Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,14

doesn’t generate enough heat to melt jewellery,” Nyberg replied. He sounded tired.

“This is exactly what we needed,” said Wallander.

“We’ll be ready to take her away soon,” said Nyberg, nodding towards the black hearse waiting at the edge of the field.

“How does it look?” Wallander asked cautiously.

Nyberg shrugged.

“The teeth should tell us something. The pathologists are excellent. They can find out how old she was. With DNA technology they can also tell you whether she was born in this country of Swedish parents or if she came from somewhere else.”

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” said Wallander.

“No thanks,” said Nyberg. “I’ll be done here pretty soon. In the morning we’ll go over the entire field. Since there was no crime it can wait until then.”

Wallander went back to the house. He laid the plastic bag containing the necklace on the kitchen table.

“Now we have something to go on,” he said. “A pendant, a Madonna. Inscribed with the initials ‘D.M.S.’ I suggest you all go home now. I’ll stay here a while longer.”

“We’ll meet at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” said Hansson, getting up.

“I wonder who she was,” said Martinsson. “The Swedish summertime is too beautiful and too brief for something like this to happen.”

They parted in the yard. Höglund lingered behind.

“I’m thankful I didn’t have to see it,” she said. “I think I understand what you’re going through.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

When the cars had gone he sat down on the steps of the house. The floodlights shone as if over a bleak stage on which a play was being performed, with him the only spectator.

The wind had started to blow. They were still waiting for the warmth of summer. The night air was cold, and Wallander realised that he was freezing sitting there on the steps. How intensely he longed for the summer heat. He hoped it would come soon.

After a while he got up and went inside the house and washed the coffee cups.

CHAPTER 4

Wallander gave a start. Someone was trying to tear off one of his feet. When he opened his eyes he saw that his foot was caught in the broken bed frame. He turned over onto his side to free it. Then he lay still. The dawn light filtered through the crookedly drawn shade. He looked at the clock on the beside table. It was 4.30 a.m. He had hardly slept, and he was very tired. He found himself back out in the field again. He could see the girl much more clearly now. It wasn’t me she was afraid of, he thought. She wasn’t hiding from me or Salomonsson. There was someone else.

He got up and shuffled out to the kitchen. While he waited for the coffee to brew he went into his messy living-room and checked the answer machine. The red light was flashing. He pushed the replay button. First was his sister Kristina. “I need you to call me. Preferably in the next couple of days.” It must be something to do with their father. Although he had married his care worker and no longer lived alone, he was still moody and unpredictable.

There was a scratchy, faint message from Skåne Daily, asking if he was interested in a subscription. He was just on his way back to the kitchen when he heard the next message. “It’s Baiba. I’m going to Tallinn. I’ll be back on Saturday.”

He was seized with jealousy. Why was she going to Tallinn? She had said nothing about it the last time they spoke. He poured a cup of coffee, and called her number in Riga, but there was no answer. He dialled again. His unease was growing. She could hardly have left for Tallinn at 5 a.m. Why wasn’t she home? Or if she was home, why didn’t she answer?

He picked up his coffee cup, opened the balcony door facing Mariagatan, and sat down. Once again he saw the girl running through the rape. For an instant she looked like Baiba. He forced himself to accept that his jealousy was unwarranted. They had agreed not to encumber their new relationship with promises of fidelity. He remembered how they had sat up on Christmas Eve and talked about what they wanted from one another. Most of all, Wallander wanted them to get married. But when Baiba spoke of her need for freedom, he had agreed with her. Rather than lose her, he would accept her terms.

The sky was clear blue and the air was already warm. He drank his coffee in