Read Online One Step Behind by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Henning Mankell
Ads: Link
Wallander said.
"Is it that bad?"
"Svedberg was shot in the head with a shotgun at close range."
She made a face, then steeled herself. Wallander followed her into the hall and pointed to the living room. She went up to the doorway then quickly turned away and swayed as if she were about to faint. Wallander took her by the arm and helped her into the kitchen. She sank down on a blue kitchen chair, and looked up at Wallander with wide eyes.
"Who did this?" she asked.
"I don't know."
Wallander took a glass and gave her some water.
"Svedberg was away yesterday," he said. "Without telling anyone."
"That's unusual," said Holgersson.
"Very unusual. I woke up in the middle of the night with a feeling that things weren't quite right, so I drove over."
"So you don't think it happened yesterday?"
"No. Martinsson is talking to the neighbours to see if anyone heard anything unusual, which they probably did. A shotgun is loud. But we'll have to wait for the autopsy report."
Wallander heard his factual statement echo inside his head. He felt nauseated.
"I know he wasn't married," said Holgersson. "Did he have any family?"
Wallander thought back. He knew that Svedberg's mother had died a couple of years earlier. He didn't know anything about his father. The only relative Wallander knew about for sure was one he had met a few years earlier during a murder investigation.
"He has a cousin called Ylva Brink. She's an obstetric nurse. I can't think of anyone else."
They heard Nyberg's voice out in the hall.
"I'll stay here for a few minutes," said Holgersson.
Wallander went out to talk to Nyberg, who was kicking off his shoes.
"What the hell happened here?"
Nyberg was a brilliant forensic specialist, but he was moody and could be hard to work with. He seemed not to have understood that this emergency concerned a colleague. A dead colleague. Maybe Martinsson had forgotten to tell him.
"Do you know where you are?" Wallander asked carefully.
Nyberg shot him an angry look.
"Some flat on Lilla Norregatan," he answered. "But Martinsson was unusually muddled on the phone. What's going on?"
Wallander looked at him steadily. Nyberg noticed his demeanour and became quiet.
"It's Svedberg," Wallander said. "He's dead. It looks like he's been murdered."
"You mean Kalle?" Nyberg said incredulously.
Wallander nodded and felt a lump in his throat. Nyberg was one of the few who called Svedberg by his first name. His name was actually Karl Evert. Nyberg used his nickname, Kalle.
"He's in there," Wallander said. "Shot in the face with a shotgun."
Nyberg grimaced.
"I don't have to tell you what that looks like," Wallander said.
"No," Nyberg said. "You don't have to do that."
Nyberg went in. He turned away like the others when he reached the doorway. Wallander waited briefly, to give Nyberg a moment to comprehend what he saw in front of him. Then he walked over.
"I already have a question for you," he said. "One of the most important. As you see, the gun is at least two metres away from the body. My question is, could it have ended up over there if Svedberg committed suicide?"
Nyberg thought about it, then shook his head. "No," he said. "That's impossible. A shotgun aimed by himself wouldn't be thrown that far."
For a moment Wallander felt strangely relieved. Svedberg didn't kill himself, he thought.
People were beginning to congregate in the hall. The doctor arrived, as did Hansson. A technician was unpacking his bag.
"Please listen, everybody," Wallander said. "The person lying in there is your colleague, Officer Svedberg. He's dead, probably murdered. I want to prepare you for the fact that it's a terrible sight. We knew him and we grieve for him. He was our friend as well as our colleague and that makes our job much harder."
Wallander stopped. He felt he should say more but couldn't think of anything. He lacked the words. He returned to the kitchen while Nyberg and his assistants got to work. Holgersson was still sitting at
"Is it that bad?"
"Svedberg was shot in the head with a shotgun at close range."
She made a face, then steeled herself. Wallander followed her into the hall and pointed to the living room. She went up to the doorway then quickly turned away and swayed as if she were about to faint. Wallander took her by the arm and helped her into the kitchen. She sank down on a blue kitchen chair, and looked up at Wallander with wide eyes.
"Who did this?" she asked.
"I don't know."
Wallander took a glass and gave her some water.
"Svedberg was away yesterday," he said. "Without telling anyone."
"That's unusual," said Holgersson.
"Very unusual. I woke up in the middle of the night with a feeling that things weren't quite right, so I drove over."
"So you don't think it happened yesterday?"
"No. Martinsson is talking to the neighbours to see if anyone heard anything unusual, which they probably did. A shotgun is loud. But we'll have to wait for the autopsy report."
Wallander heard his factual statement echo inside his head. He felt nauseated.
"I know he wasn't married," said Holgersson. "Did he have any family?"
Wallander thought back. He knew that Svedberg's mother had died a couple of years earlier. He didn't know anything about his father. The only relative Wallander knew about for sure was one he had met a few years earlier during a murder investigation.
"He has a cousin called Ylva Brink. She's an obstetric nurse. I can't think of anyone else."
They heard Nyberg's voice out in the hall.
"I'll stay here for a few minutes," said Holgersson.
Wallander went out to talk to Nyberg, who was kicking off his shoes.
"What the hell happened here?"
Nyberg was a brilliant forensic specialist, but he was moody and could be hard to work with. He seemed not to have understood that this emergency concerned a colleague. A dead colleague. Maybe Martinsson had forgotten to tell him.
"Do you know where you are?" Wallander asked carefully.
Nyberg shot him an angry look.
"Some flat on Lilla Norregatan," he answered. "But Martinsson was unusually muddled on the phone. What's going on?"
Wallander looked at him steadily. Nyberg noticed his demeanour and became quiet.
"It's Svedberg," Wallander said. "He's dead. It looks like he's been murdered."
"You mean Kalle?" Nyberg said incredulously.
Wallander nodded and felt a lump in his throat. Nyberg was one of the few who called Svedberg by his first name. His name was actually Karl Evert. Nyberg used his nickname, Kalle.
"He's in there," Wallander said. "Shot in the face with a shotgun."
Nyberg grimaced.
"I don't have to tell you what that looks like," Wallander said.
"No," Nyberg said. "You don't have to do that."
Nyberg went in. He turned away like the others when he reached the doorway. Wallander waited briefly, to give Nyberg a moment to comprehend what he saw in front of him. Then he walked over.
"I already have a question for you," he said. "One of the most important. As you see, the gun is at least two metres away from the body. My question is, could it have ended up over there if Svedberg committed suicide?"
Nyberg thought about it, then shook his head. "No," he said. "That's impossible. A shotgun aimed by himself wouldn't be thrown that far."
For a moment Wallander felt strangely relieved. Svedberg didn't kill himself, he thought.
People were beginning to congregate in the hall. The doctor arrived, as did Hansson. A technician was unpacking his bag.
"Please listen, everybody," Wallander said. "The person lying in there is your colleague, Officer Svedberg. He's dead, probably murdered. I want to prepare you for the fact that it's a terrible sight. We knew him and we grieve for him. He was our friend as well as our colleague and that makes our job much harder."
Wallander stopped. He felt he should say more but couldn't think of anything. He lacked the words. He returned to the kitchen while Nyberg and his assistants got to work. Holgersson was still sitting at
Similar Books
