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Authors: Henning Mankell
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or later. He might contact the police. Nobody cuts his own finger off. Well, not often. In other words, somebody has subjected him to torture. It's possible he has fled the country already."
"Fingerprints," Svedberg said. "I don't know how many Africans there are in this country, legally or illegally, but there's a chance we might be able to trace a print in our files. We can send a request to Interpol as well. To my knowledge, many African states have been building up advanced criminal files in the last few years. There was an article about it in Swedish Policeman recently. I agree with Kurt. Even if we can't see any connection between Louise Akerblom and this finger, we have to assume there might be one."
"Shall we give this to the newspapers?" Bjork said. "The Ystad police are looking for the owner of a finger. That should get a headline or two, anyway."
"Why not?" Wallander said.
"I'll think about it," Bjork said. "Let's wait a bit. I agree that every hospital in the country should be alerted, though. Surely the medics have a duty to inform the police if they suspect an injury may have been caused by a criminal action?"
"They're also bound by confidentiality," Svedberg said. "But of course the hospitals should be contacted. Health centres, too. Does anybody know how many doctors we have in this country?"
Nobody knew.
"Ask Ebba to find out," Wallander said.
"There are just over 25,000 doctors in Sweden," Wallander said, when she had reported to the conference room the result of her call to the secretary of the Swedish Medical Association.
They were astonished. Twenty-five thousand.
"Where are they all when we need them?" Martinsson said.
Bjork was starting to get impatient. "Is this getting us anywhere?" he said. "If not, we've all got plenty to do. We'll have another meeting tomorrow morning at 8.00."
"I'll see to the hospital business," Martinsson said.
They had just collected their papers and got to their feet when the telephone rang. Martinsson and Wallander were already out in the corridor when Bjork called them back.
"Breakthrough!" he said, his face flushed. "They think they've found the car. That was Noren. Some farmer showed up at the fire and asked the police if they were interested in something he'd found in a pond a few kilometres away. Out towards Sjobo, I think he said. Noren drove to the spot and saw a radio aerial sticking out of the mud. The farmer, whose name is Antonson, was sure the car wasn't there a week ago."
"Right, let's get the hell out of here," Wallander said. "We've got to get that car up tonight. It can't wait until tomorrow. We'll have to find searchlights and a crane."
"I hope there's nobody in the car," Svedberg said.
"That's exactly what we're going to find out," Wallander said. "Come on."
The pond was difficult to get to, close to a thicket, to the north of Krageholm on the way to Sjobo. It took the police three hours to get searchlights and a mobile crane on site, and it was 9.30 before they had managed to attach a cable to the car. Then Wallander contrived to slip and fall halfway into the water. He borrowed overalls from Noren, who had a spare set in his car. He hardly noticed how wet and cold he was. All his attention was concentrated on the car. He was also tense and uncomfortable. He hoped it was the right car, but he was afraid Louise Akerblom might be found inside it.
"This was no accident," Svedberg said. "The car was driven into the mud so that it wouldn't be seen. Probably in the middle of the night. Whoever did it missed the aerial sticking up."
Wallander nodded. Svedberg was right.
The cable slowly tightened. The crane strained against its stanchions and started to pull. The rear end slowly rose into view. Wallander looked at Svedberg, who was an expert on cars.
"Is it the right one?" he said.
"Hang on a bit," Svedberg said. "I can't see yet."
Then the cable came loose. The car sank back into the mud. They had to start all over again. Half an hour
"Fingerprints," Svedberg said. "I don't know how many Africans there are in this country, legally or illegally, but there's a chance we might be able to trace a print in our files. We can send a request to Interpol as well. To my knowledge, many African states have been building up advanced criminal files in the last few years. There was an article about it in Swedish Policeman recently. I agree with Kurt. Even if we can't see any connection between Louise Akerblom and this finger, we have to assume there might be one."
"Shall we give this to the newspapers?" Bjork said. "The Ystad police are looking for the owner of a finger. That should get a headline or two, anyway."
"Why not?" Wallander said.
"I'll think about it," Bjork said. "Let's wait a bit. I agree that every hospital in the country should be alerted, though. Surely the medics have a duty to inform the police if they suspect an injury may have been caused by a criminal action?"
"They're also bound by confidentiality," Svedberg said. "But of course the hospitals should be contacted. Health centres, too. Does anybody know how many doctors we have in this country?"
Nobody knew.
"Ask Ebba to find out," Wallander said.
"There are just over 25,000 doctors in Sweden," Wallander said, when she had reported to the conference room the result of her call to the secretary of the Swedish Medical Association.
They were astonished. Twenty-five thousand.
"Where are they all when we need them?" Martinsson said.
Bjork was starting to get impatient. "Is this getting us anywhere?" he said. "If not, we've all got plenty to do. We'll have another meeting tomorrow morning at 8.00."
"I'll see to the hospital business," Martinsson said.
They had just collected their papers and got to their feet when the telephone rang. Martinsson and Wallander were already out in the corridor when Bjork called them back.
"Breakthrough!" he said, his face flushed. "They think they've found the car. That was Noren. Some farmer showed up at the fire and asked the police if they were interested in something he'd found in a pond a few kilometres away. Out towards Sjobo, I think he said. Noren drove to the spot and saw a radio aerial sticking out of the mud. The farmer, whose name is Antonson, was sure the car wasn't there a week ago."
"Right, let's get the hell out of here," Wallander said. "We've got to get that car up tonight. It can't wait until tomorrow. We'll have to find searchlights and a crane."
"I hope there's nobody in the car," Svedberg said.
"That's exactly what we're going to find out," Wallander said. "Come on."
The pond was difficult to get to, close to a thicket, to the north of Krageholm on the way to Sjobo. It took the police three hours to get searchlights and a mobile crane on site, and it was 9.30 before they had managed to attach a cable to the car. Then Wallander contrived to slip and fall halfway into the water. He borrowed overalls from Noren, who had a spare set in his car. He hardly noticed how wet and cold he was. All his attention was concentrated on the car. He was also tense and uncomfortable. He hoped it was the right car, but he was afraid Louise Akerblom might be found inside it.
"This was no accident," Svedberg said. "The car was driven into the mud so that it wouldn't be seen. Probably in the middle of the night. Whoever did it missed the aerial sticking up."
Wallander nodded. Svedberg was right.
The cable slowly tightened. The crane strained against its stanchions and started to pull. The rear end slowly rose into view. Wallander looked at Svedberg, who was an expert on cars.
"Is it the right one?" he said.
"Hang on a bit," Svedberg said. "I can't see yet."
Then the cable came loose. The car sank back into the mud. They had to start all over again. Half an hour
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