Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,71

deep in the forests of Småland.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Wallander. “I never go fishing.”

Sandin looked at him intently.

“What do you do when you’re not working?”

“I have a pretty hard time relaxing.”

Sandin nodded in approval.

“Being a policeman is a calling,” he said. “Just like being a doctor. We’re always on duty. Whether we’re in uniform or not.”

Wallander said nothing, even though he disagreed. Once he might have believed that a policeman’s job was his calling. But not any more. At least he didn’t think so.

“So,” Sandin prompted. “I read in the papers about what’s going on in Ystad. Tell me what they left out.”

Wallander recounted the circumstances surrounding the two murders. Now and then Sandin would interrupt with a question, always pertinent.

“So he may kill again,” he said when Wallander had finished.

“We can’t ignore that possibility.”

Sandin shoved his chair back from the table and stretched out his legs.

“And you want me to tell you about Gustaf Wetterstedt,” he said. “I’ll be happy to. May I first ask you how you found out that a long time ago, I took a special interest in him?”

“A journalist in Ystad told me. Lars Magnusson. Unfortunately, quite an alcoholic.”

“I don’t recognise the name.”

“Well, he’s the one who knew about you.”

Sandin sat silently, stroking his lips with one finger. Wallander sensed that he was looking for the right place to begin.

“The truth about Wetterstedt is straightforward,” said Sandin. “He was a crook. He may have appeared to be a competent minister of justice. But he was totally unsuitable for the role.”

“Why?”

“His activities were governed by attention to his career rather than the good of the country. That’s the worst testimonial you can give a government minister.”

“And yet he was in line to be leader of the party?”

Sandin shook his head vigorously.

“That’s not true,” he said. “That was media speculation. Within the party it was obvious that he could never be their leader. It’s hard to see why he was even a member.”

“But he was minister of justice for years. He couldn’t have been totally unsuitable.”

“You’re too young to remember. But there was a change sometime in the 1950s. It was barely perceptible, but it happened. Sweden was sailing along on unbelievably fair winds. It seemed as though unlimited funds were available to obliterate poverty. At the same time a change occurred in political life. Politicians were turning into professionals. Career politicians. Before, idealism had been a dominant part of political life. Now this idealism began to be diluted. People like Wetterstedt began their ascent. Youth associations became the hatcheries for the politicians of the future.”

“Let’s talk about the scandals,” said Wallander, afraid that Sandin would get lost in political reminiscences.

“He used prostitutes,” said Sandin. “He wasn’t the only one, of course. But he had certain predilections that he subjected the girls to.”

“I heard that one girl filed a complaint,” said Wallander.

“Her name was Karin Bengtsson,” said Sandin. “She came from an unhappy background in Eksjö. She ran away to Stockholm and came to our notice for the first time in 1954. A few years later she wound up with the group from which Wetterstedt picked his girls. In January 1957 she filed a complaint against him. He had slashed her feet with a razor blade. I met her myself at the time. She could hardly walk. Wetterstedt knew he’d gone too far. The complaint was dropped, and Bengtsson was paid off. She received money to invest in a clothing boutique in Västerås. In 1959, money magically appeared in her bank account, enough to buy a house. In 1960, she started holidaying in Mallorca every year.”

“Who came up with the money?”

“Even then there were slush funds. The Swedish royal family had established a precedent by paying off women who had been intimate with the old king.”

“Is Karin Bengtsson still alive?”

“She died in 1984. She never married. I didn’t see her after she moved to Västerås. But she called once in a while, right until the last year of her life. She was usually drunk.”

“Why did she call?”

“As soon as I heard that there was a prostitute who wanted to file a complaint against Wetterstedt, I got in touch with her. I wanted to help her. Her life had been destroyed. Her self-esteem wasn’t very high.”

“Why did you get involved?”

“I was pretty radical in those days. Too many policemen accepted the corruption. I didn’t. No more than I do now.”

“What happened later, when Karin Bengtsson was out of the picture?”

“Wetterstedt carried on as before. He slashed lots