Хеннинг Манкелль - The Man from Beijing

‘Have you spoken to Ludde?’

Tobias Ludwig was the chief of police in Hudiksvall. He was young and had never been a beat cop. He’d studied law, then followed that with a course for future chiefs of police. Neither Sten Robertsson nor Vivi Sundberg liked him. He had little idea of what practical police work entailed and spent most of his time worrying about internal police administration.

‘No, I haven’t spoken to him,’ she said. ‘All he’ll do is urge us to be extra careful filling out the paperwork.’

‘He’s not that bad,’ said Robertsson.

‘No, he’s worse,’ said Sundberg. ‘But I’ll call him.’

‘Do it now.’

She called the police station in Hudiksvall, but Tobias Ludwig was on official business in Stockholm. She asked the switchboard to contact him on his mobile phone.

Robertsson was busy talking to the newly arrived forensic officers from Gävle. Sundberg was left standing beside Tom and Ninni Hansson in their garden. The Hanssons had donned their army-issue fur coats and were observing what was happening with interest. Start with those still alive, Vivi Sundberg thought. Tom and Ninni Hansson might have seen something without realising it.

A killer who decides to eliminate a whole village must have some kind of plan for how to go about it, even if he’s totally crazy.

She walked over to the road and looked around. The frozen lake, the forest, the distant mountains with all their peaks and valleys. Where had he come from? she asked herself. I think I can be certain that whoever did this was not a woman. But he, or they, must have come from somewhere, and they must have gone somewhere.

She was just about to go back in through the gate when a car pulled up with one of the dog patrols they had sent for.

‘Only one?’ she asked, without trying to conceal her irritation.

‘Bonzo’s not feeling well,’ said the officer.

‘Are you telling me that police dogs can be off sick?’

‘Evidently. Where do you want me to start? What’s happened?’

‘Talk to Huddén.’

The officer was about to ask her something else, but she turned her back on him and took Tom and Ninni Hansson back into their house. As they sat down, her mobile phone rang.

‘I hear you’ve been trying to contact me,’ said Tobias Ludwig. ‘You know I don’t like being disturbed when I’m at meetings of the National Police Board.’

‘I’m afraid that can’t be helped on this occasion.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘We have several dead bodies in Hesjövallen.’

She described the situation briefly. Ludwig didn’t say a word. She waited.

‘I understand. I’ll set off as soon as I can.’

Vivi Sundberg glanced at her watch.

‘We need to call a press conference,’ she said. ‘We’ll time it for six o’clock. Until then I’ll just say that there’s been a murder. I won’t reveal how many victims. Come as fast as you can. But don’t crash the car.’

‘I’ll see if I can get an emergency car to take me.’

‘Preferably a helicopter. We’re talking about nineteen murdered people, Tobias.’

They hung up. The Hanssons had heard every word she said. She could see the disbelief in their faces.

The nightmare was expanding all the time. Reality was a long way off.

She sat down in a chair, having shooed away a sleeping cat.

‘Everybody in the village is dead. You two and Julia are the only ones still alive. Even people’s pets have been killed. I can understand that you are shocked. We all are. But I have to ask you some questions. Please try to answer as accurately as possible. I also want you to try and think of things I don’t ask you about. Even the smallest thing you can remember might be important. Do you understand?’

The response was silent, worried-looking nods. Sundberg decided to tread carefully. She started talking about that morning. When had they woken up? Had they heard anything? What about during the night? Had anything happened? Had anything been different from usual? She asked them to ransack their memories.

They took turns replying. One filled in when the other broke off. It was obvious that they were doing their very best to be helpful.

She went backwards, a sort of wintry retracing of steps through an unknown landscape. Had anything special happened the previous evening? Nothing. ‘Everything was the same as usual’ were the words recurring in almost every answer they gave her.

They were interrupted by Erik Huddén. What should he do with the journalists? More kept arriving, and they were getting restless.

‘Hang on a bit longer,’ she said. ‘I’ll be with you shortly. Tell them there’ll be a press conference in Hudiksvall at six o’clock this evening.’

‘Will we be ready in time?’

‘We have to be.’

Huddén left. Sundberg resumed her questioning. Another step backwards, to yesterday morning and afternoon. This time it was Ninni who answered.

‘Everything was as usual yesterday,’ said Ninni. ‘I had a bit of a cold. Tom spent all day chopping wood.’

‘Did you speak to any of your neighbours?’

‘Tom exchanged a few words with Hilda, but we’ve already told you that.’

‘Did you see any of the others?’

‘Yes, I suppose I must have. It was snowing. People always come out to shovel and keep the paths clear. Yes, I saw several of them without really noticing.’

‘Did you see anybody else?’

‘What do you mean,“anybody else”?’

‘Somebody who doesn’t live here? Or maybe a car you didn’t recognise?’

‘No, nobody at all.’

‘What about the previous day?’

‘I suppose it was more or less the same. Nothing much ever happens here.’

‘Nothing unusual?’

‘Nothing at all.’

Vivi took out her notebook and a pencil.

‘Now I’m afraid I have to ask you something difficult,’ she said. ‘I must ask you for the names of all your neighbours.’

She ripped out a sheet of paper and placed it on the table.

‘Draw a map of the village,’ she said. ‘Your house and all the rest. Then we’ll give each one a number. Your house is number one. I want to know the names of everybody who lived in each of the houses.’

The woman stood up and fetched a bigger sheet of paper. She sketched out the village. Sundberg could see that she was used to drawing.

‘How do you earn your living?’ Sundberg asked.

‘We’re day traders — stocks and shares.’

It occurred to Vivi Sundberg that nothing ought to surprise her any more. Why shouldn’t a pair of ageing hippies in a village in Hälsingland deal in stocks and shares?

‘And we talk a lot,’ Ninni added. ‘We tell each other stories. People don’t usually do that nowadays.’

Sundberg felt the conversation was drifting away from the point.

‘The names, please,’ she said. ‘Preferably ages as well. Take your time so that you get it right.’

She watched the pair of them huddled over the piece of paper, muttering to each other. The thought crossed her mind — maybe one of the villagers was responsible for the massacre.

Fifteen minutes later, she had the list in her hand. The number didn’t tally. They were a name short. That must be the boy. She stood by the window and read through the list. There seemed to be basically three families in the village: the Anderssons, the Andréns and two people by the name of Magnusson. As she stood there with the list in her hand, she considered all the children and grandchildren who had moved away, who a few hours from now would be hit by this terrible news. Many, many people would be affected, and the resources required would be considerable.

All the first names flitted through her mind: Elna, Sara, Brita, August, Herman, Hilda, Johannes, Erik, Gertrud, Vendela... She tried to picture their faces in her mind’s eye, but they were blurred.