explosion as he left the room. Afterwards, when he had calmed down, he asked Hansson to excuse his behaviour.

  “I hardly think that it will change the way the headlines will read tomorrow morning,” Hansson replied.

  “I had to draw the line somewhere,” said Wallander.

  “I’m on your side, of course,” said Hansson. “But I suspect there are others who won’t be.”

  “They can suspend me,” said Wallander. “They can fire me. But they can’t ever make me apologise to that reporter.”

  “That apology will probably be discreetly given by the national police board to the editor-in-chief of the newspaper,” said Hansson. “And we won’t ever hear about it.”

  At 4 p.m. the investigative group shut themselves behind closed doors. Hansson had given strict instructions that they were not to be disturbed. At Wallander’s request a squad car had gone to pick up Akeson.

  He knew that the decisions they made this afternoon would be crucial. They would be forced to go in so many directions at once. All options had to be explored. But at the same time Wallander knew that they had to concentrate on the main lead.

  Wallander borrowed a couple of aspirin from Hoglund and thought again about what Lars Magnusson had said, about the connection between Wetterstedt and Carlman. Was there something else he’d missed? He searched his weary mind without coming up with anything. They would concentrate their investigation on art sales and art thefts. They would have to dig deep into the rumours, some almost 30 years old, surrounding Wetterstedt, and they would have to move fast. Wallander knew they wouldn’t get help along the way. Lars Magnusson had talked about the collaborators who cleaned up the mess left by those wielding power. Wallander would have to find a way of throwing light on these activities, but it would be very difficult.

  The investigative meeting was one of the longest Wallander had ever attended. They sat for almost nine hours before Hansson blew the final whistle. By then everyone was exhausted. Hoglund’s bottle of aspirin was empty. Plastic coffee cups covered the table. Cartons of half-eaten pizza were piled in a corner of the room.

  But this meeting was also one of the best Wallander had ever experienced. Concentration hadn’t flagged, everyone contributed their opinions, and logical plans for the investigation had developed as a result.

  Svedberg went over the telephone conversations he had had with Wetterstedt’s two children and his third ex-wife, but no-one could see a possible motive. Hansson had also managed to talk with the 80-year-old who had been party secretary during Wetterstedt’s term as minister of justice. He had confirmed that Wetterstedt had often been the subject of rumours within the party. But no-one had been able to ignore his unflagging loyalty.

  Martinsson reported on his interview with Carlman’s widow. She was still very calm, leading Martinsson to think she must be on sedatives. Neither she nor any of the children was able to suggest a motive for the murder. Wallander outlined his talk with Sara Bjorklund, Wetterstedt’s “char-woman”. He also told them that the light bulb on the pole by the gate had been unscrewed. And finally, he told them about the bloody piece of paper he had found behind the road workers’ hut.

  None of his colleagues knew that his father was constantly on his mind. After the meeting he asked Hoglund whether she had noticed how distracted he had been. She told him she hadn’t noticed this, that he had seemed more dogged and focused than ever.

  At 9 p.m. they took a break. Martinsson and Hoglund called home, and Wallander finally got hold of his sister. She had wept when he told her about their father’s visit and his illness. Wallander tried to console her as best he could, but he fought back tears himself. At last they agreed that she should talk to Gertrud the next day and that she would visit as soon as possible. She asked whether he really believed that their father would be able to manage a trip to Italy. Wallander answered honestly — he didn’t know. But he reminded her that their father had dreamed of going to Italy since they were children.

  During the break Wallander also tried to call Linda. After 15 rings he gave up. Annoyed, he decided he would have to give her the money to buy an answer machine.

  When they returned to the meeting room Wallander started by discussing the connection between the two victims. That was what they had to seek, without ruling out other possibilities.

  “Carlman’s widow was sure that her husband had never had anything to do with Wetterstedt,” said Martinsson. “Her children said the same thing. They searched through all his address books without finding Wetterstedt’s name.”

  “Carlman wasn’t in Wetterstedt’s address book either,” said Hoglund.

  “So the link is invisible,” said Wallander. “Or, more precisely, elusive. Somewhere we must be able to find it. If we do, we may also catch sight of the killer. Or at least a motive. We
have to dig deep and fast.”

  “Before he strikes again,” said Hansson. “There is no knowing whether that will happen.”

