The Man Who Smiled (37 page)

"I see I've come at a bad moment," Hanson said. "I was just going to say hello and tell you I'm back on duty."

"Did I scare you?" Wallander asked. "That wasn't the intention. I've just had a phone call that made me furious. It's a good job you came in when you did, or I'd have smashed the chair against the wall."

Then they sat down, Wallander behind his desk and Hanson on the chair he had inadvertently saved from destruction. Hanson was one of the detectives Wallander knew least well, although they'd been

working together for many years. They were like chalk and cheese in character and approach, and often got into awkward discussions that turned into screaming arguments. Nevertheless, Wallander respected Hanson's ability. He could be abrupt and obstinate and difficult to work with, but he was thorough and persistent, and could occasionally surprise his colleagues with cleverly worked-out analyses that could make a breakthrough in a seemingly insoluble case. Wallander had at times missed Hanson over the past month. He had seriously considered asking Björk to call him back, but had never got round to doing anything about it.

He knew too that Hanson was probably the colleague who would have had fewest regrets if Wallander had never come back to work. Hanson was ambitious, which was not of itself a bad thing for a police officer, but he had never been able to accept that Wallander had taken over Rydberg's invisible mantle. Hanson thought he was the one who should have assumed it. But it was not to be, and as a result Hanson had never managed to overcome his antagonism.

From Wallander's side there were other factors, such as his irritation at Hanson spending so much of his time playing the horses. His desk was always piled high with racing cards and betting systems. Wallander was persuaded that Hanson sometimes spent half his working day trying to work out how hundreds of horses at courses up and down the country were going to perform at their next outings. And Wallander knew that Hanson couldn't bear opera.

But now they were facing each other across the desk, and Hanson was back on duty. He would strengthen the team, extend their scope. That was all that mattered.

"So you came back," Hanson said. "The last I heard you were about to resign."

"Sten's murder made me reconsider," Wallander said.

"And then you found out that his father had been murdered as well," Hanson said. "We had that down as an accident."

"It was cleverly disguised," Wallander said. "My finding that chair leg in the mud was pure luck."

"Chair leg?" Hanson sounded surprised.

"You'll have to set aside time to get up to speed on the detail of the case," Wallander said. "You're going to be crucial, make no mistake about it. Not least after that call I'd just received when you came in." "What was it about?" Hanson said.

"It looks as if the man we're putting all our resources into pinning down intends to move out. That would cause us enormous problems." "I'd better get reading."

"I'd have liked to give you a thorough rundown myself," Wallander said, "but I don't have the time. Talk to Ann-Britt. She's good at summarising what matters and leaving out what doesn't."

"Is she really?" Hanson asked.

Wallander stared at him. "Is she what?"

"Good. Is Höglund good?"

Wallander remembered something Martinsson had said when he had first come back to work, to the effect that Hanson thought his position was under threat thanks to Höglund's arrival on the scene.

"Yes," Wallander said. "She's a good police officer already, and she's going to get even better."

"I find that hard to believe," Hanson said, getting to his feet.

"You'll see," Wallander said. "Let me put it this way: Ann-Britt Höglund's here to stay."

"I think I'd prefer to talk to Martinsson," Hanson said.

"You do as you wish," Wallander said.

Hanson was already halfway out of the door when Wallander asked him another question.

"What did you do in Halmstad?"

"Thanks to the National Police Board, I had an opportunity to look into the future," Hanson said. "When police officers all over the world will be sitting at their computers, tracking down criminals. We'll be part of a communications network covering the whole world and all the information collected by forces in different countries will be available to everybody by means of cleverly constructed databases."

"Sounds frightening," Wallander said. "And boring."

"But probably also very efficient," Hanson said. "Mind you, I imagine we'll both be retired by then."

"Höglund will see it," Wallander said. "Is there a trotting course in Halmstad, by the way?"

"One night a week," Hanson said.

"How did you do?"

