Read Online Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Henning Mankell
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, Police, Political, Hard-Boiled, Fiction - Mystery, Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective - General, Swedish (Language) Contemporary Fiction, Kurt (Fictitious character), Wallander
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pointed towards the ruins of Stjarnsund Castle. He got out of the car and unzipped to have a leak. Through the roar of the wind he could hear the sound of accelerating jet engines at Sturup airport. Before he got back in the car, he scraped the mud from his shoes. The change in the weather had been abrupt. The thermometer in his car showed -50 C. Ragged clouds were racing across the sky as he drove on.
Beyond the castle ruin the gravel road forked, and he kept to the left. He had never come this way before, but he was positive it was the right road. Despite the fact that almost ten years had passed since it had been described to him, he remembered the route in detail. He had a mind that seemed programmed for landscapes and roads.
After about a kilometre the surface deteriorated. He went slowly forwards, wondering how large lorries ever managed to negotiate it. The road sloped sharply downward, and a large farm with long wings of stables lay spread out before him. He drove into the yard and stopped. A flock of crows cawed overhead as he climbed out of the car.
The farm seemed oddly deserted. A stable door flapped in the wind. For a moment he wondered whether he had taken the wrong road after all.
What desolation, he thought. The Scanian winter with its screeching flocks of crows. The clay that sticks to the soles of your shoes.
A young, fair-haired girl emerged from one of the stables. How like Linda she looked, he thought. She had the same blond hair, the same thin body, the same ungainly movements as she walked. He watched her closely.
The girl started tugging at a ladder that led to the stable loft. When she caught sight of him she let go of the ladder and wiped her hands on her grey breeches.
"Hello," said Wallander. "I'm looking for Sten Widén. Is this the right place?"
"Are you a policeman?" asked the girl.
"Yes," Wallander replied, surprised. "How could you tell?"
"I could hear it in your voice," said the girl, once more pulling at the ladder, which seemed to be stuck.
"Is he at home?" asked Wallander.
"Help me with the ladder," the girl said.
He saw that one of the rungs had caught on the cladding of the stable wall. He grabbed hold of the ladder and twisted it until the rung came free.
"Thanks," said the girl. "Sten is probably in his office" She pointed to a red brick building a short distance from the stable.
"Do you work here?" asked Wallander.
"Yes," said the girl, climbing quickly up the ladder. "Now I'd move away if I were you!"
With surprisingly strong arms she began heaving bales of hay through the loft doors. Wallander walked over towards the office. Just as he was about to knock on the heavy door, a man came walking around the end of the building.
It was more than ten years since Wallander had seen Sten Widén, but he didn't seem to have changed. The same tousled hair, the same thin face, the same red eczema near his lower lip.
"Well, this is a surprise," said the man with a nervous laugh. "I thought it was the blacksmith. But it's you. How long has it been, anyway?"
"Nearly eleven years," said Wallander. "Summer of '79."
"The summer all our dreams fell apart," said Sten Wid6n. "Would you like some coffee?"
They went into the red brick building. Wallander noticed the smell of oil emanating from the walls. A rusty combine harvester stood inside in the darkness. Widén opened another door. A cat ran out as Wallander entered a room that seemed to be a combination of office and living quarters. An unmade bed stood along one wall. There was a TV and a video, and a microwave on a table. An old armchair was piled high with clothes. Most of the rest of the space was taken up by a large desk. Widén poured coffee from a thermos next to a fax machine in one of the wide window recesses.
Wallander was thinking about Widén's lost dream of becoming an opera singer. About how in the late 1970s the two of them had imagined a future for themselves that neither of them could achieve. Wallander was supposed
Beyond the castle ruin the gravel road forked, and he kept to the left. He had never come this way before, but he was positive it was the right road. Despite the fact that almost ten years had passed since it had been described to him, he remembered the route in detail. He had a mind that seemed programmed for landscapes and roads.
After about a kilometre the surface deteriorated. He went slowly forwards, wondering how large lorries ever managed to negotiate it. The road sloped sharply downward, and a large farm with long wings of stables lay spread out before him. He drove into the yard and stopped. A flock of crows cawed overhead as he climbed out of the car.
The farm seemed oddly deserted. A stable door flapped in the wind. For a moment he wondered whether he had taken the wrong road after all.
What desolation, he thought. The Scanian winter with its screeching flocks of crows. The clay that sticks to the soles of your shoes.
A young, fair-haired girl emerged from one of the stables. How like Linda she looked, he thought. She had the same blond hair, the same thin body, the same ungainly movements as she walked. He watched her closely.
The girl started tugging at a ladder that led to the stable loft. When she caught sight of him she let go of the ladder and wiped her hands on her grey breeches.
"Hello," said Wallander. "I'm looking for Sten Widén. Is this the right place?"
"Are you a policeman?" asked the girl.
"Yes," Wallander replied, surprised. "How could you tell?"
"I could hear it in your voice," said the girl, once more pulling at the ladder, which seemed to be stuck.
"Is he at home?" asked Wallander.
"Help me with the ladder," the girl said.
He saw that one of the rungs had caught on the cladding of the stable wall. He grabbed hold of the ladder and twisted it until the rung came free.
"Thanks," said the girl. "Sten is probably in his office" She pointed to a red brick building a short distance from the stable.
"Do you work here?" asked Wallander.
"Yes," said the girl, climbing quickly up the ladder. "Now I'd move away if I were you!"
With surprisingly strong arms she began heaving bales of hay through the loft doors. Wallander walked over towards the office. Just as he was about to knock on the heavy door, a man came walking around the end of the building.
It was more than ten years since Wallander had seen Sten Widén, but he didn't seem to have changed. The same tousled hair, the same thin face, the same red eczema near his lower lip.
"Well, this is a surprise," said the man with a nervous laugh. "I thought it was the blacksmith. But it's you. How long has it been, anyway?"
"Nearly eleven years," said Wallander. "Summer of '79."
"The summer all our dreams fell apart," said Sten Wid6n. "Would you like some coffee?"
They went into the red brick building. Wallander noticed the smell of oil emanating from the walls. A rusty combine harvester stood inside in the darkness. Widén opened another door. A cat ran out as Wallander entered a room that seemed to be a combination of office and living quarters. An unmade bed stood along one wall. There was a TV and a video, and a microwave on a table. An old armchair was piled high with clothes. Most of the rest of the space was taken up by a large desk. Widén poured coffee from a thermos next to a fax machine in one of the wide window recesses.
Wallander was thinking about Widén's lost dream of becoming an opera singer. About how in the late 1970s the two of them had imagined a future for themselves that neither of them could achieve. Wallander was supposed
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