Read Online The Man from Beijing by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Henning Mankell
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been long, and she had no time to do more than eat and sleep and study her notes prior to returning to the bench. Her twin daughters phoned and invited her to Lund, but she didn’t have time. As soon as the case was over, she was faced with a complicated one involving Romanian credit card swindlers.
She had no time to keep abreast of what was happening in the little village in Hälsingland, missing the morning newspapers and the evening TV news bulletins.
The morning Roslin was due to start preparing for the trial of the swindlers from Romania, she discovered that she had a note in her diary about an appointment with her doctor for a routine annual checkup. She considered postponing it for a few weeks. Apart from feeling tired, being out of shape, and occasionally suffering anxiety attacks, she couldn’t imagine there being anything wrong with her. She was a healthy person who led an unadventurous life and hardly ever even had a cold. But she didn’t cancel the appointment.
The doctor’s office was not far from the municipal theater. She left her car on the side street where it was parked and walked to the office fromthe court. It was cold, fine weather with no wind at all. The snow that had fallen a few days earlier had melted away. She stopped by a shopwindow and contemplated a dress. But the price tag gave her a shock, and she moved on.
In the waiting room was a newspaper whose front page was laden with news about the mass murder in Hälsingland. She had barely got as far as picking it up when she was summoned by the doctor. He was an elderly man who reminded her of Judge Anker. Roslin had been his patient for ten years. He had been recommended by one of her legal colleagues. He asked her how she felt, if she’d had any pains, and having noted her responses he passed her on to a nurse, who took a blood sample from one of Roslin’s fingertips. She then sat in the waiting room. Another patient had claimed the newspaper. Roslin closed her eyes and waited. She thought about her family, what each of them was doing, or at least where they were, at that very moment. Staffan was on a train heading for Hallsberg; he wouldn’t be home until late. David was working in AstraZeneca’s laboratory just outside Gothenburg. It was less certain where Anna was: the last time she had been in touch was a month ago, from Nepal. The twins were in Lund and wanted their mother to visit them. She dozed off and was woken up by the nurse shaking her by the shoulder.
“You can go in to the doctor now.”
Surely I’m not so exhausted that I need to drop off in a doctor’s waiting room, Roslin thought as she returned to the doctor’s office and sat down.
Ten minutes later Birgitta Roslin was standing on the street outside, trying to come to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be working for the next two weeks. The doctor had introduced sudden and unexpected disorder into her life. Her blood pressure was far too high, and coupled with her anxiety attacks caused the doctor to insist on two weeks’ leave from work.
She walked back to the court and spoke to Hans Mattsson, a chief judge and her immediate superior. They managed to work out between them a way of dealing with the two cases she was currently embroiled in. She spoke to her secretary, mailed a few letters she had written, called at the pharmacy to pick up her new medication, then drove home. The lack of anything to do was paralyzing.
She made lunch, then flopped down on the sofa with the newspaper. Not all the bodies in Hesjövallen had been named publicly. A detective bythe name of Sundberg made a statement and urged the general public to contact the police with any information. There were still no leads, but the police were sure, no matter how hard it might be to believe, that they were looking for only the one killer.
On another page a public prosecutor called Robertsson claimed that the investigation was progressing on a very large scale totally without prejudice. The
She had no time to keep abreast of what was happening in the little village in Hälsingland, missing the morning newspapers and the evening TV news bulletins.
The morning Roslin was due to start preparing for the trial of the swindlers from Romania, she discovered that she had a note in her diary about an appointment with her doctor for a routine annual checkup. She considered postponing it for a few weeks. Apart from feeling tired, being out of shape, and occasionally suffering anxiety attacks, she couldn’t imagine there being anything wrong with her. She was a healthy person who led an unadventurous life and hardly ever even had a cold. But she didn’t cancel the appointment.
The doctor’s office was not far from the municipal theater. She left her car on the side street where it was parked and walked to the office fromthe court. It was cold, fine weather with no wind at all. The snow that had fallen a few days earlier had melted away. She stopped by a shopwindow and contemplated a dress. But the price tag gave her a shock, and she moved on.
In the waiting room was a newspaper whose front page was laden with news about the mass murder in Hälsingland. She had barely got as far as picking it up when she was summoned by the doctor. He was an elderly man who reminded her of Judge Anker. Roslin had been his patient for ten years. He had been recommended by one of her legal colleagues. He asked her how she felt, if she’d had any pains, and having noted her responses he passed her on to a nurse, who took a blood sample from one of Roslin’s fingertips. She then sat in the waiting room. Another patient had claimed the newspaper. Roslin closed her eyes and waited. She thought about her family, what each of them was doing, or at least where they were, at that very moment. Staffan was on a train heading for Hallsberg; he wouldn’t be home until late. David was working in AstraZeneca’s laboratory just outside Gothenburg. It was less certain where Anna was: the last time she had been in touch was a month ago, from Nepal. The twins were in Lund and wanted their mother to visit them. She dozed off and was woken up by the nurse shaking her by the shoulder.
“You can go in to the doctor now.”
Surely I’m not so exhausted that I need to drop off in a doctor’s waiting room, Roslin thought as she returned to the doctor’s office and sat down.
Ten minutes later Birgitta Roslin was standing on the street outside, trying to come to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be working for the next two weeks. The doctor had introduced sudden and unexpected disorder into her life. Her blood pressure was far too high, and coupled with her anxiety attacks caused the doctor to insist on two weeks’ leave from work.
She walked back to the court and spoke to Hans Mattsson, a chief judge and her immediate superior. They managed to work out between them a way of dealing with the two cases she was currently embroiled in. She spoke to her secretary, mailed a few letters she had written, called at the pharmacy to pick up her new medication, then drove home. The lack of anything to do was paralyzing.
She made lunch, then flopped down on the sofa with the newspaper. Not all the bodies in Hesjövallen had been named publicly. A detective bythe name of Sundberg made a statement and urged the general public to contact the police with any information. There were still no leads, but the police were sure, no matter how hard it might be to believe, that they were looking for only the one killer.
On another page a public prosecutor called Robertsson claimed that the investigation was progressing on a very large scale totally without prejudice. The
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