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Authors: Henning Mankell
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understand how they could have got into the house."
Wallander nodded. He didn't think it was necessary to press him any further. Not yet, at least. But Wallander was sure he was lying. Could it be that the marriage concealed a strange and possibly dramatic sex life? Could that in its turn explain why Mrs Akerblom had disappeared?
Wallander pushed his teacup to one side, indicating that the conversation was over. He put the handcuffs back in his pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief. A forensic analysis might reveal more about what they'd been used for.
"That's all for the time being," Wallander said, getting to his feet. "I'll call the minute I have anything to report. You'd better be ready for a bit of a fuss tonight, when the evening papers come out and the local radio has broadcast its piece. We'll have to hope it all helps us, of course."
Akerblom nodded, but said nothing.
Wallander shook hands and went out to his car. The weather was changing. It was drizzling and the wind had eased off. Wallander drove to Fridolf's Cafe near the bus station for a coffee and a couple of sandwiches. It was past noon before he was on his way to the scene of the fire. He parked, clambered over the barriers, and saw that both the house and the barn were now smoking ruins. It was still too soon for the forensic team to start their investigation. Wallander approached the edge of the fire and had a word with the man in charge, Peter Edler, whom he knew well.
"We're soaking it," he said. "Not much else we can do. Is it arson?"
"I've no idea," Wallander said. "Have you seen Svedberg or Martinsson?"
"I think they've gone for something to eat," Edler said. "In Rydsgard. And Colonel Hernberg has taken his wretchedly wet recruits back to their barracks. They'll be here again later."
Wallander nodded, and left the fire chief.
A policeman with a dog was standing a few metres away. He was eating a sandwich, and the dog was scratching away at the sooty, wet gravel with one paw. Suddenly the dog started howling. The policeman tugged impatiently at the leash a couple of times, then looked to see what the dog was digging for. Then Wallander saw him draw back with a start and drop his sandwich. Wallander couldn't help being curious, and walked over towards them.
"What's the dog found?" he said.
The policeman turned round to face Wallander. He was white as a sheet, and trembling. Wallander hurried over and bent down. In the mud was a finger. A black finger. Not a thumb, and not a little finger. But a human finger. Wallander felt ill. He told the dog handler to get in touch with Svedberg and Martinsson right away.
"Get them here immediately," he said. "Even if they're halfway through their meal. There's an empty plastic bag on the back seat of my car. Get it."
The policeman did as he was told.
What's going on? Wallander thought. A black finger. A black man's finger. Cut off. In the depths of Skane.
When the policeman returned with the plastic bag, Wallander made a temporary cover to protect the finger from the rain. News of the discovery had spread, and several firemen gathered around the find.
"We have to start looking for the remains of bodies among the ashes," Wallander said to the fire chief. "God knows what's been going on here."
"A finger," Edler said, incredulously.
Twenty minutes later Svedberg and Martinsson arrived, and came running up to the spot. They stared, bewildered, at the black finger. In the end it was Wallander who broke the silence. "We can be sure of one thing," he said. "This isn't one of Mrs Akerblom's fingers."
CHAPTER FIVE
They met at 5 p.m. in one of the conference rooms at the police station. Wallander could not remember a less talkative meeting. In the middle of the table, on a plastic cloth, was the black finger. He could see that Bjork had angled his chair so he couldn't see it. Everyone else stared at the finger.
After a while, an ambulance arrived from the hospital and removed the finger. When it was gone,
Wallander nodded. He didn't think it was necessary to press him any further. Not yet, at least. But Wallander was sure he was lying. Could it be that the marriage concealed a strange and possibly dramatic sex life? Could that in its turn explain why Mrs Akerblom had disappeared?
Wallander pushed his teacup to one side, indicating that the conversation was over. He put the handcuffs back in his pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief. A forensic analysis might reveal more about what they'd been used for.
"That's all for the time being," Wallander said, getting to his feet. "I'll call the minute I have anything to report. You'd better be ready for a bit of a fuss tonight, when the evening papers come out and the local radio has broadcast its piece. We'll have to hope it all helps us, of course."
Akerblom nodded, but said nothing.
Wallander shook hands and went out to his car. The weather was changing. It was drizzling and the wind had eased off. Wallander drove to Fridolf's Cafe near the bus station for a coffee and a couple of sandwiches. It was past noon before he was on his way to the scene of the fire. He parked, clambered over the barriers, and saw that both the house and the barn were now smoking ruins. It was still too soon for the forensic team to start their investigation. Wallander approached the edge of the fire and had a word with the man in charge, Peter Edler, whom he knew well.
"We're soaking it," he said. "Not much else we can do. Is it arson?"
"I've no idea," Wallander said. "Have you seen Svedberg or Martinsson?"
"I think they've gone for something to eat," Edler said. "In Rydsgard. And Colonel Hernberg has taken his wretchedly wet recruits back to their barracks. They'll be here again later."
Wallander nodded, and left the fire chief.
A policeman with a dog was standing a few metres away. He was eating a sandwich, and the dog was scratching away at the sooty, wet gravel with one paw. Suddenly the dog started howling. The policeman tugged impatiently at the leash a couple of times, then looked to see what the dog was digging for. Then Wallander saw him draw back with a start and drop his sandwich. Wallander couldn't help being curious, and walked over towards them.
"What's the dog found?" he said.
The policeman turned round to face Wallander. He was white as a sheet, and trembling. Wallander hurried over and bent down. In the mud was a finger. A black finger. Not a thumb, and not a little finger. But a human finger. Wallander felt ill. He told the dog handler to get in touch with Svedberg and Martinsson right away.
"Get them here immediately," he said. "Even if they're halfway through their meal. There's an empty plastic bag on the back seat of my car. Get it."
The policeman did as he was told.
What's going on? Wallander thought. A black finger. A black man's finger. Cut off. In the depths of Skane.
When the policeman returned with the plastic bag, Wallander made a temporary cover to protect the finger from the rain. News of the discovery had spread, and several firemen gathered around the find.
"We have to start looking for the remains of bodies among the ashes," Wallander said to the fire chief. "God knows what's been going on here."
"A finger," Edler said, incredulously.
Twenty minutes later Svedberg and Martinsson arrived, and came running up to the spot. They stared, bewildered, at the black finger. In the end it was Wallander who broke the silence. "We can be sure of one thing," he said. "This isn't one of Mrs Akerblom's fingers."
CHAPTER FIVE
They met at 5 p.m. in one of the conference rooms at the police station. Wallander could not remember a less talkative meeting. In the middle of the table, on a plastic cloth, was the black finger. He could see that Bjork had angled his chair so he couldn't see it. Everyone else stared at the finger.
After a while, an ambulance arrived from the hospital and removed the finger. When it was gone,
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