Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,27

that seeped deep enough that the rain hasn’t washed it away.”

Wallander pointed at Wetterstedt’s butchered head.

“How do you explain this?” he asked.

The doctor shrugged.

“The incision in the forehead was made with a sharp knife,” he said. “Or maybe a razor. The skin and hair seem to have been torn off. I can’t tell yet if it was done before or after he received the blow to the spine. That will be a job for the pathologist in Malmö.”

“Malmström will have a lot to do,” said Wallander.

“Who?”

“Yesterday we sent in the remains of a girl who burned herself to death. And now we’re sending over a man who’s been scalped. The pathologist I talked to was named Malmström. A woman.”

“There’s more than one,” said the doctor. “I don’t know her.”

Wallander squatted next to the corpse.

“Give me your interpretation,” he said to the doctor. “What do you think happened?”

“Whoever struck him in the back knew what he was doing,” said the doctor. “A sharpshooter couldn’t have done better. But to scalp him! That’s the work of a madman.”

“Or an American Indian,” said Wallander.

He got up and felt a twinge in his knees. The days when he could squat without pain were over.

“I’m finished here,” said the doctor. “I’ve already told Malmö that we’re bringing him in.”

Wallander didn’t reply. He had noticed that Wetterstedt’s fly was open.

“Did you touch his clothes?” he asked.

“Just on the back, around the wound to his spine,” said the doctor.

Wallander nodded. He could feel the nausea rising.

“Could I ask you one thing?” he said. “Could you check inside Wetterstedt’s fly and see if he’s still got what’s supposed to be there?”

The doctor gave Wallander a questioning look.

“If someone cut off half his scalp, they might cut off other things too,” Wallander explained.

The doctor nodded and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Then he cautiously stuck his hand in and felt around.

“Everything that’s supposed to be there seems to be there,” he said when he pulled out his hand.

Wallander nodded.

Wetterstedt’s corpse was taken away. Wallander turned to Nyberg, who was kneeling next to the boat, which had been turned right side up.

“How’s it going?” asked Wallander.

“I don’t know,” said Nyberg. “With this rain, everything is washing away.”

“We’ll have to dig tomorrow,” said Wallander and told him what the doctor said. Nyberg nodded.

“If there’s any blood, we’ll find it. Any special place you want us to start looking?”

“Around the boat,” said Wallander. “Then in the area from the garden gate down to the water.”

Nyberg pointed at a case with the lid open. There were plastic bags inside.

“All I found in his pockets was a box of matches,” said Nyberg. “You’ve got his keys. The clothes are expensive. Except for the clogs.”

“The house seems to be untouched,” Wallander said. “But I’d appreciate it if you could take a look at it tonight.”

“I can’t be in two places at once,” Nyberg grumbled. “If we’re going to secure any evidence out here, we’ll have to do it before it’s all washed away by the rain.”

Wallander was just about to return to Wetterstedt’s house when he noticed that Lindgren was still there. He went over to him. He could see that the young man was freezing.

“You can go home now,” Wallander said.

“Can I phone my father and tell him about it?”

“Go ahead.”

“What happened?” Lindgren asked.

“It’s too soon to say,” Wallander replied.

There were still a handful of people outside the cordon, watching the police work. Some senior citizens, a younger man with a dog, a boy on a moped. Wallander thought about the days that lay ahead with dread. A former minister of justice who had been found scalped with his spine chopped in half was the sort of juicy titbit that would drive the media wild. The only positive thing that he could think of was that the girl who burned herself to death in Salomonsson’s rape field would not end up on the front pages after all.

He had to have a pee. He went down to the water and unzipped his fly. Maybe it’s that simple, he thought. Wetterstedt’s fly was open because he was standing taking a pee when he was attacked.

He started to walk back up towards the house, then stopped. He was overlooking something. He went back to Nyberg.

“Do you know where Svedberg is?” he asked.

“I think he’s trying to find some more plastic sheeting and a couple of big tarpaulins. We’ve got to cover up the sand.”

“I’ll talk to him when he gets back,” said Wallander. “Where are