  “We also don’t know who to warn,” said Wallander. “The only thing we know about the killer or killers, is that they plan the murders.”

  “Do we know that?” Akeson interjected. “It seems to me you’re jumping to that conclusion prematurely.”

  “Well there’s no indication that we’re dealing with someone who kills on impulse, who has a spontaneous desire to rip the hair off his victims,” replied Wallander, feeling his temper rise.

  “It’s the conclusion that I’m having trouble with,” said Akeson. “That’s not the same thing as discrediting the evidence.”

  The mood in the room grew oppressive. No-one could miss the tension between the two men. Normally, Wallander wouldn’t hesitate to argue with Akeson in public. But this evening he chose to back down, mainly because he was exhausted and knew he would have to keep the meeting going for hours yet.

  “I agree,” was all he said. “We’ll scrub that conclusion and settle for saying that the murders appear planned.”

  “A psychologist from Stockholm is coming down tomorrow,” said Hansson. “I’m going to pick him up at Sturup Airport. Let’s hope he can help us.”

  Wallander nodded. Then he threw out a question that he hadn’t really prepared. But now seemed a suitable time.

  “The murderer,” he said. “For the sake of argument let’s think of him for the time being as a man who acts alone. What do you see? What do you think?”

  “Strong,” said Nyberg. “The axe blows were delivered with tremendous force.”

  “I’m afraid he’s collecting trophies,” said Martinsson. “Only an insane person would do something like that.”

  “Or someone who intends to throw us off the track with the scalps,” said Wallander.

  “I have no idea,” said Hoglund. “But it must be someone who’s profoundly disturbed.”

  In the end the character of the killer was left. Wallander summed up in one last run-through, in which they planned the investigative work to be done and divided up the tasks. At around midnight Akeson left, saying that he would help out by arranging for reinforcements for the investigative team whenever they thought it necessary. Although they were all exhausted, Wallander went over the work one more time.

  “None of us is going to get a lot of sleep for the next few days,” he said in closing. “And I realise that this will throw many of your holiday plans into chaos. But we have to muster all our forces. We have no option.”

  “We’ll need reinforcements,” said Hansson.

  “Let’s decide about that on Monday,” said Wallander. “Let’s wait until then.”

  They decided to meet again the following afternoon. Before then Wallander and Hansson would present the case to the psychologist from Stockholm.

  Then they broke up and went their separate ways. Wallander stood by his car and looked up at the pale night sky. He tried to think about his father. But something else kept intruding. Fear that the killer would strike again.

  CHAPTER 14

  Early on Sunday morning, 26 June, the doorbell rang at Wallander’s flat on Mariagatan in central Ystad. He was wrenched out of a deep sleep and at first thought the telephone was ringing. When the doorbell rang again he got up quickly, found his dressing gown lying halfway under the bed, and went to the door. It was Linda with a friend Wallander hadn’t met. He hardly recognised Linda either, since she had cropped her long blonde hair and dyed it red. But he was relieved and happy to see her.

  He let them in and said hello to Linda’s friend, who introduced herself as Kajsa. Wallander was full of questions. How did they come to be ringing his doorbell so early on a Sunday morning? Were there really train connections this early? Linda explained that they had arrived the night before, but they had stayed at the house of a girl she had gone to school with, whose parents were away. They would be staying there for the whole week. They came over so early because after reading the papers in the past few days, Linda knew it would be hard to get hold of her father.

  Wallander made a breakfast of leftovers he dug out of his refrigerator. While they ate they told him they’d be spending the week rehearsing a play they had written. Then they were going to the island of Gotland to take part in a theatre seminar. Wallander listened, trying to disguise how disappointed he was that Linda had abandoned her dream to become a furniture upholsterer, settle down in Ystad, and open her own shop. He also yearned to talk to her about her grandfather. He knew how close she was to him.

  “There’s so much going on. I’d like to talk with you in peace and quiet, just you and me,” he said, when Kajsa was out of the room.

  “That’s the best thing about you,” she said. “You’re always so glad to see me.” She wrote down her phone number and promised to come over when he called.

  “I saw the papers,” she said. “Is it really as bad as they make out?”

  “It’s worse,” Wallander said. “I’ve got so much to do that I don’t know how I’m going to cope. It was pure luck that you caught me at home.”

  They sat and talked until Hansson called and said he was at Sturup Airport with the psychologist. They agreed to meet at the station at 9 a.m.

