Henning Mankell - Faceless Killers

Rune Bergman still refused to talk, even though the evidence against him was overwhelming. Various nationalist extremist movements tried to take credit for the crime. The press and the rest of the media became engulfed in a violent debate about Sweden’s immigration policy. Although it was calm in Skåne, crosses burned in the night outside various refugee camps in other parts of the country.

Wallander and his colleagues on the investigative team trying to solve the double murder in Lenarp shielded themselves from all of this. Only rarely were any opinions expressed that were not directly related to the deadlocked investigation. But Wallander realized that he was not alone in his feelings of uncertainty and confusion about the new society that was emerging.

We’re living as if we were in mourning for a lost paradise, he thought. As if we longed for the car thieves and safecrackers of the old days, who doffed their caps and behaved like gentlemen when we came to take them in. But those days have irretrievably vanished, and it’s questionable whether they were ever as idyllic as we remember them.

On Friday, January nineteenth, everything happened at once.

The day did not start off well for Kurt Wallander. At seven thirty he had his Peugeot checked out and barely managed to avoid having his car declared unfit to drive. When he went through the inspection report, he saw that his car needed repairs that would cost thousands of kronor.

Despondent, he drove to the police station.

He hadn’t even taken off his overcoat when Martinson came storming into his office.

“Goddamn,” he said. “Now I know how Johannes Lövgren got to Ystad and back home again.”

Wallander forgot all about his misery over his car and felt himself instantly seized with excitement.

“It wasn’t a flying carpet, after all,” continued Martinson. “The chimney sweep drove him.”

Wallander sat down in his desk chair.

“What chimney sweep?”

“Master chimney sweep Arthur Lundin from Slimminge. Hanna Nyström suddenly remembered that the chimney sweep had been there on Friday, January fifth. He cleaned the chimneys at both properties and then took off. When she told me that he cleaned Lövgren’s flues last and that he left around ten thirty, bells started to go off in my head. I just talked to him. I got hold of him while he was cleaning the hospital chimney in Rydsgård. It turned out that he never listens to the radio or watches TV or reads the papers. He cleans chimneys and spends the rest of his time drinking aquavit and taking care of several caged rabbits. He had no idea that the Lövgrens had been murdered. But he told me that Johannes Lövgren rode with him to Ystad. Since he has a van and Lövgren was sitting in the windowless back seat, it’s not so strange that nobody saw him.”

“But didn’t the Nyströms see the car coming back?”

“No,” replied Martinson triumphantly. “That’s just it. Lövgren asked Lundin to stop on Veberödsvägen. From there you can walk along a dirt road right up to the back of Lövgren’s house. It’s about a kilometer. If the Nyströms were sitting in the window, it would have looked as if Lövgren were coming in from the stable.”

Wallander frowned. “It still seems odd.”

“Lundin was very frank. He said that Johannes Lövgren promised him a bottle of vodka if he would drive him back home. He let Lövgren out in Ystad and then continued on to a couple of houses north of town. Later he picked up Lövgren at the appointed time, dropped him off on Veberödsvägen, and got his bottle of vodka.”

“Good,” said Wallander. “Do the times match up?”

“It all fits perfectly.”

“Did you ask him about the briefcase?”

“Lundin seemed to remember that he had a briefcase with him.”

“Did he have anything else?”

“Lundin didn’t think so.”

“Did Lundin see whether Lövgren met anybody in Ystad?”

“No.”

“Did Lövgren say anything about what he was going to do in town?”

“No, nothing.”

“And you don’t think that this chimney sweep knew about Lövgren having twenty-seven thousand kronor in his briefcase?”

“Hardly. He seemed the least likely person to be a robber. I think he’s just a solitary chimney sweep who lives contentedly with his rabbits and his aquavit. That’s all.”

Wallander thought for a moment. “Do you think Lövgren could have arranged a meeting with someone on that dirt road? Since the briefcase is gone.”

“Maybe. I was thinking of taking a canine patrol out to fine-comb the road.”

“Do it right away,” said Wallander. “Maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.”

Martinson left the office. He almost collided with Hanson, who was on his way in.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked.

Wallander nodded. “How’s it going with Bergman?”

“He’s not talking. But he’s been linked to the crime. That bitch Brolin is going to remand him today.”

Wallander didn’t feel like commenting on Hanson’s contemptuous attitude toward Anette Brolin.

“What do you want?” he merely asked.

Hanson sat down on the spindle-backed chair near the window, looking ill at ease.

“You probably know that I play the horses a bit,” he began. “By the way, the horse you recommended ran dead last. Who gave you that tip?”

Wallander vaguely recalled a remark he had let drop one time in Hanson’s office. “It was just a joke,” he said. “Go on.”

“I heard that you were interested in an Erik Magnusson, who works in central supply for the county council in Malmö,” he said. “It just so happens that there’s a guy named Erik Magnusson who often shows up at Jägersrö. He bets big time, loses a bundle, and I happen to know that he works for the county council.”

Wallander was immediately interested.

“How old is he? What does he look like?”

Hanson described him. Wallander realized at once that he was the same man he had met twice.

“There are rumors that he’s in debt,” said Hanson. “And gambling debts can be dangerous.”

“Good,” said Wallander. “That’s exactly the kind of information we need.”

Hanson stood up. “You never know,” he said. “Gambling and drugs can sometimes have the same effect. Unless you’re like me and just gamble for the fun of it.”

Wallander thought about something Rydberg had said. About people who, because of a drug dependency, were capable of unlimited brutality.

“Good,” he said to Hanson. “Excellent.”

Hanson left the office. Wallander thought for a moment and then called Göran Boman in Kristianstad. He was in luck and got hold of him at once.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked after Wallander told him about Hanson’s story.

“Run the vacuum cleaner over him,” said Wallander. “And keep an eye on her.”

Boman promised to put Ellen Magnusson under surveillance.

Wallander got hold of Hanson just as he was on his way out of the station.

“Gambling debts,” he said. “Who would he owe the money to?”

Hanson knew the answer. “There’s a hardware dealer from Tågarp who lends money,” he said. “If Erik Magnusson owes money to anybody, it would be him. He’s a loan shark for a lot of the high rollers at Jägersrö. And as far as I know, he’s got some real unpleasant types working for him that he sends out with reminders to people who are lax with their payments.”

“Where can I get hold of him?”

“He’s got a hardware store in Tågarp. A short, hefty guy in his sixties.”

“What’s his name?”

“Larson. But people call him the Junkman.”

Wallander went back to his office. He looked for Rydberg but couldn’t find him. Ebba, who was at the switchboard, knew where he was. Rydberg wasn’t due in until ten, because he was over at the hospital.