Read Online The Fifth Woman by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online Page B

started looking for him?”
    “People generally know more than they think,” said Wallander, not hiding his irritation at Tyrén’s attitude.
    “So what do you think I know?”
    “Did you talk to him yourself when he ordered the oil?”
    “He called the office. A girl there writes up the delivery slips. I talk to her several times a day.”
    “And he sounded normal when he called?”
    “You’ll have to ask her.”
    “I will. What’s her name?”
    “Ruth. Ruth Sturesson.”
    Wallander wrote this down.
    “I stopped here one day in August,” said Tyrén. “That was the last time I saw him. He was the same as always. He offered me coffee and read me some new poems. He was a good storyteller too. But in a crude kind of way.”
    “What do you mean, crude?”
    “His stories made me blush is what I mean.”
    Wallander stared at him. He realised that he was thinking of his father, who liked telling crude stories too.
    “You didn’t have the feeling he was getting senile?”
    “He was as clear-headed as you or I.”
    “Did Eriksson have any relatives?”
    “He never married. He had no children, no girlfriend. Not that I know of, anyway.”
    “No relatives?”
    “He didn’t talk about any. He’d decided that an organisation in Lund would inherit all his property.”
    “What organisation?”
    Tyrén shrugged.
    “Some home crafts society or something. I don’t know.”
    Wallander thought of Friends of the Axe, but then realised that Holger Eriksson must have decided to bequeath his farm to the Cultural Association in Lund.
    “Do you know if he owned other property?”
    “Like what?”
    “Maybe another farmhouse? A house in town? Or a flat?”
    Tyrén thought before he replied.
    “No,” he said. “There was just this farmhouse. The rest is in the bank. Handelsbanken.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “He paid his bills through Handelsbanken.”
    Wallander nodded. He folded up his papers. He had no more questions. Now he was convinced that something terrible had happened to Eriksson.
    “I’ll be in touch,” Wallander said, getting to his feet.
    “What happens next?”
    “The police have their procedures.”
    They went outside.
    “I’d be happy to stay and help you search,” Tyrén said.
    “I’d rather you didn’t,” Wallander replied. “We prefer to do this our own way.”
    Sven Tyrén didn’t object. Wallander watched the truck leave. Then he stood at the edge of the fields and gazed towards a grove of trees in the distance. The rooks were still cawing. Wallander pulled his phone from his pocket and called Martinsson at the station.
    “How’s it going?” Martinsson asked.
    “We’ll have to start with a complete search,” said Wallander. “Hansson has the address. I want to get started as soon as possible. Send a couple of dog units out here.”
    Wallander was about to hang up when Martinsson stopped him.
    “There’s one more thing. I checked to see if we had anything on Holger Eriksson. And we do.”
    Wallander pressed the phone to his ear and moved under a tree to get out of the rain.
    “About a year ago he reported that he had a break-in at his house. Is the farm called ‘Seclusion’?”
    “Yes,” Wallander said. “Keep going.”
    “His report was filed on 19 October 1993. Svedberg took the message. But when I asked him about it, he’d forgotten.”
    “And?”
    “The report was a little strange,” said Martinsson hesitantly.
    “What do you mean, strange?”
    “Nothing was stolen, but he was certain that someone had broken into his house.”
    “What happened?”
    “The whole thing was dismissed. But the report is here. And it was made by Holger Eriksson.”
    “That’s odd,” said Wallander. “We’ll have to take a closer look at that later. Get those dog units out here as soon as possible.”
    “Isn’t there anything that strikes you about Eriksson’s report?” Martinsson asked.
    “Such as?”
    “It’s the second time in a few days that we’re discussing