Hanson shrugged. "Swings and roundabouts," he said. "Usual thing. Some horses run as they should. Others don't."

Hanson left, closing the door behind him. Wallander thought of the fury that had welled up inside him when he heard that Harderberg was making preparations to move out. He rarely lost his temper completely, and he could not remember the last time he had so lost control that he had started throwing things around.

Now that he was alone again in his office, he tried to think calmly. The apparent fact that Harderberg intended leaving Farnholm Castle did not necessarily mean anything more than that he had decided to do what he had done many times before: move on to pastures new. There was no good reason to think that he was running away. What was there for him to run away from? And where would he run to? At worst it would make the investigation more complicated. Other police districts would have to be involved, depending on where he decided to settle.

It was a possibility that Wallander needed to look into without delay. He phoned Widén. One of the girls answered. She sounded very young.

"Sten's in the stables," she said. "The blacksmith's here."

"He has a telephone out there," Wallander said. "Put me through."

"The stables phone is out of order," the girl said.

"Then you'll have to go and fetch him. Tell him Roger Lundin wants to speak to him."

It was almost five minutes before he came to the phone.

"What is it now?" he asked. He was obviously annoyed at having been disturbed.

"Sofia didn't happen to say where Harderberg was going to move to, did she?"

"How the hell would she know?"

"I'm only asking. She didn't say anything about him intending to leave the country?"

"She only said what I told you. Nothing more." "I have to see her. As soon as possible." "Come off it, she has a job to do."

"You'll have to find some excuse. She used to work for you. You have some forms she needs to fill in. You must be able to fix that."

"I haven't time. The blacksmith's here. The vet's on his way. I have meetings arranged with several owners."

"This is important. Believe me." "I'll do what I can. I'll call you back."

Wallander put down the receiver. It was 3.30 p.m. already. He waited. After a quarter of an hour he went to fetch a cup of coffee. Five minutes later Svedberg knocked on the door and came in.

"We can forget about the man in Östersund," he said. "His car with the registration number FHC 803 was stolen when he was in Stockholm a week ago. There are no grounds for not believing him. Besides, he's a local councillor."

"Why would a councillor be more trustworthy than anybody else?" Wallander objected. "Where was the car stolen? And when? Make sure we get a copy of his theft report."

"Is that really important?" Svedberg said.

"It might be," Wallander said. "And in any case, it won't take long. Have you spoken to Hanson?"

"Only briefly," Svedberg said. "He's in with Martinsson at the moment, going through the investigation material."

"Give him the job, it's about right as something for him to start with."

Svedberg left. It was 4.00 and Widén still had not phoned. Wallander went to the cloakroom after asking reception to make a note of any incoming calls. He found an evening paper in the toilet and leafed through it, his mind elsewhere. He was back at his desk and had snapped twelve paper clips by the time Widén eventually called.

"I've invented a pack of lies," he said, "but you can meet her in Simrishamn an hour from now. I told her to take a taxi and that you'd pay. There's a cafe on the hill leading down to the harbour. Do you know the one I mean?"

Wallander did.

"She hasn't got much time," Widén said. "Take some forms with you so that she can pretend to fill them in." "Do you think she's under suspicion?" "How the devil should I know?" "Thanks for your help anyway."

"You'll have to give her money for her taxi back to the castle as well." "I'll leave right away," Wallander said. "What's happened?" Widén said.

"I'll tell you when I know," Wallander said. "I'll phone."

Wallander left the police station at exactly 5 p.m. When he got to Simrishamn he parked by the harbour and walked up the hill to the cafe. As he had hoped, she was not yet there. He crossed the road and continued up the street. He stopped to look in a shop window while keeping an eye on the cafe. Not more than five minutes passed before he saw her coming up the street from the harbour, where she must have left the taxi. She went into the cafe. Wallander scrutinised the passers-by, and when he was as sure as he could be that she was not being followed, he went into the cafe. He should have taken somebody with him, to keep a lookout. She was sitting at a table in the corner. She watched him approach her table without greeting him.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said.