  “I have to go now,” he told Linda.

  “We do, too,” she said.

  “Does this play you’re putting on have a name?” Wallander wondered when they got out to the street.

  “It’s not a play,” replied Linda. “It’s a revue.”

  “I see,” said Wallander, trying to remember what the difference was. “And does it have a name?”

  “Not yet,” said Kajsa.

  “Can I see it?” Wallander asked tentatively.

  “When it’s ready,” said Linda. “Not before.”

  Wallander asked whether he could drive them somewhere.

  “I’m going to show her the town,” said Linda.

  “Where are you from?” he asked Kajsa.

  “Sandviken, up north,” she said. “I’ve never been to Skane before.”

  “Then we’re even,” said Wallander. “I’ve never been to Sandviken.”

  He watched them disappear around the corner. The fine weather was holding. It would be even warmer today. He felt cheerful because of his daughter’s unexpected visit, even though he couldn’t adjust to the drastic way she had been experimenting with her looks the past few years. But when she’d stood in the doorway, he’d seen for the first time what many people had told him before. Linda looked like him. He had discovered his own face in hers.

  He arrived at the station, feeling renewed vigour after Linda’s unexpected visit. He strode down the hall, thinking that he clumped along like an overweight elephant, and threw off his jacket when he entered his room. He grabbed the telephone before he even sat down and asked the receptionist to get hold of Nyberg. Just as he’d fallen asleep the night before, an idea had come to him that he wanted to explore. It took five minutes before the girl at the front desk managed to locate Nyberg.

  “It’s Wallander,” he said. “Do you remember telling me about a can of some sort of spray that you found outside the cordon on the beach?”

  “Of course I remember,” snapped Nyberg.

  Wallander ignored the fact that Nyberg was obviously in a bad mood.

  “I thought we ought to check it for fingerprints,” he said. “And compare them to whatever you can find on that piece of paper I found near Carlman’s house.”

  “Will do,” said Nyberg. “But we would have done it anyway, even if you hadn’t asked us to.”

  “I know,” said Wallander. “But you know how it is.”

  “No, I don’t,” said Nyberg. “You’ll have the results as soon as I’ve got something.”

  Wallander slammed down the receiver, full of energy. He stood by the window and looked out at the old water tower while he went through what he wanted to get done that day. He knew from experience that s
omething almost always came along to spoil the plan. If he managed to get half the things done he’d be pleased.

  At 9 a.m. he left his office, got some coffee, and went into one of the small meeting rooms, where Hansson was waiting with the psychologist from Stockholm. The man introduced himself as Mats Ekholm. He was around 60, with a firm handshake. Wallander had an immediately favourable impression of him. Like many police officers, Wallander had always felt sceptical about what psychologists could contribute in a criminal investigation. But from conversations with Ann-Britt Hoglund he had begun to realise that this was wrong. He decided to give Ekholm a chance to show them what he could do.

  The investigation files were set out on the table.

  “I’ve read through them as best I could,” said Ekholm. “I suggest that we start by talking about what isn’t in the files.”

  “It’s all there,” said Hansson, surprised. “If there’s one thing the police are forced to learn, it’s how to write reports.”

  “I suppose you want to know what we think,” interrupted Wallander. “Isn’t that right?”

  Ekholm nodded.

  “There’s a fundamental rule that says that the police are always searching for something specific,” he answered. “If they don’t know what an offender looks like they include an approximation. Quite often the phantom image turns out to have similarities with the offender who is finally apprehended.”

  Wallander recognised his own reactions in Ekholm’s description. He always created an image of a criminal that he carried with him during an investigation.

  “Two murders have been committed,” Ekholm continued. “The modus operandi is the same, even though there are some interesting differences. Wetterstedt was killed from behind. The murderer struck him in the back, not in the head. He chose the more difficult alternative. Or could it be that he wanted to avoid smashing Wetterstedt’s head? We don’t know. After the blow he cut off his scalp and took the time to hide the body. If we look at Carlman’s death, we can easily identify the similarities and differences. Carlman was also struck down with an axe. He too had a piece of his scalp torn off. But he was killed from directly in front. He must have seen his attacker. The offender chose a time when there were many people nearby, so the risk of discovery was high. He made no attempt to hide the body, realising that it would be virtually impossible. The first question we have to ask is: which are more important? The similarities or the differences?”