Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,9

in the hall and get the name and directions.”

A few minutes later Wallander drove off from the station. He turned left at the roundabout and took the road towards Malmö. On the seat next to him was a note Martinsson had written. The farmer’s name was Salomonsson, and Wallander knew the road to take. When he got out onto the E65 he rolled down the window. The yellow rape fields stretched out on both sides of the road. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt as good as he did now. He stuck in a cassette of The Marriage of Figaro with Barbara Hendricks singing Susanna, and he thought about meeting Baiba in Copenhagen. When he reached the side road to Marsvinsholm he turned left, past the castle and the castle church, and turned left again. He glanced at Martinsson’s directions and swung onto a narrow road that led across the fields. In the distance he caught a glimpse of the sea.

Salomonsson’s house was an old, well-preserved Skåne farmhouse. Wallander got out of the car and looked around. Everywhere he looked were yellow rape fields. The man standing on the front steps was very old. He had a pair of binoculars in his hand. Wallander thought that he must have been imagining the whole thing. All too often, lonely old people out in the country let their imaginations run riot. He walked over to the steps and nodded.

“Kurt Wallander from the Ystad police,” he said.

The man on the steps was unshaven and his feet were stuck into a pair of worn clogs.

“Edvin Salomonsson,” said the man, stretching out a skinny hand.

“Tell me what happened,” said Wallander.

The man pointed out at the rape field that lay to the right of the house. “I discovered her this morning,” he began. “I get up early. She was already there at five. At first I thought it was a deer. Then I looked through the binoculars and saw that it was a woman.”

“What was she doing?” asked Wallander.

“She was standing there.”

“That’s all?”

“She was standing and staring.”

“Staring at what?”

“How should I know?”

Wallander sighed. Probably the old man had seen a deer. Then his imagination had taken over.

“Do you know who she is?” he asked.

“I’ve never seen her before,” replied the man. “If I knew who she was, why would I call the police?”

“You saw her the first time early this morning,” he went on, “but you didn’t call the police until late this afternoon?”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out for no reason,” the man answered simply. “I assume the police have plenty to do.”

“You saw her through your binoculars,” said Wallander. “She was out in the field and you had never seen her before. What did you do?”

“I got dressed and went out to tell her to leave. She was trampling down the rape.”

“Then what happened?”

“She ran.”

“Ran?”

“She hid in the field. Crouched down so I couldn’t see her. First I thought she was gone. Then I discovered her again through the binoculars. It happened over and over. Finally I got tired of it and called you.”

“When did you see her last?”

“Just before I called.”

“What was she doing then?”

“Standing there staring.”

Wallander glanced out at the field. All he could see was the billowing rape.

“The officer you spoke with said that you seemed uneasy,” said Wallander.

“Well, what’s somebody doing standing in a rape field? There’s got to be something odd about that.”

Wallander decided he ought to end the conversation as rapidly as possible. It was clear to him now that the old man had imagined the whole thing. He would contact social services the next day.

“There’s not really much I can do,” said Wallander. “She’s probably gone by now. And in that case, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“She’s not gone at all,” said Salomonsson. “I can see her right now.”

Wallander spun around. He followed Salomonsson’s pointing finger.

The woman was about 50 metres out in the rape field. Wallander could see that her hair was very dark. It stood out sharply against the yellow crop.

“I’ll go and talk to her,” said Wallander. “Wait here.”

He took a pair of boots from his car, and put them on. Then he walked towards the field, feeling as though he were caught in something surreal. The woman was standing completely still, watching him. When he got closer he saw that not only did she have long black hair, but her skin was dark too. He stopped when he reached the edge of the crop. He raised one hand and