Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,63
him as she handed him some phone messages.
“I thought you were on holiday,” said Wallander in surprise.
“Hansson asked me to stay a few extra days,” said Ebba. “Now that there’s so much happening.”
“How’s your hand?”
“Like I said. It’s no fun getting old. Everything just starts to fall apart.”
Wallander couldn’t recall ever having heard Ebba make such a dramatic statement. He wondered whether to tell her about his father and his illness, but decided against it. He got some coffee and sat down at his desk. After looking through the phone messages and stacking them on top of the pile from the night before, he called Riga, feeling a pang of guilt at making a personal call. He was still old-fashioned enough not to want to burden his employer. He remembered how a few years ago Hansson had been consumed by a passion for betting on the horses. He had spent half his working day calling racetracks all over the country for tips. Everyone had known about it, but no-one had complained. Wallander had been surprised that only he had thought someone should talk to Hansson. But then one day all the form guides and half-completed betting slips vanished from Hansson’s desk. Through the grapevine Wallander heard that Hansson had decided to stop before he wound up in debt.
Baiba picked up the phone after the third ring. Wallander was nervous. Each time he called he was afraid that she’d tell him they shouldn’t see each other again. He was as unsure of her feelings as he was sure of his own. But she sounded happy, and her happiness was infectious. Her decision to go to Tallinn had been made quite hastily, she explained. One of her friends was going and asked Baiba to go with her. She had no classes at the university that week, and the translation job she was working on didn’t have a pressing deadline. She told him about the trip and then asked how he was. Wallander decided not to mention that their trip to Skagen might be jeopardised. He said that everything was fine. They agreed that he would call her that evening. Afterwards, Wallander sat worrying about how she’d react if he had to postpone their holiday.
Worry was a bad habit, which seemed to grow worse the older he got. He worried about everything. He worried when Baiba went to Tallinn, he worried that he was going to get sick, he worried that he might oversleep or that his car might break down. He wrapped himself in clouds of anxiety. With a grimace he wondered whether Mats Ekholm might be able to do a psychological profile of him and suggest how he could free himself from all the problems he created.
Svedberg knocked on his half-open door and walked in. He hadn’t been careful in the sun the day before. The top of his head was completely sunburnt, as were his forehead and nose.
“I’ll never learn,” Svedberg complained. “It hurts like hell.”
Wallander thought about the burning sensation he’d felt after being slapped the day before. But he didn’t mention it.
“I spent yesterday talking to the people who live near Wetterstedt,” Svedberg said. “He went for walks quite often. He was always polite and said hello to the people he met. But he didn’t socialise with anyone in the neighbourhood.”
“Did he also make a habit of taking walks at night?”
Svedberg checked his notes. “He used to go down to the beach.”
“So this was a routine?”
“As far as I can tell, yes.”
Wallander nodded. “Just as I thought,” he said.
“Something else came up that might be of interest,” Svedberg continued. “A retired civil servant named Lantz told me that a reporter had rung his doorbell on Monday 20 June, and asked for directions to Wetterstedt’s house. Lantz understood that the reporter and a photographer were going there to do a story. That means someone was at his house on the last day of his life.”
“And that there are photographs,” said Wallander. “Which newspaper was it?”
“Lantz didn’t know.”
“You’ll have to get someone to make some calls,” said Wallander. “This could be important.”
Svedberg nodded and left the room.
“And you ought to put some cream on that sunburn,” Wallander called after him. “It doesn’t look good.”
Wallander called Nyberg. A few minutes later he came in.
“I don’t think your man came on a bicycle,” said Nyberg. “We found some tracks behind the hut from a moped or a motorcycle. And every worker on the road team drives a car.”