Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell Page B
Authors: Henning Mankell
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, Police, Political, Hard-Boiled, Fiction - Mystery, Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective - General, Swedish (Language) Contemporary Fiction, Kurt (Fictitious character), Wallander
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daughter who lived in Canada, who would be arriving at the hovercraft terminal in Malmö just after 3 p.m.
"Where's the other one?" asked Wallander. "The handball player?"
"She's already arrived," said Svedberg. "She's staying with relatives."
"You go and talk to her," said Wallander. "Do we have any other tip-offs that might produce something? Ask the daughters if either of them was given a wall clock, by the way.
Martinsson had sifted through the tip-offs. Everything that the police learnt was fed into a computer. Then he did a rough sort. The most ridiculous ones never got beyond the print-outs.
"Hulda Yngveson phoned from Vallby and said that it was the disapproving hand of God that dealt the blow," said Martinsson.
"She always calls," sighed Rydberg. "If a calf runs off, it's because God is displeased."
"I put her on the C.F. list," said Martinsson.
The sullen atmosphere was broken by a little amusement when Martinsson explained that C.F. stood for "crazy fools".
They had received no tip-offs of immediate interest. But every one would be checked. Finally there was the question of Johannes Lövgren's secret relationship in
Kristianstad and the child that they had together.
Wallander looked around the room. Thomas Näslund, a 30-year veteran who seldom called attention to himself but who did solid, thorough work, was sitting in a corner, pulling on his lower lip as he listened.
"You can come with me," said Wallander. "See if you can do a little footwork first. Ring Herdin and pump him for everything you can about this woman in Kristianstad. And the child too, of course."
The press conference was fixed for 4 p.m. By then Wallander and Näslund hoped to be back from Kristianstad. Rydberg had agreed to preside if they were late.
"I'll write the press release," said Wallander. "If no-one has anything more, we'll adjourn."
It was 11.25 a.m. when he knocked on Per Akeson's door in another part of the police building. The woman who opened the door was very striking and very young. Wallander stared at her.
"Seen enough yet?" she said. "You're half an hour late, by the way."
"I told you the meeting might run over," he replied.
He hardly recognised the office. Per Akeson's spartan, colourless space had been transformed into a room with pretty curtains and potted plants round the walls.
He followed her with his eyes as she sat down behind her desk. She couldn't be more than 30. She was wearing a rust-brown suit that he was sure was of good quality and no doubt quite expensive.
"Have a seat," she said. "Maybe we ought to shake hands, by the way. I'll be filling in for Akeson all the time he's away. So we'll be working together for quite a while."
He put out his hand and noticed at the same time that she was wearing a wedding ring. To his surprise, he realised that he felt disappointed. She had dark brown hair, cut short and framing her face. A lock of bleached hair curled down beside one ear.
"I'd like welcome you to Ystad," he said. "I have to admit that I quite forgot that Per was on leave."
"I assume we'll be using our first names. Mine is Anette."
"Kurt. How do you like Ystad?"
She shook off the question brusquely. "I don't really know yet. Stockholmers no doubt have a hard time getting used to the leisurely pace of Skåne."
"Leisurely?"
"You're half an hour late."
Wallander could feel himself getting angry. Was she provoking him? Didn't she understand that a case meeting might run over? Did she regard all Scanians as leisurely?
"I don't think Scanians are any lazier than anyone else," he said. "All Stockholmers aren't stuck-up, are they?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Forget it."
She leaned back in her chair. He was having difficulty looking her in the eye.
"Perhaps you would give me a summary of the case," she said.
Wallander tried to make his report as concise as possible. He could tell that, without intending to, he had wound up in a defensive position. He avoided mentioning the leak in the police department.
"Where's the other one?" asked Wallander. "The handball player?"
"She's already arrived," said Svedberg. "She's staying with relatives."
"You go and talk to her," said Wallander. "Do we have any other tip-offs that might produce something? Ask the daughters if either of them was given a wall clock, by the way.
Martinsson had sifted through the tip-offs. Everything that the police learnt was fed into a computer. Then he did a rough sort. The most ridiculous ones never got beyond the print-outs.
"Hulda Yngveson phoned from Vallby and said that it was the disapproving hand of God that dealt the blow," said Martinsson.
"She always calls," sighed Rydberg. "If a calf runs off, it's because God is displeased."
"I put her on the C.F. list," said Martinsson.
The sullen atmosphere was broken by a little amusement when Martinsson explained that C.F. stood for "crazy fools".
They had received no tip-offs of immediate interest. But every one would be checked. Finally there was the question of Johannes Lövgren's secret relationship in
Kristianstad and the child that they had together.
Wallander looked around the room. Thomas Näslund, a 30-year veteran who seldom called attention to himself but who did solid, thorough work, was sitting in a corner, pulling on his lower lip as he listened.
"You can come with me," said Wallander. "See if you can do a little footwork first. Ring Herdin and pump him for everything you can about this woman in Kristianstad. And the child too, of course."
The press conference was fixed for 4 p.m. By then Wallander and Näslund hoped to be back from Kristianstad. Rydberg had agreed to preside if they were late.
"I'll write the press release," said Wallander. "If no-one has anything more, we'll adjourn."
It was 11.25 a.m. when he knocked on Per Akeson's door in another part of the police building. The woman who opened the door was very striking and very young. Wallander stared at her.
"Seen enough yet?" she said. "You're half an hour late, by the way."
"I told you the meeting might run over," he replied.
He hardly recognised the office. Per Akeson's spartan, colourless space had been transformed into a room with pretty curtains and potted plants round the walls.
He followed her with his eyes as she sat down behind her desk. She couldn't be more than 30. She was wearing a rust-brown suit that he was sure was of good quality and no doubt quite expensive.
"Have a seat," she said. "Maybe we ought to shake hands, by the way. I'll be filling in for Akeson all the time he's away. So we'll be working together for quite a while."
He put out his hand and noticed at the same time that she was wearing a wedding ring. To his surprise, he realised that he felt disappointed. She had dark brown hair, cut short and framing her face. A lock of bleached hair curled down beside one ear.
"I'd like welcome you to Ystad," he said. "I have to admit that I quite forgot that Per was on leave."
"I assume we'll be using our first names. Mine is Anette."
"Kurt. How do you like Ystad?"
She shook off the question brusquely. "I don't really know yet. Stockholmers no doubt have a hard time getting used to the leisurely pace of Skåne."
"Leisurely?"
"You're half an hour late."
Wallander could feel himself getting angry. Was she provoking him? Didn't she understand that a case meeting might run over? Did she regard all Scanians as leisurely?
"I don't think Scanians are any lazier than anyone else," he said. "All Stockholmers aren't stuck-up, are they?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Forget it."
She leaned back in her chair. He was having difficulty looking her in the eye.
"Perhaps you would give me a summary of the case," she said.
Wallander tried to make his report as concise as possible. He could tell that, without intending to, he had wound up in a defensive position. He avoided mentioning the leak in the police department.
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