Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,26

the phone and called the headquarters of the Stockholm police.

CHAPTER 7

Later that evening, Gustaf Wetterstedt’s telephone rang again. By that time Wallander had arranged for his colleagues in Stockholm to tell Wetterstedt’s mother of his death. An inspector who introduced himself as Hans Vikander was calling from the Östermalm police. In a few days, 1 July, the old name would disappear and be replaced by “city police”.

“She’s been informed,” Vikander said. “Because she was so old I took a clergyman along with me. I must say she took it calmly, even though she’s 94.”

“Maybe that’s why,” said Wallander.

“We’re trying to track down Wetterstedt’s two children,” Vikander went on. “The older, a son, works at the UN in New York. The daughter lives in Uppsala. We hope to reach them this evening.”

“What about his ex-wife?” asked Wallander.

“Which one?” Vikander asked. “He was married three times.”

“All three of them,” said Wallander. “We’ll have to contact them ourselves later.”

“I’ve got something that might interest you,” Vikander went on. “When we spoke with the mother she said that her son called her every night, at precisely nine o’clock.”

Wallander looked at his watch. It was just after 9 p.m. At once he understood the significance of what Vikander had said.

“He didn’t call yesterday” Vikander continued. “She waited until 9.30 p.m. Then she tried to call him. No-one answered, although she claimed she let it ring at least 15 times.”

“And the night before?”

“She couldn’t remember too well. She’s 94, after all. She said that her short-term memory was pretty bad.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“It was a little hard to know what to ask.”

“We’ll have to talk to her again,” Wallander said. “Since she’s already met you, it would be good if you could take it on.”

“I’m going on holiday the second week in July,” said Vikander. “Until then, that’s no problem.”

Wallander hung up. Höglund came into the hall. She had been checking the letter box.

“Newspapers from today and yesterday,” she said. “A phone bill. No personal letters. He can’t have been under that boat for very long.”

Wallander got up from the sofa.

“Go through the house one more time,” he said. “See if you can find any sign that something is missing. I’ll go down and take a look at him.”

It was raining even harder now. As Wallander hurried through the garden he remembered that he was supposed to be visiting his father tonight. With a grimace he went back to the house.

“Do me a favour,” he asked Höglund. “Call my father and tell him I’m tied up with an urgent investigation. If he asks who you are, tell him you’re the new chief of police.”

She nodded and smiled. Wallander gave her the number. Then he went out into the rain.

The cordoned area was a ghostly spectacle, lit up by the powerful floodlights. With a strong feeling of unease, Wallander walked in under the temporary canopy. Wetterstedt’s body lay stretched out on a plastic sheet. The doctor was shining a torch down Wetterstedt’s throat. He stopped when he realised that Wallander had arrived.

“How are you?” asked the doctor.

Wallander hadn’t recognised him until that moment. It was the doctor who had treated him in hospital a few years earlier when he’d thought he was having a heart attack.

“Apart from this business, I’m doing fine,” said Wallander. “I never had a recurrence.”

“Did you take my advice?” asked the doctor.

“Of course not,” Wallander muttered.

He looked at the dead man, who gave the same impression in death as he had on the TV screen. There was something obstinate and unsympathetic about his face, even when covered with dried blood. Wallander leaned forward and looked at the wound on his forehead, which extended up towards the top of his head, where the skin and hair had been ripped away.

“How did he die?” asked Wallander.

“From a powerful blow to the spine with an axe,” the doctor replied. “It would have killed him instantly. The spine is severed just below the shoulder blades. He was probably dead before he hit the ground.”

“Are you sure it happened outside?” Wallander asked.

“I think so. The blow to the spine must have come from someone standing behind him. It’s most likely that the force of the blow made him fall forwards. He has grains of sand in his mouth and eyes. It probably happened right nearby.”

“There must be traces of blood somewhere,” said Wallander.

“The rain makes it difficult,” said the doctor. “But with a little luck maybe you can scrape through the surface layer and find some blood