The Man Who Smiled (1994) kw-4

by Henning Mankell

  I'm tired, he thought. Despite having rested all weekend. The feeling of exhaustion goes deep, deep down, I'm only half aware of the causes, and there is probably nothing I can do about it. Not now that I've made up my mind to return to work. The beach on Jutland no longer exists as far as I'm concerned. I renounced it of my own free will.

  He did not know how long he sat there, but when he began to feel cold he started the engine and drove on. He would have preferred to go home and disappear into the security of his flat, but he forced himself to continue. He turned off towards Stjarnsund. After about a kilometre the road deteriorated badly. As always when he visited Widen, he wondered how big horseboxes could negotiate such a wretchedly maintained track.

  The path sloped steeply towards the extensive farm with row upon row of stable blocks. He drove down into the yard and switched off the engine. A flock of crows were screeching in a nearby tree.

  He got out of the car and made for the red-brick building Widen used as a combined home and office. The door was ajar, and he could hear Widen talking on the phone. He knocked and went in. As usual it was untidy and smelled strongly of horses. Two cats were lying asleep on the unmade bed. Wallander wondered how his friend could put up with living like this year after year.

  The man who nodded to him as he came in without interrupting his telephone call was thin, with tousled hair and an angry red patch of eczema on his chin. He looked just as he had twenty-five years back. In those days they had seen a lot of each other. Widen had dreamed then of becoming an opera singer. He had a fine tenor voice, and they had planned a future with Wallander acting as his impresario. But the dream had collapsed, or rather, faded away; Wallander had become a police officer and Widen had inherited his father's business, training racehorses. They had drifted apart, without either of them really knowing why, and it was not until the early 1990s, in connection with a lengthy and complicated murder case, that they had come into contact again.

  There was a time when he was my best friend, Wallander thought. I haven't had another one since then. Perhaps he will always be the best friend I ever had.

  Widen finished his call and slammed the receiver down.

  "What a bastard!" he snarled.

  "A horse owner?" Wallander said.

  "A crook," Widen said. "I bought a horse from him a month ago. He has some stables over at Hoor. I was going to collect it, but he's changed his mind. The bastard."

  "If you've paid for the horse, there's not much he can do about it," Wallander said.

  "Only a deposit," Widen said. "But I'm going to collect that horse no matter what he says."

  Widen disappeared into the kitchen. When he came back Wallander could smell alcohol on his breath.

  "You always come when I'm not expecting you," Widen said. "Would you like some coffee?"

  Wallander accepted the offer and they went out to the kitchen. Widen shifted piles of old racing programmes to one side, exposing a small patch of plastic tablecloth.

  "How about a drop of something stronger?" he asked, as he set about making the coffee.

  "I'm driving," Wallander said. "How's it going with the horses?"

  "It hasn't been a good year. And next year's not going to be any better. There isn't enough money in circulation. Fewer horses. I keep having to raise my training fees to make ends meet. What I'd really like to do is close down and sell up, but property prices are too low. In other words, I'm stuck fast in the Scanian mud."

  He poured the coffee and sat down. Wallander noticed Widen's hand shaking as he reached for the cup. He's well on the way to drinking himself to death, he thought. I've never seen his hand shake like that in the middle of the day.

  "What about you?" Widen asked. "What are you doing nowadays? Are you still off sick?"

  "No, I'm back at work. A police officer again."

  Widen looked bemused. "I didn't think so," he said.

  "Didn't think what?"

  "That you'd go back."

  "What else could I do?"

  "You were talking about getting a job with a security company. Or becoming head of security for some firm."

  "I'll never be anything but a police officer."

  "No," Widen agreed, "and I don't suppose I'll ever get away from these stables. That horse I've bought in Hoor is a good 'un, by the way. Out of Queen Blue. Nothing wrong with its pedigree."

  A girl rode past the window on horseback.

  "How many staff have you got?"

  "Three. But I can't afford more than two. I really need four."

  "That's why I'm here, actually," Wallander said.

  "Don't tell me you want a job as a stableboy," Widen said. "I don't think you've got the necessary qualifications."

  "I'm sure I haven't," Wallander said. "Let me explain."

  Wallander could see no reason why he shouldn't explain about Alfred Harderberg; he knew Widen would never breathe a word to anybody else.

  "It's not my idea," Wallander said. "We've recently acquired a new woman police officer in Ystad. She's good. She was the one who saw the advert and told me about it."

  "You mean I should second one of my girls to Farnholm Castle, is that it?" Widen said. "As a sort of spy? You must be out of your mind."

  "Murder is murder," Wallander said. "The castle is impenetrable. This advert gives us an opportunity to get in. You say you have a girl too many."

  "I said I had one too few."

  "She can't be stupid," Wallander said. "She has to be wide awake and notice things."

  "I have a girl who would fit the bill," Widen said. "She's sharp, and nothing scares her. But there is a problem."

  "What's that?"

  "She doesn't like the police."

  "Why's that?"

  "You know that I often employ girls who've gone off the rails a bit. Over the years I've found them pretty good. I cooperate with a youth employment agency in Malmo. I have a girl from there at the moment, 19 years old. Name's Sofia. She was the one riding past the window just now."

  "We don't need to mention the police," Wallander said. "We can think up some reason why you need to keep an eye on what's cooking at the castle. Then you can pass on to me what she tells you."

  "Only if I must," Widen said. "I'd rather not get involved. Alright, we don't need to tell her you're a police officer. You're just somebody who wants to know what's going on there. If I say you're OK, she'll take my word for it."

  "We can try," Wallander said.

  "She hasn't got the job yet," Widen said. "I expect there'll be lots of horsey girls interested in a job at the castle."

  "Go and get her," Wallander said. "Don't tell her my name."

  "What the hell shall I call you, then?"

  Wallander thought for a moment. "Roger Lundin," he said.

  "Who's he?"

  "From now on it's me."

  Widen shook his head. "I hope you're right about this," he said. "I'll go and fetch her."

  Sofia proved to be thin and leggy with a mop of unkempt hair. She came into the kitchen, nodded casually in Wallander's direction, then sat down and drank what remained of the coffee in Widen's cup. Wallander wondered if she was one of the girls who shared his bed. He knew of old that Widen often had affairs with the girls who worked for him.

  "You know I have to cut back here," Widen said. "But we've heard about a job that might suit you at a castle over at Osterlen. If you take the job, or rather get it, things might pick up here later, and I promise to take you back if they do."

  "What sort of horses are they?" she asked.

  Widen looked at Wallander, who could only shrug his shoulders.

  "I don't suppose they'll be Ardennes," Widen said. "What the hell does it matter? It's only going to be temporary. Besides, you'd be helping Roger here, who's a friend of mine. He'd like you to keep your eyes peeled and see what goes on there at the castle. Nothing special, just keeping your eyes open."

  "What's the money like?" she asked.

  "I've no idea," Wallander said.r />
  "It's a castle, for God's sake," Widen said. "Stop being awkward."

  He disappeared into the living room and came back with the paper. Wallander found the advert.

  "Interview," he said. "Applicants should phone first."

  "We can fix that," Widen said. "I'll drive you there tonight."

  She suddenly looked up from the plastic tablecloth and stared Wallander in the eye.

  "What sort of horses are they?" she asked.

  "I really have no idea," Wallander said.

  She cocked her head to one side. "I think you're police," she said.

  "What on earth makes you think that?" Wallander said, astonished.

  "I can feel it."

  Widen interrupted her. "His name's Roger. That's all you need to know. Don't ask so many stupid bloody questions. Try to look comparatively respectable when we go there tonight. Wash your hair, for instance. And don't forget that Winter's Moon needs a bandage on her left hind leg."

  She left the kitchen without another word.

  "You can see for yourself," Widen said. "She's nobody's fool."

  "Thanks for your help," Wallander said. "Let's hope she pulls it off."

  "I'll drive her over. That's the best I can do."

  "Phone me at home," Wallander said. "I need to know right away if she gets the job."

  They went out to Wallander's car.

  "I sometimes feel so desperately bloody tired of this whole business," Widen said.

  "It would be nice if we could have our time over again," Wallander said.

  "I sometimes say to myself, is that all it was? Life, that is. A few arias, loads of third-rate horses, constant money problems."

  "Come on, it's not all that bad, is it?"

  "Convince me."

  "We have a reason to meet more often now. We can talk about it."

  "She hasn't got the job yet."

  "I know," Wallander said. "Phone me tonight."

  He got into his car, nodded to Widen and drove off. It was still quite early in the day. He made up his mind to pay another visit.

  Half an hour later he parked in a no-parking area in the narrow street behind the Continental Hotel and walked to Mrs Duner's little pink house. He was surprised to see no sign of a police car in the vicinity. What had happened to the protection Mrs Duner was supposed to be receiving? He grew annoyed and worried at the same time. He rang the doorbell. He would get on to Bjork immediately.

  The door opened a fraction, but when Mrs Duner saw who it was, she seemed genuinely pleased.

  "I apologise for not having phoned in advance," he said.

  "It's always a pleasure to welcome Inspector Wallander," she said.

  He accepted her offer of a cup of coffee, even though he knew he had drunk too much coffee already. While she was busy in the kitchen Wallander took another look at her back garden. The lawn had been repaired. He wondered if she was expecting the police to provide her with another phone directory.

  In this investigation everything seems to have happened a long time ago, he thought, and yet it's only a few days since I threw the directory at the lawn and watched the garden explode.

  She brought in the coffee, and he sat on the flower-patterned sofa.

  "I didn't see a police car outside when I arrived," he said.

  "Sometimes they're here, sometimes they're not," Mrs Duner said.

  "I'll look into it," Wallander promised.

  "Is it really necessary?" she said. "Do you really think somebody is trying to harm me?"

  "You know what happened to your employers. I don't believe anything else is going to happen, but we have to take all the precautions we can."

  "I wish I could make sense of it all," she said.

  "That's why I'm here," Wallander said. "You've had time to do some thinking. Often one needs to let a bit of time pass before things become clear, to let your memory warm up."

  "I have tried. Day and night."

  "Let's go back a few years," Wallander said. "To when Gustaf Torstensson was first offered the opportunity of working for Alfred Harderberg. Did you ever meet him?"

  "No, never."

  "You spoke to him on the phone?"

  "Not even that. It was always one of the secretaries who called."

  "It must have been a big deal for the firm to get a client like that."

  "Oh yes, of course. We began to earn much more money than we'd ever done before. We were able to renovate the whole building."

  "Even if you never met or spoke to Harderberg, you must have formed some idea of what he was like. I know you have a good memory."

  She thought before answering. Wallander watched a magpie hopping about in the garden while he waited.

  "Everything was always urgent," she said. "Whenever he called in Mr Torstensson, everything else had to be put to one side."

  "Mr Torstensson must have discussed his client now and then," he said. "Told you about his visits to the castle."

  "I think he was very impressed. And also fearful of making a mistake. That was very important. I remember him saying several times that mistakes were forbidden."

  "What do you think he meant by that?"

  "That if that happened Harderberg would go to another firm of solicitors."

  "Weren't you curious about Harderberg, and about the castle?"

  "I wondered what it was like, of course. But he never said much. He was impressed, but reticent. I remember he once said that Sweden should be grateful for all the things Dr Harderberg was doing."

  "He never said anything negative about him?"

  "Yes, he did, actually. I remember because it only happened once."

  "What did he say?"

  "I can tell you word for word. He said: 'Dr Harderberg has a macabre sense of humour.'"

  "What do you suppose he meant by that?"

  "I don't know. I didn't ask, and he didn't explain."

  "When was this?"

  "About a year ago."

  "In what context did he say it?"

  "He had just come back from Farnholm Castle. One of the regular meetings. I don't remember it having been anything out of the ordinary."

  Wallander could see he wasn't going to get any further on that tack.

  "Let's talk about something completely different," he said. "When a solicitor's at work, there's always a lot of paper around. But we hear from the representatives of the Bar Council that there's very little in the files concerning the work Mr Torstensson did for Harderberg."

  "I was expecting that question," she said. "There were very special routines as far as work for Dr Harderberg was concerned. The only documents kept were the ones a solicitor regards as essential. We had strict instructions not to copy or save anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. Mr Torstensson took all the documents he worked on back to Farnholm Castle. That's why there's so little in the archives."

  "That must have seemed very odd to you."

  "The reason given was that Dr Harderberg's affairs were extremely sensitive. I had no reason not to accept that, so long as no rules were broken."

  "I understand that Mr Torstensson gave financial advice," Wallander said. "Can you remember any details?"

  "I'm afraid I can't," she said. "They were complicated agreements between banks and companies in all four corners of the world. It was generally one of Dr Harderberg's secretaries who typed the documents. I was only rarely asked to type anything Mr Torstensson was going to take to Dr Harderberg. He typed up quite a lot of things himself."

  "But he didn't do that for other clients?"

  "Never."

  "How would you explain that?"

  "I assumed they were so sensitive that not even I was allowed to see them," she said frankly.

  Wallander declined the offer of a top-up for his coffee.

  "Can you remember noticing any mention of a company called Avanca in any of the documents you saw?"

  He could see she was trying hard to remember.

  "No," she said. "It's possible I saw
it, but I don't remember it."

  "Just one more question," he said. "Did you know about the threatening letters the firm received?"

  "Gustaf Torstensson showed them to me," she said. "But he said they were nothing to worry about. That's why they weren't put in the archives. I thought he had thrown them away."

  "Did you know that the man who wrote them, Lars Borman, was a friend of Gustaf Torstensson?"

  "No, and I am surprised to hear it."

  "They met through an icons club or society."

  "I knew about the club, but I did not know that the man who wrote those letters was a member."

  Wallander put down his coffee cup. "I won't disturb you any longer," he said, rising to his feet.

  She remained seated, staring at him. "Haven't you any news at all to tell me?" she said.

  "We don't know yet who committed the murders," Wallander said. "Nor do we know why they did it. When we know that, we'll know why somebody planted a mine in your garden."

  She stood up and took hold of his arm. "You have to catch them," she said.-

  "Yes," Wallander said. "But it could take time."

  "I have to know what happened before I die."

  "As soon as there is anything to tell you, I'll be in touch straight away," he said, knowing that this could not have sounded very satisfactory to her ears.

  Wallander drove to the police station and was told that Bjork was in Malmo. So he went to Svedberg and asked him to find out why there was no proper protection at Mrs Duner's house.

  "Do you really think she's at risk?" Svedberg said.

  "I don't think anything," Wallander said. "But more than enough has happened already."

  Svedberg handed him a note. "There was a call from somebody called Lisbeth Norin," he said. "You can get her on this number. She'll be there until 5.00."