Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,114
him. She had described the house, and one day he would burn it to the ground. But not yet. Cautiously he ran up to the wall of the house and prised open the basement window from which he had earlier removed the latch. It was easy to crawl inside. He knew that he was in an apple cellar, surrounded by the faint aroma of sour apples. He listened. All quiet. He crept up the cellar stairs, into the big kitchen. Still quiet. The only thing he heard was the faint sound of water pipes. He turned on the oven and opened the door. Then he made his way upstairs. He had taken the axe out of his belt. He was completely calm.
The door to the bathroom was ajar. In the darkness of the hall he caught a glimpse of the man he was going to kill. He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror rubbing cream onto his face. Hoover slipped in behind the bathroom door, waiting. When the man turned off the light in the bathroom he raised the axe. He struck only once. The man fell to the floor without a sound. With the axe he sliced off a piece of the man’s hair from the top of his head. He stuffed the scalp into his pocket. Then he dragged the man down the stairs. He was in pyjamas. The bottoms slipped off the body and were dragged along by one foot. He avoided looking at him.
He pulled the man into the kitchen and leaned the body against the oven door. Then he shoved the man’s head inside. Almost at once he smelled the face cream starting to melt. He left the house the way he had come in.
He buried the scalp beneath his sister’s window in the dawn light. Now all that was left was the extra sacrifice he would offer her. He would bury one last scalp. Then it would be over.
He thought about the man he had watched sleeping. The man who had sat across from him on the sofa, understanding nothing of the sacred mission he had to perform. He still hadn’t decided whether he should also take the girl sleeping in the next room. He would make his final decision the next day, but now he had to rest.
Skåne
5–8 July 1994
CHAPTER 29
Waldemar Sjösten was a criminal detective in Helsingborg who devoted all his free time during the summer to a 1930s mahogany boat he had found by accident. And this was just what he planned to do on Tuesday morning, 5 July, when he let the shade on his bedroom window roll up with a snap just before 6 a.m. He lived in a newly renovated block of flats at the centre of town. One street, the railway line and the docks were all that separated him from the Sound. The weather was as beautiful as the weather reports had promised. His holiday didn’t start until the end of July, but whenever he could he spent a few early mornings on his boat, docked at the marina a short bike ride away. Sjösten was going to celebrate his 50th birthday this autumn. He had been married three times, had six children and was planning his fourth marriage. The woman shared his love of the boat, Sea King II. He had taken the name from the beautiful boat that he’d spent his childhood summers on board with his parents, Sea King I. His father had sold it to a man from Norway when he was ten, and he had never forgotten it. He often wondered whether the boat still existed, or whether it had sunk or rotted away.
He had finished a cup of coffee and was getting ready to leave when the telephone rang. He was surprised to hear it at such an early hour. He picked up the receiver.
“Waldemar?” It was Detective Sergeant Birgersson.
“Yes.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I was just on my way out.”
“Lucky I caught you then. You’d better get down here right away.”
Birgersson wouldn’t have called unless it was something serious.
“I’ll be right there,” he said. “What is it?”
“There was smoke coming out of one of those old villas up in Tågaborg. When the fire brigade got there they found a man in the kitchen.”
“Dead?”
“Murdered. You’ll understand why I called you when you see him.”
Sjösten could see his morning disappearing, but he was a dutiful policeman, so he had no trouble changing his plans. Instead of the key to