Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,31
appear so.”
“Did you find anything else that seemed unusual?” asked Wallander.
“I think the entire house is unusual,” said Nyberg. “Wetterstedt must have had a lot of money.”
They thought about that for a moment. Wallander realised he should sum up.
“It is important to find out when Wetterstedt was murdered,” he began. “The doctor who examined the body thought that it probably happened on the beach. He found grains of sand in the mouth and eyes. But we’ll have to wait to see what the doctors have to say. Since we don’t have any clues to go on or any obvious motive, we’ll have to proceed on a broad front. We have to find out what kind of man Wetterstedt was. Who did he associate with? What routines did he have? We have to understand his character, find out what his life was like. And we can’t ignore the fact that 20 years ago he was very famous. He was the minister of justice. He was very popular with some people, and he was hated by others. There were rumours of scandals that he was involved in. Could revenge be part of the picture? He was cut down with an axe and had his hair ripped off. He was scalped. Has anything like this happened before? Can we find any similarities with previous murders? Martinsson will have to get his computer going. And Wetterstedt had a housekeeper we’ll have to find and talk to, today.”
“What about his political party?” asked Höglund.
“I was just getting to that. Did he have any unresolved political disputes? Did he continue to see old party allies? We have to clear this up too. Is there anything in his background that might point to a conceivable motive?”
“Since the news broke, two people have already called in to confess to the murder,” said Svedberg. “One of them called from a phone booth in Malmö. He was so drunk it was hard to understand what he said. We asked our colleagues in Malmö to question him. The other one who called was a prisoner at Österåker. His last leave was in February. So it’s quite clear that Gustaf Wetterstedt still arouses strong feelings.”
“Those of us who have been around for a while know that the police hold a grudge too,” said Wallander. “During his tenure as minister of justice, a lot of things happened that none of us can forget. Of all the ministers of justice and national police chiefs, in my time anyway, Wetterstedt was the one who did the least for us.”
They went over the various assignments and divided them up. Wallander himself was going to question Wetterstedt’s housekeeper. They agreed to meet again at 4 p.m.
“A few more items,” said Wallander. “We’re going to be invaded by reporters. We’re going to be seeing headlines like ‘The Scalp Murderer’. So we might as well hold a news conference today. I would prefer not to have to run it.”
“You must,” said Svedberg. “You have to take charge. Even if you don’t want to, you’re the one who does it best.”
“All right, but I don’t want to do it alone,” said Wallander. “I want Hansson with me. And Ann-Britt. Shall we say 1 p.m.?”
They were all about to leave when Wallander asked them to wait.
“We can’t stop the investigation into the girl who burned herself to death,” he said.
“You think there’s a connection?” Hansson asked in astonishment.
“Of course not,” said Wallander. “But we still have to try and find out who she was, even though we’re busy working on Wetterstedt.”
“We’ve no positive leads on our database search,” said Martinsson. “Not even on the combination of letters. But I promise to keep working on it.”
“Someone must miss her,” said Wallander. “A young girl. I think this is very odd.”
“It’s summer,” said Svedberg. “A lot of young people are on the road. It could take a couple of weeks before someone is missed.”
“You’re right,” Wallander admitted. “We’ll have to be patient.”
The meeting was over. Wallander had run it at a brisk pace since they all had a lot of work ahead of them. When he got to his office he went rapidly through his messages. Nothing looked urgent. He took a notebook out of a drawer, wrote “Gustaf Wetterstedt” at the top of the page, and leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
What does his death tell me? What kind of person would kill him with an axe and scalp him? Wallander leaned over his desk again. He wrote: