Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,23

to wait here,” he said. “We’ll have to ask you these questions again in a while. Have you touched anything?”

Lindgren shook his head.

“Has anyone other than you seen him?”

“No.”

“When did you or your father last turn over this boat?”

Lindgren thought for a moment.

“It was over a week ago,” he said.

Wallander had no more questions. He stood there thinking for a moment and then left the boat and walked in a wide arc up towards the villa where Wetterstedt lived. He tried the gate. It was locked. He waved Lindgren over.

“Do you live nearby?” he asked.

“No,” he said. “I live in Åkesholm. My car is parked on the road.”

“But you knew that Wetterstedt lived in this house?”

“He used to walk along the beach here. Sometimes he stopped to watch while we were working on the boat, Dad and I. But he never spoke to us. He was rather arrogant.”

“Was he married?”

“Dad said that he’d read in a magazine that he was divorced.”

Wallander nodded.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Don’t you have a raincoat in that bag?”

“It’s up in the car.”

“Go ahead and get it,” Wallander said. “Did you call anyone besides the police and tell them about this?”

“I think I ought to call Dad. It’s his boat, after all.”

“Hold off for the time being,” said Wallander. “Leave the phone here, and go and get your raincoat.”

Lindgren did as he was told. Wallander went back to the boat. He stood looking at it and tried to imagine what had happened. He knew that the first impression of a crime scene was often crucial. During an investigation that was long and difficult, he would return to that first moment.

Some things he was already sure of. It was out of the question that Wetterstedt had been murdered underneath the boat. Someone had wanted to hide him. Since Wetterstedt’s villa was so close, there was a good chance that he had died there. Besides, Wallander had a hunch that the killer couldn’t have acted alone. The boat must have been lifted to get the body underneath. And it was the old-fashioned kind, clinker-built and heavy.

Wallander turned his mind to the torn-off scalp. What was it that Martinsson had said? Lindgren had told him on the phone that the man had been “scalped”. Wallander tried to imagine what other reasons there might be for the wound to the head. They didn’t know how Wetterstedt had died. It wasn’t natural to think that someone would intentionally have torn off his hair. Wallander felt uneasy. The torn-off skin disturbed him.

Just then the police cars started to arrive. Martinsson had been smart enough to tell them not to turn on their sirens and lights. Wallander walked about ten metres away from the boat so that the others wouldn’t trample the sand around it.

“There’s a dead man underneath the boat,” said Wallander when the police had gathered. “Apparently it’s Gustaf Wetterstedt, who was once our top boss. Anyone as old as I am, at least, will remember the days when he was minister of justice. He was living here in retirement. And now he’s dead. We have to assume that he was murdered. So we’ll start by cordoning off the area.”

“It’s a good thing the game isn’t on tonight,” said Martinsson.

“No doubt the person who did this is a football fan too,” said Wallander. He was getting annoyed at the constant references to the World Cup, but he hid his irritation from Martinsson.

“Nyberg is on his way,” said Martinsson.

“We’ll have to work on this all night,” said Wallander. “We might as well get started.”

Svedberg and Ann-Britt Höglund were in one of the first cars. Hansson showed up right after they did. Lindgren reappeared in a yellow raincoat. He explained again how he had found the dead man while Svedberg took notes. It was raining hard now, and they gathered under a tree at the top of one of the dunes. When Lindgren had finished, Wallander asked him to wait. Since he still didn’t want to turn the boat over, the doctor had to dig out some sand to get far enough in under the boat to confirm that Wetterstedt was indeed dead.

“Apparently he was divorced,” said Wallander. “But we’ll have to get confirmation on that. Some of you will have to stay here. Ann-Britt and I will go up to his house.”

“Keys,” said Svedberg.

Martinsson went down to the boat, lay on his stomach, and reached in. After a minute or so he managed to find a key ring in Wetterstedt’s jacket pocket.