Read Online Sidetracked 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, Serial Murderers, Mystery And Suspense Fiction, Sweden, Kurt (Fictitious character), Wallander, Swedish Novel And Short Story, Wallander; Kurt (Fictitious character)
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nightmare.
They went their separate ways. Svedberg went with Wallander to get the papers on the car thefts. Wallander gave him a brief run-down. When they were done, Svedberg didn’t get up, and Wallander sensed that there was something he wanted to talk about.
“We ought to get together and talk,” said Svedberg hesitantly. “About what’s going on.”
“You’re thinking about the cuts? And security companies taking over the custody of suspects?”
Svedberg nodded glumly. “What use are new uniforms if we can’t do our jobs?”
“I don’t really think it’ll help to talk about it,” Wallander said warily. “We have a union that’s paid to take care of these matters.”
“We ought to protest, at least,” said Svedberg. “We ought to talk to people on the street about what’s going to happen.”
“People have their own troubles,” replied Wallander, and at the same time it occurred to him that Svedberg was quite right. The public was prepared to bend over backwards to save their police stations.
Svedberg stood up. “That’s about it,” he said.
“Set up a meeting,” Wallander said. “I promise I’ll come. But wait until summer’s over.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Svedberg and left the room with the files under his arm.
It was late afternoon. Through the window Wallander could see that it was about to rain. He decided to have a pizza before he drove out to see his father in Löderup. On the way out he stopped in on Martinsson.
“Don’t stay there too long,” he said.
“I haven’t found anything yet,” said Martinsson.
“See you tomorrow.”
Wallander went out to his car, which was already spattered with raindrops. He was just about to drive away when Martinsson ran out waving his arms. We’ve got her, he thought, and felt a knot in his stomach. He rolled down the window.
“Did you find her?” he asked.
“No,” said Martinsson.
Wallander realised something serious had happened. He got out of the car.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Someone phoned in,” said Martinsson. “A body has been found on the beach out past Sandskogen.”
Damn, thought Wallander. Not now. Not that.
“It sounds like a murder,” Martinsson went on. “It was a man that called. He was unusually lucid, even though I think he was in shock.”
“Get your jacket,” said Wallander. “It’s raining.”
Martinsson didn’t move.
“The man who called seemed to know who the victim was.”
Wallander could tell by Martinsson’s face that he ought to dread what would come next.
“He said it was Wetterstedt. The former minister of justice.”
Wallander stared at Martinsson.
“What?”
“Gustaf Wetterstedt. The minister of justice. And he said it looked as if he’d been scalped.”
It was Wednesday, 22 June.
CHAPTER 6
The rain was coming down harder by the time they got to the beach. On the way there they had spoken very little. Martinsson gave directions. They turned off onto a narrow road past the tennis courts. Wallander tried to picture what awaited them. What he wanted least of all had happened. If the man who called the station turned out to be right, his leave was in danger. Hansson would appeal to him to postpone it, and eventually he would have to give in. What he had been hoping for – that his desk would be cleared of pressing matters at the end of June – was not going to happen.
They saw the dunes ahead of them and stopped. A man came forward to meet them. To Wallander’s surprise, he didn’t seem older than 30. If it was Wetterstedt who had died, this man couldn’t have been more than ten when the minister of justice had retired and vanished from public view. Wallander had been a young detective at the time. In the car he had tried to remember Wetterstedt’s face. He wore his hair cropped short, and glasses without frames. Wallander vaguely recalled his voice: blaring, invariably self-confident, never willing to admit a mistake.
The young man introduced
They went their separate ways. Svedberg went with Wallander to get the papers on the car thefts. Wallander gave him a brief run-down. When they were done, Svedberg didn’t get up, and Wallander sensed that there was something he wanted to talk about.
“We ought to get together and talk,” said Svedberg hesitantly. “About what’s going on.”
“You’re thinking about the cuts? And security companies taking over the custody of suspects?”
Svedberg nodded glumly. “What use are new uniforms if we can’t do our jobs?”
“I don’t really think it’ll help to talk about it,” Wallander said warily. “We have a union that’s paid to take care of these matters.”
“We ought to protest, at least,” said Svedberg. “We ought to talk to people on the street about what’s going to happen.”
“People have their own troubles,” replied Wallander, and at the same time it occurred to him that Svedberg was quite right. The public was prepared to bend over backwards to save their police stations.
Svedberg stood up. “That’s about it,” he said.
“Set up a meeting,” Wallander said. “I promise I’ll come. But wait until summer’s over.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Svedberg and left the room with the files under his arm.
It was late afternoon. Through the window Wallander could see that it was about to rain. He decided to have a pizza before he drove out to see his father in Löderup. On the way out he stopped in on Martinsson.
“Don’t stay there too long,” he said.
“I haven’t found anything yet,” said Martinsson.
“See you tomorrow.”
Wallander went out to his car, which was already spattered with raindrops. He was just about to drive away when Martinsson ran out waving his arms. We’ve got her, he thought, and felt a knot in his stomach. He rolled down the window.
“Did you find her?” he asked.
“No,” said Martinsson.
Wallander realised something serious had happened. He got out of the car.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Someone phoned in,” said Martinsson. “A body has been found on the beach out past Sandskogen.”
Damn, thought Wallander. Not now. Not that.
“It sounds like a murder,” Martinsson went on. “It was a man that called. He was unusually lucid, even though I think he was in shock.”
“Get your jacket,” said Wallander. “It’s raining.”
Martinsson didn’t move.
“The man who called seemed to know who the victim was.”
Wallander could tell by Martinsson’s face that he ought to dread what would come next.
“He said it was Wetterstedt. The former minister of justice.”
Wallander stared at Martinsson.
“What?”
“Gustaf Wetterstedt. The minister of justice. And he said it looked as if he’d been scalped.”
It was Wednesday, 22 June.
CHAPTER 6
The rain was coming down harder by the time they got to the beach. On the way there they had spoken very little. Martinsson gave directions. They turned off onto a narrow road past the tennis courts. Wallander tried to picture what awaited them. What he wanted least of all had happened. If the man who called the station turned out to be right, his leave was in danger. Hansson would appeal to him to postpone it, and eventually he would have to give in. What he had been hoping for – that his desk would be cleared of pressing matters at the end of June – was not going to happen.
They saw the dunes ahead of them and stopped. A man came forward to meet them. To Wallander’s surprise, he didn’t seem older than 30. If it was Wetterstedt who had died, this man couldn’t have been more than ten when the minister of justice had retired and vanished from public view. Wallander had been a young detective at the time. In the car he had tried to remember Wetterstedt’s face. He wore his hair cropped short, and glasses without frames. Wallander vaguely recalled his voice: blaring, invariably self-confident, never willing to admit a mistake.
The young man introduced
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