"So am I," she said. "What do you want? I have to get back to the castle as quickly as possible. Aren't you going to pay for the taxi?"

Wallander took out his wallet and gave her a 500-kronor note. "Is that enough?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I need a thousand," she said.

"What? It costs a thousand kronor to get to Simrishamn and back?" He gave her another 500-kronor note, thinking that she was probably conning him. He was annoyed, but there was no time for that.

"What would you like?" he said. "Or have you already ordered?"

"I wouldn't mind a coffee," she said. "And a bun."

Wallander went to the counter and ordered. When he paid he asked for a receipt. He went back to the table with his tray.

Sofia was looking at him with an expression which Wallander recognised as being full of contempt.

"Roger Lundin," she said. "I don't know what your real name is, and I don't care either. But it's not Roger Lundin. And you're a policeman."

Wallander thought he may as well tell her the truth. "You're right, I'm not Roger Lundin. And I am a police officer. But you don't need to know my real name."

"Why not?"

"Because I say so," Wallander said, making it clear that he would brook no discussion. She noticed his attitude changed towards her, and she regarded him with something that might even be of interest.

"Listen carefully," Wallander said. "One day I'll explain to you why all this secrecy stuff is necessary. For now all I will say is that I'm a police officer investigating a bloody murder. Just so you realise this isn't a game. OK?" "Perhaps," she said.

"Right now you're going to answer some questions," Wallander said. "And then you can go back to the castle."

He remembered the forms he had in his pocket. He put them on the table and passed her a pen.

"It could be that somebody's been following you," he said. "That's why you're now going to fill in these forms. Pretend this is what our meeting is about. Write your name at the top."

"Who's following me?" she said, looking round the cafe.

"Look at me," Wallander snapped. "Don't look anywhere else. If there is anybody following you we can be quite sure he can see you and that you won't see him."

"How do you know it's a man?"

"I don't."

"This is ridiculous."

"Drink your coffee, eat your bun, write in the form and look at me," Wallander said. "If you don't do as I say I'll make damn sure you never get back to Widén again."

She seemed to believe him. She did as she was told.

"Why do you think they're planning to move out of the castle?" he said.

"I was told I'd only be working there for a month, and that would be it. They'd be leaving the castle." "Who told you that?" "A man came to the stables." "What did he look like?" "He was sort of black." "A black man?"

"No, but he was wearing dark clothes and had black hair."

"A foreigner?"

"He spoke Swedish."

"With a foreign accent?"

"Could be."

"Do you know his name?"

"No."

"Do you know what he does?" "No."

"But he works at the castle?"

"I suppose he must do."

"What else did he say?"

"I didn't like him. In fact, he was horrible."

"In what way?"

"He wandered about the stables, watching me grooming one of the horses. He asked me where I was from." "What did you say?"

"I said I'd applied for the job because I couldn't stay on with Sten."

"Did he ask anything else?"

"No."

"Why was he horrible?"

She thought before answering. "He asked questions in a way that made it seem he didn't want me to notice he was asking anything." "Have you met anybody else?" "Only the woman who took me on." "Anita Karlén."

"I think that was her name, yes."

"Nobody else?"

"No."

"Is there nobody else looking after the horses?" "No, only me. Two horses aren't much of a problem." "Who looked after them before?" "I don't know."

"Did they say why they suddenly needed a new stable-girl?" "The Karlén woman said something about somebody being ill." "But you didn't meet them?" "No."

"What else have you seen?" "What do you mean?"

"You must have seen other people. Cars coming or going."

"The stables are apart, out of the way. I can only see one of the gables. The paddock is further away in the other direction. And anyway, I'm not allowed to go to the castle itself."

"Who told you that?"

"Anita Karlén. I'd be sacked on the spot if I broke any rule. And I have to phone and get permission if I want to leave the castle." "Where did the taxi pick you up?" "At the gates."